The moment the Councilman had said ‘failure’, he sighed. He couldn’t help but agree with what had happened—the Night Market, and then the latest incident over at Littleroot… were there other incidents that had happened before he had risen to his position asides from the failed rescue of the Commissioner where they had unknowingly (yeah, right) ‘killed civilians’.

He could only groan as he rubbed the sides of his head at the mention of everything that had piled up and led to this moment. Chewing once again on the caramel square in his mouth, he let himself think for a few moments.

His eyebrows raised themselves at the mention of appointing another Head Ranger—was that even possible? While they were staffed on the shorter side of things, he was loathe to admit that, they more than made up for it with their enthusiasm towards their work. Even if they were paid little in the process.

“If they hired another Head Ranger, wouldn’t that be shooting themselves in the foot by stretching the budget out even further than it already has been,” he remarked.

“People who want to become Rangers are more than willing to do so as early as eighteen years of age, although they would not be fully recognized until they complete the training, which would take up to three, four—maybe five years if they start really early. There’s a lot of things that go into Ranger training than what you think,” he added a few moments later.

There’s also another question on the edge of his lips but he decided not to ask it—at least not yet anyway.

“What? What do you mean, ‘they’ve already considered someone’?” he said, keeping his calm as much as he could.

On the inside, though, he was… furious. They’ve already gone and chosen one without even considering to talk… it’s the same thing all over again like with the previous meeting! Swirled in the back of his mind.

He wanted to lash out about this, but he figured—lashing out all the time wasn’t always a good thing. It had almost gotten him in trouble the last time he did that in front of everyone else who had a position higher than he did.

Sometimes he wondered how he was lucky to keep his position after what he’d done in the last meeting with the other people in power.

Much as he wanted to suggest Orion to be his counterpart, he knew that the Council would be one man down—and he needed someone he could trust on the inside of the Pyroar’s den so to speak.

“Why do they want to do the impossible…” he trailed off as he downed the rest of the sweet treat in his mouth. Giving himself time to think, he nodded his head curtly in the other man’s direction.

“What other alternatives do you have in mind?” he inquired. “I’m curious.”

Truly, what was the man in front of him thinking? Unless he was a telepath then he could peek in easily, but alas he was not.

“You would be the one picking the members of the team out, then?” he inquired after the other was done speaking. “How small would this ‘special task force’ be?”

And of course, nobody from high-ranking positions. But I kind of see what he’s trying to point out… he thought as he picked up a pen and began to idly spin it.

“And what would this group of people be doing, exactly? What would they be called, if ever?”

“You’ve told the others about this, or are you planning on dropping this on them in another meeting?”

By ‘others’, he meant the other Council members. Surely he would understand the implication there.

There was still another question that was begging to be answered, however he wasn’t sure how to exactly phrase it. Lars really needed to work on his subtlety…

“Whatever that is—and if it involves a Ranger or two, do let me know at least? So I can keep an eye on whoever you choose as well in case shit goes south,” he replied before falling into silence.

Was he walking into a trap? He didn’t know. While he couldn’t read the signs until they were too late, he was trying to get around that little problem. It would be slow going, though.

At the mention of ‘politics’, he shuddered for a few brief moments.

“Red tape. One of the reasons why politics is such a mine field,” he supplied. Knowing that they were both in a position of power, and how politics higher up on the chain of command was—it was inevitable that there would be red tape anywhere one looked.

He observed quietly as another sheet of paper is produced and slid across the table. The name atop it catches his attention—it’s one of the newer Rangers employed.

The interesting thing that drew his eye was the word ‘handlers’, even if he’d already seen the word a few times before while reviewing her personnel file. Why she had them, he had no idea. But he had his suspicions…

“Handlers. You think ‘they’ would take lightly to this if and when they find out she’s being employed elsewhere?”

There was some irony in that last statement, there.

“Shouldn’t the Night Market incident have been the last straw for the higher-ups?” he asked with an ironic smile on his face. “That, and what Balder did by condemning the League overall.”

The odd question is, why now? Did it really have to be three strikes before they finally realized what the hell is going on? He pondered to himself in the back of the mind.

“Actually, scratch that—Slateport being taken should have been the first and last time.”

He had to play his cards carefully. Revealing too much would do him in.