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Description
Fall from Grace
Chapter One

It was still dark outside when he rose from bed.  Titus Aurelius slipped from under the silk sheets and into the bathroom without a noise.  He paused for a moment at the door to look over his shoulder at his wife, who lay motionless on the large plush bed.  He watched as her chest rose and fell slowly with the deep breaths of one in deep sleep.  His eyes traced every curve of her perfect body and he smiled.

He could have taken anyone as his own; such was one of the benefits of those in his position.  And, while he enjoyed a life of relative luxury in a world of general poverty…none of it amounted to what she meant to him.

He turned and began to prepare himself for his daily duties.  His feet made barely a sound on the polished marble floor as he moved.  He stood, completely naked, before a full length mirror and examined himself for several moments.  His body was a work of art, and a precision machine all at once…designed to intimidate, protect…and to kill.  He looked at his many scars…scars he wore as reminders of times past, reminders of mistakes made, and glory won.  These were scars he wore as badges of honor.

He was a tall man, muscular and toned.  His features betrayed his years of harsh training and service.  His weathered face, though scared…was handsome, his eyes piercing.  His black hair, cut close and neat in a military style was flecked with silver at his temples.  His was a hard life…but one of honor.

He turned away from the mirror, and stepped into the steam shower.  As he entered, the sensors in the small glass booth triggered the sixteen nozzles that lined the walls inside into action.  Steam began to fill the booth, spraying from the nozzles as they each oscillated within their own twenty degree arch.  He reached out to a small shelf built into the wall and grabbed the cleansing cloth.  He ran the cloth over his body…the pre applied cleanser creating a rich lather as he washed.  He turned and pressed a small button.  The steam nozzles began to increase their pressure…rinsing him off as he slowly turned.

He got out of the steam shower and finished getting himself ready.  His face was clean shaven, his teeth pearly white.  Every hair on his head seemed to know its place and stayed there unflinchingly.  He dressed himself in his normal clothes for the morning.  His skin tight white tank top clung to his frame.  He wore a pair of tailored black slacks and real leather shoes.  SynthLeather was beneath a man of his station.  He grabbed his black silk, hooded jacket and walked quietly over to where his wife was still sleeping.

Slowly…gently…he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead.  She smiled, and stretched her body out under the satin sheets.

“Is it morning already,” she asked.  Her voice was raspy, still heavy with sleep.

“Yes, My Angel,” he said softly.  His deep resonant voice could command legions to do his bidding…but in this moment it was the most gentle sound she had ever heard.  “I will be back tonight.  Sleep now.”

“Mmm,” was all she could manage as she rolled onto her side and tried to look up at him.

He smiled again, and brushed a stray lock of her raven hair from her face.  He leaned in once again and kissed her…pressing his lips gently to hers.  Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer.  They kissed as if they would never see each other again.  In truth…that was always a possibility.

He stood and walked to the door, looking over his shoulder as he opened it.  She smiled at him.

“Titus,” she said softly.

“Yes, Atia, my love,” he answered.

“Do you love me?”  She pouted, though her eyes sparkled with the mischief of a school girl.

“Until the end of time,” he whispered.

With that, he turned and left her lying there.  The door clicked shut behind him and he paused.

“I will love you until the end of time,” he repeated.

In every modern society, you have certain echelons of citizenship. Workers, criminals, bureaucrats, nobles, traders, smugglers and so forth. They all have their own place in life, living in their own hellish or heavenly habitat, which is more often than not dictated by their parent’s parents and their forefathers.

The distance between the floor of the place they call home and the ground level is quite literally a measurement of their success, meager or otherwise and precious few manage to elevate themselves, literally and figuratively speaking. Some willingly plunge themselves into the murky depths of the City, where they seek frenzied violence and other blood-sports.

With Titus’ position came a great distance between him and the harsh, hard ground. His habitat was luxurious, spacious and quite heavenly by any standards, but beneath it, dangers lurked. The man was reminded of this when he started to walk towards the craft that would take him to his duty. With every stride, he also got further away from the steel door through which his one, true love still slept.

To his right, Titus could look into the abominable abyss, the gaping maw of the many layers of the City below him. The further down his eagle-eyed gaze swept, the darker it became, until the only light that lit the structures were those of flashes of violence and raw humanity: gunfire, plasma discharges, explosions, searchlights, welders and other heavy industry.

Stopping his analytic view of the world beneath him, Titus looked straight ahead again and stepped into his vehicle. Most men of his stature and station would have an armed escort or at the very least an armed and armored car to travel in. In this case, Titus was very much the armed escort in and of himself.  His duty was grim, solemn and fraught with violence and precisely applied force.

It was all readily available underneath the surface, but he knew how to handle it, thanks to extensive training and to a certain degree, mental conditioning. The man was cool, calm and collected. No more dangerous than a high-grade explosive without its detonator.

Concentrating his thoughts on the long day ahead, Titus took off and entered the designated air traffic lane for military vehicles and transports. Few vehicles traveled there and he had a clear field of vision around him.

From this vantage point, it was even more crystal clear that the City was full of stark contrasts. Darkness and light were laid out in a mottled pattern that brimmed with luscious life, perverse and uplifted extremes contained within a single glance.

Only the most vain would say they fully grasped the City in its entirety; in more ways than one, it was an organism of its own. Titus weaved right through it, following his rigid route towards his destiny and duty, towards the very heart of this beast they called the City.

Titus’ destination was the grand, grey Citadel. This omnipresent architectonic behemoth was the heart of the city, only by grace of its location. Only because it was literally the center of the City had anyone ever called it the heart of the City. They say that the heart is where the home is, yet no-one called the Citadel his or her home.

It houses the massive bureaucratic institute of the Administration, the various, almost eldritch, Ministries, such as the ones of Propaganda and Alien Affairs. It contains the heavily guarded barracks of the High Guard – but no-one knows for sure how many in number they are or what their barracks really look like. Finally, it contained the many offices of the Council, with the most opulent office and the most humbling audience chamber reserved for the Supreme Chancellor.

Getting closer to the Citadel, Titus worked through all of the required safety protocols and other assorted procedures. Trying to land or to get close to the Citadel without them, would be quite rightfully described as suicide. When all was said and done, the man landed in a nameless dock. Once Titus had touched down, he stepped out of his car and looked at the ten inch thick, Tirillium Composite security door ahead of him. He was just a few firm steps away from the start of a new day of guard duty. A new day of danger. A new day, like any other.

Description
Fall from Grace
Chapter One

It was still dark outside when he rose from bed.  Titus Aurelius slipped from under the silk sheets and into the bathroom without a noise.  He paused for a moment at the door to look over his shoulder at his wife, who lay motionless on the large plush bed.  He watched as her chest rose and fell slowly with the deep breaths of one in deep sleep.  His eyes traced every curve of her perfect body and he smiled.

He could have taken anyone as his own; such was one of the benefits of those in his position.  And, while he enjoyed a life of relative luxury in a world of general poverty…none of it amounted to what she meant to him.

He turned and began to prepare himself for his daily duties.  His feet made barely a sound on the polished marble floor as he moved.  He stood, completely naked, before a full length mirror and examined himself for several moments.  His body was a work of art, and a precision machine all at once…designed to intimidate, protect…and to kill.  He looked at his many scars…scars he wore as reminders of times past, reminders of mistakes made, and glory won.  These were scars he wore as badges of honor.

He was a tall man, muscular and toned.  His features betrayed his years of harsh training and service.  His weathered face, though scared…was handsome, his eyes piercing.  His black hair, cut close and neat in a military style was flecked with silver at his temples.  His was a hard life…but one of honor.

He turned away from the mirror, and stepped into the steam shower.  As he entered, the sensors in the small glass booth triggered the sixteen nozzles that lined the walls inside into action.  Steam began to fill the booth, spraying from the nozzles as they each oscillated within their own twenty degree arch.  He reached out to a small shelf built into the wall and grabbed the cleansing cloth.  He ran the cloth over his body…the pre applied cleanser creating a rich lather as he washed.  He turned and pressed a small button.  The steam nozzles began to increase their pressure…rinsing him off as he slowly turned.

He got out of the steam shower and finished getting himself ready.  His face was clean shaven, his teeth pearly white.  Every hair on his head seemed to know its place and stayed there unflinchingly.  He dressed himself in his normal clothes for the morning.  His skin tight white tank top clung to his frame.  He wore a pair of tailored black slacks and real leather shoes.  SynthLeather was beneath a man of his station.  He grabbed his black silk, hooded jacket and walked quietly over to where his wife was still sleeping.

Slowly…gently…he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead.  She smiled, and stretched her body out under the satin sheets.

“Is it morning already,” she asked.  Her voice was raspy, still heavy with sleep.

“Yes, My Angel,” he said softly.  His deep resonant voice could command legions to do his bidding…but in this moment it was the most gentle sound she had ever heard.  “I will be back tonight.  Sleep now.”

“Mmm,” was all she could manage as she rolled onto her side and tried to look up at him.

He smiled again, and brushed a stray lock of her raven hair from her face.  He leaned in once again and kissed her…pressing his lips gently to hers.  Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer.  They kissed as if they would never see each other again.  In truth…that was always a possibility.

He stood and walked to the door, looking over his shoulder as he opened it.  She smiled at him.

“Titus,” she said softly.

“Yes, Atia, my love,” he answered.

“Do you love me?”  She pouted, though her eyes sparkled with the mischief of a school girl.

“Until the end of time,” he whispered.

With that, he turned and left her lying there.  The door clicked shut behind him and he paused.

“I will love you until the end of time,” he repeated.

In every modern society, you have certain echelons of citizenship. Workers, criminals, bureaucrats, nobles, traders, smugglers and so forth. They all have their own place in life, living in their own hellish or heavenly habitat, which is more often than not dictated by their parent’s parents and their forefathers.

The distance between the floor of the place they call home and the ground level is quite literally a measurement of their success, meager or otherwise and precious few manage to elevate themselves, literally and figuratively speaking. Some willingly plunge themselves into the murky depths of the City, where they seek frenzied violence and other blood-sports.

With Titus’ position came a great distance between him and the harsh, hard ground. His habitat was luxurious, spacious and quite heavenly by any standards, but beneath it, dangers lurked. The man was reminded of this when he started to walk towards the craft that would take him to his duty. With every stride, he also got further away from the steel door through which his one, true love still slept.

To his right, Titus could look into the abominable abyss, the gaping maw of the many layers of the City below him. The further down his eagle-eyed gaze swept, the darker it became, until the only light that lit the structures were those of flashes of violence and raw humanity: gunfire, plasma discharges, explosions, searchlights, welders and other heavy industry.

Stopping his analytic view of the world beneath him, Titus looked straight ahead again and stepped into his vehicle. Most men of his stature and station would have an armed escort or at the very least an armed and armored car to travel in. In this case, Titus was very much the armed escort in and of himself.  His duty was grim, solemn and fraught with violence and precisely applied force.

It was all readily available underneath the surface, but he knew how to handle it, thanks to extensive training and to a certain degree, mental conditioning. The man was cool, calm and collected. No more dangerous than a high-grade explosive without its detonator.

Concentrating his thoughts on the long day ahead, Titus took off and entered the designated air traffic lane for military vehicles and transports. Few vehicles traveled there and he had a clear field of vision around him.

From this vantage point, it was even more crystal clear that the City was full of stark contrasts. Darkness and light were laid out in a mottled pattern that brimmed with luscious life, perverse and uplifted extremes contained within a single glance.

Only the most vain would say they fully grasped the City in its entirety; in more ways than one, it was an organism of its own. Titus weaved right through it, following his rigid route towards his destiny and duty, towards the very heart of this beast they called the City.

Titus’ destination was the grand, grey Citadel. This omnipresent architectonic behemoth was the heart of the city, only by grace of its location. Only because it was literally the center of the City had anyone ever called it the heart of the City. They say that the heart is where the home is, yet no-one called the Citadel his or her home.

It houses the massive bureaucratic institute of the Administration, the various, almost eldritch, Ministries, such as the ones of Propaganda and Alien Affairs. It contains the heavily guarded barracks of the High Guard – but no-one knows for sure how many in number they are or what their barracks really look like. Finally, it contained the many offices of the Council, with the most opulent office and the most humbling audience chamber reserved for the Supreme Chancellor.

Getting closer to the Citadel, Titus worked through all of the required safety protocols and other assorted procedures. Trying to land or to get close to the Citadel without them, would be quite rightfully described as suicide. When all was said and done, the man landed in a nameless dock. Once Titus had touched down, he stepped out of his car and looked at the ten inch thick, Tirillium Composite security door ahead of him. He was just a few firm steps away from the start of a new day of guard duty. A new day of danger. A new day, like any other.