Bau had not been joking about the giant hamster wheel. One looped strip of titanium with a rough surface for traction, installed into the wall where a bed would normally be found. Esone's room had just enough space left over for a desk, an armor stand for Rare Earth, and a personal computer.<br/><br/>Vertigo had shown a disturbing level of rebellion when The Proprietor had tried to take Rare Earth in for repairs, actually hijacking the suit's motor controls and marching out of the Armory. Esone had found the rogue suit of armor sitting primly in the mess hall, pretending to sip tea while discussing the intricacies of preparing bacon with the head chef of the Turian crew.<br/><br/>Convincing the general staff that the suit was under remote control had been a stretch of ingenuity, even for the Commander. AIs were still reviled by the Citadel races, and EDI herself was highly classified. Esone had yet to figure out what Vertigo actually was; Javik had already shown a distinct distaste for AIs, but Virtigo was far too autonomous to be a simple VI. Now the suit spent it's time hooked into Esone's computer, surfing the Citadel's data cloud and generally hogging the bandwidth. Esone was thankful that he didn't need to sleep; satisfying the amount of attention that the intelligence demanded was a round-the-clock job.<br/><br/>Artifacts were some of the only decorations that brightened up the room. Esone had exchanged Black Moon Creeping for the crown and orb as his talkative dependents had demanded, and kept the two items on his desk. The Black Emperor was a thorny briar of twisted Soulsteel, a strange crown that emitted dense shrouds of fog and maple leaves when donned. Esone was sure there were other properties, but for now it would make a good escape contingency.<br/><br/>The orb on the other hand was a complete mystery, and Vertigo outright refused to give any information on either artifact. It's main demand was to be filled in on what Sabaton was. Both Esone and Sabaton were vehemently opposed to the idea, so a stalemate remained. Javik was just as much help, merely referring to the crown as a 'ghost shield', and the orb as an architectural aide. The orb was at least partially intelligent, because Vertigo would often hold seemingly one-sided conversations with. Either that, or Vertigo was, in fact, insane. Sabaton was strongly in favor of the latter.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">You've heard him talk! He acts like a KID! THERE IS NO WAY THE PROTHEANS PROGRAMED HIM TO ACT LIKE THAT.</span><br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Dark dreams filled Esone's trip to New Mombasa. Midway's reserve engines were constantly charged throughout the whole journey, fueled by intense boredom and poor willpower recovery. Every Infernal bore the stain of the Yozi upon her soul and Essence. For some, this connection stayed as distant and impersonal as the relationship between the Solar Exalted and the Unconquered Sun. Other were less fortunate. The Yozi were not kind gods, but unknowable horrors who hated their Exalted only marginally less than they hate their enemies. Infernals particularly blessed—or cursed—with the direct attention of their chthonic masters experienced an endless torrent of blasphemies that gnawed away their sanity.<br/><br/>Esone's communions were usually limited to when he sought to learn from the Yozi's transient might, but something had changed ever since the encounter with the Mask. His masters pressed at him more urgently, drowning him in omnipresent visions of Reaper fleets and collapsing Mass Relays. Flickers of less certain prophecies solidified and faded amidst the slurry, dreams of emerald, azure, and crimson pulses. Some pulses killed everything, others preserved life but instilled a deep sense of disappointment. All conveyed the same message; the final battle was upon them. Now the Yozi would either see their plans come to fruition, or resign themselves to another eon of solitude. The other Infernals would no doubt be on the move, and that worried Esone deeply.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">I'm not sure if I should find that kind of thinking traitorous or not. Might as well give you a dose of Limit, just to be safe.</span><br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Sol was one of those stars that never really gets appreciated until after a long stint amongst alien suns. Returning to his benevolent embrace was a calming experience, although the golden glow made Sabaton twitchy. Entering Earth's orbit was even more satisfying, the gentle flows of Gaia's five elements welcoming them home. Esone didn't envy Liara's decision to remain on Mars; the barren red rock only channeled the essence of Fire and Earth.<br/><br/>Midway slid into it's dock with barely a whisper, the ship seeming to feel it's crew's desire to see their home. New Mombasa clung to Earth in a fixed orbit, maintaining a fairly constant position above the coast of Kenya. The station was one of the first extra-terrestrial colonies within the solar system, and was practically the size of a city. Utilitarian spires rose beneath an airtight dome, grey steel glittering beneath amber glass. Looking up from one of the spire roof or public parks, the whole or the African continent and part of Europe could be seen.<br/><br/>Esone wandered the station aimlessly, giving Vertigo a guided tour. The intelligence had tapped into all of his electronics, and insisted that he was to show it everything there was to see. Apparently this included the sewer systems and air filtration centers.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">Are we sure this thing isn't going to try and sabotage the station?</span><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">-I would never do such a thing! If the humans died, who would make my sandwiches?-</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">I... What? You don't even eat!</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Stop trying to make sense of it. Besides, it's not like we have anything better to do. My parents are off-world, and I don't have any assignments here you need to be monitoring.</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">Did it ever occur to you that maybe there're things <span style="font-style: italic">i</span> want to see?</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">You want ice-cream, don't you.</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">I WAS PROMISED COLDSTONE!</span><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">-There's a Coldstone Icecream Parlor two miles down from the left junction.-</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">ONWARD, MINION!</span><br/><br/>Icecream was a mere fantasy, unfortunately. Something sharp suddenly pressed against Esone's throat, a bare burly arm snaking around his chest. His assailant drew up close, and Esone could feel their breath on his ear.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">OMGWTF, where did that come from?!</span><br/><br/>"Hello again Donovan. Long time, no see." The voice that spoke was all too familiar to the Lieutenant, sonorous and muffled by the mask it's owner wore. From the corner of his eye Esone could make out scarred, bone-white skin, thick knotted muscles, a translucent sickle blade, and the crude skull death-mask. Whether the mask was bone or Soulsteel was a mystery, but it's pitted surface was deeply expressive for an inanimate object.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">-What's happening? Who is this?-</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">Believe me, you don't want to know. Just stay quiet for all of our sakes, and be ready to tell the Commander that we met a very gristly end.</span><br/><br/>"Fate of All. What are you doing away from the Orchid? It's unlike the enforcer of the Althing to leave his charge, or it's steward. For that matter, were is Alpha?" The arm around Esone's throat relaxed, but the blade remained where it was. Writhing sheets of pallid light billowed off of the weapon like an aurora, indistinct faces forming for moments before dissolving in agonized screams. A thin umbilical thread of these morphic lights connected to Fate's mask, pulsing as if in tune to his heart.<br/><br/>"Oh, you know. Sometimes a couple needs some time apart. Don't want the relationship to become more business than pleasure. Alpha is over there though." Another shadow detached itself from the far wall of the sewer tunnel, a gaunt young man wrapped in a tattered hoodie and jeans. shifting green tattoos covered his tanned skin, and sharp fangs gleamed in his snarling mouth. Where he should have had eyes, there was only a pair of pits that laid bare the madness of the Wyld. Alpha, the first of the experimental Infernal Lunars, and attack-dog for Fate of All.<br/><br/>"Speaking of business..." Fate shifted slightly, retrieving a scroll from somewhere Esone couldn't fathom. Fate of All was an eccentric among Infernals, and compounded his obsessive personality by going everywhere topless and garbed in a long ceremonial kilt that left little to the imagination. There weren't any pockets, so unless Fate was using Elsewhere that scroll had endured a horrible journey.<br/><br/>"Donovan Esone, Eleventh Prince of the Green Sun, Third Servant of the Ebon Dragon, and First Scourge of Hell, you are charged with aiding and abetting Exalted of the Maidens, the Dragons, and the Sun. You have been given numerous opportunities to kill and/or abandon them, but passed those chances by for<span style="font-style: italic">unfathomable</span>reasons. How do you plead?"<br/><br/>"Um... Not guilty? I need them in order to drive off the Neverborn, like the bosses want." In the corner Alpha snickered, staring hungrily at the Lieutenant. Fate snorted.<br/><br/>"Yeah, I know that. The Althing still wants you to explain yourself though, you've been getting a little weirdly chummy with that Commander. Either you're a kiss-ass, or you're really<span style="font-style: italic">living</span>for the role."<br/><br/>Esone rolled his eyes. "Great. So I guess it's off to the Althing and a nice interrogation chamber?"<br/><br/>Fate clapped him soundly on the back, he and Alpha frogmarching the Lieutenant off into the depths of the sewer. "If you're lucky, it'll even be in that order!"<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">Remember Vertigo, if we aren't there for the next assignment, tell the Commander we died screaming at the hands of monsters. And then sell the DVD of our death to the Krogans for a tidy profit.</span>