A veritable dust bowl circling the never ending drain, spurred along by the raw needs of excess and debauchery. Such was Pittsburgh's lot in life and for no fault of its own. The hopeful spent their nights with eyes turned skywards - towards that gleaming blue jewel. The pragmatic adopted different means entirely to cope with their circumstances.

Not all of which were peaceful.

The No Time For Decompression shot down through the night sky like a bullet, plunging into what seemed like a ceaseless ocean of smokestacks and furnaces. Home to both factories that never slept, and a population choked by the ambitions of people who never stopped wanting more. Though from this altitude and in this light, there was an odd beauty to that ordered sprawl more than a stone's toss beneath the Kestrel.

Not much time was spared to take it in, since almost as soon as the freighter had reentered the atmosphere, it banked hard and burned for the outskirts. The engines groaned, and the hull joined them in kind. But reprieve came soon enough when a town appeared on the horizon. Sanston, patrolled once yearly by the LPI from orbit given its utter lack of importance and zero ability to contribute meaningfully towards lofty quotas.

But unbeknownst to their protectors, Sanston was effectively an embassy for the LFR to network with other dissenters on the planet. With its furthest fringe playing host to a hideout revealed only at close proximity and once the pilot of the freighter broadcasted this week's clearance code.

A muffled thud and sudden shake of the ship marked a successful landing in this underground abode.

Heikkinen was free to disembark now, and hopefully not vomit from the tumultuous journey.

The tan skinned and greying Kestrel pilot opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it with a toothy grin when he heard a familiar noise overhead. A whistling rumble backed by the quintessential growl of fighter propulsion, but dialed up to an extent that suggested overcharged engines were involved.

Engine exhaust momentarily blasted vacant sections of the landing zone as the previously speeding white and red silhouette came to a firm stop. Grav-locks kicked into gear and what seemed like a militarized pit-crew all moved into rehearsed positions all around the ship. The pilot that hopped down and strode out across the deck floor was dressed in an uncharacteristic white, black, and partly gold flight-suit. This piece of kit on open display did little to dispel the oddities, that being the resemblance of training and cutting edge gear.

A brisk removal of the helmet revealed that this was indeed the man who had summoned Attu here, and once in range to speak, he did just that. "Heikinnen." His right arm shot up to offer a firm handshake purely for formality, while the left kept his helmet secured. Coattails that hung a short distance from the waist of the suit swayed with every passing gust from the ventilation systems at varying points around them. Perhaps the only saving grace about the choice of venue. Though this did nothing to currently alleviate the visibly sweaty pilot that had previously identified as the Commander.

"Pardon my tardiness. I was on an impromptu rescue operation. Walk with me please, we can talk on the way to my office here." He seemed to dwell on the latter half of this sentence for a moment, as if suddenly reconsidering. "Actually the messhall might be more appropriate. Have you eaten?" It seemed like sincere politeness, punctuated by a casual attitude that made the situation feel manageable and possibly not as daunting as first conceived.

He permitted an amused exhale at his mispronunciation but otherwise took it in stride. "Of course, Heikkinen." This time he made sure to get it right, not requiring more than just the one correction to get the dialect down to a large extent. There was even the vaguest of notions that the Commander knew Rheinland's native language. But what was more was the visible respect and even reverence people of all stripes appeared to give him. His tenure couldn't have been insignificant in duration or impact for people this free spirited to be content to defer to him.

This was no different or more apparent than in the messhall, because Damien and his apparent comrade were allowed to skip the line. Though despite this offer, he strictly refused and waited his turn before nudging Heikkinen to go first and work through the selection of the limited food items they had on display. The truly surprising fact was that genuine eggs were in stock, the apparent source of them was entirely unknown.

"I'll go save a seat while you pick out what you want." With that he lazily walked off to go lounge on an empty bench.

Contenplatively, he shook his head side to side before elaborating. "This is the ground floor of it all. Things at their ugliest and most honest. I want you to take in the misery and understand the purpose behind why these people are here and what they serve. Since if you intend to join us, it'll be your cause too. To put it simply - I brought you here to break apart your perspective as an outsider and to instead have you see things the way we do. Can't hope to truly be one of us if you can't relate to us, can you?" That came across as a loaded question, but there was nothing about Damien's body language to suggest like he was evaluating potential responses. But that was likely the perfect indicator of the fact that he undoubtedly was.

Either way, it was Attu's turn again.

He listened intently, through every line and word but eventually supplied a small but firm correction at the very end. "Our people." An important, and fundamental distinction in perspective. And apparently the entire point of why Attu had been brought here.

Despite the fact that Damien hadn't picked out anything to eat, one of the messhall's occupants still paid him the kindness of bringing a chilled glass of his usual soda to the table. Passing him by thereafter with a smile and gentle pat on the shoulder. No time was wasted in taking an initial sip of that sugary blue fizzy drink. But it was set aside soon after, at least for now. "This is Pittsburgh by the way. But humor me. Let's say fate in all its good grace sees us win our war tomorrow. And our circumstances change overnight. What then? What will you do?." The intent behind this question was vague, and this was starting to become a running theme.