Chapter 3: Chapter Two – Arrival

"You're lookin' a little green in the gills there, jarhead, you sure you're alright?"

Mick couldn't do much aside from nodding, thanks to the nausea. Flying was not good news for him; he hated planes, and he had serious motion sickness. The pilot, a black she-cat by the name of Kalim, snickered and glanced over her shoulder at Mick, who was sitting uncomfortably in one of the passenger seats.

"Don't worry, we'll be there soon." Mick sighed gratefully. The cabin was rather chilly, even at a relatively low altitude, and being furless he didn't deal very well with it. Kalim had warned him before he boarded that he should probably bring a jacket, but he (stupidly) denied, believing it wasn't that big a deal. He was now wishing he'd heeded her advice. One of the bodyguards, Hector, sneered at Mick's antics.

"You know, next time you should probably listen to the gal who flies for a living," he smirked. Mick glared at him, crossing his arms.

"Not funny," he said simply, turning away to look out the window. 

Ahead the city of Caral slowly came into view. It sat very near to the base of a large, tree-covered mountain, Mt. Pantera, and on all other sides was surrounded by green rolling hills that spread as far as the eye could see. A wide river cut through the center of town, with several tributaries winding their way around the streets. The streets themselves seemed relatively narrow, built between rows of townhouses and other taller buildings. To Mick's surprise it looked somewhat similar to Elim's capitol city from the air. 

"Man, I was expecting half of it to be on fire or somethin'," Kalim commented what was on everyone else's minds. She said something into her radio and looked over at her passengers again. "We're headin' down. Your ears are probably gonna pop, so brace yourselves." She ended that sentence with a hollow chuckle as she angled the nose of the plane down slightly.

The descent allowed Mick to get a better view of the city. There were alleys, parks, cafes, schools. Near its outskirts he even thought he saw a zoo. Towards its center he could catch a glimpse of a bright behemoth of a structure, surrounded by greenery in many places. That has to be Lynx Palace.

Rather than a civilian airport, however, Kalim touched the plane down at what Mick could only guess was a military base after seeing it from a bird's eye view. His suspicions were confirmed upon viewing the numerous fighter planes, artillery, tanks and other armored vehicles lined up and down the sides of the runway. He shook the metaphorical cobwebs out of his skull. This was not a vacation, he had to remember. He was here on very serious business. Mick heard several of the bodyguards hiss in surprise when they were thrown against the seats in front of them thanks to the rapid slowing of the plane. Now it was his turn to laugh.

The sunlight reflecting off the concrete runway was nearly blinding as Mick and his guards stepped out of the plane. Mick held his paw above his eyes to somehow lessen the effect, which it did at an abysmally low effectiveness. Kalim shouted something about acting natural from the cockpit, but past the whirring of propellers Mick couldn't decipher exactly what was said. He winced as his paws touched down on the hot ground, only barely stopped by the thin rubber socks he'd slipped on at the last minute before leaving his house that morning. 

Standing a safe distance across the runway was a small group of cats, dressed in various formal attire. All were bare-paw, Mick noticed, so it must have been normal for the ground here to get this hot. Quit thinking about the ground, he groaned in his head. At the head of the group stood a sandy-colored, spotted cat, dressed in a grey uniform with a peaked cap. He was on the older side, and a bit chubby, reminiscent to Mick of his affable great uncle. Upon seeing the newcomers he held a large paw up and waved, and even from a distance Mick could tell he was smiling. If his suspicions were accurate...

"That's General Cobra?" Hector whispered, though it was probably closer to a yell thanks to the incessant racket of the plane. "Doesn't seem like much of an evil dictator."

"Quit talking," Mick snapped back as they approached the group. The spotted tom stepped towards Mick and shook his paw.

"I was wondering when you all would get here! Welcome to Lyncala!" Cobra flashed another pearly-white grin. This has to be a joke.

"Thank you for welcoming us," Mick replied, trying to remain as polite and professional as possible. Cobra went around shaking the paws of all the bodyguards (to the dismay of the majority of them) before stopping in front of Mick again.

"Let's head inside, shall we? I'm not eager to go deaf," Cobra mewed. 

"Sounds like a plan to me," Mick muttered while trying to minimize contact between his paws and the ground. Cobra waved a paw for the Elimese cats to follow, and he led them towards a small building situated just outside of a closed hangar. After some struggle he managed to pry the metal door open and stepped aside to allow for an opening. Mick thanked him and stepped inside, blinking the spots from his vision.

"Much better," Cobra said once the door was closed and all the cats were in the building. The noise outside was still present, but the metal walls did a surprisingly good job of dampening the sound to a tolerable level. After navigating around all the chairs and furniture, Cobra stopped at the front of the room and raised his paws at his sides. "It truly is nice to meet you all. We don't get many visitors here in Caral." 

"Wonder why," Mick heard one of the bodyguards grumble at a nearly inaudible level. Thankfully Cobra, nor any of the other Lyncalan officials, took notice. 

"Now I understand you're here on some rather... unpleasant business. But I figured before we get to the bad stuff, it wouldn't be very hospitable to walk straight into that without a little tour of our capitol," Cobra continued with a flick of his fluffy tail. Two dark stripes underlined his eyes, and to Mick they made the tom look exhausted, which was a bit distracting.

"I don't see why not," Mick replied, though to what he wasn't sure. According to the colonel's parting words that morning it was considered rude in Lyncala to ask an official like Cobra to repeat himself. Mick didn't want to chance pissing off Cobra on the first day, so he kept his peace. 

"While we wait for our transportation I'd like to introduce myself. Not that I need much introducing, but hey, formalities. I'm Lyncala's own President Cobra," the tom said. A swell of pride passed over his body, causing him to lift his chin a little higher. In contrast Mick felt himself shrink down for reasons beyond his comprehension.

"I'm Mick," he said in a low voice. Cobra chuckled softly.

"Mick, huh? That's all?" he mused. Mick nodded wordlessly. Cobra twitched his ear thoughtfully. "Humility. I like it." 

What's he playing at? Mick thought as the other bodyguards introduced themselves. The other cats in the room likely couldn't tell, but Mick could hear the quiet aggression in each of the guards' voices. Unlike the Lyncalan officials the Elimese guards were far from lax; they were highly alert, as they had been trained, prepared to spring into action at the drop of a hat. The silent tension was strung electric between the tiny army.

"Before we head out I think it's probably best if I establish a few things about Caral. First off, we do have a bit of a homeless problem, as much as it sucks to admit. I've been telling the mayor to fix it for years now," Cobra growled the last bit under his breath. "Anyways, because of that I think it's probably best if you steer clear of the sketchier parts of town. Second, if you are on the streets for whatever reason, most of the major roads lead back to Lynx Palace, so if you get lost just find a big road and nine times out of ten you'll find yourself back at home base. Lastly, I'd recommend not going out at night. Keep the shades drawn, if you can help it. Nightlife can get rowdy and I'd be lying if I said we didn't have to frequently replace the Palace's windows thanks to partygoers."

"Gotcha," was all Mick had to say in response. Cobra laughed unexpectedly.

"You're certainly something," he observed. One of the Lyncalan cats leaned over and whispered something in the president's ear, to which he nodded fervently. "Right, right. Sounds like our ride to the Palace is here." 

"Leave the bags, please," Cobra continued as Mick's guards began picking up their luggage. "As much as I trust you I'm going to need my security team to check your bags. After an assassination attempt or two, it's just standard procedure." Reluctantly the guards dropped the bags and began following Cobra and Mick without further protest. 

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Back outside, a small convoy of armored jeeps were lined up with their doors open, with the notable exception of the one in the back. In that vehicle a small group of cats sat, all dressed in dark blue uniforms with yellow ties and golden ornaments. In the front passenger seat sat a particularly decorated tom, his golden eyes staring directly at Mick from behind a circular pair of glasses. Something about his presence filled Mick with a sense of dread, despite the fact that he was at the very back of the convoy and was hard to see anyways behind the dirty windscreen.

"Who are they?" Mick asked with a raised eyebrow, gesturing towards the end of the line. Cobra followed Mick's paw until his eyes reached the group in the back. 

"Oh, don't worry about them. They're just here to make sure I'm safe," he reassured. Though it did little to settle his anxiety, Mick decided to shrug it off and hopped into the jeep at the front of the convoy. Cobra sidled into the seat next to him and closed the door. He leaned towards Mick and spoke in a low voice. "Between you and me, I'm not a huge fan of having a bunch of guys constantly hovering over my shoulder. It's just an unfortunate byproduct of being in charge, if you know what I mean." Despite knowing next to nothing about what it was like to be in charge Mick nodded in agreement. 

The jeep's driver turned the key, and the engine sputtered to life. The driver made a face and spoke out of the side of her mouth. "This is gonna be a bumpy ride, Baldie, so if you needa puke do it out the window." Mick felt his ears flick back at the insult, and noticing this, Cobra turned towards the she-cat in the driver's seat and sighed.

"Irene, he's our guest, there's no need to be rude," he scoffed. Irene shrugged, not at all interested in his words.

"Whatever. You toms always get so butthurt," she muttered as she put the vehicle in drive. Cobra glanced at Mick ruefully, mouthing the words 'just ignore her.'

The jeep chugged down a narrow asphalt road, approaching an iron gate overlooked by a short guardhouse. The tom at the top looked down at what Mick assumed was a control panel, pushed a button, and gave some type of salute. Cobra returned the salute as the jeep accelerated once more to pass through the now-open gate. The base was behind them, and now the city rose high in front of them.

Mick didn't noticed it too much from the air, but the wider streets of Caral felt almost familiar. Sure, all the street names were different, as were the shops and the colors of the buildings. The architecture, though, was nearly identical to Elim's capitol city of Synabad: tall townhouses, detailed sculpting on the walls, high-pitched roofs, balconies with little green gardens and furniture. Even the lampposts were similar. He felt his eyes widen, like a kitten seeing the world for the first time. 

"Feeling at home?" Cobra inquired in a singsong voice. Not knowing how else to respond, Mick let himself smile and nod.

"I didn't expect this," he said after a moment, and immediately regretted it. Instead of taking offense, though, Cobra simply snickered.

"I'm not surprised. Caral doesn't get the best reputation outside of Lyncala," he sighed with a slight tinge of disappointment. "Hopefully I can leave you and your buddies back there with a better impression of us than the press dishes out." Mick wouldn't say it out loud, but that goal was already being realized in him, even if only in a small quantity.

But he didn't forget the mission. Even if President Cobra seemed friendly and if Caral seemed to be thriving, Lyncala's government was responsible for potentially thousands of deaths, and to make matters worse it, if the sources were correct, was complacent in the cover-up of the meltdown. A meltdown that, he reminded himself, was allowed to reach Lyncala's border with its western neighbor Elim. Underneath all the pretty sights and jolly attitudes there was something dark about the country's rulers. That darkness was hurting Elim, and Mick couldn't let that happen any more than it already had.

After making a few more turns down several winding streets and taking a bridge across the wide, sparkling river Mick had seen from the plane earlier, the convoy came into view of Lynx Palace. Mick felt his jaw drop.

The monolithic structure was like nothing he, nor any of the other bodyguards, had ever seen. Synabad- and indeed Elim as a whole- had its fair share of beautiful historical sites, but Lynx Palace overshadowed them all. Even when surrounded by a more modern city on all sides it managed to feel like it was on its own plane. Three, and in some places four, stories rose up in their gleaming marble glory, painstakingly carved and placed by paw. The roof dipped and climbed gracefully, and occasionally had some type of gold trimming in the top. Indeed many areas of the building were decorated with a mix of yellow and rose gold, from the windowsills to the front gates (at least where it hadn't been stolen by passersby). The courtyard, a lively, bright green garden with splashes of roses and orchids, welcomed the convoy as it pulled through the guarded gates. 

"Thoughts?" Cobra asked, and even without looking at him Mick could tell the tom was beaming. 

"It's... impressive," Mick said absentmindedly, unable to think of a better word. Cobra flicked his tail in satisfaction and climbed out of the jeep, motioning for Mick to follow. He obliged, looking back to see his guards speaking in hushed voices to one another. The cats in the last jeep also disembarked, skirting around the Elimese cats and walking off to some unseen destination around the corner. With the exception, of course, of the tom Mick had seen in the front passenger seat. He quietly approached him and Cobra, and placed himself slightly behind the president.

"Oh, Mr. Higgins- that is your last name, correct? I'm not good with names," Cobra said suddenly. Mick said a quiet 'yes' in response to the question. Cobra tapped his head with his claw and continued. "I should introduce you to a friend of mine, Alaric Herman. You're probably going to see him quite a bit over the duration of your stay, so I figured you two should get acquainted sooner rather than later."

Alaric didn't immediately speak after Cobra stepped aside to allow the two to interact. He seemed to be sizing Mick up, which gave the latter a chance to look over the former's uniform. It didn't appear like any military uniform Mick had seen from the Lyncalan armed forces- those were grey or green- this was something different. On the collar of his overcoat was a small, golden pin, formed into the image of a snake slithering out of a cat's skull. After what felt like forever, but was probably only three seconds, Alaric broke the silence.

"Mick, correct?" he said softly, his voice like dripping mercury. 

"Mhm. Nice to meet you," Mick responded, offering his paw for a shake. Alaric seemed a bit hesitant, but ultimately accepted the gesture. 

"I see you and the President are getting along nicely," he noted halfheartedly. Cobra clapped a paw on Alaric's shoulder, and Mick could see the silver tom recoil the slightest bit. 

"We sure are," Cobra meowed. Alaric rolled his eyes when the other tom was turned away, mouthing what appeared to be 'can you get him to shut up?' when he noticed Mick still looking at him. Apparently this wasn't the first time Cobra had gotten overly excited about visitors.

"Sir, perhaps we should head inside," Alaric suggested. Cobra nodded fervently, picking up a briefcase Mick hadn't previously seen that was sitting in the jeep. 

"Yes, yes, good idea. Thanks, Irene." Cobra more or less waddled back over to Mick and Alaric, briefcase in paw. From the jeep Irene huffed, then turned around and drove out of sight. "Come with me." 

As Mick followed Cobra, he felt the distinct sensation of eyes boring through the back of his head. Out of an inexplicable panic he whipped his head around, only to come face-to-face with Alaric. The bespectacled tom stared him down for a moment more.

"Come on, Mick, we haven't got all day," Cobra called from the doorway. Mick turned back around and trotted towards the president.

In the pit of his stomach, an icy knot of iron dread found its place at home.

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