Searing 36, shortly after Sunrise
Franky's eyes snapped open as he was gasping. He'd just been ripped apart, atom by atom, by what felt like the claws of a million demons, each taking a piece of him, as he fell from the heavens that the Gods called their home. This was many magnitudes worse than the pain he went through on his final campaign, but the man steeled his will, focusing on his singular goal of fulfilling his agreement to save his people. His people.
He coughed and sputtered, steam rippling from his younger, crimson haired form, as it began to melt into his chair, his eyes burning as realized he was in his office. He could smell fresh baked bread now, and that reminded him of just who, and where, he was. He was not Major Frankorg any longer. The Knob had changed him for the better. That warm scent triggered memories of him opening the kitchen in the Gobbler, of his father making campfire cast iron breads, of so many happy nights with the community in the Gobbler.
Franky's eyes opened, and his scarred, wizened visage was there. But it was different now. While he maintained the appearance that most people knew him as, there had been changes even to this. His eyes, having deteriorated from the Imperium's gas bombs, were returned to their better eyesight. His muscles, tightened from scarring of having his flesh melted away just over a year prior, were whole and healed. His scars, his white skin, his distinct lack of hair all remained, but Franky, for the first time since he left the Imperium, was whole.
Upon his chest, directly over his heart, a Goblet with a break in it, or perhaps a rift, a tattoo in motion as mists poured out over the brim. A reminder of what he was now, and why. Franky looked around his office, seeing that it was still braced and barricaded from the preparation of the storm. He nodded to himself, palms slapping the surface of his desk as he stood up.
It was time to get to work. The beginning of Ash was quickly approaching and Franky needed to formulate and execute many plans to help save whatever survivors were left. He walked over to his office window, looking out into the street below. There were no monsters directly outside, but the mists were wafting through. With Rickter gone to... wherever he'd ended up, there were no shields in place. And as Lyra had explained to him, the sigils she'd made would only prevent magic in and around the Gobbler. Franky's hand rested against the window frame and he felt the purring in his mind intensify.
A strange look crossed Franky's face and he rubbed the wood a bit more, and he felt the Gobbler was pleased. The Gobbler was alive, and Franky could feel a connection with it. "You did good, ol' girl. You've brought me so much happiness. I'm not abandoning you. Not now, not ever." Franky felt the mental equivalent of the Gobbler leaning into him.
There was a clinking noise behind him.
Franky turned, seeing a typical coin purse there, as though it had just dropped from nowhere. It was leather, and on it, a twisted, wretched face. One that Franky inherently knew to be his own. He opened it up, reaching inside, finding coins with the same face upon it. That was... interesting. He wasn't quite sure what that meant yet, but it was important. He tied it into his belt loop, pocketing the pouch, the same way he always carried his pouch.
A waft of heavenly scented bread came back through once more and Franky took in a deep breath of it. Then his head cocked to the side. Weston couldn't bake. The man couldn't even heat up beans without burning them terribly. Who was here? Franky's footsteps sounded off the purposeful march as he made his way from his office to the door downstairs. As he reached for the knob, the Gobbler unlocked it for him. Franky smiled and pulled open the door that led to the stairwell that went down directly to the kitchen.
Franky stuck his head into the stairwell as a bullet almost took off his nose, embedding in the wall. Franky felt the Gobbler bristle at the attack.
"FUCK!"
"WESTON IT'S ME! FRANKY!"
"Franky? You're back?"
"Yes! Don't shoot me, I'm coming down!"
Franky eased out into the stairwell, starting down, curious as to who was baking and what else he'd missed. He didn't even know when it was right now, but it was not the same time as he'd left. He'd left shortly after midday, and the glance out the window suggested it was early morning.
