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In a world where Administrators and Moderators walk among mere men. Where magic is used to maintain order. Adelaide is a young Moderator and we follow her journey from an every day life to be plunged into the dark intrigues as she bit-by-bit uncovers a plot to overthrow the Administration and plunge the nation of Fossoara into chaos...

Author: Tehpillowstar
Genre: Drama/Fantasy
Rating: PG-13 to R (Extreme violence, gore, mild romance, excessive use of strong language)

Please comment, rate, and review. Analysis and deconstructions are especially welcome.




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Disclaimer: The following people, places and events portrayed in this story are FICTIONAL. Although certain events and persons are inspired by, or based off of real events and persons, they are used fictitiously.

• Part 1 - Canary's song
• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Chapter 5
• Chapter 6
• Part 2 - Our sun bird
• Chapter 7

“Like the song?”
I opened my eyes, I didn't realize they were shut. The lady was holding my drink in front of my face. She gave me a crooked smile, and spoke in her strange accent of which I couldn't really pin down. “It's a good song. Filled with meaning...and emotion. Stars sigh when the music plays...” She then held out my drink.

I hesitated, then took the cup and gave her the appropriate amount of change.

“Oh yes, my cats want to say to you one more thing Star Child: 'Beware, ice falls from the heavens but fire rises from the earth...'”

I nodded to her, and thanked her for the drink and advice. Then the full force of her words sunk in and I froze. I turned around, “Wait, what--”

Another group of people surrounded the van, distracting Semira. I dropped the subject and walked away to the gray that was Petra.



Chapter 2:

With every mountain of triumph, lies a valley of despair, but with every valley, there will always be another mountain on the other side.

I let my instinct lead me down the sprawling streets of Petra, the main city of Temere. As I strolled down the streets, I passed a large amount of abandoned and ruined homes. I knew that this section of Petra was very dangerous, even in daylight, but that didn't worry me, even though I was an attractive young woman. The shady people that lurked these streets feared authority, and gave me a wide berth. As the streets and adjacent structures became more broken down, the finally tapered off to a chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire. A sign warning people to stay out insured that nobody was nearby.

The landscape beyond the fence was bleak. Gray ash covered the ground, only disturbed by the large piles of rubble that broke up the landscape. The twisted shapes of charcoal, the remains of trees, were dotted across the old war zone. The ruins of some well-built building still stood, nearby. If I squinted, I could faintly see a distortion in the air, showing a powerful magical barrier that deterred people from trespassing. No signs of life remained in the cold moon-scape. How long would it be, until someone decided to restore the neighborhood?

I recalled what this place used to be. When I was younger, this was where Old Deichato and the neighborhood where the minority known as Furries, resided. Deichato was in a ways, a slum filled with trolls, criminals, Dark mages known affectionately as 'Necros', the violent, Ad-bots, prostitution and more. However, it had a wonderful bazaar where the rich, the poor, the goody-two-shoes, the bad and even the Temerian moderators would stand around and talk. The bazaar had also hosted the infamous Black Market, where one could obtain anything illegal, from marijuana to depleted uranium. Although the neighborhood was horrible, the bazaar was its shining diamond, or so I was told.

However, when the bazaar was closed down, it caused a huge uproar that soon turned into outright civil war. Even the Defender's own moderators turned against itself. Homes and businesses were burned down, and people were killed or incinerated. The madness accelerated, and soon the entire place was up in flames and bordering on civil war. I remember being sent in the inferno, donned in what could only be described as a spacesuit, to attempt to rescue the many civilians trapped in the blaze. Even with the efforts of the rescue crew, so many died anyways.

The place was now coined the Wastelands, was left to smolder in neglect. Conspiracy theories and lies surrounded its destruction, placing blame where blame should not be, and demonizing people who only did their jobs. Yet not a single one of their theories was close to the truth.

I walked around the area, my spirits further dampened by the thought of so much death here. My thoughts were scattered everywhere, from what the cats had told me to what the people who used to live here say about me becoming a moderator, to the secrets I knew about the Wastelands. I didn't watch where I was going, and almost ran into a man, gripping a bouquet of aloe, cypress, and bird's foot trefoil, staring out into the landscape.

“Hey,” he said. His name was Joe Peck. He was a few inches taller than me, but then so was most people I met. His blond mane of hair needed a good time at a barbershop, and he had an aura of mischievousness. He then smiled sadly, and said, “Sometimes I go down here to remind myself of things forgotten. This place makes you feel really small, but yet...human.” I looked into the landscape, and could see why he felt that way, with its horror and sadness of the backlash and hate of the Temerians. He then turned, facing towards the wasteland, and sighed.

I didn’t say anything for a moment, since I was trying to find a sentence or phrase that could start a conversation. Finally I said, “A lot of hell happened here, didn’t it?”

He nodded, and answered, “Yeah, that’s for sure. I lost some friends in that war. We lost a lot of great people too. Mods like Cierra and Albert and Peter and Jordan. God, do I miss them.”

I nodded. Cierra and Albert died in the fighting, while Peter left the force and Jordan disappeared shortly after the war. “I miss them too. They were good people. The streets of Alea seem to be missing something without them. The whole world did.” I said. I kept looking back at the time when I was just a normal citizen. I remembered Cierra’s silly black top hat with the purple star, and Albert’s thoughtful demeanor. I was lost in memories, memories of a forgotten past where the grass always seemed greener (although that probably isn’t true.)

“You're a moderator. Maybe you know what really happened here,” Joe said. I looked at his eyes, my mental defenses sliding up, preventing anything I knew from escaping.

“But why would you ask?” I said, “Perhaps your speculation is good enough for you, if not better in your eyes. The truth is not as glamorous as one would think.”

He shrugged, and went to place the flowers on a small memorial that the Temerians built as a memorial for the past. I gave a small frown, I knew what they were mourning was only a delusion, fed by their their own self-inflicted deception.

I said goodbye to Joe, and left to go do my job. There wasn't much left to do, except go home before it became dark. The Historical District wasn't exactly safe after dark, even though I had nothing to fear.

As I traveled home by taking the subway, I watched the sunset paint brilliant hues of rose, orange and gold. I looked around the car, seeing the faceless masses of people, playing with their phones, their newspapers, their books, or looking at nothing, not even taking notice at the lovely sunset before them though the windows. Were they blind to such beauty? Or perhaps they did see the sunset, but saw it mundane to the everyday drama of their lives, never acknowledging it, like how they never acknowledged the truth of what happened in Old Deichato, so many sunsets ago.




Chapter 3:

Several days later, my duties lead me to the main forum of Petra.

It was afternoon that day. The clouds promised storms later on. You could feel the humidity in the air, and the growing intensity of the breeze. Thunderstorms were rare this early in the year, however, one could explain its unusual appearance by global warming.

I was walking down the streets of the city of Petra, heading straight towards the Petra forum. I looked around, and I saw a group of boys throwing rocks at a starling nearby, to the distress of the bird. I yelled at them, and the boys scrambled away, seeing my uniform, and quickly figuring out who I am. The starling flew off in the commotion. I wondered if it was okay.

The forum was filled with people in a hurry. They didn't have any time to stop and take in the environment. Towering buildings made up of flashy steel, glass and concrete had various shops at the ground floor that made up the forum, along with sheltered, wooden bulletin boards surrounded with people. The forum itself was nice to be in, with towering oaks, beeches, and maples, along with younger trees of Japanese cherry blossom trees that were planted along the middle of the walkways. There were no cars around, since they weren't allowed in the forum. The flat walkways themselves were paved with pink brick, which probably was once red.

I listened to the crowds for a while. I could hear the general, blurred sound of people talking, I could hear the occasional raised voices of a disagreeable person arguing with another disagreeable person over some mundane thing. The regular sounds of humanity in the Square.

I brushed back my long hair, plaited in one braid down my back, which I was a bit vain about. When it was loose, it was all dark and wavy, and so long it went past the middle of my back. I patrolled around the city, softly cursing at my ancient, too small girly bicycle that I had gotten when I was 7 years old from my dad. That was 11 years ago. My mother nor I had the heart to throw it out.

I walked along the road, with intuition again, guiding me along. Soon I was right in front of the newly initiated Furry thread. I looked at the posts, bored, when a post caught my sight. I gasped.

God save us all, how did he found out?

I walked towards the posting board, my mind racing. Questions filled my mind: How did he know? Where did he found out? Is our security not strong enough? Why does he know? Why?

I approached the bulletin board, trying to keep my panic down. The place was quite crowded. It was a board with an old topic that had came about recently. It was about the minority population of furries. Nobody paid me any attention, since I was wearing civilian clothes instead of my uniform. I had to shove and push my way to see the offending post—manners be damned. When I finally came up front to the board, I fingered the post for a moment, before doing what I had to do.

I inhaled deeply, reaching inside for the sparks of magic that made up my moderator powers. I mentally pinched off a few sparks, a thread of magic, and let it flow to my fingertips, causing them to tingle with power. I let it flow from my hands. The words of the post lifted from the paper, and I copied it using my magic into the notebook I always carried in my bag. Then the words disappeared. I still felt warm inside, a tingly feeling after I did a little magic, which was a lot better than when I first received my powers. Something like this would leave me in a sharp, painful migraine.

A woman was watching me. Her name was Diane, and had mousy, big hair, amber eyes, and gave me a scornful look. She then said out loud, so everyone could hear, “Figures. I heard that Celina is a furry hater. That's why she locked down Deichato. Because she hated us all.”

I was furious. Anger rose in me, burning my insides. It took all the patience and self-control of a saint to keep my face straight and prevent myself from slapping her in the cheek and creating a riot.

I walked away, my heart beating like a war drum, terror that everything that the administration did could be so easily leaked. I needed to get out of here. To the Administration. They needed to know this. They had to.

I stopped for a moment, trying to gather up my fraying nerves. There was a pizzeria across the street, owned by a fellow named Jason Parker. I could smell the delicious smell of cooking pizzas, a harsh dissonance from my panic. I had to keep focused, not do anything rash or stupid. You're a moderator, girl, I thought, Stay professional and cool, damnit. I let myself have the small luxury of a few calming deep breaths. I had to keep my head on the job.


The transmitter squeaked, and a voice made up of static spoke something undecipherable. He nodded, and adjusted the scope on his rifle. The sniper peered through the scope, and saw the world turn into various shades of fuzzy gray, with white outlines of people, things and buildings. A few flames of color appeared in the sniper's vision, but he ignored them. Those flashes of color were the Gifts of the few people who were born with the ability to use magic. However, he was not looking for flames of magic, he was looking for sparks.

He scanned the forum, until he found his target. He then adjusted his scope, which turned off the magic-detecting screen and zoomed in to his target. She was small, with long, almost black hair that poured out from under her black, indiscreet helmet. She wore the uniform of a moderator, and he could see that she was armed with a shotgun and a sword. However, all this did not matter to the sniper. It didn't matter whether or not she was just a child. For him, this was a job

He carefully aimed, but waited for the exact moment to shoot. He did not care whether or not the girl was wearing body armor. A sniper's bullet could tear through a Kevlar vest like it was cloth.

The target stopped for a moment. The sniper took his chance. He aimed at the girl's heart. He smiled for a moment, then pulled the trigger.

I turned at the curb, when some instinct made me stop. For a second, I felt as though events would come and I would be powerless to stop them. I quickly turned around. That was when I felt as though I had punched, while feeling a burning sensation.

I went down on my knees, but I didn't know why. What happened? Why couldn't I breathe? I heard a shriek, and then reality poured into my mind. That's was when I felt pain in my ribcage that was so sharp, and so intense, I couldn't think about anything but the pain. I looked down at the front of my uniform, and I saw a small red blot blossoming in the fabric. I was bleeding.

I suddenly felt dizzy, and the world faded, and I felt a pair of arms holding me before I collapsed down, sprawled upon the sidewalk. I could hear voices, but no words. Comforting voices that reminded me of being comforted as a small child.


"...We'll get some help, don't worry..."

Was this dying? I couldn't tell, but my mind felt like it was trapped in the inertia of the moment, and failed to release me into the comforts of unconsciousness. I heard voices, gasps and screaming, but they sounded like they were in another world. All the color drained from the world. I felt sick, and I couldn't breathe.

I felt like I was falling, falling from the realities of the living world...


Chapter 4:

“Hey. Hey, wake up.”

I heard a small voice in the soft comforts of unconsciousness. I felt a slight jab of annoyance. Leave me alone, I thought, I'm sleepy. Unfortunately, my telepathic complaint was ignored, and the origin of the small voice started to poke me.

“Sharon, don't poke her. She just had major surgery. Let her wake up herself.”

“She's not waking. Perhaps I should get Healer Laurel for the smelling salts? Or perhaps one of Alastor's dirty socks, if that's not strong enough.”

“Sharon.”

“Alright, alright...” Sharon said.

I forced myself to open my eyes, and look around. I was in the infirmary wing, back at the Private Administrative building (No visitors allowed), a place I fondly called HQ or The Lodge. Sharon Wright and a higher level administrator, named Luke Alexander were at my bedside. I was propped up by soft, feathery pillows, and realized that I had tubes sticking into my nose and needles stuck into my arm. What happened? I tried recalling the evens that led up to me ending up here, but too drugged up to think clearly.

“What happened...?” I said.

“You got shot in the chest. Everyone thought you were going to die because you didn't stop bleeding and people were afraid you got shot in the heart and stuff. You had shattered ribs, and a collapsed lung, but you're better now, I think. The doctors put your ribs back together, stopped the bleeding and inflated your lung,” Sharon explained.

I tried to recall what happened. Humid day. A report. Then the feeling that I was punched. Then what? My drowsy mind couldn't hold on to the details, and I decided to forget about it until I wasn't so stoned on morphine.

“What about the guy who shot me? And the reports...” I asked.

“The sniper got away before we could apprehend him or her, and I finished the reports. Don't worry about 'em, I got your back,” Sharon said.

I bit back disappointment, and tried to rise from my bed. Luke gently held me down and said, “Rest. You just had surgery and you need to heal. Go back to sleep. Temere will not burst into flames with you resting for a week.”

I gave a little smile and relaxed. My eyes were drifting shut, but something bothered me. Something important, but I couldn't remember what it was.

Then I remembered.

“Oh my Gosh. Sharon! Luke! We've been leaked!”

“What?”

I struggled from my bed, but Luke then held me down, and said “Not now. You need rest.”

“No, I gotta tell you now...it's important...”

“Later. You need to rest.”

“But--”

“Adelaide.” Luke said firmly.

I sighed in defeat, then drifted off to a drugged doze.


Chapter 5

At my insistence, Laurel, the healer who works for us, used her healing powers to accelerate the speed of my own healing—a decision that I most likely won't be doing ever again. I was in intense pain the entire time, drifting in and out of consciousness. What would normally take up to a month for all my injuries to recover healed in one and a half days. Magic is wonderful, isn't it?

Right after I was discharged, I head straight towards the gathering room. I walked down to a semi-circle of chairs around a fireplace. Great windows showed a breath-taking view of the distant mountains, solid against the horizon. Usually in the summer, everything would be an expanse of green, but for now, it was a brownish gray, with a bright green haze of budding leaves. There were some others sitting around in the seats, in deep discussion about recent events. The surroundings were warm, and had a feeling of comfort that came from great use. The floor was wooden, with an Persian carpet on the floor. The shelf above the fireplace had a dusty fake grapevine with plastic grapes draped over the mantel.

“Guys, I have something to tell you.” I said.

I took a deep breath. After everything that happened, and now this. I wondered if all this up and down moments were the norm, or just dark times that end up snowballing to this.

“We've been leaked. A guy, his name is Liam Rouge. He somehow acquired some confidential material from here, and leaked it out to the furries. I don't know how he got it. Maybe he managed to steal it. Maybe someone leaked it to him, but I'm going to chase him down and ask him.” I showed what was leaked, and then there was an awkward silence that laid heavily on our hearts.

My Tze-Ei, the administrator of all of Temere, named William Tanreall, looked at all of us, and said, “Guys, we're not supposed to leak anything. Hapshant told us not to.” Hapshant, or James Hapshant was the Gran-Dai of Fossoars, the supreme ruler.

I bit my lip, but I didn't say anything. The person next to me, a man in his mid-twenties with startling red eyes and bronze colored hair. He had a strange name, Alastor Talugara. He said, “This lack of faith and breach of trust is disturbing...” he mused, brow scrunched together in intense concentration.

If I had a beard, I would of stroked it by then. The only people who were able to actually take information from the Lodge and release it to the public was the Administration. I didn't like this thought, because it meant that there was someone we couldn't trust. I looked at everyone who was gathered here, and in my heart, I knew I trusted everyone in the administration. I had to.

A quiet man with black hair, leaning over the back of William Tanreall's chair said, “Well, this was a raw leak. Someone, one of us, gave that post to Liam for the sole purpose of making drama. You can't show a certain group of people that little post unless you meant to kick up a [profanity="shit"]storm.”

“You sure it's one of us?” asked Alastor.

“It has to be. Nobody else has access to the Lodge and Archives.”

“I'm not sure if I like that answer very much,” I said quietly.

I heard someone sigh behind me. I turned around, and it was the Gran-Dai, James Hapshant. He had dark hair that was badly in need of a haircut, a bony facial structure with a long nose, was tall, eyes the color of ice, and radiated power and filled the room with his presence.

I stood up to leave. Now that the Gran-Dai and the others were informed, there was nothing left to do. Some of us were already leaving to do something else, whether to sit around or go back to work. I walked towards the bulletin board which had some slightly faded summary of guidelines and newspaper clippings tacked onto the cork of the board, but I noticed a small message pinned to a corner of the bulletin board that differed from the riffraff. A note stating that someone named 'Antonio Solwren' was coming back from his extended leave, to administrate, or moderate again.

I was interested about him coming back, and curious about him too, since I had read his name many times in the Archives. Maybe I'll like this Antonio Solwren person.


Chapter 6

I went down for dinner at the Mess Hall. The mess hall looked like a small buffet restaurant, with a decent choice of food. I took the soup of the day, potato soup, along with bread to dip with. I ate slowly, tasting the velvety and savory soup, and the soft bread, soaked with it. I was alone, however, I saw the Administrator of Temere, William Tanreall. He was that kind of no nonsense guy, forever busy, and had his way of laying down justice that made him disliked in Temere.

I finished my meal, and head towards the sleeping areas. They were separated by gender; the girl's rooms opened up to a large, recreational room, with a large wooden floor, comfortable couches, and a flat screen TV, and a huge library of games and books. To the right were private shower stalls, and to the left was a room where you could rest if you wanted to.

I traveled to the right, feeling like I needed to wash away the memory of the day. I walked into one of the shower rooms, closed the door and locked it. Then I removed all of my clothing, leaving them on the floor right outside the washroom in a haphazard pile, then stepped into the shower itself. I turned on the shower, letting the gentle spray of water wash over me. Letting my inner pain, my unappreciation, which was like a dark, evil weight on my soul, wash away, and pour down the curves of my body and into the water drain.

I lathered up, scrubbed away the brownish-orange smear over my chest where I had my surgery, and rinsed away the soap suds, then stepped out of the shower. I looked into the mirror, which showed the top half of my naked body. I noticed the little things about myself: The fading scars at my chest and shoulder, my small, yet firm breasts, the length of my shoulders, which looked much more broader with my wet hair plastered against my body. I was short and stocky, yet pretty in my own right, I suppose. I opened the door a bit to reach where I placed my clothing, now replaced with a fluffy, warm towel, my undergarments, which have been washed and dried by unseen hands, and a blue cotton t-shirt and navy drawstring shorts. I quickly dried off, slid on the warm clothing, and stepped out of the steamy bathroom.

I was exhausted and getting sleepy from the warmth. I didn't really care much about the developing events surrounding the leak. All I really wanted to do was to slip into a comfortable bed, and let the blanket of sleep smother away my worries.

I entered the sleeping room, which was a fairly large room, lit with a dim, golden light. Pushed to the walls were these long, bench-like ottomans, accented with pillows and cushions. Soft pallets were on the ground, and there were a few hammocks hanging around.

I collapsed on a choice hammock, and gently drifted off to sleep.

Dawn came, and I awoke. On one of the ottomans, lay my uniform, armor and weapons.

My uniform was black, and consisted of a jacket with an inner, soft lining with a hood, a long-sleeved shirt underneath, and slacks, all tailored to be comfortable and for combat. I slipped on the shirt and slacks, before pulling over my head my Kevlar vest, and strapping it on. I wore my jacket over, and tied on a yellow sash around my waist, underneath said jacket. I then strapped on my wrist guards, which covered everything from my palm and back of my hand up to my elbow, only leaving my fingers and thumb exposed. I put on my boots, which had these braces on them to protect me from getting hurt from long falls.

I sheathed my weapons. Knives were hidden in my boots, pockets and wrists. I tied on my sheathed sword, a beautiful, crafted jian, or a Chinese straight sword that was forged from iron that originated from a meteorite. We call it, and similar weapons 'banhammers', although the name was purely metaphorical. The banhammer was the main weapon of a moderator; an extension of self. I sheathed my sword, and tied it to my sash.

Finally, I put on my helmet, a black, bulletproof thing with a small visor that covered my eyes.

I quickly ate a small breakfast, and left the lodge, intent on finding and interrogating Liam Rouge. My walking led me to where I last saw him, the meeting place for all the furries.

I saw him, talking with people that possibly be his friends. I didn't care if they were his friends or not, all I needed was to talk to him, and find some answers.

I walked towards the circle of people, wondering how I what I would say. However, that wasn't necessary.

He looked at me and smiled, all easy going.

Then, he ran.

I was stunned for the tiniest moment, then I ran after him, letting the natural spring of the braces on my legs propel me faster. He turned, and ran out from the forum, taking the smaller, maze like alleyways to try to lose me. I felt the trill of adrenaline, I could hear my heart pounding, as I tried to make my legs move faster. I needed to make him stop!

I took a deep breath, and started to release pulses of magic towards him, in hopes of blasting him, and stunning him long enough for me to interrogate him. However, like the reflexes of a cat, he dodge every one of them, then paused at a pile of crates and large cans, then pulled the pile over, scattering the boxes. I was about 10 feet away from him, when the boxes made be hesitate for a moment. I lost my footing, and I fell over, my unprotected chin banging on the gray asphalt, which stung a lot, and I thought that I scraped it for a moment. I jumped up, and continued my pursuit, but the pain in my chin was bothering me.

He turned, still running down the alleyway. I was panting hard, but I pressed on. I held my hand out, and molded my magic for a lightning sphere attack. This time, I focused on striking my target, instead of haphazardly trying to hit something. I released the lightning, which hit right on Liam, who stumbled, froze for a moment, then collapsed.

In one movement, I grabbed him up by the collar, lifted him upright and rammed him back-first onto the concrete wall that lined these alleys. In the same movement, I unsheathed one of my knives, slightly poking the soft flesh under his chin. I started to ask questions.

“Where did you get that information? What do you want from us? Who are you working for, if you're working for someone? Why are you doing this?” As I rapid-fired questioned, I tried to keep my uncertainty and fear from entering my voice. I trained my eyes to meet Liam Rouge's cocky expression, which I wanted to slap.

He smiled that cocky grin, then answered, “How can I be honest if the moderation team isn't honest?” he then laughed at my face, making me angrier; I could feel the heat rising in my face. He kept on laughing, up to the point where I wanted to blast him to ashes. He kept on laughing when I jerked for a moment, and the blade's tip broke through his skin, letting a drop of crimson blood run down the blade.

He laughed as he froze for a moment, then started twitching and foaming at the mouth. He kept laughing as his eyes rolled up and blood started to run from the corner of his mouth. I let him go, disgusted, and he slumped to the floor, still twitching. Oh God, what was happening?

His laughter was frozen on his face as he died.

I let his body slide down the ground. For a moment I was stunned—everything was happening too fast for my brain to process. The voice from my communicator snapped me out of my stupor. Suddenly everything made a lot more sense.

“Adelaide, what's going on there?” It was Leo, another global moderator.

“Liam's dead, and I didn't get anything useful from him.”

“Doesn't matter anymore, get back to base for another briefing,” he said.

“Doesn't matter? Why's that?” I asked.

I heard some shuffling over my earpiece, and Sharon's voice, “We found out who did it.”

I felt a horrible sinking feeling in my chest, perhaps I didn't really want to know who done it. Didn't really want to know who betrayed us.

“It was Peter.”

"Life is eternal; and love is immortal; and death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight." - Rossiter W. Raymond

It isn't easy to be a moderator. You slave away for hours, days, only to see your hard work get wiped away by some unscrupulous troublemakers, completely oblivious to the hard work you've done. Then, when you clean up the mess and reprimand the troublemakers, all you get is [profanity="shit"] thrown at your face. It doesn't matter if you neglected yourself, or your family or your friends to moderate. It doesn't matter if you poured your heart and soul into the work you've done. It doesn't matter to the populace at all.

After all your work, all the people say to you is, “[profanity="fuck"] off.”


I have to thank my comrades, who work just as hard as I do, who suffer as much as I do, who die bit by bit inside as I do.

The Administrators. I trust them. When I questioned my importance, they looked at me in the eye, and told me the the unadulterated truth. I loved them for the trust, and the sense of community and comradeship that they gave me. The trust, the faith, the loyalty and the honest words of, “You do a great job,” but most of all, the satisfaction of a job well done; that heals the heart, resurrects the soul, and keeps us going, just until the sun rises, and the birds migrate back.

But then there was Peter Hawkfire.

No matter how many times I heard the details, how many times I heard the story, I could never figure out why Peter would do this.

I never knew why Peter hated me.

What photos I found, there were more, hidden away, stashed aside, so other Temerians from old Deichato could come and s[profanity="nigger"] behind my back, discussing my shortcomings, discussing my failures.

I hated them all.


Chapter 7:

Back at base, I immediately was briefed by my Tze-Ei, William Tanreall in one of the lounges, looking out towards the rounded mountains that border Fossoara.

“I want you to go the Industrial Sector of the Historical district, and terminate that sniper. They pose a threat to the safety of my team and the civilian population. You'll be going in as the counter-sniper, and you'll have a spotter too.”

“You want me to go to the Industrial Sector, and shoot some idiot.”

“Yes.”

“You want me. To go shoot someone. Me. Kill.”

“Yes.”

“...Let me pause here to let it sink in on how ridiculous that sounded,” I said.

Willian Tanreall gave an exasperated gesture, before saying, “I'd do it myself, but I'm busy. That pile of paperwork isn't going to fill out itself, and I've got to fill out Sharon's release forms too. As I can see it, you're not doing anything at the moment, and in reality, your marksmanship isn't that shabby.”

I hesitated. Tanreall didn't compliment me often, but he gave me an independence and trust in my skills and experience that I realized that I've taken for granted. Perhaps he is right, and I really wanted to go on the mission anyways.

“Alright. I accept. Now, who's my spotter? And what do you mean by signing Sharon's release forms?” I asked, crossing my arms and giving Tanreall a small scowl, so not to give him the satisfaction of making me do what he wanted.

“Antonio Solwren. He should be in his study right now, and I'm writing Sharon's release forms because I'm retiring her. She's going to college in America.” Tanreall said.

“Sharon's going to college? But then Joseph and I would be the only ones left to moderate Temere!” I exclaimed.

“Joseph told me that he quit. Now go and tell Antonio about his job. He should be in his study, down the hall and to the left. Now go.” Tanreall released me and shooed me out of the room.

I was frozen for a second. If Sharon and Joseph were retiring, that would mean that I would be the only moderator for Temere. The thought was horrifying yet exhilarating at the same time. It would be so much work, but amazing at the same time. I wanted to show the world that I could step up to the challenge.

I walked down one of the corridors of the Lodge, then turned to the left, when I saw that one of the doors was ajar. I peered in, and saw a man leaning downwards with a dusting cloth, dusting a room which had the feel of disuse. He looked up at me and smiled. “Heya,” he said. He was Caucasian, with dark hair, light skin, and wide eyes. He was young, probably only few years older than me, and had an aura of power surrounding him that I couldn't exactly explain.

“What'cha doing?” I asked.

“I'm cleaning. You can come in if you like.” the guy said. I stepped in the room and took a good look around. It was just large enough to fit an office desk, 2 bookshelves, a filing cabinet, a very small trunk and a small fold-away camping cot, which was folded up at this moment, but still have enough space to pace around. Everything was fit in very snugly, but also had a layer of dust, as if nobody had used the room for a long time.

“What's your name? And how did you come here?” I said while looking around. The bookshelves were filled with textbooks on magic, books on history, books on warfare and paperback novels. I wanted to see what was in the file cabinets, but that felt too nosy of me.

“Antonio Solwren. I'm back from an extended leave, so Hapshant let me become an administrator again,” he answered. He was wiping off the dust from some picture frames. The first one was of a small boy that looked like a younger version of Antonio with a hispanic-looking woman. Maybe she was his mother.

The second one was a very old group shot of the entire Administration. There were 3 rows of people in formal attire in the photo, with James Hapshant in the first row, with the beautiful Celina on his right side, her long, dirty blonde hair tied up in a knot, her body slender, and looking very militaristic in her uniform. There were other administrators, such as Francine and Ian Clévey, and finally the only two moderators in the photo: Richard and Antonio, standing together. There was a handsome face in the very back. I knew that face. Alordan Crucardus...

“Alordan Crucardus was an administrator?” I asked, shocked. Crucardus was a descendant from the House of An'Domir, the family who once ruled Fossoara back in the 14th to 16th centuries. We all knew him as a very loud critic of the Shaki'Ra-Kun, with a large number of supporters.

Antonio nodded, and explained, “We were desperate for people at that time, so Hapshant hired him at a moment's notice, but he tried to make a quick grab for the title of Gran-Dai. There was a brief struggle for power and influence before he was fired and stripped of all power.”

“He must of not been around for too long,” I mused.

He nodded, and added, “He might have killed the former Daa-Kai, but there's no proof of that.”

“The Daa-Kai?”

“A guy I considered to be the father that I never had.”

I nodded in acknowledgment. What could have been said? Grief cannot be described into words, only shared, and I had my secret sorrows too.

“Oh! I almost completely forgot,” I said, laughing at my brief moment of forgetfulness, the moment of sorrow forgotten, “I came to tell you that my Tze-Ei wanted you to come with me as a spotter in a counter-sniping mission.”

“Alright. I'll go.”

That was easy, I thought. Even though I trusted Solwren's abilities, I had an uneasy feeling about the mission. I glanced at my partner to see if he harbored the same feelings, but I couldn't read his expression. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Maybe my instincts were right after all. Maybe.




Chapter 8:

The morning air still held the chill of the night. My fingers were uncomfortably cold and stiff, and the world unnaturally silent.

The Industrial Sector of the Historical District was mostly filled with crumbling abandoned factories and warehouses—another relic of the past, more specifically the 80s and early 90s. It looked as if the apocalypse had came here and sneezed. I was laying down, stomach hugging the icy floor, squinting through the scope of my .50 caliber rifle, staring at crumbling concrete. Antonio Solwren, my spotter, just a couple of feet away from me was scanning the site, looking for my target.

The minutes that passed by grated on my nerves. I couldn't help but think that somewhere, there could be a person aiming their rifle at me, and I couldn't do anything about it until Solwren saw something.

Not to mention I was hungry. I didn't eat breakfast because of this mission, since I make it a point not to eat before missions where there was a chance I could get seriously hurt, like this one. Tell that to my growling stomach. When I'm hungry, all I can think of is food, and how nice it would be to sink my teeth in a piece of chewy, warm bread dipped in cheese fondue, or perhaps since it's the morning, crêpes wrapped around slices of fresh strawberries and drizzled with strawberry syrup, crispy potato pancakes with warm, cinnamon-y apple sauce, crispy bacon on top of slices of bread, the delicious sweet juice of Korean pears at Chuseok, sizzling steak, roast chicken, with rice, mashed potatoes and a soft, buttery roll...Mmm...

I turned towards Solwren and whispered, “I'm hungry.”

He gave a mysterious smile and said, “Me too.”

I started blathering quietly about the food I wanted to eat, and his expression changed from mysterious to amused. I still was focused on my target however. It takes a mastery of the arts of the cloudcuckoolander to act like you can't string two coherent thoughts together and at the same time juggle two opposing political forces and kick ass at the same time.

I saw some movement, and adjusted my scope to examine it closely. It was a person hiding out in the ruins with a rifle. My target, perhaps?

“Found him,” I whispered.
Solwren turned towards where my gun was pointed at, and after a few moments, he nodded, confirming my target. “It's that guy.”

I took a deep breath. My heart was racing. I had to pull the trigger at the right time, when the target's still vulnerable and before I get cold feet and begin to panic.

I could see his head right between the crosshairs of my scope. One moment...deep breath...two moments...

I pulled the trigger.

The recoil of the rifle dug painfully into my shoulder, distracting me enough so I didn't get to see the fate of my target, which was very well. I rather not see how the people I kill actually die, which was pretty ironic of me.

I relaxed the gun from my grasp, and looked up towards Solwren. “Is he dead?” I asked.

He nodded as he was looking through his binoculars. “Yeah...he is.”

I got up and started disassembling the rifle, getting ready to get back to HQ and possibly have something nice and warm for breakfast, like waffles.

We got up slowly, and Solwren grabbed the heavy bag and slung it across his shoulders. I turned around to glance at the ruins, when something hit me in the face.

The sensation was familiar. The final thoughts, mundane.

I stumbled. Was there hot wetness? Was Solwren really shouting? I couldn't hear his words, or even remember if there were words. I felt the pain. It felt like an explosion, but it was so brief.

I couldn't remember blacking out.

I have a pair of bunny slippers. The bunny is from Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail.

I have a few poetry pieces if anyone is interested.

That Eos guy's avatar.



So homo.