Story: Breakpoint (WIP)

[Dio]

Knight Takes Pawn

It was dusk as Rook stepped off the train and started for the plant. Razorclaw Ironworks loomed large in the distance, a black mass of smokestacks and blast furnaces jabbing into the red and purple twilight. Even from this far away, Rook could smell the peculiar sting of sulfur smoke from the coal-fired blast furnaces. Though he had not visited the Ironworks in weeks, he had paced the grounds often enough to know exactly what he was doing.

Argent Rook normally had laser-like focus, dissecting his doubts, flaying his concerns, and laying out new plans with a surgeon's precision. Why worry about something when you have the solutions all laid out in front of you? But sometimes, things still bothered him, nagged at the back of his brain, clouded and occluded that laser-intellect of his. Alana had become one of those things as of late.

The minute the Griffonness had even mentioned Tal-Abir, Rook became suspicious. Tal-Abir was a social movement that made its home deep in inner city Talonopolis. While its roots were based in collective bargaining and laborer's rights, it soon became embroiled in sociopolitical violence that saw it labeled as a terrorist organization. That Alana would go anywhere near it was greatly disconcerting to Rook.

Alana had given him speech after speech about the plight of lower-class Griffons working in the mines and factories in the greater Talonopolis area, to the point where Rook was sick of it. The follow-up was always the same, too: Tal-Abir was a movement by the Griffons, for the Griffons. She always denied direct connections, but it was obvious to Rook that his confidence was being tested by her sympathies; sympathies that could potentially inspire defection. Rook had known Alana long enough to know that the Griffon favored action over idle fantasy.

It wasn't that Rook was against unionization. He was all for fair treatment and reasonable wages. However, his employer—Alana Razorclaw's own family—had made clear its stance against Tal-Abir. There had already been attacks against other Razorclaw assets and personnel; the last thing Rook wanted was for Alana to get involved on the wrong side of the war that seemed to be brewing in the streets of Talonopolis.

Rook shrugged as he walked. On the other hoof, what did he know about the socioeconomic situation in the Griffon lands? It was a Griffon problem and he was but one lucky pony. He was also getting preferential treatment from the Razorclaw family themselves; who was he to ruin a good thing over some idealistic nonsense?

Before he could answer that question, Rook found himself at the gates to the Valdus furnace at Razorclaw Ironworks. He flashed his Razorclaw broach insignia at the Griffon guard, who waved him on through. The blast furnace was a massive brick and metal structure that rose hundreds of feet into the sky. Copper tubing and steel ductwork wound around the furnace like so many metallic snakes and steel grating catwalks intersected the ductwork at regular intervals along the outside of the furnace. One catwalk ran straight from the furnace to the second floor of a cubic, concrete building with a steel roof.

This was his work space. The concrete 'bunker' held both a security office with telephone links to the rest of the facility and failsafe controls for the blast furnace in the event of primary control failure... or sabotage. In spite of what Brandis Razorclaw had said, Rook knew why he was really here. Lately, Tal-Abir had been hitting closer and closer to home. Rumors had reached the Razorclaws that the Ironworks was a potential target. Valdus wasn't the most valuable of the four Razorclaw furnaces, but Rook supposed Brandis needed an eye on everything.

Rook clocked in and immediately headed into the security office, giving the orange-feathered Griffon at the desk a quick nod of acknowledgement. 'Mornin' Roland.'

Roland snorted, bringing down the book he was reading. 'It's nine o'clock at night, Rook!'

'It's morning somewhere!' Rook chuckled. 'You're early.'

'I thought I'd try being punctual for a change,' The Griffon joked. 'That can't hurt any, can it?'

'I suppose not. Where are the rest of the boys?'

'The rest of the shift hit the locker room as soon as Galen and I showed up. Lazy pukes,' The Griffon spat.

Rook facehoofed at the lackadaisical nature of the shift change. How were they supposed to guard their plant sector with half their staff watching only the clock? He'd have to have a word with the sergeant the next day; not that anything could be done about it. Brandis may have run a tight ship at home with his personal security detail, but the plant security staff was hardly as... motivated.

'I'll have a word with the sergeant tomorrow.'

'It's not like they'll do anything,' Roland said, not without a hint of disdain. The Griffon decided to change the subject. 'Galen's out patrolling the catwalks already. You can go ahead and make your ground sweep. I'll be manning the phones.'

'Funny, I never pictured you as a switchboard operator Griffonness, Roland,' Rook laughed.

'If you weren't so bad at cards, I'd have a mind to punch you in the face, Rook!' Roland retorted with a mock scowl. Rook merely chuckled as he stepped out the door and into the night air.

The smell of carbon and sulfur was thickest nearest to the blast furnace. Automated conveyor belts driven by steam from the heat exchangers on the furnace perpetually delivered bituminous coal to the furnace, which ran continuously, lest the melted metal solidify inside the furnace shell. The base of the furnace was encased in a massive metal warehouse where the Griffons labored in shifts to extract steel from the molten metal that collected at the bottom of the furnace.

The thrum of the blast furnace flame had a mild hypnotic effect; Rook found himself fighting distraction as he rounded the warehouse corner. Suddenly, the unicorn stopped dead. Lying on the ground was the crumpled form of a Griffon. The black cloak and gold insignia broach of Razorclaw security staff was unmistakable. Rook sprinted to the body to find the lifeless form of Galen laying in a puddle of blood.

No pulse. He's a gone. Rook noted two fine incisions on the body; one in Galen's chest, piercing his heart, and the other through his throat, destroying his windpipe. Whoever had done this was exceptionally clever. The Griffon guard didn't even have time to scream before his life was snuffed. He'd also been targeted when he was on the far side of the furnace and near the end of the first watch round. That gave the killer a one-hour window before Galen was due to report back to the desk and a 20-minute window before Galen was due to run into Roland coming out from patrol.

Rook burst through the security office doors at full gallop, startling Roland, who almost fell out of his chair in shock. The book flipped out of his claws, snapping closed as it hit the tiled floor of the office. 'Rook what the hell is g—'

'Roland,' Rook panted. 'Galen's dead.'

'What—'

'There's no time!' Rook blasted. 'I need you to get on the line to the main security office and get reinforcements down here ON THE DOUBLE.'

'What then?'

'You stay here. Lock down the security bunker and keep the secondary control room safe. I'm going to run a sweep for our little saboteur.'

Roland looked hurt for a moment, as if being relegated to holding down the fort and taking orders from a pony had wounded his pride. A glare from Rook quickly spurred him into action. But as Rook was about to leave, Roland dropped the phone.

'The telephone lines have been cut.'

Rook muttered a curse under his breath in native Equine. The saboteur or saboteurs were one step ahead of them. But Rook didn't have time to waste fuming. He had to act immediately or the entire plant was in danger. 'Roland, change of plans. I need you to fly to the main office. I'll lock down the bunker and make a sweep of the furnace.'

The Griffon nodded and quickly sprinted out the door, taking wing as soon as there was space to do so. Rook snorted and mashed the red button on the console, actuating the pistons which would seal the control room above them with heavy bolts, preventing access to all but the most determined of attackers. He charged out of the security office, locking the door behind him and headed up the stairs to the control room. Argent Rook stopped as he crested the metal grate of the stairwell, his eyes coming to rest upon a shadowy figure just outside the control room door.

[Dio]

Now uploaded in Google Docs so they'll be easier to keep up to date:

1: Open Game

2: Knight Takes Pawn

3: Rook Takes Knight

4: Checkmate