A Touch of Reality

Aracatuba, Brazil
Current day.

"Careful! Don't get too close to the exhaust," the Gnoam cried out. "Do you purposefully want to meet your maker?" The Ghoblyns backed up, their intelligence barely registering the danger, however more so than the moist earth-men standing next to them. One of green brown Gholems had already started baking into a clay statue. Grumbling the Ghoblyns hurried to move the remaining Gholems out of harms way.

"This is what I have to deal with, seriously," the Gnoam said, scratching his temples in frustration. "'Go places and meet new people' is what they say. Sure, but in the meantime my cousin gets to sip cocktails in Hawaii, while I'm stuck down here in this gods forsaken wasteland, pumping methane from cows and dealing with intellectual outcasts with the brainpower of a nine volt battery." Feeling himself getting worked up beyond what was safe for a Gnoam of his rationality, Cesaire, Master Orchestrator of Winds stomped down the aluminum stairs from his oversight platform to the work floor below.

The work floor was a large circular space framed by large metal conduits and exhausts, spiraling out and upwards to where a series of tanks held cow methane. A frenzied mass of activity made it hard for Cesaire to get the control center in the middle of the space. Pushing aside sweaty Ghoblyns and crumbling Gholems the Gnoam stormed across large metal grates, which most workers avoided. It wasn't so much the heat blasting upwards from below, but rather the view towards the Brazilian farms below. Ghoblyns got skittish very quickly and the Gholems--well whoever thought it was a good idea to put a mile of air between the creatures and the very element they were made of was asking for trouble. More than one Gholem had detected the Earth below one of the grates and tried to return to it by ripping it open and jumping down.

"What is the problem...this time?" Cesaire shouted at the nearest Gnoam operating an array of large dials, wheels and levers. Red lights were flashing across the board lighting up the face of the fearful Gnoam worker. At least his fellow Gnoams were somewhat more competent than the others, albeit not by much. "Forget it. I see it already. It's the intake." Cesaire shoved the whimpering Gnoam out of the way and pulled hard on two giant levers. A siren sounded out sending the Ghoblyns into an even more chaotic frenzy. Punching several large keys and spinning a massive steel wheel on the side, the siren stopped as soon as it began and steam vented on all sides of the open platform sending crows, which had perched there scattering for safer havens.

"There," Cesaire simply said and made his way back to his oversight platform. It was bad enough that the 'Mestro do Vento' had left him and his cousins with rickety metal airships and an incompetent crew to test Operation Fire Tornado, but it cost Cesaire most of his time and efforts to remain off the radar from the human media. Already reports on BBC and CNN had uncovered mishaps in Hawaii and Brazil, for which his second cousin Retamar had paid dearly. No Cesaire would have to burn the midnight oil--or methane--in order to secure his own climb in the Metal hierarchy. Sometimes Cesaire wished he had just stuck with his undercover job in Seattle. After all, working on the latest aerospace defense projects were hardly anywhere near as dangerous as this stint. Cesaire sighed and resumed his position at the helm. Cesaire settled his gaze upon the horizon as the Conflict Airship, type: Inferno Nurturer floated off into the sunset.

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