“Halcyon is dead.” Cerberus told him. “It is unfortunate.” Proteus replies. The two sat in Proteus's office, having just finished discussing details pertaining to their cooperation.

  Proteus's office was fickle. Unassuming.

  Other than the view it has over the cityscape, it could've belong to any middle manager. The view overlooked the western side of North Platte City, the Neosun not having struck this side of the sky. The two overlooked it in their conversation, until Kaitlyn handed the pair coffee. She placed their cups gently in front, asking them something as she headed back to the lounge. “Need anything else, gentlemen?”

  “Not at all.” Cerberus subdues.

  “We're alright, thanks.” Proteus replies.

  As he takes a sip of the drink, Cerberus asks him a question.

  “Proteus. Halcyon served the longest among us. Do you recall any stories from yesteryear?”

  “I do.” Proteus replies, swallowing the sip he took.

  “But I will not dare recall them. That is of a bygone time now. I'm sure Gauth Van Hulsieg will find a suitable replacement.”

  “Who could possibly?” Cerberus asked, sculling his coffee as if it was water. Proteus replies rather quickly. “I don't know. Maybe SERaMACs if that update is as good as he claimed.”

  “You called?” A voice asked from his digiphone. It spoke in the same tone, though it had more… rigorous qualities to it. Of course, it was SERaMACs, who decided that it can open itself.

  Proteus answers it, flipping his digiphone open. “We didn't. But we'll talk while you're here.” Cerberus huffs at the AGI’s intrusion. Seeing his colleague’s reaction, he changes his mind.

  “On second thought… no. Don't do that again.”

  He shuts his digiphone and turns it off. He rubs his temples at the same time, his terrible headache not letting him go ever since the battle.

  Cerberus rises off the white leather sofa, stepping opposite the window to the entrance of the office. “This was a good talk Proteus. We should meet again soon. But for now, I must meditate.”

  “I understand Cerberus. You do well given your circumstances. Take care.” Proteus tells him as he departs.

  Cerberus does not bother to control the sound of his footsteps. His control is needed elsewhere. Navigating the winding mazes of office desks and workspaces of this level, passing by the closest of Proteus's staff. People who have grown used to the sight of the cabal.

  He reaches the stairway and begins to climb upwards. Upon the three hundredth and second floor is the area in which he finds solitude. As he opens the door to exit the spiraling stairwell, the graces of this place blanket him. A cold concrete room; expansive, yet not overly so.

  It was almost tailor made to accommodate his massive height. The walls are cracked and gray, though the far right wall held one huge mirror.

  A speaker system lay next to the door, yet the cassette laying next to it which he inserts didn't hold music. Rather, as he approached one of the many piece of weight equipment in this room, the speakers let out the sound of a soothing ambiance. Of winds blowing. Of animals chirping. Of rivers flowing.

  Cerberus never knew what birds sounded like of course.

  And if he did ever listen to music, it wasn’t metal.

  His favorite band was Duster, in fact. Not that he’d ever tell someone. Their music was some of the only music he felt spoke to him.

  As he loaded up massive plates onto the bench press, his mind becomes lost in imagination. Fantasizing as to what those ‘birds’ that make those chirping sounds looks like. Feel like. And even… take flight.

  “200kg…” He mumbles to himself, preparing for his warm up set.

  He lies down on the harsh bench, aligning his eyes with the bar. He places his hands equal length apart, and begins the rhythm of his training.

  Deep breaths. Muscular contraction. His mind becomes lost; totally immersed in the ambiance as if it was a second nature.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  As a slight burn arrives, he re-racks the weight, opening his eyes to see the outside world is still there. As cold, hard, metallic as it should be. That's exactly what it needs to be. Might make right.

  His mediation continues uninterrupted for dozens of minutes. By his final set, he is benching well over 300kg for multiple repetitions. His mind is at ease, and his body flows. Even despite the burn and struggle, it is effortless to him. Each time he opens his eyes, he is able to see the world as it appears. Not as his emotions would lead him to believe.

  Of course, he then hears a knock at the door. This is fine, he thinks. He re-racks his dumbbells and turns the ambiance off as he opens the door. He opens it fully, and it seems one of his colleagues has come to greet him.

  “Hello, Cerberus.” A tiny note which she gives to him reads. He looks down at her; her blank white mask and short appearance all-too dead a giveaway.

  “Why salutations, Septimus. What has brought you here?”

  She does not give him an answer, pacing in confidently; something which he makes room for. The red fog is slowly rolling in; a hallucination of frustration.

  “Septimus… it is poor manners to leave a question hanging.”

  The short mute turns around to face him, writing another note on her sticky pad. Damn. Those are expensive these days.

  She approaches and hands it to him which he reads slowly.

  “Sincere apologies. I respect you just as Proteus does. But I need help.”

  “What might that be?” Cerberus asks as he looks past the note, seeing that she writes yet another. She hands it up for him; her short stature almost makes her look cute.

  A deadly perception, and one he does not make as he takes it from her.

  “We must find that other resistance leader from my presentation.”

  He looks past the new note to see her staring up at him.

  The red fog closes in thicker, yet he resists its influence, maintaining total composure as he replies to her.

  “Why do you choose me for this task? Proteus would be of more help.”

  She looks back down and writes another note. He folds his arms as he waits, his impatience growing as he wonders why she refuses to just speak.

  She hands him another, and he takes it.

  “Proteus is ill. He is needed elsewhere. Gauth Van Hulsieg told me this. He recommended you.”

  He considers this note, a smirk made of unobtainium coating his lips. The fog recedes as he sticks the note to his forearm. “That is high praise, and so I will accompany you. Will we need private security?”

  She shakes her head.

  “What do you ask of me?” He asked. Septimus looked around the room for a brief moment before taking out her notes and writing another.

  She hands it to him, which he reads.

  “A partner for security, though your mind will be useful too. One last thing before we leave here…”

  The note was unfinished. He looks down to see she has written another which he takes. “...we must get Proteus to contact his agent among their ranks. After that, we will find them.”

  Cerberus nods his head as he sticks that note to his forearm also.

  He stands tall, folding his arms, having the full attention of the small Septimus. “That is good. But there is one other thing we must do before you leave.”

  He points up to the weights, specifically the bench press where he started. She followed his finger to it, then looked back at him.

  “We must meditate in order to clear our minds for the mission ahead. Do you accept?” She looks and writes another note. This time super quick. “You mean train?” It asked.

  “Yes, train.” Cerberus clears for her, a little annoyed at the fact he has to. She looks back at the weights then back at him. Her gaze paused on him for just a moment before accepting with a friendly nod.

  “Excellent. Allow me to be your instructor for the next half hour.” Cerberus tells her. He approaches the bench, his titanium skull glistening in the light, his laser eyes reflecting off the dull bar.

  Septimus follows suit, her mask reflecting all light and her suit absorbing most of it. It was so dark that despite being skin tight in some areas, it occluded any information about her figure.

  And so the two trained for a little while. In near silence, with their next step to find Proteus. Cerberus made sure not to play the ambiance he is used to. Although it helps him ease his soul, he takes a similar healing in aiding the small Septimus. That, and he will be caught dead the day he is caught by something else that lives listening to the ambiance of lost nature.

  After all, the only thing that could possibly see him in there when he trains is SERaMACs. And SERaMACs is just a machine.

  A tool.

  An item for the endless masses.