He breathed heavy, his face a cold stone. There was blood trickling from his ears with dust and ash scattered about him. The night was lit up in flame, the deafening air raid sirens drowning out all noise and adding to the chaos. There he stood in the rubble with eyes locked in delirium upon the limp child in his arms, the light of orange flames dancing across his lifeless features. The sirens seemed to grow louder... Louder... LOUDER. He shot back to reality with a startle, his face slowly contorting with bitterness at the drilling sound of the alarm that forced him awake. He laid still a moment before sitting up, clenching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as the alarm continued its irritating, electronic droning. It had been ages since he'd had that dream... He let the blaring continue for a time in otherwise quiet contemplation before half heartedly raising up and swiping down a hand, the alarm instantly ceasing. Dawn had yet to break on this world as he began his morning routine, mostly in hazy contemplation. Five kilometers of jogging, a minimal, bland breakfast, bathing, grooming and catching up on updates concerning the MiniKnog collectively. Holtz was given profoundly decadent accommodations. It made him uneasy and would have not accepted such exquisite housing if he hadn't already known that it was more a show of status than anything. In truth, the place just felt starkly empty... He had a few standard hours to spare before convening with the other councilmen. Dealing with this... menagerie of cultures and ideas was frustrating to say the least. He had to force the disdain from his tone each time Stargazer Itzel paused to pray, each time Sanchi Clearwater was overly generous or amicable with her propositions, each time Cylo Hayes spoke woefully off topic and each time Sir Lockweld simply did not get-to-the-POINT. The MiniKnog handled things more quickly and efficiently. More ruthlessly, the council might say. At the very least, Vice Admiral Jefferson wasn't quite as exhausting and there were qualities of the floran, Chief Preystalk he admired when he wasn't being a raving lunatic. He stared out over the lush jungle from within his quarters. The day was finally breaking. Representative Holtz was thankful he was able to bring along his entourage. Each report, each document, each graph, message, request and proposition was laid out before him precisely when he needed it without any useless pleasantries or dialogue. He logged a personal reminder to berate his secretary for the lukewarm tea and to continue pressing for MiniKnog defectors to be handled in council space. Finally, after personal dealings had been caught up on, he was ready to meet in the councilors chamber. He sighed quietly, his face hardening almost reflexively as he readied for the coming hours, and what hours they were. Cylo Hayes had forgotten to show up again, Chief Preystalk barged in late and loudly and though Holtz always remained focused and on topic, he simply couldn't help but feel we was sitting in a zoo. Like most meetings there was a clash of ideals and cultures, questions of ethics. Many nights he left the chambers with a churning stomach. Certainly more would have been accomplished if the MiniKnog alone were making these decisions. He marched out from the chamber, throat sore and head pounding before resigning to his private quarters. He stared up at the ceiling from his bed, blinking in the darkness as he dwelled on the events of the day, the past months and years. There was an uneasiness to all this time alone to think. In the back of his mind, all he heard were sirens...
