[center][sub]EE 87, May 5 | Morning[/sub][/center]
The night passed, and the morning came.

At 5 AM, the mists receded, leaving naught more but damp residue for the sun to clear away, and with that, whatever mechanism had empowered the Starsteel Formulization with electricity disappeared too. Those who stuck with the rules of the curfew were unaffected by this change, of course, as were those who didn’t care about being caught for breaking the rules of the curfew. It was only for a select few individuals within Bermuda whom this change affected.

Lucretia von Konigsmahne had not slept. After a long day of touring, an eventful evening of partying, and a night of unpacking, she had spent all her time doing nothing but puzzling over the intense glare of the Starsteel Formulization that some uppity Oriental schmuck had designed. Her eyes were red from staring into such agonizing light and her index finger was rubbed raw from the constant precise motions she made to try to maneuver through this dense [i]nebula[/i] of Formulized points. Her neck was aching too, and her entire body, as frail as one might expect from a Polymath who spent their time obsessing over the mechanics of their craft, was as stiff as a board. No doubt, the muscle pain involved if she ever left her current position would be nigh-intolerable, but those long-term consequences were not worth considering. No, Lucretia was getting close now, her brain buzzing on fumes as she threaded her Technologism through a forest of needles, gradually unravelled the Gordian Knot. It wouldn’t be in this instant, but it would be soon.

So very soon…until suddenly, the nebula disappeared, replaced by the familiar constellations of malleable stone and iron.

It was as if someone had taken a puzzle that Lucretia had slaved over for the last seven hours and scrambled it up, jammed it back into its box, and took it away. It was clear at that moment, that the challenge wasn’t simply [i]solving[/i] the puzzle that Sukoro Jinga had laid out before them. After all, Starsteel Formulizations were, in the context of protecting vaults and valuables, simply a means to delay, to buy time. Any sufficiently intelligent Technologist could eventually crack that puzzle, but hardly any could before an Egoist bank guard smashed their face against the wall. There was no such threat of violence for Lucretia. There was simply the cold, miserable time limit that she had to work against.

Seven hours. No, if she wanted to [i]break[/i] curfew, she needed to solve it even faster than that, or there would simply be no point in doing so to begin with.

As her sleep-deprived, sugar-starved mind addled about, the sound of light snoring drew her attention back to the beds. There lay Valeriya, having concluded her own investigations within the first half hour after curfew, now sleeping blissfully without a care in the world. For those with wilder hearts, perhaps this would have sparked some mischief. But surely, Lucretia von Konigsmahne, the Scrap Metal Princess of the Iron Sentinel Empire, was above such emotional outburst?

More hours passed, bringing the clock to saner times.

Franz and Ryuuko would wake to a curious fatigue. Though their accommodations were certainly comfortable enough, the futons fluffy and warm, it felt as if there was something stuck to their lungs. Had they caught a cold last night? Could Egoists even catch something so unassuming as the common cold? Scanning around their rooms revealed the culprit soon enough: overnight, the mist from outside must have gotten in. The tatami, the wood, and the paper screens were all darkened by the sticky, salty damp, and the room smelled as if two bucketloads of seaweed had been steamed inside. Outside their rooms, in the hallway and down in the lobby, were much the same. A couple of their roommates swore at the drenched sight, some cursing that psychotic French bitch in particular, while others decided that some cleaning up was due. A Water Dynamicist cleared out the actual water that had stuck to the walls, globules of fluid being drawn out of fabrics and wood, before he pitched them outside.

Simple work, though he was forced to shrug when the dark stains themselves remained. With elbow grease and cleaning materials, that could likely be removed as well, but, well, which teenager wanted to do chores this early in the morning? Certainly, it wasn’t as if Franz or Ryuuko were going to dry off their own suite, were they?

Whatever their plans were, however, whatever any students’ plans were, it would be interrupted by a voice, crackling over public gramophones placed all around the city.

[b]“Good morning, students of Bermuda Academic City. For those interested in witnessing how those more unrestrained and reckless amongst us will be handled, please make your way to the Central Monument Library. The examination will begin in an hour.”[/b]

In the wind, the stench of smoke overflowed.
[hr]
A crowd, numbering less than two thousand, had gathered before the smoldering ruins of one of Bermuda’s great libraries. Nothing but a skeleton of stone remained of what had once been a treasure trove of encyclopedias and studies, everything else reduced to ash that stung the ends and tickled the throat. On a raised platform of stone, three meters in height, stood Jeanne Du Bordeaux, the rare Technologist who had a greater reputation of her misdemeanors than her great deeds. Her reinforcing chasses and the now-unpowered handle of her plasma claymore hung from a rack beside her, their Formulizations and intended use inferable by other Technologists in the crowd. The girl herself had her hands bound together and encased in leather gloves, the simplest solution for nullifying a Technologist, while the rest of her outfit clung to her body from a dampness that persisted even through the warm sunlight that shone down overhead now.

Her expression was inscrutable, perhaps disdainful, perhaps apathetic. But her deeds were clear. A library had been burned, after all. And she was standing there, her armaments on display, her skin still blemished by smoke and ash.

A man, no, a youth who was dressed like a man, stood at the forefront, dressed in the finery befitting of a man of the law, his powdered wig radiant in the sunlight. His eyes, dark and deep-set, glanced towards the crowd of his peers and then to his pocketwatch, before he snapped it shut and slipped it into the inner pocket of his suit. Holding a Crystal Amp, a volume-amplifying product of an obscure nation from the Dark Continent, he began to speak.

[b]“There is an oft-heard saying in this era of ours, that madness is at the root of genius. That only those unfettered by convention and law can aspire to become great. But those who believe in such sayings forget themselves. They forget the Folly of Paracelsus. They forget the Tragedy of Binding. They forget the Formation of the Devil’s Heart, the Thunderclouds over Liverpool. They forget that it was not madmen who pulled our world to this Era of Enlightenment, but men of sound logic and reason.”[/b] A pause. [b]“We all know that this peace is tenuous still, that fifty years is not enough for any government, any people to forget and forgive what has been lost in the Futile War. The collapse of the Ottoman Empire, just last night, will no doubt see some of our peers leave before the first week of our attendance is up. The curfew, and the Starsteel Formulization that enforces it, will no doubt foment aggression towards one of our own. But these are [i]small[/i] things, compared to the wanton destruction of the one commonality shared by all of us.”[/b]

A gesture, towards the ruins of the Central Monument Library.

[b]“Knowledge to ashes. Rare texts to cinders. All at the hands of Jeanne Du Bordeaux, a fellow countryman of mine. An act of arson committed during curfew, perhaps one that would have extended to all buildings within this place if she had not been bound by a hitherto unknown individual and restrained at the site of her crime.”[/b] Murmurs in the crowds, sharing rumors and stories, encounters and experiences with the infamous Technologist. [b]“And for those who find circumstantial evidence lacking, photographs of her actions have been submitted and published by the Bermuda Triangle…and to my chagrin.”[/b] A frown on his brow, as if some amateur publication getting information at the same time that he did was an affront to the examination.

Anyone who had snagged a newspaper from the lobby of their apartments, however, wouldn’t have to flip far to see a black-and-white photograph of Jeanne taken from a high vantage point, as she swung a flamethrower of a sword with a cold expression on her face.

[b]“But, despite this evidence, perhaps there is reason for Du Bordeaux to act in such a manner. The nature of modern trials are such that one is innocent until proven guilty, but considering how everything points towards her guilt, I see it as fair that she be deemed guilty until proven innocent.”[/b] He raised his hands, three fingers extended. [b]“Jeanne Du Bordeaux will be placed either under house arrest or under the supervision of one Egoist willing to be held responsible in any circumstance in which their [i]charge[/i] acts out, for a period of time lasting three days. After that time, she will return here to defend herself amongst a jury of twenty students. If deemed guilty, she will be expelled from Bermuda Academy City.”[/b]

The crowd was getting excited now, at the drama unfolding before them. Risking expulsion on the first day? Insane! Even more insane? That expulsion was even possible for Polymaths whose genius was so brilliant that most other universities would have begged them to come.

[b]“And for those questioning under whose authority I make these proclamations, allow me to introduce myself.”[/b] Eyes, sharp as stone. Posture, unyielding as an obelisk. [b]“Appointed to lead the Committee of Public Safety by the Administration of Bermuda, I am Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre, Polymath and Enforcer. Now, are there any here who wish to volunteer for the supervision of Du Bourdeaux?”[/b]

The sun shone hot. No one, yet, raised their hands.