[Warning for violence, blood, dismemberment and general gross things involving killing a buncha guys.]
“—for too long! For too long those bastards have lived above us, poisoned everything they could get their stinking, filthy mitts on. For too long have they come out of their precious bubbles of mindless consumption to get their kicks, slaughtering whoever they feel like and experimenting on the rest!”
Say what you will about the barbaric nature of the underlanders, when they created an orator, they created an orator. The crowd was worked up to a near frenzy, shouting back with every point made by the man standing on an ad hoc stage of several crates marked ‘danger’. It was rather ironic, really— being too busy opening your mouth to really pay attention to where you stepped.
Brynjarr the Bear Paw was a passionate man. Big, broad, and holding all the fire of a miscreant who felt he was owed entirely more than he was given, he was just smart enough to know what to say to get people to go along with him, and just stupid enough to keep from saying the wrong things to the wrong people. Anyone could host a little anti-Aedolian hate rally down here below the surface of the earth, but Brynjarr the Bear Paw was not interested in being just anyone.
And nor was he.
He was careful, so very careful, to keep a leather cuff bound around both of his wrists, a series of mystical runes burned into the surface and kept stark against the wear and tear of time. It was the only viable way to hide the garish scar of some very slapshod home surgery, after all. The assumption was, whenever someone was stupid enough to go digging around in their arm, remove the chip and gain your absolute freedom.
As if that was all there was to it. As if that was the utter extent to the arm of Aedolis, and once you broke out of the domes and left your chip behind, that was it! Nothing left but open skies and boundless opportunities!
Ungrateful bastards. They wanted so much; food, shelter, safety, comfort, health, escape, entertainment, purpose, order, security— their every wish fulfilled and still the right to throw it all in your face the second you gave it over to them. And then, somehow, shocked to find that such behavior was not to be tolerated. Like Brynjarr himself, who had had a comfortable life in the domes. A wife, a family, a well paying job in the infrastructure of the city. Military pay. High level housing. The chance to seek out and grab whatever opportunity would pass him and his by, and the very real possibility to make it all his own.
But of course, this wasn’t enough. His child had been psychic, a trait picked up during routine bioscans, and been drafted at fifteen. That had been several years ago, of course, and whatever the ultimate fate of the Bear Paw’s child, it apparently had been enough to seize Brynjarr himself with the sudden, inexplicable urge to rebel.
As if he’d been the only one to have a child go through Candidacy. As if he’d been the only one who had to put aside ideas of futures and do their duty. As if it was such a steep price to pay for the continuation of life as they knew it. As if they didn’t owe so much more than one potential member of the military elite. As if only now, because it directly affected him, it was all suddenly so bad and terrible and wrong. And the worst of it all, still, was that Brynjarr believed himself to be in the right. To be safe. To be so far from anyone who could possibly discipline him, he could say or do anything he so pleased.
Spare the rod, spoil the child.
Hypocrite that Brynjarr was, he was happy to take everything he could from Aedolis, refuse to pay up, and then throw it all back as if he’d never wanted it in the first place. The military training had been a great asset, of course. One didn’t typically organize a group of saboteurs without knowing a thing or two about mission parameters and munitions expertise. It was such a waste, all that ability and all that promise flushed down the toilet because someone didn’t like the idea of their child not being wholly theirs.
Erenys Dei was almost tempted to find out the Candidate and send them a fruit basket or some other kind of care package. His own birthgiver was not the “sharing” sort, and while they’d never had a fantastic relationship, it had decidedly cooled post Ren’s graduation. Greedy— as if Ren was somehow less for being part of so much more. But Reitrael didn’t like not being able to bark orders quite the same way as he’d grown accustomed to, and Ren had relished in that fact too much to really put their relationship on the mend.
Yes, a care package was genuinely in order. “Sorry you have such a garbage sire, here’s a few treats to help ease the shame.”
Assuming the kid had even made it that far. For all Ren knew, the spoiled attitude had spilled over to the next generation, and the would-be Candidate was long gone. That wasn’t what mattered, though. What mattered was right here, and what mattered was the right message was sent.
‘Don’t poke the dragon, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.’ Ren smiled at that one, his own thoughts passing against that constant line between himself and his partner of the past two hundred years.
‘Come now, don’t spoil your appetite on junk food.’ he telegraphed back, touching at the massive consciousness he’d been tethered to since he was young and only ninety-nine. Massive. Something bigger than himself. Something much more important than anything else he might have tried to do with his lifespan. A steady reminder that he still had much left to offer.
Which was the whole idea behind the exercise, really. Some low level idiot like Brynjarr wouldn’t be a threat for more than a short while— eventually someone would get to him. But it had been decided that a two-birds-one-stone narrative better suited this particular problem. Brynjarr needed to be dealt with, of course, but the better plan was to make sure no one dared attempt to martyr the traitor after the fact. The fact that this particular mission would decide whether Erenys Dei was still a viable tool was an added bonus.
His medical leave had been something of an odd issue. Pilots didn’t just “retire” without very good reason to do so, and even then, they never completely left the chain of command. There had been a right terror of a young girl, some decades ago… what had been her name? Nivera? Nevana? Nevena, that was right. The Bloody Baroness, a scourge to behold, and she’d retired to hand raise two more bloody heirs to her particular throne. Ren had the pleasure of working with her once, and if he remembered correctly the woman now spent much of her time devising training regimens for the ATC.
Ren’s own absence from duty hadn’t been so easily explained. He didn’t have any two for one deals, but rather a failing of genetics. Two hundred years of service, and it all caught up with him in the span of a few short months, despair eating away at him no matter how much he’d tried to shut it out. It was the curse of his kind, and for a time Ren preferred that. Surviving resonance was a tricky game, and the only one tricky enough to live beyond the bond of resonance had been Ren’s birthgiver, and… and if surviving this meant he was like Reitrael Dei, well. Ren would have rather died with some integrity intact.
That particular view had been skewed, of course. Plenty of people fell in love and existed outside of it, and it didn’t make them terrible people for not wasting away. Jain, sweet Jain, had been crucial to this realization. She was living testimonial, after all, and there was no universe under any star or sun that would make him lump Jain in with Reitrael. It was… an impossibility. Nonsensical to the highest degree, the kind of eldritch nightmare people loved to couch in vague language to better grasp the sheer madness of it all. It was thanks to Jain that Ren had gotten the courage to branch out again, to try and hold on again, to let fate be fate and let…
Well. Let the coins fall where they would. Hah.
Progress reports filed each week had shown an incline, and Ren had finally reached the point where it was time to test just how extensive the degradation to his abilities was. And so, he found himself here: on the outskirts of some lesser used tunnel of Teinar’s, tracking a traitor to his hideout where they sought to stockpile weapons and bombs and other such laughable ideas of overthrowing Aedolis with less than fifty men.
As if Aedolis was that weak. Even with soldiers like Ren, Aedolis would never be that weak. Because even soldiers like Ren were leagues ahead of anyone else. And it was high time someone reminded Brynjarr the Bear Paw of exactly that.
The mission was a delicate one. Eliminate the targets— Brynjarr and his associates, a thin lad aptly named Twig and a psychotic sonofabitch named Meino. The stipulation being that none of it could be traced back to Aedolis itself. There was the armistice to consider, after all, and any misstep on Ren’s account could bear the weight of an international crisis. It was why Arcturus wasn’t with him (aside from the fact that Arcturus was way too big to fit in the tunnels), it was why Ren’s flight suit had been exchanged for a void suit more common amongst interplanetary hitmen. It was why, instead of staring down the barrel of a rifle and waiting for the opportune moment to pull the trigger, Ren was at the back of the crowd, calling out “here, here”s in time with the rest of the crowd.
The mission was a delicate one, and required a delicate touch. The rally had gathered quite the audience, just enough for there to be plenty on the sidelines looking suitably pensive about being quite so loud about their opinions of the country aboveground. Ren cast a sidelong glance at one such individual, a reedy old man with wide eyes and enough scars to know his life had not been an easy one.
Touching his surface thoughts was almost too easy. A veteran of the war, he remembered what it was like with the full brunt of Aedolian hostility raining down on the daily. He remembered to fear blackened skies, rife with cover for silent wings and sudden death, the crackle of lightning or the slow, agonizing sensation of having your very blood boiled inside of you. He remembered the dragons, great and powerful and spewing torrents of fire from mechanical maws, titanium plated claws raking at the earth and taking enemy soldiers skywards before dropping them like one might brush flour from their hands after baking.
It was only too easy to pull on those surface memories, to bring up the old fear, the deep, rattling unsettling knowledge that if this all were to succeed, if Brynjarr got his way, if this group was allowed to leave this little cave in the middle of nowhere—
W͙͔̱e̝̺’̷͕l̮̘͕̙̣l̛̪̮̼ ̱͎͈̭̫̥͖͠ḓ́i̲͇̙͔͖e̶̠,̱͈̹̩ ͎͕̞ọ̖͙h͙̰͍͉ ̷͈̲͓̤̮g̛̞̙͍̤̞̤o̱̪̤͍̟d̩̻͎͝ w̴͕e̦̻͡’̷̯l̸̳̞̺͎̬͙l͈̝̲͖͓̕ ͖̥̯̰á̼̪͙ͅl͔̼̼̭̻l̘͓̘̞ ͟d̴͍i̩e͖̩̮͎͙̲,̝̤͖̞̟͍̮ ȩ̜͈̩̬̻v͎̠͓̞̥e̞͓r̼̹̮̞͎y̷̘̣͍o̱̖͍͠n̨̯̗̤͖͖ẹ̠͎̤ ̪̖ẖ̲̲̫e̩̱͍͉̻r͈͡e̞̻͝ ̹͍͖̹̼̗i̗̥̺̖͎̱͈͞s̨̙̫ g̗͙̝ͅo̴i҉̝n҉̲͇̥̤̰ͅg̝̳͟ͅ ̢̜̼̱͇̹ͅt̶o̬̖͚̜͎̻̭ ̲̻̀d̗̮̭̳͍͈̲͡i̮e҉̹,̜͉̟̤ ͟ṭ̡͎̪̼͉ͅh̺̙̬̭͜e̡̝̰̣̹y͙̟͚̝ͅ’̭r̘e̟ ̕g͖̜̤͖̼͈͞o͇̺̺̬̝̳i̮̘̭̬n͎͇̰͍g̱̟̜̹̬̘͙͝ ͕͓̣̜̝̲ṭ̗̬͓͓͓o̤̗̩ ̜̠̼̟̗͔̪k̜̣̭̟i̪l̟͉͕l̙̹̯̮̣ ͙͖͙͇̕u̝͕̞̩͉̭s҉̘̖̪̻͓̳ ̷͖̙͉̯̰̠̖a̶̗͓͚͖l̲̖̙̗ͅl̠̳̦͇̤ͅ,̰͕̤̤̀ͅ ̠̙t̻̤͈̙͙͓̞h̻̦͈̤e͔͙̦̥̕y̻̫̖̼ͅ’̞̘̠̼r̭͖͈̭̣̺̯͢ḙ̖̯͔͍̰͔ ͓͕̹g̷̫͎̗̮̜͓̖o͙̤̖̯̫̘͠iͅn̰̫̠̦g͓̘̱̼̝ ͈͇̟̖͜t͙̥̦̺o͕͉̦̲̬ ͍̠m͇̻u̝̗̺̰̩͘ŗ̭̻̻͚d҉͈̱̥ȩ͚͇̙͓̦r̻ ̫͈͚͘u͍͍̰̹s͠ ͙͕̦͓̼̟a̲̹͖̼̟̹l̺̰̻̲l̘ ̢a̜̣̯̹͞ͅn͏͖d͖̤ ̨̬͎̗̠̣t͙̠͖͉ͅh͎̺̱̻e̜̣̗̺̳y̮̝’͕̫̪̟̟r͏͇̬̙e̶̥̬̼͎̥̲ ͉̖̜͚̜̪̯g͓͍͍o͕̥̣̮͔̣i̪̮̯ng̼̭̼̱̯̰̝ ̶͎̖̮t̫̝̼o҉̯̣ ͏̱̰̜d̝o̦̖̖̺̼̕ ì̞͖̻̻t̴̗͉̟̯͈ ͏͎̯̤ş̫̣̹͍͎͈̜l̰̻̼̮o̮w,̶̘̯̘̰̤̤ t͕̩̲̖̀h̰̺̗͍̤̯͓́e͖͎̺̘y̱̤̮͝’̳͓̹͝r̢é̦ ̺͇̦͘ͅg̱o̩̯͈í͕ng̹̹ ̹͓̜̱t͚o͖͇͚̟͇̝͎ ͎̱͍d͍̗̱o̬͙̩ ̸i̟̦͖̗t̷̮̠͓͈ ̵̮͈͕̫s̥̰ơ̪̹̦̙̳̭ ͖̳we̳͇̣͚̥̞’͔̲͖r̰̻̮͎e̪͕̰͉̣͜ͅͅ ̲̦͎͖̬͎ͅs͙̲̞̭̜c̩̩͔̀r̭̬e̳̲̹̜̦̫ͅa̺m̱̯̫̫̝͉i҉̲̝̞̺̖̫̼n̦̬͓̞̩̟ͅg͏͔̮̝̲,̼́ ̹̖͔͓͠ạ̢̖̟͔͉l̸̝̣l̴̪̟̗̰̘̤̱ s͚̣̱̼̕ͅc̻̫͖̭̦͢r͏̫e̶̫̤a̦̻͎mi҉̜̼̖͚ͅͅn͚̼̣͕̞̣g̟͉̙̩͓̰̕,͙͔͜ ̰̮̞̖́e̯͚̗̞̙ͅv̤̪͉̟̘̭͘e̳̘̺͔͢r̷y̨̯̯͔o̲̗̻̬n͚̰͓͚͓e͖ ̦̩̼s͍̖̞̻͕͘c̻̲͇̟̬̮r̲̫̪͞e͙͇̗ͅa͉͖̟͈͎̯̙m̪̰͔i͕̺͇̣̯͓͜ng̺̥̹
Once the flame was lit, it spread quickly. The reedy man jerked forward, trying to shout over the collective din of the crowd, and every time he caught someone’s attention, Ren pushed his influence just a little further. Let them feel what the old man was feeling, let them feel the cold grip against their heart at the idea that what they were doing, what was happening right this second, all of it spelled nothing but their doom. It was enough to set several into a panic, and as people tended to do when in a panic, they ran for any exit they could find, wild eyed and yet completely unseeing. It was crucial none of them saw it, the way several of those ‘danger’ crates had been pushed just close enough to nearby lamps, the way those lamps had just the right precarious positioning, the way there was just the right coil of rope at just the right height to be tripped up…
Ren’s back was turned when the explosion hit, eyes fixed instead on where Brynjarr and his lackeys stood, dumbfounded as the initial shock wore off and the cloud of dust and dirt faded. Several bodies were piled up with the rubble of the main tunnel, and as people screamed and turned from the cut off exit, they were pressed back towards the secondary, smaller one. The one that led out into unsafe, unused tunnels. The one that Brynjarr and his were standing right in front of.
No amount of shouting could be heard over the crowd, so desperate they were to get away from where the explosion had struck and the rock had cracked. Lamps swung wildly from their ropes, setting shadows moving against walls in sharp, threatening gestures. Gestures that soon twisted in every mind to be predatory faces, like any minute now would see each individual shade twist forms to reveal a Pilot there, armed and grinning and ready to take their revenge on those who dared to speak so many ills of paradise. The fear was frothing now; no one in the assembled group wasn’t dripping with it, and with every spike of terror and panic, Ren had all the more ammunition to use.
T̲̞̝̠h̩̖e̫͙̺y̖̲̞'̦̙̟̬̰͖ͅr̬̙e̩͕̤͇͙͖̳ ͔̞̺͚̳h͓̱̥̫͔͈e̖͍̠̣̠r̫̺e̩͕̟̫̱̗͙̮ ̤͉t̺ͅh͓͓̹e̟̩̱̤ͅy̬̭͕͙͎̖'͔̣̯̝̘̦̺̗ṟ̯͖e͓͖̤̗ ̦h͕̘̰̭̮e̼͎̰̜̼͖͚̼r̝͔̞͔͕͈͙e̘͎̲̺̼̱͇̰̘ ͚̼t̤̙̺̠͚̺̜͇h̼e̼̯͉y̲̦'̭͓͈͕̠ͅr̤̥e̹̳̹̟͉̯̬̟̮ ̝͎̳͙H̻̤̦̺̺͍͖͚E̱̩͉̥̘Ṟ̙͓͉E̲͉̻̱̞͖͕̪̮ ̱̗̻Ṭ͔̟͓̗̞̦̟H͇E͕̩̣̬̰̰Y̪͇̣̺̖͇̳̥'̰̩͇̳̣R̫̳̖E̬͈̲̥͚͓̭ ̲̳͉̦H̫̥̭̬E̙̟̝R̺̠͔͉̗E̦̟͓͕ ̩̤͖̟͚̦͓ͅT͕̤͚H̗̩͈̘̤̭̪E͈̲̫Y̜̟͔̦̩'̻̮͍̘̰̳̗R̞̫͚͖̝͚E̮͖̻͙̣̦ ̲̗̠H̳̦̯̗̼̠̣͉E̘̲̰R͔̬̩̲E̥̙͚̭̺̲͙͓
Nothing could have kept them from running. The stampede was inevitable, and it was all Brynjarr could do to get out of the way as the entirety of the camp spilled out into the darkened unknown tunnels, into the pitch black where the only thing they could feel was the scrape of rock against their hands and the pounding screams in their ears. Meino wasn’t nearly so lucky— he was caught in the flood of bodies before he could make it clear, yanked from where he had stood and pushed along into the tunnels, caught underfoot and then trampled in the crowd’s sheer desperation to ESCAPE.
And then it was just Brynjarr and Twig left. The echoing shrieks still carried down the tunnel, spilling out into the little cave where the two humans and Ren still stood. At first it didn’t seem as if either had noticed him just yet, so far back against the wall as Ren was and them still in shock as to what had just happened. The lamps continued to flicker and sway, and it was only after one agonizingly long moment that Brynjarr turned and spotted him.
It had only been a couple years, after all, since Brynjarr had last been a part of Aedolian culture and all the publicity it involved. And a couple years back had seen quite a number of squadron stunts following the games. And Ren was not exactly the sort you’d ever forget seeing.
Twig was the first to recognize Ren, or at least he was the first to react, grabbing for his gun and spraying bullets wildly across the cave without really taking the care to aim. A rookie mistake from someone far too young and under-trained to know how to keep his cool, and a rookie mistake that cost both humans their benefit of sight as the lamps were hit and summarily extinguished.
Ren hadn’t been expecting the sudden hailstorm of fire, however, and had ducked down to avoid catching lead in several vital points. The sudden blackness was jarring, but a forceful blink and Ren opened his eyes to the barest hint of vision— a black and white frame of reference with the brightness turned all the way down. Not detailed in any fashion, but certainly functional, and more than enough to catch sight of his targets in the gathered gloom.
Brynjarr was fighting with Twig now, cussing wildly in the dark as he wrestled for the gun, trying to rip it from itchy trigger fingers and finding Twig was utterly unwilling to part with his only line of defense. Trapped in a dark cave with a monster, Ren could hardly blame the kid. And certainly not when Ren pulled at those deep dark fears that every human being possessed, the fear of the dark and the unknown, the fear of being unable to see a threat that you knew was there, and as Ren pulled the kid fought all the harder for control of the rifle, until Brynjarr lost his temper and slammed the butt of it into Twig’s head. The blow itself might not have killed him, but the crack from his landing spoke volumes, and Ren saw the much slighter body go limp even from where he crouched in the shadows.
And then there was one.
Brynjarr took deep, gulping breaths, and slowly began to ease back towards the far cave wall, and every step he took had Ren following at a slow, silent pace. The human’s breathing was ragged, harsh, full of adrenaline and sweat and hammering heartbeats as he struggled to reload while blind. But even a trained soldier like Brynjarr the Bear Paw couldn’t do it perfectly, not with zero light to be his guide and the edges of his own panic catching up to him. It made for clumsy mistakes, and those clumsy mistakes were all it took for Ren to cross over the ad hoc stage, over the prone body of little Twig, right up into Brynjarr’s face to deliver the blade of his combat knife to the human man’s throat.
It wasn’t a quick death, nor a quiet one. The shock had Brynjarr gasping around the blood that was waterfalling in and out of his throat, choking and bubbling at the mouth as little air pockets fought to escape. The gun was dropped, clattering to the stony ground along with the magazine Brynjarr had been trying to load, both the human’s hands at his neck as if somehow that would keep him from suffocating on his own blood. But it didn’t, and after a few agonizing moments, he did, Brynjarr the Bear Paw passing with one final rattling gasp to a world that would never hear it.
Ren let out a sigh, then, rolling his shoulders as he knelt down to collect his proof; Twig and Meino didn’t really require confirmation, but Brynjarr did, and fingerbones took quite a bit to get through even with specialized tools for the job. Ren plucked each one and settled them into a large plastic bag, rolling that all up and tucking it safely in his pack for easy transport back to the dome. He couldn’t wait for that— even this had left him feeling drained, the strain of twisting so many minds to their darkest thoughts catching up quick now that it was over. Besides that, he really needed to get out of here before the cave collapsed. He could hear the rattle of smaller rocks falling from where they had settled, more dust and dirt kicked up as the pebbles skittered across the ground and—
In the completely wrong direction. Ren hissed, teeth bared just as something cracked and the cave was filled with a sudden blinding light, the flare thrown right into his face and stunning him for the barest moment. It was all the moment Twig needed, because next thing Ren knew, he was on his back, sharpened rock digging into his spine through his suit as the kid tackled him to the ground, another sharpened rock in his hand and eyes wide through a torrent of bright red blood. Ren brought his arms up just in time to catch Twig’s wrist before it got to finish the strike and cave Ren’s skull in, the impact shaking the rock from Twig’s grip and sending it slamming just shy of its mark.
Ren howled as searing pain shot across his cheekbone, black blood welling up faster than he could manage while pinned down as he was. He struck upwards, hard and fast into Twig’s ribcage, striking at weakpoints to lessen Twig’s ability to keep him down. Finally, the kid seemed to cave, and Ren twisted his hips, hooking one long leg around Twig’s neck and snapping it hard towards the ground, rolling both men with it until Ren was on top. Using his height to his advantage, Ren put his hands around Twig’s throat and squeezed, wheezing hard through the kicked up dust and the blood that dripped into his mouth. Twig, like any animal caught in a predator’s grip, fought like hell. He scratched and hit and clawed at Ren’s face, and Ren bit down hard on one such offending hand even as the other found its mark, thumb hooking against the curve of Ren’s eyesocket and digging in hard.
Both of them shrieked in agony, both of them muffled from their respective positions, but in the end there was no real contest. A man could live with his eye pulled out. A man could not live with his larynx crushed. Twig gave a pathetic little squeak beneath Ren’s hands, before a soft crunch finally ended it. Panting hard and clutching at his right eyesocket, Ren sat back in the inky blackness, fighting to get enough air into his own lungs as his hearts struggled to keep up with the sudden wash of activity. It took several minutes before he could even fathom looking around again, his one socket squeezed shut as he searched the dust for a telltale orb. Gently, so very gently, Ren retrieved his own eyeball, before staggering to his feet and making his way out the remaining tunnel.
The screaming had died down somewhat, but the terrain was tricky— even without the trampled bodies underfoot, the passageway had only ever meant to be a means of emergency escape. Not that it mattered any, because there was simply no scenario imagined where at the other end of that emergency escape tunnel, a dragon’s maw stood open and waiting. Ren might not have been able to see so great, but he could smell it just fine— the tangy odor of burnt fat and seared flesh, the thick oiliness to the air as he grew closer to the surface.
‘Arcturus,’ Ren telegraphed, weariness sinking into every syllable of thought, ‘mission accomplished. I’m coming up.’
‘All parties confirmed neutralized?’
‘Affirmative. Targets down, Bear Paw collected.’
The open air was a relief, even polluted and disgusting air as it was. Ren moved to where Arcturus stood waiting, and after a quick patch job for his eye, the elf pulled his flight helmet on over his head and hoisted himself into the saddle.
‘I take it from your general demeanour that medical attention is required.’ came a dry sort of comment, and Ren couldn’t help but laugh at the not so subtle quip.
“Nah, I thought I’d just sleep it off, you know,” he said, lifting out a secondary bag and carefully scooping his vagrant eyeball into it. That nestled in with Brynjarr’s fingers, Ren took hold of the saddle, and braced for the takeoff that would get them home.
And braced for whatever getting home would mean.
FINAL ASSESSMENT:
MEDICAL LEAVE SUSPENDED.
REINSTATEMENT INTO ACTIVE DUTY PERSONNEL SUBMITTED, REINSTATEMENT GRANTED.
ORDERS AS FOLLOWS:
PILOT NOBLE ERENYS DEI REPORT TO NEVERMORE HEADQUARTERS IN RYUN FOLLOWING MEDICAL TREATMENT FOR INJURIES SUSTAINED NO LATER THAN SEVEN (7) DAYS TIME. WILL REJOIN RYUN RAVENS SQUADRON IN PERMANENT PLACEMENT AS TACTICAL ADVISER AND MISSIONS SPECIALIST DIRECTLY UNDER PILOT ROYAL KEIKO ZOMU.
