February 28th 2022, 2:40PM
Kiovograd, Velkaristan.
A traitor had been found within the highest ranks of the military. The whole debacle began when Velkaristan’s neighbor country, Atlantea, was outraged that Velkarstani naval forces conducted an attack against their operations in the Amaeris Sea. After initial investigations, the Velkaristan High Council discovered that someone had ordered the Velkaristan Royal Navy’s Seventh Strike Group to launch an assault on the group, leaving an aircraft carrier heavily damaged, crippling two of its destroyer escorts, killing 10 sailors and injuring another 25. A total disaster, on an international and political scale, bringing tensions to an all time high. In the weeks following, the High Council, Velkaristan’s primary governing body, launched an investigation into the incident, which predictably stalled at least until someone found the traitor had made a critical error signing his real name on an official document.
As the sun bore down on the dry, wintery roads, A Velkaristani Government owned Leclerc 54X, rolled to a stop in the driveway of the Military Headquarters, directly adjacent to the staircase leading to the main doors. The passenger side rear door opened and from it, stepped Supreme General Landon Sabourne. He stood straight up to his full height, dressed in his military service uniform, which kept him warm despite the frigid temperatures outside.
Landon sighed sharply, his breath visible as a cloud in the icy air. He didn’t notice the car pull away, his mind elsewhere. The High Council had waited long enough, and so had the others. The others of course were the ones who shared the supreme rank with him. The Supreme Generals, Admirals and Air Marshals, they were known as. These were Alexey Kobylov, one of the only arctic foxes in history to bear the rank of Supreme Air Marshal, Supreme Admiral Frenando Ramos, a common red fox who was the oldest of the group, Eduard Dupont, a common gray and the other of the two Air Marshals, then there were the two tibetan foxes, General Xavier Denslington and General Marcel Braddock, then General Adam Stearn a red like Ramos and Sabourne but with a lighter shade of orange fur, and finally the other of the two Admirals, Keenan Torrez, an antisocial fennec. In total, there could only be 2 Air Marshals, 2 Admirals and 4 Generals at one time, making the total number of supreme ranking officers.
The Federal Building was the primary government and military headquarters, five stories tall, situated atop Ten Acre hill, in the heavily guarded Overseer Park across the Kiovo River from downtown of Velkaristan’s capital, Kiovograd. The location gave an unobstructed view of the city’s skyline from the building’s fifth floor. From the windows, it was an incredible view. Skyscrapers stood against a background of a cloudless blue sky and snow capped mountains, with the sun glinting off their glass windows. The triangular pylons of the cable-stayed Kasimov Bridge were in the distance spanning the mouth of the Kiovo.
The unrelenting overcast weather was finally gone almost as though it foreshadowed the conclusion of a political fiasco.
The traitor, on the other hand, had turned out to be the one Sabourne had suspected of betraying everyone, from the very start. But, this had been discovered a week earlier, and none of his fellow military officials knew of it because he had sent out an order to withhold the verdict, just to be fully sure that the traitor was indeed who Sabourne thought he was.
The two soldiers standing guard, flanking the main doors saluted the general upon seeing him before letting him through.
The huge doors closed behind him, gently returning to the closed position thanks to the hydraulic door closer, before the latch bolt clicked back into its position as well. On the other side lay the modern art deco lobby which always somehow impressed him, a large flag was painted on the far wall above the elevators, a red rectangle with three yellow stars in the upper left hand corner. But, he couldn’t pay much attention. The council and his colleagues were waiting for him.
Within minutes, the elevator arrived on the fifth floor and immediately, as its doors opened, Landon was greeted with the top floor lobby area, where down the hall and to the left, was the meeting chamber.
How could anyone in their right mind betray their oath and abuse their power to destroy international relations, with a neutral country no less?
Sabourne paused for a moment to take a deep breath before removing his peaked general’s hat, putting it under his arm and entering.
Almost immediately, Air Marshal Kobylov began expressing his disdain, in his signature heavy russian accent. “You better have a good reason for dragging us here, Sabourne. We’ve waited long enough.”
“Don’t fret about it Alex, There’s no need to. The wait is well worth it.” Sabourne replied, indifferent.
Kobylov sighed, but before he could speak again, Denslington, one of the two tibetans, interrupted him.
“I hope you haven’t wasted our time with this escapade. We gave you one extra week, and I expect that you have something admissible.”
From the shadows came a voice, from them emerging Keenan Torrez, the fennec. “Of course he does! The traitor is very likely going to be revealed. Isn’t he, Sabourne?”
Sabourne feigned a smile, but in his eyes, Torrez could see the discontent. “Yes, and you’ll be pleased to know who he is.”
Torrez, despite his height of a good six feet and two inches, still had to look up slightly to maintain eye contact. He scoffed and turned away, his left eye twitching subtly.
“That is enough.” A voice called from somewhere above. This voice belonged to one of the seven people on the High Council. In the viewing area above where the 8 military officers had gathered, there were seven shadowy figures, foxes of course, but no one could tell their true identity.
“General Sabourne, You have the results of your investigation, yes?” One voice asked.
“I do.”
The seventh voice then said one word. “Speak.”
“Understood. Now, as you may recall, the international incident in the Amaeris Sea was believed to have been orchestrated and masterminded by someone amongst myself and the other generals. Someone could say there is an imposter among us.”
A red fox, similar to Sabourne in age and physical appearance, then entered with a hand truck with three boxes on it. “This is quad star General, Jason D’Leon. He will be joining us, I hope?”
There was silence, and then a female voice was heard. “Very well.” it said.
“Now, over the past two months, I headed the investigation into the incident, and if I’m being honest it completely baffled me. For weeks, the only information I had was that Torrez and Ramos were the only two that had access to naval communications and that someone had forged Ramos’s signature on an official document. However, when I discovered that Torrez did not have an alibi for that period of two weeks, it all made sense.”
Torrez raised an eyebrow. “So? That doesn’t mean I was not at home.”
“Of course, no one saw you, which makes sense given you requested two weeks of leave.”
The fennec sighed and began pacing, making sure to hide his relief.
Sabourne glanced at him, before resuming. “Anyhow, It’s interesting how the traitor managed to pull off their plan and get away with a forged signature, only to completely give themselves away by using their real signature on the document to clear the attack order, not to mention the fact they tried, and failed, to frame a fellow military official. But wait, there’s more. I had several of his accomplices arrested, all of whom confessed and testified immediately.”
Dupont, the shortest of the group, joined the conversation. “Still, That doesn’t tell us who the traitor is.”
A sinister grin spread across Sabourne’s face. “That’s what I’m getting to. The fact still remains however, whoever tried to set one of us up, failed in covering up their tracks.”
Braddock and Denslington looked at each other and then Sabourne, somewhat surprised, but not looking any less judging. Of the two of them, Braddock was the one to speak up, motioning to the handtruck with his left hand. “So, there’s a traitor who’s fucked himself, pardon my language, by trying to set one of us up?”
Sabourne gave no reaction. “Don’t forget that he also used his real signature to sign the clearance document, and that several people who were part of his scheme ratted him out. Now, inside those boxes,” he pointed to the hand truck, “Is all the evidence I need to prosecute the treacherous parasite, not just for this act of treason. Oh yes, it goes back two years.”
Torrez seemed to be far more nervous than he usually was. But, Sabourne did not acknowledge it, instead walking to the hand truck and tapping the box sitting on top of the other two.
“In this one box, there’s enough evidence to prove that Admiral Ramos–”
“That’s preposterous!" Ramos broke in, his sharp Spanish accent cutting the air like scissors cutting paper. "There’s no way I would even think to betray my oath and my nation. How can you accuse me!”
Well, Ramos had been set up to take the fall, even if he had been a prime suspect at first.
“You didn’t let me finish, Ramos. It’s enough evidence to prove that you were who was to be framed.”
Ramos’ hazel eyes widened, in surprise and shock.
“The traitor is Torrez.”
The fennec froze and whirled around, his ears tensing and tail bristling with anger. “What! Are you crazy!? Ramos is clearly a traitor, I’m being framed here!” He exclaimed, pointing first to Ramos and then to himself.
“And that’s what you wanted us to think.” Kobylov said flatly, still standing at ease, on his side of the table.
Then, Stearn began, beginning to pace up and down the room. “Torrez, everyone knows evidence and testimony do not lie. From what I can see here, it looks like you left behind a mile long list of it in your desperation to shift suspicion onto somebody else. Plus, you yourself were betrayed by your own co-conspirators.”
Meanwhile, D’Leon, Braddock and Sabourne were sifting through the contents of the boxes. Sabourne listing off the documents he’d retrieved from the boxes, tossing them on the table in the room, each of them signed with a poorly done forgery of Ramos’ signature, one of them done unmistakably in Torrez’ handwriting. One document however, bore his actual signature.
Naval Combat Protocol A-77R.
“A transcript of a radio message you sent to the strike group," Sabourne tossed the folder on the table in the center of the room. “Combat Directive 0-421, signed with this pathetic forgery. A sail order for the Arcadius, again, the same pathetic forgery. There’s more signed with this false nonsense, but the one that screwed you over, was Naval Red Alert Protocol A-77R. Do you know what that means? It means engage on sight, leave no survivors.”
There were 8 items removed from the box, now on the table.
Torrez huffed furiously, his fur and tail bristling, his hands balled into fists.
The General sighed again, and then began to explain. “Maybe if you didn’t screw up trying to set up Ramos to take the fall instead of you, and signing the A-77R form with your name You’d have gotten away with it."
“Fuck you–.” It was all Torrez managed to say before Sabourne cut him off.
“Ooh, one more thing, I also discovered that it was you who was behind the attack on our motorcade a few weeks ago. Remember? You tried to have the Captain of the Arcadius assassinated. The goons you sent after us? Well, I can tell you, most of 'em were gunned down, though not before they wounded the captain. He survived, made a full recovery and testified against you the moment he was fit for questioning.”
Sabourne began pacing back and forth, both disappointed and disgusted with Torrez. "Only advice I can give you is, the next time you want to assassinate someone or frame your fellow generals, maybe don’t make stupid mistakes or, send thugs that would rat out their employer the first chance they got to save their sorry ass, to do your dirty work for you. Oh, but that’s right, there won’t be a next time, will there?”
Torrez’s anger reached the boiling point, and he lunged towards the taller fox. “Alright you fucking twit, come at me then!” But before he could lay a hand on Sabourne, Kobylov and Braddock grabbed either of his arms and restrained him. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, you bastard! You won’t live to see another day, Sabourne, you hear me! I will end you!” He shouted, fighting the hold Highbridge and Braddock had on him, both of whom, despite being quite strong, struggled to restrain the slimmer, but heavier Torrez.
Sabourne stared him down, getting within inches of Torrez’s snout, the menacing purple eyes boring into the traitorous brown ones. “I ended you. You’re the one facing the firing squad, not me.” He hissed, being extra ominous.
Right at that moment, the Velkaristan National Police, and Federal Enforcement Agency operatives, entered the chamber, taking Torrez into custody.
Colonel Laurent, a military police officer in charge of the arresting group, walked over to him, and in a monotonous and professional tone and recited the one sentence no enlisted officer or soldier in the Velkaristan Armed Forces or even an ordinary citizen would ever want to hear.
“Keenan Torrez, You are under arrest for treason of the highest order, you are ineligible for trial and you will be executed at dawn tomorrow. You face the firing squad, unless requested otherwise.”
Torrez continued to try and resist, his attempts futile, and was handed over to the police before being taken away out of the room by two officers, accompanied by Laurent.
“No! Let me go! I’m being framed!” He shouted in defiance, as he was taken farther down the hallway.
Before Laurent left, he turned back to Sabourne. “You didn’t tamper with any of the evidence, yes?”
He nodded. “No, I’ve got a car waiting to have it taken to police headquarters. I will make sure it gets there.”
As Laurent left, Sabourne turned back to face his fellow generals, and Denslington was looking at him, between glances as he fiddled with his medals on his uniform. “You don’t have a car waiting, do you?”
A chuckle escaped him. “Yes, though it’s not an official one technically, I left one here yesterday. I’ll be using it instead.”
Denslington shrugged. “Very well.”
Meanwhile, Kobylov had walked up alongside. “Don’t mind him, he’s just relieved that you didn’t accuse him.”
A sigh came from Sabourne. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Shrugging, Kobylov went to leave the room. “It doesn’t matter, you did a great job exposing Torrez’s treachery, just make sure you don’t forget the evidence.”
Landon smiled. “That won’t be a problem. I’ll see you soon.”
With the business here now finished, the only thing left to do was pack up the car and head out.
In the parking garage waited a 2008 Mayland Ambassador GTS. It was a brilliant car, but it didn’t belong to him, instead it was his brother’s car, lended to him because his daily driver, a battered Westminster SUV, had jumped the timing and bent several valves, and left the car unusable, and very likely unsaveable.
D’Leon stopped short of the car while Sabourne popped the trunk.
“So, that means I’m on the council’s list to replace Torrez?” D’Leon asked.
“Probably, but the High Council has several other candidates on their list.”
“Won’t they at least consider me?”
Sabourne loaded the first box into the car. “I’m sure they will.”
The lower ranking officer smiled. “Thanks. Will you put in that good word for me then?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll do it when I get the chance. Until then you should just wait.”
The younger fox straightened his coat, stood at attention and saluted. “Understood, thank you sir.”
By this time, Saboune finished loading the boxes into the car, D’Leon took no time noticing before he grabbed the hand truck and walked back to the elevator.
The General watched his subordinate leave and sighed. He had potential, D’Leon, he was one of the most skilled soldiers in the entire armed forces. A natural born leader, empathetic, loyal, brave, courageous. He was probably the best candidate out of anyone on the council’s list to replace Torrez, but disputing the council’s decisions wouldn’t go very far anyway.
Sabourne shut the trunk lid with a gentle slam, walked over to the driver side door, swung it open, and climbed inside. The door shut with a resounding slam, the garage’s walls amplifying it. After some shuffling about in the seat, Landon shoved the key into the ignition, and turned it. The starter motor’s staccato cranking came first, and then like thunder, the V8 followed, its smooth burbling harmony filling the cabin, and the garage around.
Eventually, after navigating the maze of streets, the Mayland scampered its way up the entrance ramp to the highway, its V8 engine bellowing in defiance, joining the traffic effortlessly. Traffic was light, rush hour had ended an hour ago, but it still consisted of the usual regular commuters and commercial and military trucks.
Within 20 minutes, Sabourne arrived at the police headquarters, immediately spotting Colonel Laurent accompanied by his assistant. They didn’t say anything, simply taking the boxes away.
The next morning, Landon was wide awake, for he knew that today, Keenan Torrez would not breathe his last breath. The firing squad had been told to stand down because, late last night, Torrez had revealed that he was merely a pawn in a larger game, and in exchange for his life and witness protection for him and his family, he would tell the government what he knew.
It was on the orders of the council that this execution would be how they faked Torrez’ death.
Sabourned sighed. He had been awake since 5 o’clock in the morning, thanks to the hour and a half drive to the prison. A half hour drive to help a traitorous snake escape execution, it was a total waste of time mentally preparing to kill.
Dawn would be in 20 minutes, the sun was pretty much just about to come above the horizon. Torrez was walking what would have been his last mile by now. The mountains and the conifers that surrounded the prison grew more and more visible as the sun slowly rose. Right as the sun emerged above the horizon, a buzzer sounded and Torrez emerged from the building, in full uniform, his hands in handcuffs and accompanied by two soldiers, either of them clutching an HK G36.
They brought him to the compound, where the other seven of his former fellow military officials stood. He knew they hated him for betraying his country and weaseling his way out of being executed, but since he was a vital asset for the Velkaristan government and that they at least understood that he’d been coerced into treason because his family had been threatened, Torrez didn’t mind it.
Right then, one of the two soldiers that escorted him out of the prison, struck Torrez in the back of the knee with the stock of the rifle, forcing him to kneel. Of course, they likely had no respect for him, but those were their orders.
The fennec raised his head and locked eyes with the red fox towering over him.
“I said I would end you, Landon.”
Sabourne drew his Colt Anaconda revolver, pulled the hammer back with a quiet click and took aim, placing the barrel just short of Torrez’s forehead. Both of them knew the gun was loaded with blanks. If anyone was watching from nearby, hidden out of sight, they’d simply assume Torrez had been executed.
For maximum effect, Torrez would bite down on a pill containing a fast acting anesthetic just before Sabourne ‘executed’ him, which in turn would simulate death via gunshot wound to the head.
“I’ll see you on the other side, Sabourne.” He jeered, taking care to whisper, before biting down on the pill.
Sabourne did the same. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Right then, he pulled the trigger. The hammer flew forward, striking the firing pin.
A resounding bang rang out in the calm of the morning.
Just a bang. No bullet had exited the barrel.
Torrez jarred, the anesthetic kicking in. He fell forward, landing face first into the grass.
Then, as per military tradition, a moment of silence was given, even though Torrez was not dead. But it had to happen, no one knew if someone was watching from the dense forest that surrounded the prison on all sides.
ONE WEEK LATER
Landon jerked awake, his alarm clock blaring, its harsh crow calls tearing up the serenity of the morning. The small timepiece chirped a total of 8 times before a furry fist slammed down on the snooze button, silencing it and sending it falling from the nightstand. The clock’s display read 8:25 as it fell.
“Shit!” Landon hissed, as the clock clattered to the floor.
Another morning, another day.
He rolled onto his back, blinked, and then rubbed his eyes. Home, or technically, his brother’s house. Outside the window, the lake was a mirror, and in it, the slightly blurred reflection of the surrounding conifer forest and mountains, standing against the deep blue sky, basking in the early morning sunlight.
The mornings never got old, peaceful serenity, especially with the distant sounds of the city and the mountain resort-like scenery outside the bedroom window that overlooked the lake behind the house.
The house itself was pretty large, it was built similar to how regular mansions were but it used log and timber details, resulting in something that looked like an enlarged mountain cabin, which evoked a warm, rustic feel. Every house in Mountain Lake Estates was designed like this, an oversized log cabin style mansion. The entire neighborhood consisted of these houses, all built for Velkaristani Government officials or titans of industry.
Landon laid his head back on the pillow, and yawned. It was one thing to be a Supreme General, but it was another for a general to live in a house that didn’t belong to him. Although, he could only dream of having a house like this. A general’s pay was decent, but not enough to sustain this lifestyle.
Landon’s brother, Andrew was not the type to leave siblings hanging, that was for sure. Especially if it was his closest brother.
Unfortunately, the only downside was that he was set up in a bedroom directly next to one that belonged to Andrew’s older son, Aryton, which on occasion, during the night, had muffled but still audible sounds coming from it. These sounds made Landon shudder to think about what might be happening, even if he already knew what was happening.
Regardless, he needed to get up and get ready, it was the end of a week long leave period.
March 7th, 2022 (Caracalian date + time: March 11th, 2022. 5:20PM)
Rural countryside, Caracalia, Panthiri System.
The sunset turned the sky a deepening shade of orange, dusk was in 30 minutes. It didn’t matter, the huge villa was in sight, still relatively far, but it meant the endless oil fields would start to thin out, eventually being replaced by the natural greenery and forests, at least until the plantations that dominated most of the landscape would take all that away.
Karl Von Heislingberg expertly piloted his Mayland Mark V along the unpaved dirt road, but paid attention to the gigantic, growling V8 that sat under the hood, or the speed limit. He needed to get home at all costs, even if he risked being seriously injured. His light athletic clothing did very little to keep him cool, but the adrenalin didn’t let that get in his way.
He had been at the family marina where he kept his yacht, helping with the planning for the new harbor office, when the call came through. Marcel only said it was urgent, but how urgent was it? Did their father’s cancer return? Was he dying? Was he already dead? Was the house burning down? Was someone cooking meth again?
The Mark V came flying up the access road, coming to a halt in the roundabout driveway, its front tires giving a quick screech from the sudden stop. As Karl got out and approached the entrance, the family butler, Mr. Warner was opening the mansion’s doors for him.
“Master Karl, It appears your family needs your presence, it’s imperative.” He said, as they walked into the foyer.
“I already know, Marcel called me. But, thank you anyway.”
The butler smiled and left as Karl went towards the stairs leading to his father’s study. Eventually, Karl reached the third floor where his two older twin sisters, Cheyenne and Camile were walking past.
“Hey, Karl. What’s going on?” Camile asked.
Karl shook his head. “I don’t know, I’ll explain later.”
Now on the third floor, he began walking towards the study. He glanced into Junior’s bedroom, no one in sight. Marcel’s bedroom, still nobody. Rocco’s study, and Harlowe’s bedroom, not a soul.
Alarming.
His paced increased, slowing down upon reaching his father’s study
Upon entering, his father, Ayren was sitting at his desk, examining an open book with a magnifying glass, while Junior was out cold in an armchair and Rocco, laying down on a nearby couch, read a magazine. Marcel on the other hand was in the bathroom apparently.
As it turned out, the urgent matter didn’t concern his father’s health.
“Dad? You called me?”
The elderly Caracal looked up from his desk.
“Ah! Karl!” He exclaimed, startling Junior. “Just who I wanted to see.”
Just as Karl took a breath and before he could say a word, Junior interrupted him, displeased at being awoken so rudely. “Father, do you really have to shout?”
Both Karl and Ayren shot him a slightly dirty look, to which Junior responded with a roll of his eyes.
Then Karl resumed the conversation. “You do realize that you can’t have someone tell me I’m needed urgently, and then not tell me what’s so important. I was worried that your cancer came back.”
His father’s ears twitched. “Oh. Well, my apologies. Yes, I called you here because I’ve got to tell you something.”
Just then, Karl’s mother, an elderly female caracal, entered the room. “I found my father’s old archeology journals and I discovered something. Something big.” She explained.
“And what would that be mother?”
“The Sacred Chalice.”
Everyone within the room and the nearby bathroom snapped to attention, even Marcel, who peeked out from around the bathroom door, shirtless for some reason.
“It’s real?” Everyone asked, almost in unison.
“It’s not confirmed but it is likely,” Ayren began, “and we have a rough idea of where it might be.”
Karl ran his hands over his ears and began pacing up and down the room. “Seriously? That thing? Everyone and their mother is hunting for it and you want to go after it, even after all these years?”
His mother nodded. “Yes. I found has worryingly powerful supernatural properties that could be dangerous. If it falls into the wrong hands the consequences will be immense. So we must retrieve it before it falls into the wrong hands.”
Karl had sat down. “Is that why you called me up here?” he asked, begrudgingly.
His father grinned, before grabbing a map and spread it over the desk. “It appears to be located on Aetherii, in Nehmenweld.”
“Nehmenweld.” Karl echoed. “I know that place.”
“Good. Once you get there you must find and pick up the trail your grandfather left behind."
Karl’s ears stiffened and he raised an eyebrow. “But, where does that trail start? From what I’ve heard that trail began there years before the fall, Gramps used time travel to get there, and not to mention Aetherii has been long dead. I’m not sure its coordinates are even present in the freighter navigation databases anymore.”
His father nodded. “That’s exactly the problem, those freighters are the only long range ships we have and even if we had the coordinates, we wouldn’t be able to land our ships there, because of the purple death fog. The only way that we could safely retrieve the chalice is to go back hundreds, if not thousands of years before the fall.”
“Okay. What about Erran’s treachery and the diplomatic situation with the Khalans, then? I’m not sure it’s wise to travel while that’s happening.”
“That’s been sorted. No need to worry about it anymore.”
A nod . “Okay, I won’t be coming up on the radars of Khalan bounty hunters any time soon, right?” Karl quipped, grinning smugly.
His father smiled, and shook his head. “No.”
“Alright, I’m going to go to my room and see if I can’t figure out a way to time travel and traverse the universe at the same time.”
Upon saying this, the caracal stood up and left, and began the trek upstairs to the attic loft that was his bedroom. Upon reaching the top a powerful feeling rose in the back of his mind when a voice began to echo, a voice that no one else but Karl could hear.
“It took you long enough. Seriously, you left me locked in here all day.”
“What? Did you trash the room again?” Karl asked, out loud.
“Of course not. When will you realize that I’m meant to be fiercely loyal to you? I won’t be destroying your stuff if you tell me not to.”
A sigh escaped the caracal. “Hey, you’re the one who decided to follow me out of your mirror realm and be friends.”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous, Karl, I know exactly why you got stuck in the in-between. If it weren’t for me, you’d be having issues getting back home. Don’t be so ungrateful.”
Another sigh.
Well that’s an overstatement.
“I heard that.”
Karl facepalmed, his ears drooping. Then, he entered into the room where, on the other side, a silver furred six legged wolf was waiting for him. It was known as a silberwolf, a canine capable of jumping through any reflective surface to enter different dimensions. Fiercely loyal, and friendly, and often mischievous. The wolf also had a name, Ramius.
The wolf sat there, next to Karl’s bed, panting, with his tongue hanging out, panting. “You could at least have the decency to have opened a window in here.”
Karl spoke up again, still speaking out loud. “The window does it automatically, it’s timed. Plus, I’m surprised that you didn’t jump through the mirror on the back of the door and go into your dimension or whatever it is.”
The dog seemed to lose confidence. "I thought it would be boring.”
“Then why complain?”
Ramius retracted his tongue and closed his mouth. “I, uh–”
Shrugging, Karl stood up and moved towards his desk. “No matter, you did a great job.”
“Thank you, I guess?” The wolf said, his voice still echoing in Karl’s mind. “Anyway, while you were away, you got a message.”
“A message?”
“Yes, a message. Ever heard of it?”
Karl rolled his eyes. “Let’s see what it is then.”
There was an email, delivered at 4:43 Caracalian Universal Time, from someone named Glasswalker.
“It looks interesting.” Ramius chimed, perhaps too excitedly, making Karl grimace.
“Can you calm down? You’ll give me a damn headache.”
“Sorry.”
The email said something about a “shitbox rally”, using a vehicle tuned for 85 octane fuel costing under 2k (or equivalent currency). Nearly 5000 miles, through a dangerous territory called… Nehmenweld!? Karl’s eyes widened, it was the perfect opportunity. He would be alone, and in peace–.
Minimum of two team members.
There went that plan, but maybe… What was it like in Velkaristan this time of year?
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