level_main_11-03_beg

One Year Ago...

4:56 P.M. \ Overcast

Munitions Factory No. 11, Highbury District of Londinium

Oi, has the last batch of polymer prep come in yet?

What—what do you mean it hasn't?!

This takes the piss...

Who was in charge of transporting those materials?

It was, er, the one in charge, er...

What are you dithering for?

...It was Feist.

That boy...

He went out first thing this morning. Should've been back ages ago.

Who went with him?

Tommy, Patto and Day.

They're not the same workshop. How'd they get on the same shift?

They all get along like a housefire. Keep mucking together all the time. Feist's their little ringleader.

You've hit a snag, from the sounds of it.

Small potatoes, nothing more.

Small potatoes.

Catherine, you know what day it is today, right?

How could I forget?

`I've been fearing for my life I'll upset our officer if I sign and it looks like fowl scratch. I started practicing my signature ten whole days ago.

That's practice under your belt, then. The General's stressing importance hard on the handover ceremony in two days. Reportedly, the Defense Forces' head is showing too.

Want a cig?

...Heh. Pass one here.

You know why it is all your factory's people have stuck around until now, don't you?

We work very hard.

That's a given.

You do your work very well. We're alike in that regard. Work, get paid, scrape a living.

But our employers know all too well the more exceptional a merc's work, the less he can be trusted.

Standard fare.

Old manager of this industrial park, Sir Humphrey, never trusted us either. Before you dragged him away.

Don't make trouble for me, Catherine.

The mercenary's tone is placid, like he's the one asking Catherine if she wants a smoke. As he so often does.

This is his job. Offing a few disobedient Londinium workers to him is almost the same as the screws she tightens on the daily.

Catherine taps her cigarette into a bag. Can't have ash falling into the machinery.

I've told you more times than I can count.

If you want efficiency maintained, our factory can't afford one fewer worker.

I admire you a fair bit, Catherine. Even a typical merc might not even have the guts you do.

You've got the stuff. Thing is, it's possible to take anything too far.

Londinium's got over a hundred munitions factories just like yours. Even if this whole place was dead empty, the Regent wouldn't care.

Nothing will change. The ceremony will come the day after, we'll hand over everything promised, and all our workers will be there.

No need for you lot to worry about a thing.

I'll take your word for it, then.

Of course. Not got a lighter? You're just holding your cig there...

You hold onto it, after all. Londinium smokes always have a sort of engine oil to them. Can't ever get over it.

Catherine, what do we do?

(Pinches cigarette out)

...Off to the loading area.

Patto! Done there?

Just this screw left!

Sort it out. If this keeps up, they'll be waiting a whole week at least to get more polymer prep.

Polymer up to our ears, it's just batch after batch coming in. The hell are the Sarkaz building?

I haven't seen. Granny doesn't let me anywhere near the assembly line. Only her most trusted workmates get to climb up that walkway.

The longer this keeps up, the more it must be very important to the Sarkaz.

Gotta be a weapon, right? We've been pumping out auto-crossbows for the Sarkaz the last few days in the workshop.

Could only be. Still got so many ducal armies outside eyeing us.

Be ghastly letting the Sarkaz get away with this, I tell you.

We've got to stop them, Patto. We can't be helping the Sarkaz fend off our own.

Think it'd be any use if we destroyed this batch of prep? Think we'd get sentenced?

I'll step up if that's what it comes to. I'm not afraid of being taken in.

You can't do that.

...Granny?

Grab 'em.

Patto—do it!

Eh—?

On the fly, she grabs a small file and throws it.

With a clang, the worker's spanner flies out of his hand and onto the ground.

Ugh...

Do you know what it is you're doing?

I'm stopping the Sarkaz!

You're making a scene.

I've got it all planned! It won't drag any of you in. I'll tell the Sarkaz I did it, and then—

—and then you'll die at the Sarkaz's hands. You're making yourself out as a hero, aren't you?

I'll try and flee. I've been planning this forever—

You're using the crawler you modified. You're hiding on the cargo track, and slipping out of Highbury that way.

So you knew...

I've been living in this industrial park for over fifty years. Whatever silly business you try, it won't slip by me.

Granny, listen to me.

I received some news. There's a rebel organization active in Sudean right now. They've rescued a whole number of people from the Sarkaz, and they've even taken back some plates!

They call themselves the Londinium Citizens' Self-Salvation Corps—we're going to meet them!

Are you now?

And then?

Er... what?

Are they lacking for smiths? Are you going to assemble and automate production pipelines for them, maybe design the next generation of crawlers?

I...

You can't even put a single armament together. You're going to go up to the people at this Self-Salvation Corps and tell them you want to bash Sarkaz heads in with spanners?

I'm learning!

I know the stories you've told me, like how you got selected to build steam armor when you were young, and I've heard you spending night after night polishing at power conduits.

I don't get it... We're Londinium workers, you've been teaching me that since I was little. You've told me how our factory built modern Victoria—

But now? We're lowering our flag at a handover ceremony, and raising the Sarkaz ensign.

And then? We're taking the assembly line we're so proud of and producing weapons for the Sarkaz with it, and those weapons will end up pointed at Victorians!

How can you bear life like this?

Like what?

Life like this <i>is</i> our life, the life you and your parents have always been living.

Look at this factory.

Nobles with titles longer than their surnames, business tossers with lives built on trade, even the Sarkaz... we've had people posing as its master come and go.

But the assembly line's still there. The machines still haven't come to a halt. Each rivet that's passed through our hands is still in the place it's meant to be.

Whoever might be occupying that palace in the middle of Londinium, this city we built will still see tomorrow and the day after that.

But I don't want a tomorrow like this!

What kind of life is a life without freedom? It's being alive at most, that's it.

If this factory... if Londinium isn't ours any longer, then what was the point of everything we made for it?!

You know, Feist...

Twenty-five years ago, that night when the flames lit up the sky, your dad said much the same thing to me.

Boss, the Sarkaz are almost back—

You're free to go wherever you want.

But from this moment on, you are forbidden from ever setting foot in the factory again, Feist.

A worker who won't finish the job with his own hands <i>isn't fit for the job</i>.

Anyone who wants to go with him, I won't stop you either.

Just remember—you step out of this door, and you are no longer one of us.