World In Turmoil

13: Yarnada

To the far west of the smoldering ruins of Gersanto. Across miles of lush savanna, and flowing lakes of a cool dark blue nature.
Over bridges and farm cottages.
Atop a high windswept mountain, that jutted out of the flat landscape, looking like a great citadel.  Its sides peppered with trees and bushes, making it seem like an old moss covered stone.

On its peak, rested the great city of Yarnada. The second capital of the world. The main highway for off-world trading, and the like.

Multitudes of huge fanciful buildings stretched into the heavens like the skyscrapers of old. Interspersed with smaller structures and homes. Everything was coloured in the spectrums of white, light green, and pale blue.

A near mirror image of our dear departed Gersanto.
Left smouldering off in the distance like a forgotten puppy.

In the middle of the vast sprawling metropolis, was the Prima Spacia.
The central spaceport of the planet. The hub of off-world trading for continents around.

It was huge, shaped as an octagon, that sloped down to the center, where another huge octagonal shape resided.

The HelleVator. A massive elevator that transported spaceships to the underground hangar bays.
And also, took travellers to the Core of the city.

To the Grand Lower.

The subterranean part of the city, that stretched out for miles underground like the fabled Dwarven Fortresses of legend.
A place filled with High-Quality corporate enterprise and valuable plots of suburban bliss.

It was a paradise below the watch of the sun.

Day and night have come and gone,
and yet within here,
light has never shon.

For worlds and places have come and gone,
but we 'o we,
shall forever live on.

A famous quote chiseled into a plaque, that hung prominently above the entrance to the FreeRoam mercenary barracks. A one stop shop for skilled combatants and veteran pilots. With odd values to-boot.

The double-door was slightly ajar, and George Turingwall, with a composed hand, pushed it open and strode in.
His light green police trench coat flapped politely as his boots greeted the hard onyx floor.

The place was quiet. Terrifyingly quiet.
Like a dark slime, it covered the whole underground city. News of Gersanto had spread. People were either preparing to leave, or preparing for Armageddon.

When the city was first conceived the idea of being this far underground was a sanctorius thought. But, sadly the harsh reality of being deep down in a hole while the bad guys waited outside, was too obvious now.

Either get starved out, or burned out. Or worse... sealed in... forever.

Now hundreds of people made their way quietly and orderly up either the grand escalators, or via the HelleVator.

George paused for a second, drinking in the silence. And noticed a petite young woman with a bun hair-due and a tired face walk in via a side door. She glared at George as if to ask what he wanted at a time like this, then, remembering her trade, walked over to a small receptionist desk, and began to boot up the little computer underneath.

"I'm sorry," she began raising her face up in an impetuous manner, and continuing to glare at George, "No one is available right now."

George tilted his head down, and looked back at her with a bored expression. Eyes half closed.
"Really?"

"No one's mad enough to pick that fight sir." She said, sitting down and beginning to type gingerly on her keyboard.

Almost as if on cue, there was a rustle of boxes and metal as a man in a red jacket and brown Ravee pants sauntered in through the same side door with a box of equipment labeled 'MD's Stuff'. He looked at George through suspicious eyes, closed to little slits.
"Nope, sorry boss. Not happening today." he said dismissively, his eyes turning to the petite receptionist.

"What's not happening?" George said, still keeping his bored expression, jaw slack, eyes half closed. Mixing in a tone of sarcasm.

The man turned, toward George, and furrowed his brow as if the answer was obvious,
"Vehicle repair man, vehicle repair! I'm the greatest technician you've ever seen!"
He said, leaning forward, his free hand going to his chest in a mocking bow.

George's face turned upside down, into a one of radical amusement. His eyes screwed up, and his mouth opened wide in a sparkly toothed grin as he began to snigger to himself.
"You're the worst techie I've never seen! Haha. You dimwit what do you think I'm here for?" He responded.

The man regarded George's sniggering with a mild distaste. Straightened up, and then walked over to the receptionist, gave her a kiss on the cheek, which she returned passionately, and began to walk out.

As he did, he stopped next to George, and in a stunning feat, threw the box up into the air, spun backwards, raised a leg, and planted a solid kick in George's side. Then caught the box as it fell back down.

George buckled over, and crashed to the floor. His eyes wide, expression blank as he stared back up at the man.

Mark glared back at him, not flinching a muscle,
"Names Mark by the way. Mark Destructo."
He then turned, and walked out with a step, that followed some unheard rhythm.

The woman then stood up, lifted the small computer up folding it into her arms, and walked over to George. Still stunned on the floor.

She knelt down, careful not to lose balance with the little computer. Then looking into his eyes, said,
"That was one of the greatest FreeRoam mercs you could of gotten. Maybe if you weren't such a smartass you could of seen sarcasm when you heard it."
She then stood up. Steadied herself, gave George an added little kick to the stomach for good measure, and proceeded after Mark. Leaving the door open, and turning off the lights as she left.

George lay there in astonishment for a while. Before shutting his eyes from the dark gloom of the room, a single stripe of light lay across his chest, coming through the open door.
He relaxed his body, and said to himself in a faint whimpering whisper,
"And Mom said this was a safe job..."