Stroth and Krellos hadn’t expected much resistance inside the Museum, and were surprised to find expertly trained operatives of the Montreau Conservatory in place of the institute’s usual mild-mannered and likely underpaid docents. In close quarters, even these so-called “mooks” had made the ascent from the Museum’s archive levels to the Project Centennial exhibition a long and arduous walk. Stroth scowled at the thought that Baroness Dorn Oramande had turned this place of learning into her personal fortress. More than anything else she had witnessed during her travels, that woman made her angry.
Distracted by the thought, she barely registered two Montreau agents clad in maroon body armour stepping from behind now-empty display cases to accost her. Krellos was not so absent-minded; the molten buckshot pumping from his hand cannon broke apart the breastplate of the first attacker and seared a bright brand across the face of the second. Stroth recoiled from the violence, but her companion pushed her forward, growling “Go! I got you covered.”
Steeling her nerves, Stroth bounded past exhibits with which she was intimately familiar and rounded a final corner to behold her objective in sight - at last. She hadn’t expected it to still be on its own circular platform, spotlit from above like some ancient treasure, some holy relic. But there it stood: yellowing plastic casing, banks of toggle switches and tactile buttons, monitors as deep as they were wide and endless, scrolling text. The Project Centennial command console.
Hello again, old friend, she thought.
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