06-29-2020, 08:33 PM
He entered the Facility with little fanfare. The denizens of the underground bunker were accustomed to the sudden appearance of the Ascendancy, but as he passed through the security features, it wasn’t undetected. A storm of activity swept ahead of him. People stood taller. Their eyes focused all the more upon their work. The gravity of their mutual atmosphere was strong as the pull toward the center of the earth. Yet for the footsteps that marked his passage, they were quickly dwarfed by the clicks of other shoes alongside. The director of the facility appeared out of nowhere, but Nikolai waved aside any cause for concern. “I’ve seen the updates. I am only here to visit,” he reassured. Nothing was wrong. If anything, the world was quite right at the moment. Here, out of anywhere, he was most right.
Seizing the power, he drew into himself enough to thrust a resonance into the surrounding chambers. It was an old trick that he took up during the initial build out of the Facility when the bunker of the Soviets was transformed into the sleek, modern bubble around them. He stood in the hallway a moment, eyes slid low, hands ever so slightly outstretched, palms open. It was as if he could sense every stone for a mile. They sang to him their solid, haunting song. Most important, there were no fissures or pressure points, anything to indicate instability in the engineering.
Momentarily satisfied, the Ascendancy traversed the perimeter of the Facility toward a pair newly refurbished doors. There were several such places in the compound, sealed up sections of untouched bunker waiting for future use. This particular exit recently attracted new construction as did the passageway beyond. To where it led, few knew.
He thrust open the doors with the push of his hands. Crews occupied the tunnel beyond. Exposed wires dangled from the ceiling. Temporary platforms made for the floor. Rock and concrete was exposed along the edges. The tunnel was clearly an older architecture. For a brief second, memories of a car park and black eyes filled his view, but he shook it off quickly, focusing on the differences.
A pale-faced man with hard eyes looked up. It was Julian Monserre, the Frenchman Rod of Dominion selected by Michael to contribute to the construction with the hand of a god. They locked eyes, but it was the flows that Nikolai studied rather than the man from whom they radiated. He nodded his approval. Working the nuances of rocks and steel into perfect form was something Nikolai himself showed Julian when the work began, and he picked up the skill quickly. It was going well. It would be some time before the connection between the Facility and Butryka was completed, but the timeline moved on schedule.
He left the crew to their jobs and circled back through the Facility. It was a male, sporty accent that caught his attention, just as a female one jumped into the lead. Nik entered without preamble just as it seemed the doctor was dismissing the extra bodies.
He wore the suit of his empire’s uniform, plain black with a white button-up, orange and gray tie, and the double crescent pin on his lapel. He was certainly no doctor, and the men at least would be aware of the approach of a channeler if their newest doctor did not. He didn’t recognize her except to approve her admission to the Facility at the recommendation of others involved in the specifics of her situation. Military, she was, and a physician with the ability to heal. Indeed, she was not Jensen James, which reminded him to threaten Scion with the loss of his head if the preacher went unreturned much longer. She was valuable, though.
Upon entering, the power seemed to flex inside, aware of the presence of two others with whom it sought to clash. To alleviate the tension, he released it. Nox asked as much of him the last time they spoke. The (former) Atharim seemed nervous, but he was otherwise calm. Allan was there. The inquisition Nox must have endured would have been untenable.
“Allan, Nox.” He said, greeting each, then turned toward the doctor. “I am interrupting your work, doctor. I won’t be long,” he said with a charming smile for the newcomer. Most people found him charming when he wanted them to, though in the underground bunker, intensity danced with mirth in his eyes.
Seizing the power, he drew into himself enough to thrust a resonance into the surrounding chambers. It was an old trick that he took up during the initial build out of the Facility when the bunker of the Soviets was transformed into the sleek, modern bubble around them. He stood in the hallway a moment, eyes slid low, hands ever so slightly outstretched, palms open. It was as if he could sense every stone for a mile. They sang to him their solid, haunting song. Most important, there were no fissures or pressure points, anything to indicate instability in the engineering.
Momentarily satisfied, the Ascendancy traversed the perimeter of the Facility toward a pair newly refurbished doors. There were several such places in the compound, sealed up sections of untouched bunker waiting for future use. This particular exit recently attracted new construction as did the passageway beyond. To where it led, few knew.
He thrust open the doors with the push of his hands. Crews occupied the tunnel beyond. Exposed wires dangled from the ceiling. Temporary platforms made for the floor. Rock and concrete was exposed along the edges. The tunnel was clearly an older architecture. For a brief second, memories of a car park and black eyes filled his view, but he shook it off quickly, focusing on the differences.
A pale-faced man with hard eyes looked up. It was Julian Monserre, the Frenchman Rod of Dominion selected by Michael to contribute to the construction with the hand of a god. They locked eyes, but it was the flows that Nikolai studied rather than the man from whom they radiated. He nodded his approval. Working the nuances of rocks and steel into perfect form was something Nikolai himself showed Julian when the work began, and he picked up the skill quickly. It was going well. It would be some time before the connection between the Facility and Butryka was completed, but the timeline moved on schedule.
He left the crew to their jobs and circled back through the Facility. It was a male, sporty accent that caught his attention, just as a female one jumped into the lead. Nik entered without preamble just as it seemed the doctor was dismissing the extra bodies.
He wore the suit of his empire’s uniform, plain black with a white button-up, orange and gray tie, and the double crescent pin on his lapel. He was certainly no doctor, and the men at least would be aware of the approach of a channeler if their newest doctor did not. He didn’t recognize her except to approve her admission to the Facility at the recommendation of others involved in the specifics of her situation. Military, she was, and a physician with the ability to heal. Indeed, she was not Jensen James, which reminded him to threaten Scion with the loss of his head if the preacher went unreturned much longer. She was valuable, though.
Upon entering, the power seemed to flex inside, aware of the presence of two others with whom it sought to clash. To alleviate the tension, he released it. Nox asked as much of him the last time they spoke. The (former) Atharim seemed nervous, but he was otherwise calm. Allan was there. The inquisition Nox must have endured would have been untenable.
“Allan, Nox.” He said, greeting each, then turned toward the doctor. “I am interrupting your work, doctor. I won’t be long,” he said with a charming smile for the newcomer. Most people found him charming when he wanted them to, though in the underground bunker, intensity danced with mirth in his eyes.