[center][color=bdaf17][b][h1]July 29[sup]th[/sup], 2371[/h1][/b][/color][h3][b][color=bdaf17]6:32AM[/color][/b]
[sub][i][color=bdaf17]Royal Family ETA:[/color] 36 Hours[/i][/sub][/h3][/center][hr][hr]
[URL=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a01QQZyl-_I]The sun was just beginning[/URL] to peek over the edge of the horizon. Rather, it would be just barely visible in a flat location, but the urban underbrush diminished the illumination of the star to a mere hint of purple in the skies above the buildings. New Cardiff was a city that never entirely slumbered, but the throng of cars that scurried down the streets and the people who shambled along the progressively decrepit sidewalks numbered less than what would come to pass later during the day.

Enter [URL=http://thechicagoimprovden.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/blog-george-costanza.jpg]Satchel Sommer[/URL], Mayor of New Cardiff, who sat in one of many cars that lined the roadways, waiting for a red light to turn green. His car was nicer than most of those around him, but only just. He had a couple more features he didn't use, slightly more comfortable seats that smelled of tobacco and grease and a paintjob that was just a smidge more ruined by pigeon poop.

The past few weeks had been nothing but stress from everyone he knew, always something new to look over and debate and push through in some vain attempt to make the city as presentable as possible for the coming arrival of Albert. Some things had worked out better than anticipated, most petered out with the expected amount of flaccidity. But hey, that was local government. He didn't have the weight to throw around like Lady Anabelle, even if he was held more accountable for her actions than she. 

Satchel pulled a cigarette out from his glove compartment and glanced across the street at a brand new streetlight, still on. That was one visible difference he had been able to make, improving a lot of the infrastructure around the city. A lot of it had been leftover from the days when this city was little more than a pit stop for traders moving up and down the rivers. He'd gotten some pushback from old people and those who wanted to preserve the "authenticity" of old New Cardiff, but more were in favor of roads that didn't crack when somebody dropped their keys on it. Lighting the cigarette, he took a bit of transient pleasure in being able to see some of the fruits of his labor in the public sector.

In his periphery, he noticed red change to green and started the slow acceleration back to 40kmph. Regardless of what joy he could muster now, it would soon be forgotten in the renewed stress of the job once he set foot outside of his car. Hell, the only reason he'd been able to spend this long with relative peace of mind was that he shut off his phone and disabled his car's calling features, otherwise the entire commute would be dominated by last minute preparations for an even they ultimately had little control over.

At least, that was Satchel's line of thought before he had parked his car and walked towards the government building. He felt something drip onto his forehead as he passed the flagpole. It was something he saw so often it was practically invisible these days. His brain just filtered it out. He touched his head and his fingers came away darkened, but exactly what had just fallen was difficult to tell in the darkness of dawn. The mayor looked up and spotted a body impaled vertically on the top of the flagpole. Satchel initially recoiled in disgust, but then got closer and squinted at it, for it seemed more familiar beyond the innate familiarity of the human form.

It was his boss, Ram Tobin, the Minister of New Cardiff. His eyes drifted down and spotted what appeared to be a piece of paper affixed to the pole. Cautiously, he removed the note from the pole and positioned his body to make the writing as visible as possible in what light he could gather.

[i]This is just the beginning.[/i]

"Son of a bitch."