Midnight
October, Year 483
Mount Roya
North

Corey despised war with all he had. He hated the bloodshed and the sacrifice, the scarring destruction and needless suffering of officers on the front lines. But here he was, readying his men for the very thing he loathed.

The irony of the situation was not lost to him.

Since he had acquired the position of minister just how many people had he sent to their deaths?

The very thought made his head ache as he stared down from his elevated stage at the thousands of soldiers training their lives away to please him.

Blood and sweat tainted the once stale air of the arena as ten thousand men moved simultaneously in rigid and ordered stances, skins painted a blistering red with welts and bruises as they traded jabs and blows while practicing their footwork.

A part of Corey sympathized for his soldiers, he knew how they were feeling—having gone through it all and worse—during the years he served at the Towers with his father. Even now he remembered the fear that his heartless commander had driven into him, memories of the domineering bullwhip that licked at tender flesh and marred unsuspecting recruits for life, specked his eyes.

Sometimes pain and fear went hand in hand with determination and success, that was why even after five long centuries training methods had remained primitive and brutal, because war itself had not changed.

Life had not changed.

Despite the astounding advancements made in the past year—FCM's, eco-friendly explosives and energy efficient mobility suits—no true soldier was ever raised solely on technology.

It was the same way that in spite of how much money was spent on a Fortified Combat-ready Machine or the number of gadgets installed in it, it would be utterly useless without a licensed pilot.

That was one of the reasons why Corey held much disdain for the nobles who claimed to be qualified yet couldn't do the dirty work that was required of them. It was the same reason he sent them all off to Nicia. The very sight of their pitiful attempts at chivalry disgusted him.

They were not soldiers, just a bunch of rich kids looking for some fun.

It would be best if they never returned, he thought.

He that was just wishful thinking. If anything really happened to those spoiled brats he would have a lot of trouble on his hands. He didn't think the aristocrats of North would be pleased to find that their descendants had been wiped off the face of the Earth.

Still, a part of him wished.

With a wistful sigh he took his eyes off the sweaty soldiers and turned to the messenger who stood behind him.

"Is there any news from the CS?"

"No Sir," the woman shook her head then looked down at the transparent screen that sat on her silver bracelet. "There has been no news off her current whereabouts but recent findings on the nation's travel logs suggest that she was headed to an area near the 18th District. Our men are searching the location as we speak."

"You may leave." Corey frowned, disappointment evident in his eyes as he dismissed the woman and crossed his arms.

What was Dawn doing in the Districts?

He watched the messenger get off the platform and step unto an hovering plate of silvery metal that floated her down to the ground level. At that moment Corey wished he had access to good old-fashioned stairs. The workout would have given him something to do while thinking.

"It's not like her to leave without informing me," he thought out loud, staring down at the transparent floor his feet stood on.

Tapping his toes on the steel platform while lost in his thoughts, he absentmindedly took a step forward. "Maybe I should check those records myself. But she—"

He was cut off when a wall half his height sprang up in front of him. The words, "Minster, please step back," screamed from the band on his wrist.

The voice blared on and on, repeating itself without end when Corey stood still and didn't move. He found a sigh leaving him again as he looked down and saw that the wall had appeared because he had gotten too close to the edge of the platform—just three inches away from a fall.

Corey took a step back to appease the nagging computer and end the noise before it caused a scene.

"Thank you, Minister," he could imagine the program grinning in satisfaction, "please contact the number I have just sent to your phone book and get in touch with the Suicide Helpline."

He bit back a laugh, already aware of the curious stares being thrown his way from the platforms below. They didn't need more entertainment. "And why should I do that?"

"Because you need help, Sir."

You don't say.

Corey cleared his throat and shook his head but in the end swallowed his remark. "Thank you Kathryn, I will take your suggestion to heart." And toss it into the waste disposal.

"Thank you, Minister," she chimed.

With a little reluctance he took a few more steps away from the wall, having no doubt that if he did anything else that seemed risky to the thing on his wrist the entire area would be sealed off for his 'protection'.

"It looks like I've found the reason why there are so few deaths in this era," he mumbled to himself while treading his fingers through his hair, "computers are taking over."

"That we are!" Kathryn said, her voice filled with as much joy as could be programmed into an A.I. "As your personal assistant it is only natural that I look after your wellbeing."

"Sure." Corey said noncommittally then got off the platform. HD made his way down the metal bridge that connected the training ground to the arena for the FCM's.

"Does everything have to float?"

He fixed his gaze on a platform that had just lowered itself to the ground as he stood on a now hovering length of bridge.

"Yes Sir!" Kathryn answered the rhetorical question. "Our partners in the South-Western alliance developed this technology a decade ago and as helpful citizens of earth it is our duty to test each prototype out for efficiency!"

Corey nearly winced at her bubbly tone; the fact that Dawn had programmed the AI didn't made it more tolerable.

On reaching the entrance to the large arena, its massive door opened automatically and he stepped in, glad to be a solid floor once again.

He was met with greetings of "Hello Minister," and "Good day sir," as he walked down the narrow hallway. He barely gave attention to to the FCM training centre and walked right into the development department that was stationed in an unnoticeable crook with an even more obscure sign over its doorway.

"Minister," Kathryn started again.

"What?"

"Well," she paused, as though hesitant. "Your heart rate is increasing, I suggest that you slow down."

"Thank you for the suggestion." Corey managed to keep the anger out of his tone but his pace increased.

"You don't seem to like my suggestion. . ."

Isn't that obvious?

"Of course I do." He tried to sound enthusiastic and failed.

"The vice minister asked for you half an hour ago." Kathryn changed the subject with her usual zestiness, her voice going pitches higher as she brought up the new topic.

"And what did you say to him?" Corey stopped right in front of a door, his hand hovering over the handle.

"Of course I said that you were in your room, sick!"

"Good." The minister threw open a door and stepped into a large lab. "Greeley!" he called, as Kathryn continued.

"But he insisted on seeing you, so now he's here."

"Bad. . ." Corey's expression soured. A head of green bobbed its way through a sea of scientists and pushed towards him.

"Thank goodness you're here, Corey," the man whispered in an aggrieved voice as he wiped the sweat dripping off his face with the stained sleeve of his lab coat. "The vice is here and I can't hold him off for long, he seems really pissed. Man, I mean pissed like you stole his wife kind of pissed. Not that I'm implying that you did anything of the sort. You're the pure, untainted minister whose feet I worsh—"

"Greeley!" Corey said. "Get to the point!"

"Oh yeah." The green haired man took in a deep, exaggerated breath. "You're handling that demon and I'm taking an early lunch—breakfast and dinner—break." Saying that, he ran out the door, but not before giving the minister a salute and mouthing, "Good luck."

"Oh dear," Kathryn's voice dropped to a timid whisper.

"For once I agree with you," Corey fixed a cool smile on his lips and swiped once through his hair. "Let's get this over with."

His last words were cut off by a laugh that bellowed through the laboratory like it had been purposely amplified.

"Corey! I thought you were sick. You should be resting!"

If you knew I was sick why did you still come all the way over here?

The minister let out a good-natured chuckle and rested his gaze on the man in the center of the chaos. "Yes, well I'm a workaholic, as you know."

"I'm sure that you only got out of bed because your beloved princess is missing."

"You must be mistaken, Gideon." Corey said. "The capital—which is under your jurisdiction—was attacked, which I know you must be aware of."

General Gideon Westley stiffened, the pleased smile on his face frozen.

Thought so. Corey thought smugly. My poor vice minister.

"Yes," Gideon let out a long sigh and regained his composure. "Dawn was also at the capital when it was attacked. I am sure you were aware."

When Corey didn't respond, the general continued, "she must have had something to do with it. Who didn't see that one coming?"

He laughed.

†

Surprise update ;)

Question of the chapter

What do you think of Gideon?