Actually something that would make more sense in the next chapter or two.
G.C. elated and reveled in his success. He had brought everyone in this town to their knees! They would all know of his genius, they would all regret crossing him. They would genuflect kisses and lick his boots and --
Then something occurred to him. Jovian surface gravity is a little more than twice Earth's surface gravity. People were not adapted for such things, having evolved with Terran gravity. This sudden increase in weight could potentially lead to a death.
G.C. was many things -- arrogant, conceited, reckless, self-important, naive, bumbling -- but a cold-blooded murderer was not one of them. He didn't really give much mind to the potential property damage though, he considered that unimportant. He went to his machine, his gravity alteration device, and was about to tinker with it -- thinking perhaps Saturnian surface gravity would be better, or perhaps Uranian surface gravity would be less deadly. Perhaps Neptunian surface gravity would be better, less fatal.
But as he bent down to work on it, he had to shield his protected face as there was a slight explosion, like the backfiring of a car. A sudden stream of smoke and fire issued from the uppermost left corner of the device before dissipating.
"I must have overloaded the graviton flow," he muttered what appeared to be scientific gibberish. "Or maybe underloaded? No, no, it's been overloaded. The polarity seems to have been -- oh!"
He realized that he was floating. No, he wasn't floating. Just falling very slowly. He glance down at the machine. It wasn't augmenting Earth's gravity, it was suppressing it. Suppressing it to the level of lunar surface gravity, which disgruntled G.C. He tapped his boots allowing him to stand on the ground, unaffected by the anti-gravity.
"Agh," he bemoaned, "I knew
installing that interplanetary randomizer feature was going to come back and haunt me."
He went back to examining the damage to his machine was delighted to discover that the damage was just purely cosmetic. But he felt a sense of paranoia. He deemed this place wasn't safe enough -- he didn't want to be discovered, not just yet. So it was time to find and move into another base of operations.
Cloak wished that Yarin's scanner could have narrowed down the area that he had to search. This was still a considerable about of terrain to sift through, and it may not even be hear anymore, especially if he's like Malice, shifting his base of operations every few days or weeks.
Cloak gave his surroundings a look and he didn't like what he saw. Trees bent over horribly, to the point of snapping. Some had. The grass, long and short alike, looked very bedraggled and trampled. Buildings were creaking ominously and threateningly, straining to support the unexpected weight gain. Glass was shattering, unable to take the unexpected gain of weight. Cars were forced flat to the ground, forcing some tires to even pop, becoming flat and useless.
Cloak couldn't help but liken it to a desolate, dystopian world. Bodies were littered literally everywhere. Were they dead? Cloak was afraid of using his Earthsight to verify. It still disturbed him that when Dwellers die, they leave corpses behind. Realm Walkers did nothing of the sort, so it was very alien to him, still, despite being a RAFian for so long.
Then he felt a swooping feeling, making him double over. Not in pain exactly, but more like . . . adjusting. . . .
Of course. The gravity must of changed again.