The World Of Steam

28

The Council Of Gold leader made his way through the cold, dark night as the whooshing wind pelted his face without end. Old newspapers littered the rioted streets, flying about freely without a care in the world. Glass fragments were scattered across pavements, accompanied by small puddles of dried blood. A long and dried streak of blood led into a sewer, with there being no corpse in sight. The remnants of a charred corner shop creaked ever so slightly in the wind, looking like the entire frame was going to collapse if the breeze was any faster. With his hands stuck deep into his coat pockets and his collar up as high as it could go, he walked through the empty streets, only having to worry about catching a cold. The night shift police were too busy trying to stop the war to notice a wanted psychopath wandering about within hand's reach. As long as the war raged to distract everyone, he was safe. His only worry was his sworn enemy, Karzen. That man did not give up, whatever was thrown at him. He had to use his most dastardly weapons, his best soldiers. Maybe a giant tank or a kidnapping or two would help. The war had to skyrocket to ensure his victory. Only then would he have the opportunity to snatch away the cure and take it for himself. He walked through a pair of gates into an empty airfield. Abandoned places were certainly useful when you needed to work on a project that needed to be away from prying eyes. No one would dare think of searching a giant empty area. With a war going on, time was the most precious thing that they had. They could not waste any bit of it. He made his way over to a towering pair of doors and reached for the small door that was affixed to the side of the building. Opening it, he entered the dimly lit hangar, his shoes echoing through the silent space as clear as day. The only other sound that was heard was the twisting of a torque wrench. He suddenly called out, still on his course. "Dexton!"

An old, frail, balding man looked up from his work and turned his head towards the visitor as he heard the echoing of his name. He slid down the long ladder and planted his feet onto the floor, showing not one sign of discomfort. He put the wrench away into a toolbox and grabbed a rag, looked at the leader whilst rubbing his hands clean of the slick, black oil. His old shirt was covered in oil and far beyond repair. Half of his face was permanently stained in the black substance and the sliver of a blind eye poked out from the glimmering mess. His demeanour was that of determination, but also of frustration and anger that someone was disturbing his vital work. There was no time to waste with projects like this. Everything had to be armed and ready for use when the time would come. Distractions would cost them the war. Saboteurs were everywhere. They could never allow the fight to lean into their enemy's favour. Not even the slightest tilt. Dexton threw the dirty, oily rag down onto a table and stared, with his wrinkled brow furrowed as the leader walked up to him. The leader stopped close to him.

"How is the progress going?"

"It is ready." Dexton replied, needing no more than those few words. Walking over to a series of switches, he flicked them on one after the other, flooding the hangar with light. The Council Of Gold leader looked up at the sight and smiled.