Litany of Silence – Fragment III
Mama sent me to the market square,
To buy some bread and ribbons for my hair.
The cobbles were warm, the stalls were loud,
I liked to stand and watch the crowd.
A man in black with a crooked smile,
Followed me round for quite a while.
He said my ears and tail were "wrong to show,"
And said beastfolk like me should just go.
He grabbed my wrist, his hand was cold,
And whispered things I've never told.
He called me names I didn't know,
And pulled me where I couldn't go.
Then all at once the noise was gone,
Like morning comes but skips the dawn.
The air felt still, the light turned thin,
And something strange was walking in.
He wore light armor, scarred but neat,
With heavy shoes upon his feet.
He didn't speak, he didn't shout,
He simply made the sound go out.
The bad man dropped me to the ground,
And turned to face that awful sound
Except there wasn't sound at all,
Just emptiness that made it all seem so small.
I saw a hand that flew to the right,
A shadow move against the light.
The bad man bled all wrong,
And I knew he wouldn't live for long.
The walls all cracked, the stalls all fell,
The air was filled with burning smell.
The roofs went first, then half the street,
And I was no longer standing on my feet.
The quiet man walked past my place,
He didn't even see my face.
He left the town torn in two,
And I didn't know what to do.
I went back home and told Mama,
She made me tea with sugar.
She said that man might come again,
But that he was not a friend.
I hope he comes if danger's near,
because he makes the bad men disappear.
Though I'm not sure he saved me so,
Mama said, "Pray he just lets you go."
I just think he had somewhere else to be,
but that was the last I ever saw of he.
Morning – Valtryn Base
The glass ceiling above the Administration Hall caught the bright morning light as Gus made his way around. A thin clerk with furry, floppy dog ears and a bushy tail greeted him as he entered for his second day of observation. The man's name was Tyler, which Gus found etched into a nametag on his chest. He outstretched his hand to greet him and show him around the buildings as a sort of guide.
Tyler was fitted with atire that felt in line with the reserved style of Valtryn, but the vest and civilian-esque clothes also signified his position as an administrative clerk. Still, Gus couldn't help but notice the man's build beneath the fabric. He looked fairly strong, which seemed to fit since this was the Department of Defense. Gus thought he could take him on in a fight if he had to, Gus was a heavyweight after all.
"This way, please." Tyler's voice was even and respectful, and he made no moves that would alert Gus into thinking he was hiding something from him. No darting glances, no hesitation, not even a tail wag as they walked through the building. If he was hiding a coup party in here, he was a pro at masking all notions of suspicion.
"Most of the administrative work is housed here in the central hall," Tyler said as they turned a corner toward a wider, dome-lit space. "The outer corridors connect to storage, personnel records, and departmental correspondence rooms. You'll have access to certain areas as needed for your observation."
"Sounds straightforward enough." Gus replied, keeping his tone casual.
Tyler glanced at him once, as if to check his pace, then gestured toward a side chamber ahead. The room stretched beneath the high glass dome, ringed by floor-to-ceiling shelves and wheeled ladders. Light spilled through overhead in crisp beams, catching the glint of laminated binder spines. Clerks moved in and out like the turning of gears, each motion efficient and without wasted movement.
"This will be your work area today," Tyler said, stopping beside a broad desk set near the center. A blotter, inkwell, and two sharpened pencils sat in perfect alignment atop it. "Any materials you examine must be left exactly as found. If you need assistance, signal the floor clerk on duty."
Gus gave him a short nod. "Got it." then added. "I'll check out all the rooms today, so I'm not sure how long I'll be spending on files here."
Tyler lingered only long enough to ensure Gus was settled before excusing himself. "I'll return shortly to check on your progress. If you are ready when I return, we can check over all the rest of the rooms between our two buildings" His tail swayed once as he turned, disappearing into the far aisle.
Gus leaned back in the chair, letting the silence settle. The room hummed with the soft rustle of paper, the thumping of stamps being pressed into documents, and the occasional squeal of a rolling ladder. The smell of warm printer ink filled the room, which also surprised Gus that they had so many printers on hand. It wasn't exactly uncommon, but they were quite spendy. Most people stuck to handwritten methods, or in some cases, printing presses, but here, they had the most modern method available.
I better get to work. If they are hiding something, it might be in these files.
Bartholomew's cart rattled over the stone floor as he eased it into position along the far wall of the main cafeteria. The smell of melted cheese and crisped bread wafted ahead of him, drawing a few curious glances from uniformed personnel already seated at the long tables. The place was busy but not too loud, the clatter of trays and the low murmur of conversation blending into a steady background hum.
"Cheddar fritters, gouda rolls, fresh curd on rye." Bart called in a voice that suggested this was all perfectly ordinary in the Department of Defense.
He worked the griddle with unhurried precision, flipping grilled cheese onto a plate as a young soldier passed coins across the counter. Bart was once again listening for details about the coup party that would otherwise slip under the radar as idle chatter between soldiers.
He slid the sandwich onto the plate, letting the cheese stretch and tear before handing it over with a polite nod. The soldier mumbled a thanks and moved on, freeing Bart to drift a step toward the far corner of the cart. It gave him a better angle on the next table over, where two officers sat with their heads close together over steaming bowls.
"…boss said they haven't heard from Turn in two days. Could be that he was caught."
The other officer shook his head, stabbing at a piece of bread in his soup. "Or he's laying low. You know how he is sometimes. He goes dark for a day or two and comes back with even more intel."
Bart adjusted the stack of paper trays at the edge of his cart, making just enough noise to mask the fact that he was leaning closer.
"I don't know about that. I saw some Continuity grunt poking around the Building B yesterday. They might have actually caught him."
The other officer grunted, tearing his bread in half. "You don't think they are catching on to us, do you? Boss said that hit they put on Nyra failed because some punks found her by accident. Had powers, too."
Bart slid a cheddar fritter into a tray, drizzling it with sauce while pretending his attention was fixed on the griddle. In reality, his ears were tuned like a radio dial locked on their table.
"We should tell the boss about them poking close to the lift already. Can't have them discovering the base."
The other man lowered his voice, but Bart still caught it over the hiss of the griddle. "If they find out about that, we all will be in some deep shit."
The officers shifted the conversation to sports after that, their voices rising just enough to make it clear the important part was over. Bart went back to his cheese and bread, the motions smooth, automatic.
In his head, the details were already connecting, but in a Bart sort of way. Who knows what connections he was forming, could be a wild idea that would make even Joren surprised about the off-the-wall notion. He would radio in to Joren shortly when the lunch rush ended.
Afternoon – Rooftop
Joren sat cross-legged in the shadow of yesterday's nest, getting comfortable in the rooftop he sat on for eleven hours the previous day. From here, he was like a hawk watching over the ants moving in the distance, every uniformed figure a moving piece in a puzzle he was still fitting together. He would find out where those guys were hiding that secret base; Nyra's life was on the line.
Gus had checked in twenty minutes ago to update him on his findings, which was a lack of finding anything. That didn't really discourage Joren since that meant the most obvious place that would be too cliche was now out of the question. That shifted it to Willow who was checking on Buildings C and D as well as the West Wing. If Willow turned up something, she'd signal, and they'd move fast. Until then he would stay put, eyes sharp, binder ready for the next update to his shrinking search area.
Willow's boots clicked lightly against the tile as she stepped into the west wing. The air here was cooler than Building D was, the faint hum of unseen machinery threading through the walls. The hallways narrowed compared to the rest of the compound, lined with framed schematics and neatly labeled storage manifests.
She kept her movements unhurried, nodding in passing to two guards who didn't look twice at her. She was now disguising herself as a courier, taking the advice Joren gave about how they could sneak into places easier than most common soldiers could.
A slim satchel hung at her hip, its flap fastened just loosely enough to suggest she was mid-route. Every so often she'd pause to make a mark on the small clipboard in her other hand, the kind of busywork no one questioned.
Most doors she passed were left ajar and revealing the predictable: stacked crates stamped with supply codes, racks of spare weapons, cabinets of filed reports. Her steps were measured—she was just another messenger making rounds in the west wing.
She finished the last corridor and slipped through the connection door of the West Wing to Building C. The structure was older, its stonework weathered and its windows clouded with years of grime. Guards here looked less polished than those in any of the other areas she observed, their loose uniforms and relaxed posture signifying less commanding order. This would be way easier to move around in without raising any suspicion that she wasn't really a courier.
It was halfway down an east-facing corridor that she noticed it. She found a side passage sloping just slightly down, which she dubbed a skateboard hallway for some unknown reason. Narrow and dimmer than the rest of the halls in the building, the walls here were bare except for a single rusted pipe running along one side.
At the far end waited a steel door, the same institutional gray as the rest, but with a padlock hanging over a panel door. It was just resting there like someone wanted it to look secure without actually securing it like any of the other doors had been.
Willow slowed her pace, eyes narrowing. That's not standard. Even the broom closets in the west wing had keyed locks.
She glanced behind her. She was the only one in this empty hall.
The closer she got, the more the air cooled, carrying a faint metallic tang of oil. She touched the padlock with three fingers as she examined the locking mechanism. "That's practically an invitation," she murmured.
She morphed her finger into the a easily moldable shape as she pushed it inside the lock and turned the cylinder over as she pushed up on the pins. She eased the door open and stepped inside, letting the padlock fall onto the floor.
The room beyond the door was small and square, the ceiling low, lit by a single buzzing bulb overhead. An industrial sized elevator dominated the far wall, its steel doors closed but operatable. The stone floor had fresh drag lines, as though something heavy had been rolled in recently. The brass buttons on the side console gleamed like it had been polished by regular use.
Willow stayed near the doorway at first, letting her eyes sweep every corner. The walls were bare, but the scuff marks on the floor told a story of things moving in and out of the underground portion of Building C.
She crouched beside the marks, running a finger over one of the chalky residuals. The elevator was likely used often, and not long ago, either.
Her gaze drifted upward to the ceiling. The large lightbulb buzzed faintly, but near the edges, fine trails of dust curved toward it as though drawn by airflow.
Oh yeah, I think Joren mentioned something about Bart saying the lift had been acting finicky lately. Is this what he overheard?
She'd seen mention of a freight lift in the Building C paperwork when they went over the briefing with Nyra, but it was just another floor to the large buildings they would have to explore. Officially, it was for moving heavy shipments to the sub-level maintenance and storage bays.
Willow exhaled slowly. Her hand hovered over the radio clipped to her belt. For a moment she just collected her thoughts about her findings so far, deciding on how best to convey it as short as possible and what her next moves would be.
Finally, she pressed the button. "Courier to hawk. I've got something. West Wing and Building D seemed safe, no odd behavior. Currently at the freight lift in Building C, and it looks active. No ID markings are needed for using it."
A burst of static was Joren's only reply for the moment, but she could make out the words of roger that. She let go of the button, eyes fixed on the now open door. "Guess I'll see where you go," she muttered.
Stepping inside, she pushed the downward button which would lead her to the underground portion of Building C. The door rolled shut with a soft swoosh, sealing her in. The lift shuddered once, then began its slow descent into the dark.