Night 59: Meeting Room 1
The door opened at the start of the night, and the air in the meeting room seemed to stagnate, as if resonating with the presence of the newcomer. Formalities were offered first and foremost: all military personnel stood at attention and welcomed their commanding officer with a salute. In turn, Aguilar reciprocated the gesture, before moving on to stand at the head of the room. The two guards at his side followed without a single delay, situating beside the one who now held full reign over Landel's Institute.
Normally, with the completion of formalities, he would allow the officers their seats. It wasn't good, after all, to conduct a meeting in such rigid postures. The Eagle, however, remained unmoving and instead, swept his eyes across the meeting room, before settling on a single occupant.
"Major Claude Harrington."
The addressed stiffened in his position, eyes wildly alert. "Yes, General?"
"Or perhaps Prescott might suit you better?" One might have expected a look of triumph from Aguilar. Instead, he stayed impassive, edging complete apathy. "Claude Prescott, curator of the Prescott Gallery."
A beat passed. The atmosphere between the two men touched close to ice, and without further prompting, the one called Prescott dropped his guard. He smiled serenely, giving a forbidden countenance to his superior. "I was wondering when that name would come up," he remarked, tone bordering casual. Gracing wonderment.
"It was only a matter of time." Aguilar nodded, and the guards at his side moved, their intentions obvious. "Claude Prescott, you are under arrest for conspiracy and--"
The General, however, immediately cut off, the declaration unfinished. His guards also halted in their tracks while the others seemed ready to shift away. The source of their reactions was obvious: in the place of the former military officer was a man glowing bright crimson, the barest flicker of flame surrounding his form.
"You sure you want to do that?" Claude questioned. "Knowing what I am?"
Undisturbed, Aguilar reached and pressed a hand to his breast pocket, where a circular medal of silver resided. "We've already calibrated your powers, Major," he calmly explained. "The instant you attempt to surpass your limitations, you will lose everything. I recommend that you cooperate." From anyone's viewpoint, it was apparent that the cooperation was more than recommended.
"Oh~" Here, Claude glanced at the patient assigned under him. Specifically, at the device locked around her wrist. "I wonder. I'm willing to risk everything at this point." As though to emphasize, he snapped his fingers, the flicker merging to a single flare at his palm. Which vanished as predicted.
But the prediction was not without its unexpected elements. The device at Maya's wrist suddenly emitted a high-pitched wail, forcing all eyes on the phenomenon. Then, without warning, Aguilar clutched painfully at his chest, tearing at the medal pinned to his breast pocket as if it was a hot poker.
"Y-You!?" The Eagle sounded astonished, glaring pointedly at Harrington. "What did you--"
"I did nothing," the other announced, "but someone else certainly did." The smile widened, stretching to ridiculous proportions.
Something clicked, and those who kept their observations on the General might have noticed smoke rising from his tightened fist. He quickly tore out the medal and flung it at the offending element in the room, simultaneously raising his other hand to the ceiling. "Retreat," he breathed before slamming his fist against the table below. Those who caught the order and would give their allegiance to the General followed suit, slamming their fists in turn.
In the span of several heartbeats, most of the room's occupants had vanished, leaving behind confusion and stagnant air.
Normally, with the completion of formalities, he would allow the officers their seats. It wasn't good, after all, to conduct a meeting in such rigid postures. The Eagle, however, remained unmoving and instead, swept his eyes across the meeting room, before settling on a single occupant.
"Major Claude Harrington."
The addressed stiffened in his position, eyes wildly alert. "Yes, General?"
"Or perhaps Prescott might suit you better?" One might have expected a look of triumph from Aguilar. Instead, he stayed impassive, edging complete apathy. "Claude Prescott, curator of the Prescott Gallery."
A beat passed. The atmosphere between the two men touched close to ice, and without further prompting, the one called Prescott dropped his guard. He smiled serenely, giving a forbidden countenance to his superior. "I was wondering when that name would come up," he remarked, tone bordering casual. Gracing wonderment.
"It was only a matter of time." Aguilar nodded, and the guards at his side moved, their intentions obvious. "Claude Prescott, you are under arrest for conspiracy and--"
The General, however, immediately cut off, the declaration unfinished. His guards also halted in their tracks while the others seemed ready to shift away. The source of their reactions was obvious: in the place of the former military officer was a man glowing bright crimson, the barest flicker of flame surrounding his form.
"You sure you want to do that?" Claude questioned. "Knowing what I am?"
Undisturbed, Aguilar reached and pressed a hand to his breast pocket, where a circular medal of silver resided. "We've already calibrated your powers, Major," he calmly explained. "The instant you attempt to surpass your limitations, you will lose everything. I recommend that you cooperate." From anyone's viewpoint, it was apparent that the cooperation was more than recommended.
"Oh~" Here, Claude glanced at the patient assigned under him. Specifically, at the device locked around her wrist. "I wonder. I'm willing to risk everything at this point." As though to emphasize, he snapped his fingers, the flicker merging to a single flare at his palm. Which vanished as predicted.
But the prediction was not without its unexpected elements. The device at Maya's wrist suddenly emitted a high-pitched wail, forcing all eyes on the phenomenon. Then, without warning, Aguilar clutched painfully at his chest, tearing at the medal pinned to his breast pocket as if it was a hot poker.
"Y-You!?" The Eagle sounded astonished, glaring pointedly at Harrington. "What did you--"
"I did nothing," the other announced, "but someone else certainly did." The smile widened, stretching to ridiculous proportions.
Something clicked, and those who kept their observations on the General might have noticed smoke rising from his tightened fist. He quickly tore out the medal and flung it at the offending element in the room, simultaneously raising his other hand to the ceiling. "Retreat," he breathed before slamming his fist against the table below. Those who caught the order and would give their allegiance to the General followed suit, slamming their fists in turn.
In the span of several heartbeats, most of the room's occupants had vanished, leaving behind confusion and stagnant air.