Ever since she was a young pangolin, she knew she wanted to fight in a war. She spent the better part of her childhood hoping that the nation would erupt in armed conflict on a colossal scale. Every time an argument grew heated, she would whisper "war, war, war" under her breath. No, this is not exaggeration. People were honestly terrified, thinking she might be possessed by the spirit of the great war god, the Cormorant. Alas, after many trips to a holistic medicine man and part time exorcist, that nervous tic melted away. However, her dream remained the same. When two rival families began to declare their hatred in violent displays throughout town, she thought it might finally be her chance. Instead, she was presented with happy crossbreed babies and both sides declared they would never feud again. Next, oil was discovered in the land of the notoriously belligerent pronghorns. This, she knew, would be a sore spot for her oil-strapped nation. She was prepared for the invasion, prepared for the slaughter, prepared for her scaly breast to be adorned with a shiny medal. Alas, the hardworking lab rats managed to create the perfect solution to their energy crisis by creating maximum efficiency wind turbines. Crisis averted. Attire was fed up. She had begun to realize that her scaly armor and weird claws were going to rot away, unused, and she would have to work in a call center or something. The truth was hard to take, but she wasn't going to let it dampen her spirits. One day, however, the great nation of Pepsi was bombarded by the invading forces from the Coca-Cola Empire. It was stunning, but it didn't take long before the draft was instated. Attire was nearly rabid with joy, and the pangolin set off for her new life as a conscripted private. It was there that she met Fruit, a kiwi, and her bunkmate. Before their squad was even able to see its first fight, their general, the great General Awareness, was caught up in a grand explosion at the barracks, which took out several top ranking members of the military. The shock stopped any and all advances into the Empire. However, in an unexpected turn of events, researchers at Pepsi were able to uncover a fact that was likely to turn the tides of war. Coca-Cola was using other worlds to manufacture soldiers in order to help their cause. War efforts soon turned to research, as concerned citizens tried to figure out the sophisticated system that seemed to link multiple worlds together in a huge web. Propaganda called it "the worlds corridor", implying that each world had a door, and each door, a lock, in turn, each lock a key. Thus, the locksmiths were born. They were meant to be a clandestine organization of soldiers who infiltrated the worlds beyond in order to disable Coca-Cola's soldier breeding facilities and created devoted agents of Pepsi in their stead. It seemed like a suicide mission. So little was known about the worlds to which locksmiths would be traveling, and yet, people signed up for the task as if they were fleeing for their lives from a doomed kingdom. Which they were, of course. But being a locksmith soon came to be known as a suicide mission, and it became harder and harder to recruit people as the technology and understand of the infinite worlds corridor improved. Attire and Fruit, however, decided that they would take up the ridiculously oversized key that each pair of locksmiths was assigned, as well as undergo the laser treatment that may or may not rearrange their molecules in order to make the inter-dimensional travel less devastating to their bodies. Here begins the story of a brave kiwi and pangolin, thrust into the unknown, mutated in order to survive such an unnatural task, and probably doomed to lose the Cola Wars on Earth-7, but blissfully unaware of that fact for the moment. -------------------- Attire opened her eyes and found herself... well... somewhere. It was sort of hard to tell over the searing headache and the lights flashing in her eyes that had been blinding her ever since they landed. The ride wasn't smooth. She'd be reporting that back to HQ. Next time they had to cross the rift, she wanted to do it in a sled or something. Her weird claws were still intact, and she used them to sift around and find the key that they were entrusted with. Apparently, by thrusting it into the core of the world, it would allow them to get the world to submit to their will and produce the spawn they were searching for. To her, this sounded a bit more like rape than like real science, but so long as she got to bite a chunk out of something, she didn't care how little she understood. Coca-Cola was exploiting these lands long before they got here. Moving over to Fruit, she tried to nudge her friend awake. After the first attempt, she became confused by many things in their surroundings. For one thing, it was hot. Way too hot. Damp, too, as if they had ended up in a jungle of some sort. Not that she knew from experience what jungles felt like, as they'd been chopped down nearly a century ago by a religious extremist group that claimed they needed a giant wooden horse to survive a flood. They learned, days away from completion, that they actually required a giant wooden model of The Vampire Bat Diaries own villain, Silas. Unfortunately, the government had already granted them the rights to do whatever they needed to do. As a result, they couldn't stop them from ripping up every tree in order to create their arc. They all died of a strange, localized outbreak of smallpox. The government denies their involvement and would like to redirect your attention back to the story at hand. Attire parted some of the grass to look ahead, seeing lush trees spreading out ahead and not much else to go off of. She returned to Fruit and tried once more to shake him awake. The scientists had warned that they might experience some odd side-effects thanks to the molecular mumbo jumbo they had to undergo to get there. She just secretly hoped that that wouldn't include Fruit growing another face, or useless second beak.