Rock Bottom

[Bastian]

He was not surprised when a summons came. Egypt proved the worth of his word and skill, and while he’d never voice it aloud, he eyed the other Dominions in circumspect dismay for what he observed of their activities and temperaments in the Garden. As such, if Vellas needed a man he could trust, Bastian did not doubt his suitability, even over the favoured Karim. There had been no brief, only a measure of secrecy, and while he could not guess on the reasons, he calculated the meaning while he was escorted through the Facility’s sterile halls. He walked like he belonged, though the uniform draping his shoulders was only newly assigned. The pin was neat at his throat. He did not make conversation with the personnel who led the way.

The door was opened for him, and Bastian did not look back after he entered. Within he eyed the smooth glass of an observation station, and the drawn figure of a man oblivious within. There was nothing obviously inhuman, but perhaps he had been called upon for the specialist knowledge earned by the tattoo inked on his forearm.

“Sir,” was all he said, eyes landing on Vellas.