Turbulent Signals
[ This is story part of a mini series I'm writing and will end up involving my other character, @frostahesmegabite , as such I'll be putting these stories on his blog as well as it will begin forcing stories to collide once again that have been building for roughly 14 years now. I hope you enjoy a little bit more about Jimothy as well! ]
How long had it been now since Gallywix and the Rebellion came to a close? Weeks? Months? Undermine was always hard to tell since the sun never actually came up, and planning days and sleep in a culture where people ran around screaming time is money, made it harder still to keep time organized beyond 'everything needs to be done ten minutes ago!'. Jimothy was no exception to this, and maybe it was the fatigue or maybe the nightmares, when he finally did find sleep. He had been having the same recurring dream as of late. Him in his youth, listened to a story that slowly became twisted from what he knew, just to run from whatever his parents had become, only to run away, hide under the blankets, and wake up right before they took him. Maybe it was for the best that he never really got a good look at whatever it was that chased him or masqueraded to be his parents, at least this way he could convince himself it was just the dreams that was doing it and that the radio downstairs that his family was practically glued to wasn't honestly related. It was all purely a coincidence, and the fact that all of them were eating less and their bodies were starting to bruise was due to the smoke and more toxic fumes as of late, due to the shifting responsibilities and positions being overlooked as the Cartels got reorganized. His kids didn't laugh and play the way they liked, and the kids in the streets weren't doing as they typically did. Jimothy went to work and came home and on both exit and entrance, he'd find his wife doing some chore about the place with the radio playing, that was provided she wasn't just enthralled with whatever music she was listening to or story was being told. He wasn't fairing much better either, he found himself latching onto his fear-riddled dream and desiring to come home to hear those same stories on the radio too. A hunger, a craving to hear more despite the rippling fear that climbed up his back and into his hairline just to give him a warning that something was wrong, something was off, only for him to disregard it as paranoia all the same. People here in the slums weren't as active as they once were, some of them, the only real ones he saw outside of those running about for work, were the ones fighting for a new radio and often times, it'd result in a full blown assault with medics being required to pick someone else after. It was a mess to be sure and despite earlier attention, nothing could be found magically or otherwise, to be faulty with them. People just... they seemed to authentically need them, like air to breathe or water to drink and Jimothy was realizing that each day he'd come home, just being able to caress its case or turn its knobs would also give him the feeling of safety and security as well. It was working as intended.
============================================== How many years had it been since the Demon Hunter assaulted him, burning into his chest and melting the Lightforged Iron out of him that was keeping the curse in his body from growing and killing him? Two years? Three? It'd been some time, Megahes knew that too, and when you become semi-retired or at best a pencil pusher instead of a world-travelling weapons manufacturer and dealer, the days begin to melt together and you forget yourself. Sometimes he'd find himself looking about at the pictures in his office, seeing what all he'd accomplished in his life before he was forced into this position. The kids, Naturasu, and he shared all the accolades and reviews. The medals, awards, and trophies. Prototypes that made his company's name soar into the stars, and now how they treaded as 'standard' anymore, forgotten to some. A pang of sadness shoots through his chest, causing his heart to literally ache to the point he'd inhale sharply and grab at it. He'd become so much frailer since the attack, it was a miracle some days he could keep up with Naturasu's desires and if it hadn't been for some damn fine alchemical enhancements and a good surgeon, he wouldn't even be able to do that. A small smile comes to his face as he finds himself laughing, knowing that if Nat had seen him just now, she'd make some joke about how she hadn't even taken off her clothes yet for his heart to start racing.
That smile, though, was quickly replaced with a yelp as Solomun toppled into the office, dropping some item in his hand just for it to hit the ground and practically explode into pieces as the casing busted and various wires and circuitboard pieces went in a series of directions. "Gold be damned Solomun, what're ya doing ta me? Tryin' ta make Nat think I need another doctor?"
The Goblin shouts before standing up, holding his chest as his breathing races, while he circles about his desk to go help him start cleaning up the mess. Something he'd learned well over time, no matter his successes as leader of the FBC, everyone deserved a fair shake and was treated on fair ground. He kneels down and begins to collect the pieces.
"What's all this now?" He asks, putting some of the larger casing pieces into a pile as Solomun works on what he has closer to his falling point. He stops and lifts up what appears to be a radio dial for an older box radio. "Custom order for one of those gobs who wants to scream about how 'back in their day' cause they can't get used to that new Samophlage designs or sommm..." His words trail off as he picks up a particular metal-plated piece with a simple branding placed upon it.
Brought to you by Sanctum Enterprises
Megahes' breath hitches, catches in his throat. His heart seemed to pound in his chest, and all he could do was try to catch his breath as it pulsed in his ears louder than any goblin explosive ever made. Memories come flooding back. Twilight Highlands and the Battle of Dorn.
Northrend and the Scournical.
The Defiler and The Fallen Temple.
The Defiler.
Panic began to set in as air started to flood his lungs, his cheeks and face started to tingle as his hands began to quake, and he'd scramble for his desk to pull himself up.
"Where the fuck did that come from?! Who put that together?!"
He found himself screaming, demanding answers, and his workforce outside came to a halt. Eyes began to peer in through his doorway, and everyone watched as the Goblin began to have a panic attack.
"I-I never met tha guy myself. One of tha interns took up a big radio order for Undermine for emergency broadcast systems ta help out tha slums. We thought it'd be a job you'd be proud'a, so we took it. They supplied everything, including tha frequency codes and all'a that. Seemed reall--..."
"WHO PLACED THE ORDER GOLD DAMN IT!?" Megahes interrupted, slamming a fist on the desk that made several people jerk and twist, trying to pretend like their ears weren't bent to keep listening.
"So-some guy by tha name'a Den tha Calf. Tha intern said it was weird he had a cows name despite bein' an elf wearin' some fancy duds..." Whatever came after that name, it didn't matter. Megahes felt himself get dizzy, and he forced himself to sit in his chair once again. The small metal nameplate rested in his palm, a trigger for an explosive series of memories.
He was back, and this was his way of telling Megahes he was moving pieces on the board once more.
"I need'ja ta move all'a my appointments, cancel 'em all. If anyone calls, tell them there was an emergency at that plant and I'm unavailable..." He stops and squeezes his hand around the little piece of metal. "Ma wife included, and if any'a ya say anything, ya fired for breaking contract."
Megahes had a red-haired light slinger to track down...
