A government only cares for its people as long as it gains more power, more control, more money and a sufficient flow of lives offered up to feed its insatiable appetites.

Appetites it was never meant to have.

Morty sat motionless, and terrified, in his chair.

Beads of sweat gathered along his hairline, his fingers slowly opening and closing on his pant legs in clawing motions. The kitchen and living room area was packed with gnomes in black suits, mirrored glasses and hair slicked back over their heads.

Two suits stood at each doorway and at each window. Four more suits stood behind a snow-headed gnome, dressed in a spotless white, tailored suit with a bright neon-yellow tie. He wore mirrored sunglasses across his pale face and sported polished black shoes like the rest of his henchmen.

He looked completely out of place.

Not because of the diametrically opposed fashions he wore, or even from his near transparent complexion…

It was because, in the entire room, he was the only one smiling.

Not just any smile, mind you. It was too relaxed. Too real. It was too…big. His teeth were enormous, even for a gnome. Sparkling pearl white, reflecting the shadow of movement around him--which made him look more like a psychotic beaver than one of his own kind.

Lifting the cup to his lips, he took another sip of the tea. “This is lovely,” he said softly…smiling. A black fingernail, tapped the rim of the cup, “Unusual taste. Is it imported?”

“What?” replied Chuck, digging through the refrigerator and all but ignoring the gnome. He grabbed several cheeses and sniffed them, keeping the one in blue fuzz covered. “Oh. No. Well, it’s a unique creation anyway. I was hoping you’d liked it. Didn’t have anything fresh available, but I did find some old grindings in the compost bucket. Yanked a few citrus rinds from the trash and shredded them up to add to the bag.” He looked up and winked at the gnome, “That’s the zing you’re tasting.”

Pulling sliced meat and mustard from the fridge, he kicked the door shut with a slippered foot, then paused. His brows crinkled, “Although, the zing could be from the mold. Not sure. Dax would be able to tell—I made it for him. He loves that stuff. Think it’s revolting myself, but I try to make allowances for people of different tastes…if you know what I mean.”

The gnome quickly yanked a white handkerchief from his vest pocket and set the saucer lightly on the table. He coughed several times into the cloth.

Wendell, Alhannah, Dax, Deloris and Nat rounded the hall and filed into the room, the guards shifting their stance. Once Nat rolled across the thresh hold, the door was promptly shut behind them.

“Ah,” said the albino gnome with glee, “you’re home! So nice to finally meet you all.” Standing upright, he held out his pale hand with black glossed nails and shook each of theirs in turn. “Ian. Ian Twofold,” he beamed, “I’m the personal assistant of our voluptuous and glorious President, Potifer Shrub.” His smile intact, he glanced from Alhannah to Dax and then held his attention rested on Wendell, who squirmed. “Huge fan. Really.” He motioned to the chairs on either side of Morty, “Please. Sit.”

Deloris slid over next to Morty and took his hand into her own. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, letting his head rest softly against her shoulder. Nat rolled up and parked on the end next to Deloris, as the other three sat down on the opposite side of the gnome tinkerer.

Chuck fumbled to the sink, kicking his beard along the floor. He flopped the food from his arms onto the counter. Placing his hands on his hips, he counted softly the number of gnomes in the room, then sighed loudly. “If we’re going to eat, maybe I should make a nice soup instead? Don’t think I have enough to make sandwiches for all.” Glaring at one of the guards, the wizard waited until the gnome looked back at him. Chuck mouthed silently, “You like soup?”

“There’s no need to feed us,” said Ian, “Thank you, Chuck, we won’t be here long.” Folding his hands gently in his lap, he motioned to the last chair. “Please. Come join us.”

The wizard rolled his eyes and brushed his hands over his robe, “Well that’s a relief! You politicians should be on a permanent diet anyway.” Bundling his beard up, he plopped down next to Wendell and threw the facial hair over his shoulder and onto the table behind him.

Ignoring the sarcasm, Ian looked across the solemn faces sitting in front of him—his broad, brilliant white smile ever-gleaming in the overhead light. “I’ve been sent by our illustrious chubby leader, to have a little chat with each of you.” Lowering his head ever-so-slightly, the mirrored glasses slid an inch down his nose, revealing round, clear, albino eyes.

“It seems that Steel and Stone has been causing quite the uprising in civilian circles. I’m sure you’ve heard the accurate and comPLETELY independent and impartial reports through our respected media channels.”

Dax scoffed, “Impartial, my hairy butt.” He laughed, “Yeah, and I’m a handsome gnome.”

Alhannah elbowed him sharply.

Ian pushed the glasses back up his nose, “Yes, well the reports do not reflect the full impact this ‘disturbance’ is having throughout the City. There is an uncomfortable shift occurring among the lower working class of our community.” Pulling a slim phone from his jacket pocket, Ian flipped his thumb lightly across the screen surface. “Centurion reports have skyrocketed, especially near the refineries.” He looked up at Alhannah, “All owned, not surprisingly, by your benefactor, Mr. Bellows.”

She shook her head, “You’re mistaken. We’re funded by the people. The workers of his factories, not Bellows himself.”

Ian’s smile widened, amused. “Just because he spreads his financials across hundreds of accounts and reroutes your funding through shell corporations with manager signatures, does not make him any less responsible for the destination of those said credits. Does it?”

Wendell watched the standoff between the politician and Alhannah. She stared unflinching into the mirrored glasses, the only movement being her own reflection. This guy is creepy. He knows way too much. Which seemed very odd, considering how powerful Bellows supposedly was. The guards never flinched or moved. They just stood, like statues, waiting for an excuse to come to life.

“The fact is, Ms. Luckyfeller, that your team has the potential to upset the political balance of this city.”

The laughter was abrupt and unsettling to the point that even Ian flinched. Alhannah dropped her head forward and slapped her hand across one of her knees. “You have got to be joking!” she cried, “Trench Wars is a game, not a race for office, or I would have taken over the presidential office years ago.”

But Wendell noticed the strain in her voice. She believes Ian. He looked back at the albino. Somethings going on in this city and these guys, whoever they are, are worried.

“But the game was not as popular then as it is now,…Banshee.” Ian’s lips curled slightly inward, changing his unnerving smile into an unsettling snarl. “Which is why even the government and religious factions now sponsor players within the games. This event has such a pull upon the people, who live vicariously through you pilots, your publicly expressed views and feelings are beginning to hold more sway that the leaders of our beloved country.”

Alhannah’s expression changed to mirror Ians, though her full lips made her snarl far less disturbing. “Wouldn’t that be a shame,” she hissed, “to have someone who actually said what they meant and did what they said.”

Leaning back into his chair, Ian’s face lit up once more. “I’d be very cautious, Ms. Luckyfeller. With an attitude like that, you just might find yourself banished right along with your traitorous father.”

Alhannah nearly leapt out of her chair, before Dax grabbed her arm. Two of the bodyguards flanking Ian immediately had their hands on their weapons. Small black sticks concealed underneath their jackets, attached to belt holsters.

She refused to hide her anger. “Don’t you dare mention my father, vermin.”

Ian laughed, “So predictable. So perfect. I can see why our lovable chunky chunk wanted me to speak with you all.” He cleared his throat, “That was insensitive of me, Ms. Luckyfeller, I do apologize for any statement of your fathers obvious unworthiness to live among us.” Raising a hand to his mouth, he feigned a look of shock. “Oh my, I did it again.”

Alhannah yanked her arm from Dax’s grip and sat back down.

“Now,” Ian continued, “let us get on with business, shall we?” Without a word, one of the guards leaned over and clicked open a black briefcase, holding it steady. Lifting a set of papers out, the case was clicked shut. “The President is asking for the assistance of Steel & Stone,” looking over his glasses once again, “unofficially of course.” Flipping over the first page of the stapled papers, Ian traced the words with an index finger. “To keep the peace and to soothe the growing tension among the factory workers until you are able to change sponsors officially.”

Dax frowned, “Change sponsors?”

“To come and work for the government,” grinned Ian. “If you win, of course.” He skimmed through two more pages quickly, then handed the papers over his shoulder to the suit behind him. “In the meantime, we just need you to use your influence over the people to pacify them. Let them know the government is good. The government provides all they need to survive and…well,” the grin grew larger still, “the thinking’s already been done.”

“Mahan’s pink panties, his teeth are huge,” snorted Chuck, laughing. He slapped Wendell’s knee, “Am I the only one here staring at this boys face?” He turned and quickly tapped Ian’s two front teeth with a finger. The movement was so fast, so unexpected, the politician nearly fell over in his chair. “I didn’t know you could breed gophers with gnomes…”

They all snickered, including one of the guards standing at the door.

Ian sat upright, adjusting his tie as he fumed. His pale face and neck flushed red as the smile vanished altogether. “Enough!” Pointing at Wendell, “You, young man, are the key to all this. We’ve been trying to take control from the Church for years and Trench Wars has opened the door. You are hereby ordered to win these games!”

“Me?” squeaked Wendell, “Win the games?” He gulped, “Ordered??”

“And keep the rabble scum under control in the process. You’re pro government now, Gnolaum, and once you take the position of Grand Champion, you’ll speak on behalf of our illustrious President, bringing the faith-nuts over to our side!” Ian’s face continued to glow red, which made him look more and more like a midget demon from a bad cartoon dream.

Alhannah looked worried, though she tried to hide it under a mask of anger. “And if he doesn’t?”

Ian dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief, “If he doesn’t win, then the factory workers will see their hopes dashed and they’ll remain in the mud where they belong. We’ll simply use that as a spin to promote how weak the Church is, point out how their beliefs are folly and get converts that way.” He looked up slowly, clear eyes peering out from behind the glasses at Wendell, “But if you refuse and throw the games on purpose, well…unfortunate things can always happen.”

“I was wrong,” Chuck said bluntly, folding his arms, “he’s not a gopher, he’s a snake.”

The smile reappeared, this time, his attention turning to Morty and Deloris. “It would be unfortunate to have something happen to loved ones, wouldn’t it? Jail, banishment,” he paused, looking among their faces, “…an unforeseen, life-endangering accident perhaps?”

Alhannah rose from her seat, “Why you son of a…”

“I’ll do it.”

The room fell deathly silent.

Wendell sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t control what other people choose to do,” he said softly, looking at Ian, “but I’ll do all I can to win the games and keep the peace. I don’t want anyone getting hurt. Not on my account.”

“Wendell,” Dax warned.

Ian grinned, “And you’ll speak out against the Church?”

Wendell stared into the mirrors on Ian’s face. Has it come to this? Even when I’m winning, I lose. All he could see was a person without control. Without a real choice in the matters around him and for a moment, he wished that all his problems were something he could climb into a S.L.A.G. and smash. I don’t know what else to do. His head sank forward until his chin rested on his chest. “Yes.”

Deloris gasped, “Wendell!”

“Delightful!” cheered Ian, rising to his feet. “I’ll expect good things from each of you then. My report will say that this meeting never happened, but if it had happened…was a monumental success.” Then to Morty, who sat there staring at Wendell in utter shock, “And you, tinkerer, are to be commended for your diligence in testing the energy-thingy-majigger. By our calculations, you should be able to provide some substantial results before the end of the Trench season.”

The tinkerer snapped his head up as if he’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

“Your experiments, Mr. Teedlebaum. We, as your primary benefactors require results within the next month, or we’ll shut you down for good.” Folding the handkerchief and placing it back in the breast pocket of his suit, “Requiring all hardware and software to be surrendered as reimbursement for funding provided.”

“But..not everything in this warehouse was purchased with government finding! I have my own computers, this building, even the shell of the Promis was acquired with my life’s savings!”

Walking to the door, Ian pulled his glasses from his face—the expression revealed was cold, his tone callous. The clear eyes shifted from the tinkerer, to Deloris, then back again.

“Call it interest if you like, Mr. Teedlebaum—but we prefer to think of it as interest paid for consorting with members of the G.R.R.”