Noon Reilson
New Member
The dull and starless cosmos was floating a distance above a pressing, black and wooly blanket of quiet rain clouds. It seemed like every day of the year was the dullest day on that particular date, as they say, since records began. The very aging of Ayenee Capital City was accompanied by an ever whispering song of this awful drizzle; this city was awash with the kind of uncomfortable dampness of the bones that just sneaks up on you. The rain just won't fuck off right now.
Unassuming and neatly dressed, Noon and his professional garb were both contained drly in the arched halls of an ornate subway station. A subway station constructed especially for the corporate employees of the former chief power holders of this city -- Guy Karde, Sledge Rivers, Reese Jarrek. This stop was for those working in ZCorp Tower. While peering over his shoulder Noon's eyes became fixed on the flashing exit sign that lead out of the subway and up onto the streets outside. Each step upwards was wetter and wetter until the shower could be seen beating onto the reaches -- water was pooling. Mr. Reilson thought to himself that he hoped no poor old dear would slip on her way down. Then, with regret, he remembered that nobody came to the towers any more.
As such he clutched his briefcase as if it were a doll and pondered the downfall of his employers. The railway line below began to sing a wailing blues as the graffitied SR1308 electrical locomotive, once the height of technology, laboured up along side the platorm. Our redundant Reilson boarded the rickety old thing when the sliding doors finally decided that cooperation was well advised. He was the single passenger making use of the station this evening. Looking for a seat took a moment, and as he sat he had an angle to glance into the driver's cab -- the two working men exchanged a sombre sort of eye contact, written in their eyes was a sympathy for the insecurity of their respective roles in this receding city.
The engine pulled the carriages out of the station, roaring like subways do, into a dark tunnel. The ZCorp Towers subway stop in Ayenee Capital City would receive no more trains.
"How am I going to tell her?", he mouthed to himself with his hands covering his face.
Unassuming and neatly dressed, Noon and his professional garb were both contained drly in the arched halls of an ornate subway station. A subway station constructed especially for the corporate employees of the former chief power holders of this city -- Guy Karde, Sledge Rivers, Reese Jarrek. This stop was for those working in ZCorp Tower. While peering over his shoulder Noon's eyes became fixed on the flashing exit sign that lead out of the subway and up onto the streets outside. Each step upwards was wetter and wetter until the shower could be seen beating onto the reaches -- water was pooling. Mr. Reilson thought to himself that he hoped no poor old dear would slip on her way down. Then, with regret, he remembered that nobody came to the towers any more.
As such he clutched his briefcase as if it were a doll and pondered the downfall of his employers. The railway line below began to sing a wailing blues as the graffitied SR1308 electrical locomotive, once the height of technology, laboured up along side the platorm. Our redundant Reilson boarded the rickety old thing when the sliding doors finally decided that cooperation was well advised. He was the single passenger making use of the station this evening. Looking for a seat took a moment, and as he sat he had an angle to glance into the driver's cab -- the two working men exchanged a sombre sort of eye contact, written in their eyes was a sympathy for the insecurity of their respective roles in this receding city.
The engine pulled the carriages out of the station, roaring like subways do, into a dark tunnel. The ZCorp Towers subway stop in Ayenee Capital City would receive no more trains.
"How am I going to tell her?", he mouthed to himself with his hands covering his face.