Black Dawn
+2
Digital Muse
quakernuts
6 posters
Page 1 of 1
Black Dawn
by quakernuts Tue Jan 03, 2012 7:48 pm
Pax Station
A cesspit of a station burdened by crime, disease, and poverty. A station only meant to be good to those with power and wealth. As Vincent stared at the oncoming station aboard a Nuro'Tai trading vessel named the Kere'Kre, or 'The Richman' loosely translated to English. He couldn't help but think about the type of people he would be running into on the station. He stepped away from the window, looking at all the other aliens aboard the ship. Aside from the 'glorious' Aradar, the vessel was filled to the brim with every kind of species. Nuro'Tai, Boros, Kira, and even a few humans. The humans were all huddled in a corner though, afraid of going near any of the other species for fear of discrimination turning murderous. Vince rubbed the bridge of his nose for a second, a deep hatred of cowardice burning in his chest. He shrugged it off as he made his way to the airlock, a lone human amidst aliens.
"Attention passengers!" The Nuro'Tai's high creaky voice came over the speakers, the PCD on Vince's wrist translating the Tick's speech into English through an attached wireless ear piece that was almost undetectable. "We will be docking with Pax station in exactly one minute. Jakana will assist you out." A Kira by the door toting a rather large heavy machine gun and wearing some rough and tumble patches of armour stood forward and gave a gruff grunt towards everyone. Everyone stood quickly, wanting nothing more than to get off this flying garbage pile and see what the station held for them. Vince looked at the others, some of their eyes glittering with hope of adventure. Man, he would love to stick around and watch that evaporate from their senses as they got a real good look at what they were about to step into. As the door opened, and the putrid smell of the station hit him like a hammer, he couldn't help but smile. This place was perfect for what he was going to do. He heard a couple people gag behind him, and gave a small laugh. This was going to be fun.
"Welcome to Pax Station passengers. Now get off my ship!" Jakana gave a grunt as the order was given, and hoisted his weapon upwards ushering everyone off. Vince got off without a sound, and found himself in some sort of rundown area of the station. Low buildings that looked ready to collapse at any second littered the area. Dirty and grungy people walked the streets covered in rags and littered in filth, and a giant tower loomed in the distance. That had to be the transport hub. Platforms spread from the tower like branches from a tree, and small vehicles could be seen coming and going from the Landings themselves. At the top loomed a large looking bluish orb. Most likely where the well off resided over the masses. Aside from the tower, the 'sky' was actually a giant energy shield designed to protect from the vastness of space and simulated to represent a 28 hour night/day cycle. As the last of the passengers got off, Jakana gave a hearty laugh.
"Welcome to the Pit Grakana*! Enjoy the rest of your lives!" The door shut and everyone started milling away. No one knew what exactly to do, but Vincent had his ideas. First, he had to find a place start with, then he had to somehow get out word of what he was trying to do. The best place to do either one of those was a bar, or at least, what could pass as a bar in this god forsaken place. Vincent secured his backpack, making sure his helmet was still in there, checked his Hyperion MKI armour to make sure nothing had been hampered with, and hoisted his Bloodeye Rifle onto his back. He doubted an armed man wandering these streets would get attention, if anything, it would warn off would be thieves. With everything set, he set off wandering through the broken down streets to see what he could find.
It wasn't long before he wandered through what must have been a sort of market for the Pit. Merchants of every size, colour, and race ran forward and tried to stop anybody passing by holding out trinkets and items. A couple tried to stop Vincent on his trek through the area, but he quickly and rudely brushed them out of his way with a slight shove. He didn't have time for them, nor did he care to even consider giving it. They were simply trying to get by, but they meant nothing to him. His eyes darted from one side of the street to another, hoping to see some sort of gathering spot for anyone worth while. Finally, after about ten minutes of walking, he saw a shady looking place with a neon sign that was half burnt out that read "Last Chance Bar". An oddly appropriate name for a place like this. A man, human, leaned next to the door in standard light armour. A pistol was placed in his holster, and his head hung low next as people walked by, in, and out. With an air of caution, Vince approached the bar and attempted to simply walk by the obvious bouncer.
"I don't know you." The man stated, not even raising his head. Vince looked over at him. The man tilted his head slightly in his direction, but the visor from his black helmet made it impossible to see his face. "Word of advice friend. Keep your gun holstered and your temper in check. You start shooting, and that entire bar will put you on the first coffin to be shot into the closest sun. You get me?" Vincent gave a slight nod, and showed no other sign of emotion. He didn't like getting warnings like that, but that was the law on Pax. The strongest controlled what happened, and anyone that challenged them either had to be stronger, or suicidal.
The inside of the bar was anything but spectacular. Dirty tables, seats, and floors covered the place. Broken floor tiles and ceiling patches made walking hazardous and threat of the roof caving in on you seemed very real. The bar was off to Vince's left, a small counter with a couple of seats lining it. Off to his right sat a few tables, one even lucky enough to have a VR interface to do anything from satisfying one's hormonal urges to conversing with someone across the galaxy. An old looking Boros stood pouring a few drinks for a couple of Kira sitting at the counter. They were talking in hushed tones, and when they looked at Vince, stopped all together. A couple humans at one of the tables stopped to stare as well as he made his way to the counter and took a seat. The Boros looked at him for a second, served the Kira their drinks, and wandered over slightly. He had a noticeable limp, and his 'skin' was a deep yellow colour, a sign of old age on their species.
"The name is Frankeso of Jurain, but most simply call me Frank. Welcome to my bar. What can I get you?" Vince looked over at the Kira for a moment, seeing as they were still staring at him, and gave a small evil looking smile.
"Nuruvian Whiskey." Vince said, his voice low but neutral. This was simply his normal fashion of talking. Frank nodded, and went to get the man his beverage. Vince saw that everyone was still watching him, but didn't say anything. When Frank returned with the bubbling beverage, Vince nodded towards everyone else. "They not used to seeing a merc?"
"They're not used to seeing someone new." Frank answered. "Usually new people mean new problems. They have enough as it is." Vince simply shrugged and took a drink of his beverage.
"Well they don't need to worry, I'm not going to be in this bar for long. I simply want some information."
"What is it with humans and thinking bartenders always have information?" Frank asked as he stepped back a little to start cleaning some glasses.
"Because they always do. Bars are places where people get together to talk, trade, and tell secrets. Bartenders are one of the most unassuming professions, and over hear a lot of things. Tell me I'm wrong." Vince said as he looked at the man. Frank simply sighed, placing the glass down and leaning on the counter.
"Alright. What are you looking for? Oh, and don't ask for a hiding spot, because I'm not giving one. I have a hard enough time running this bar and keeping it safe from the gangs without having them search me out cause I hid someone they're looking for."
"No worries about that." Vincent stated as he finished his drink and placed it aside. "I'm looking for a place to stay, preferably able to hold a number of people, equipment, and vehicles."
"You're trying to form your own PMC company?" Frank asked, his tone indicating he was almost taking it as a joke.
"Nah, a company means I'd have a huge number of people below me. No, I want to start a simple group operation. We do jobs and we get paid. I need somewhere that we can set up shop." Frank looked off to the side for a moment. "Don't tell me you don't know anyone Frank. I can see it in your face when you're trying to hold out on me." Frank looked over at Vince for a moment.
"An interesting choice of words coming from a human. We Boros don't have the same facial expressions you humans do."
"No, you don't." Vince said. "I've spent enough time around your kind to know a few signs and words in your tongue as well. I'm not here to make a statement, I'm here to make a living. Give me an option." Frank tapped the counter for a few seconds before looking up.
"Alright, I can't tell you exactly where there would be a place that you can set up, but I do know a wastelander, runs with the Bottom Dwellers. He owns a few pieces of real estate that could be of use to you. He's a malformed Nuro'Tai, goes by the name of Icar'sus Brus'nik. You'll find him in the markets, next to the transport spire. It's quite a ways if you plan on walking, I would suggest finding a transport to take you there." Vince gave a nod, and pushed off from the bar.
"Should I be worried about these...'Bottom Dwellers'?" Vincent asked, reaching down and tapping his sidearm for a second. Frank simply shook his head.
"No. Bottom Dwellers are mainly information brokers. Most of them are pacifists, or as close as you can get on this station. You won't have to worry about them."
"I appreciate the help Frank. Oh..." Vince pulled out a few credits, and added a few extra and handed it over. "Here's what I owe you, plus a little extra if you spread the word that Vincent Kestral is recruiting." Frank looked at the credits, and nodded.
"You got yourself a deal Mr. Kestral. Good luck." Vince simply nodded and walked away. He had gotten what he came for.
A short ride later on a small flying vehicle known as a Dart by most of the population on Pax, Vincent arrived at the marketplace in the Pit. He paid the cabby what was owed, and looked over the scene. The small market alley he had run into when he first stepped off of the transport that brought him here was nothing compared to this. As he walked through the area, it was packed with people of all species, including a couple Aradar milling through the shops. Anything from weapons, to armour, to exotic spices, food, junk, pawnshops, repair stations, and even a live sex show was in the corner. It was run by a Nuro'Tai, and Vincent shuddered to even think of what he considered beautiful. The Spire towered above them, heading towards the landings and eventually the Oracle, which stood at the very top of the station.
Vincent pulled his eyes from the Spire, and looked around. He was looking for a malformed Nuro'Tai, which at the time, seemed like an easy find. Now seeing the crowd and how they were damn near suffocating him with the sheer number of them, he started reconsidering his initial assumption. He slowly made his way through the crowd, simply pushing those who refused to get out of his way. They gave him a mean look as he walked by, but so long as they didn't attack him, he didn't care. Chances were they wouldn't even know who had pushed them in the first place. Finally, after a few minutes of searching, Vince caught sight of a rather plump looking Tick on a floater talking to one of the merchants. Without a second thought, Vincent made his way over there.
"Look, I'm telling you that the charge capacitor is off!" Icar'sus stated as they looked over a plasma weapon of some sort. The other Tick simply shook his head.
"I built this one myself, there is nothing wrong with it!" The merchant yelled back, obviously offended that his work would be called out like that.
"Oh really? Then how come one of the men I was supposed to be leading through the Pit went to defend himself...and the GUN EXPLODED!" The merchant looked at the rather large hole in the weapon.
"There is nothing here to suggest that it wasn't simply shot by another weapon, your refund is denied." Icar'sus was about to continue when Vince's hand landed on his shoulder, and would have jumped had his floater allowed him to.
"That's ok, he's needed elsewhere." Vince grabbed the Tick and yanked him away from the merchant. As he turned him around, Vince had to suppress a slight jump from his body. Icar'sus was mutated to the point of having only one eye, and it was differing shades of red. His skin was slightly green and his body fat seemed to only make it seem worse. Obviously the mutation must have adapted his eyes because unlike most Ticks who had to use blackened goggles to see during the day cycle, this one wore none. He glared at Vincent.
"What do you want mercenary? Shouldn't you be shaking someone down or something?"
"That could be you if you don't watch your tone Tick. You Icar'sus Brus'nik?" Vincent stated quite bluntly, and that made the Tick take a figurative step back slightly. Icar'sus nodded slightly.
"What do you want?" He asked. Straight to the point, Vince liked that.
"I heard you're a man with a head for real estate." Vince stated, and instantly the Nuro'Tai picked up.
"You looking to buy or sell?" He asked, his curiosity instantly piqued.
"Buy. I need somewhere large enough to house a few...recruits, equipment, vehicles, weapons, etc. Can you find me a place?"
"Hmmm..." Icar'sus sat for a moment, staring off to the side. "I may have a few places, but how much of a budget are we looking at here?"
"Anything 200,000 credits and below." The Tick stared at him for a moment.
"Been saving up for awhile, have we? Give me some time to make sure each one is...well, safe and still standing. The gangs have made it hard arou-"
"I don't care about your troubles unless you're paying me to solve them." Vince interrupted. "I'll give you an hour, you can find me at Last Chance Bar on the other side of the Pit. Don't keep me waiting or I'll find someone else." Icar'sus looked at him slightly with a frown, but nodded.
"Fine. I'll be in touch." The Tick turned around and floated away, leaving Vincent in the midst of the market with the crowds of people. Vince stared after him for a second, before making for the nearest cabby center to get back to the bar.
It wasn't long before Vincent found himself back in Last Chance Bar. He was enjoying another Nuruvian Whiskey, when Frank pointed behind him. "Looks like your boy decided to keep his word Kestral." Vincent turned around to see the mutated Nuro'Tai look through the bar for him. When his eye finally settled, he quickly floated next to him.
"Alright merc, I managed to get a few listings that might fit what you're looking for. I can take you to a few of them now. A couple of my fellow Dweller members have agreed to give us a lift there. You ready to go?"
"Been waiting for you." Vince said as he shelled out the credits to Frank and followed the Tick outside. Time to see what exactly was out there for him to start with.
They travelled a good distance, looking at several buildings all over the Pit ranging from a simple broken down store to an apartment complex that seemed a little too small for Vince's liking. A house that seemed too weak for his purposes, and a couple other areas that he wasn't even considering buying. Finally however, Icar'sus brought him to a rather down trodden area even by Pit standards. The Tick seemed to be looking over his shoulder every five seconds as they approached the warehouse that stood in front of them. "Something I should know?" Vince asked, his hand unconsciously staying near his sidearm.
"Well, this area is relatively close to the Toxix territory. They've kind of brushed past this area, but they're an insane bunch. It takes nothing for them to go out on raiding parties and kill as many as they can see." Icar'sus answered as they finally stood in front of the building.
"Dangerous. Good thing I'm going to be employing people who enjoy that kind of work. Give me the laydown." Vince stated as he looked over the rather bland grey facing of the warehouse.
"Well this is one of the more expensive sites we've looked at, standing at 190,000 credits. It's got two floors and 25,000 square feet with a separate garage that used to be used for business vehicles. The warehouse itself used to be an energy conversion plant until, well the people who owned it decided their lives were worth more than the energy this building produced. With the gangs pressing inwards, it's a very dangerous site indeed."
"Wait." Vince stated. "This building can provide it's own power?" Icar'sus stopped and thought for a moment.
"In theory, yes it could. However, the gear in there has shut off and rusted for quite a number of years now. I would be surprised if you could even get basic power running again." Vincent simply nodded, thinking about the possibility of getting this place up and going again, and selling power to nearby businesses. "Come. Let us view the inside." Icar'sus floated ahead, and opened the door that was off to the side of the warehouse. Vincent stepped inside and looked at all the room that was offered to him. The inside was dark, with small windows offering little light, but that could be fixed. Above him, rusted and broken generators sat in a line waiting to be fixed and brought back to life. Cables and random bits of equipment was sprawled along the floor. Dust covered every little bit of the building, and structural weaknesses could be seen where he was standing. Still, the weaknesses could be fixed with a little effort, dust was not problem, and the bits of equipment might be salvageable. "Here we have the main area, the work floor if you will. The second floor is much of the same thing. We have separate rooms at the back, used for the workers who were stationed here at that time. Although you lack any real furniture in this place, I think the miscellaneous equipment can more than make up for that." Vincent didn't say anything, but slowly walked around the place. The Tick followed along behind him as he made his way to the back, and opened a door to a separate area at the back. Inside were cots, all placed with the heads to the wall. There must have been at least 10 of them.
"I thought you said they were separate rooms?" Vincent asked as he walked along each cot. They were spread out well enough to avoid people waking up and slamming into each first thing in the morning, but he didn't know if this was such a good idea when dealing with a bunch of new recruits who may or may not like each other.
"Separate from the rest of the building yes, these were the worker's quarters. It's not like privacy was a big thing among them." Vincent gave a grunt as he looked around a bit more. Each cot came with a small locker beside it. He opened one up, and it gave a loud creaking noise as it revealed it's interior. Obviously no one had used it in a long time. The locker wasn't large, but it would be enough to stash most gear, save for someone's armour. He closed the locker, and looked around the room once more.
"This place have running water? A washroom or any other personal commodities?" Vince asked as he walked out of the shared bedroom.
"This place was hooked up to it's own personal water reserves underground. Now, as to whether or not that's been used up, or is even still good, I have no clue. The washrooms are just on the other side." Vince gave a nod towards the next room.
"Well let's see what the bathrooms look like then." He walked across the width of the place and entered another door. There a small wall met him, and he quickly walked around it into another semi-shared bathroom. "Should have figured." Vince said, no emotion coming from his voice. Stalls lined the left side of wall, some with broken doors and by the looks of it, broken toilets. On the other side were more stalls for the men, half were broken, and the other half looked like they were breeding new diseases. At the back there was another wall that hid another section of the bathroom. Vincent walked back there and looked around. A shared shower with about another ten shower heads all together lined up along each side of the wall. The place was filthy, as one would imagine, and he wasn't even sure if the water was running anymore.
Vince walked to the first shower head, and pressed the button that was underneath at chest level. Nothing happened for a moment, but soon there came a rumble of water travelling through the pipes. At first just trickles of water poured through the head, then suddenly it exploded and water poured unhindered into the rest of the shower. The Tick jumped back, and Vince simply covered his face. A couple minutes later though, and the water automatically shut itself off. "Well...it has water." Icar'sus stated as he looked at the broken hole in the wall from the water pressure.
"Yeah, it's still going to take some work." Vince walked out of the bathroom and looked around for some stairs to the second level. Seeing them along the left side of the wall from the entrance to the warehouse, he walked over and climbed up to see what else there was to this building. Once upstairs, it looked very similar to the downstairs save for being better lit. The windows were larger, and were pouring in light from the Pit, along with a hole in the roof. There was also a hole in the floor across the width from him with a bunch of cables running down to the lower floor. To his right, at the back of the warehouse were a couple of doors that led to separate rooms. Vincent walked up to the first one on the right, and opened it up to find a decent looking lunch room.
It was large enough to suit his needs, with destroyed counters and a table lying in a heap on the floor from someone deciding to pile drive it from the looks of it. Everything else kept the trend of the entire building with a disgusting and rusted look to everything. It wasn't bad, but before anyone could really eat in here they would need to clean it out or risk dying from several diseases all at once. Vincent closed the door, and walked over to the smaller looking room. Opening that door, he realized it was an office of some kind. It was missing a desk and much of anything that would signify it's purpose, but the size and general feel of it spoke of what it really was. It would be a good place to work out their finances, as well as organize their jobs into workable piles. Vince guessed that he would be spending a good amount of time in this room. "Alright...what about the garage?" Vincent asked.
"It's outside, we'll have to go out the way we came." The Tick answered, already heading to the stairs.
"There's no quick access?" Vince asked as he followed it down to the first level.
"Afraid not, although I'm sure you can work something out with one of the contractors here on Pax to fix you up with a side door." They quickly walked/floated out the way they came and took a quick right turn. Right there, just a few feet away from the warehouse itself, sat a double garage perfect for storing any two vehicles aside from an actual starship. It was bland, just like the rest of the warehouse and blended right in with the rest of the surrounding area. Icar'sus wandered over and pressed a button on the side of the building. he waited for a moment, but when nothing happened, he pressed it again. "Hmmm...that was supposed to open the main door here." Icar'sus stated. Vince simply walked up and placed his hands on the bottom of the door. With a quick jerk, he lifted the door up, and forced it into a locked open position. The Tick quickly flew inside, and looked around slightly. Vince did the same thing, keeping an eye to details about the place.
It was large enough to house not only two vehicles, but probably a few workshops as well. A rusted and broken down car beyond all repair sat in the middle. Rusted beyond all recognition and looking ready to collapse at any given second. Aside from the vehicle itself, there was little else in the building. "This is the last of deal?" Vincent asked as he turned to walk out. There was little else to look at in the garage.
"That would be it." The Tick said as it floated out after him. Vince closed the door as soon as he got out, and they walked back to where the car was waiting for Icar'sus. "So, you like what you see? The price is still the same, at 190,000 credits."
"How about 150,000 credits." Vincent said. When the Nuro'Tai simply looked at him, Vincent pointed back towards the warehouse. "There's a lot of work that needs to go into the building, and I can't spend all of my initial funding simply doing that when I would have people to pay as well."
"Look, I know what you're trying to do Mr. Kestral. I however, am a businessman, and I'm already close to losing profit on this building." The Tick answered, floating a little closer. "Normally a building like this would sell for nothing less than 400,000 credits, but because of it's state and proximity to the Toxix, no one has been wanting to buy it. If I go lower than 190, I'm losing a massive amount of money on this building. I know that you liked what you saw, so it's either 190 or no deal." Vincent thought it over for a second, looking at the building as he wondered how he was going to pay for the building and it's repairs. Hopefully he might be able to grab some people who had some mechanical know how and would be able to fix the place up cheap.
"Fine, I'll do 190." Vince stated. The Tick gave a sickly looking smile and clapped.
"Splendid! Come! Come! We must get you your paperwork and deed and keys and everything!" Icar'sus stated as he hopped back into the Dart. Vince watched after him for a second, before looking back at the warehouse. He hoped he hadn't made a bad deal, but only time would tell if he could hold off the approaching Toxies long enough to get this place up and operational. He broke off his gaze, and walked back to the dart. It was time to get the show on the road.
3 days later, and Vince was still waiting on recruits to join him. He had been wandering around the Pit, fixing up what he could of his warehouse, and generally keeping an eye open for anyone that might be of use to him. He knew the initial few days would be slow, there needed to be time for the word to circulate among the population. He had spread the word that anyone looking to grab a jab with him was to contact Frank at Last Chance Bar in order to find out a series of locations that Vince could be contacted from. Meanwhile, while all the circulation was taking place, Vince had been hard at work trying to make the warehouse at lease semi-decent for him and his recruits. He had managed to clean up the sleeping areas at least to a point where they were liveable. the bathrooms were another matter as he only managed to get a couple working after one exploded much like the shower head when he tried to see if it was operational. He had also managed to fix a couple shower heads and get the water flowing relatively safely. The generators were beyond his skill set to restore, and he would need help moving the car out of the garage before he could do anything in there. He had already grabbed himself an old desk and placed it in the office, along with an old chair that he wasn't necessarily sure would hold his weight half the time.
3 days should have been good enough. By now, the word must have circulated that he was looking for mercs to join his band, and he hoped he was right. He didn't have the time or money to be sitting here wasting his time in a building that required more than himself to fix back to a proper state. In the meantime, he split up his time between wandering through the markets near the spire, working out the smaller kinks at the warehouse, or spending a couple credits at Last Chance Bar. All he had to do now was wait for people looking for work to find him, and hopefully everything would start rolling soon.
He hated waiting.
*A swear or insult in the Kira language that can be along the lines of 'Bitch' or 'asshole'
A cesspit of a station burdened by crime, disease, and poverty. A station only meant to be good to those with power and wealth. As Vincent stared at the oncoming station aboard a Nuro'Tai trading vessel named the Kere'Kre, or 'The Richman' loosely translated to English. He couldn't help but think about the type of people he would be running into on the station. He stepped away from the window, looking at all the other aliens aboard the ship. Aside from the 'glorious' Aradar, the vessel was filled to the brim with every kind of species. Nuro'Tai, Boros, Kira, and even a few humans. The humans were all huddled in a corner though, afraid of going near any of the other species for fear of discrimination turning murderous. Vince rubbed the bridge of his nose for a second, a deep hatred of cowardice burning in his chest. He shrugged it off as he made his way to the airlock, a lone human amidst aliens.
"Attention passengers!" The Nuro'Tai's high creaky voice came over the speakers, the PCD on Vince's wrist translating the Tick's speech into English through an attached wireless ear piece that was almost undetectable. "We will be docking with Pax station in exactly one minute. Jakana will assist you out." A Kira by the door toting a rather large heavy machine gun and wearing some rough and tumble patches of armour stood forward and gave a gruff grunt towards everyone. Everyone stood quickly, wanting nothing more than to get off this flying garbage pile and see what the station held for them. Vince looked at the others, some of their eyes glittering with hope of adventure. Man, he would love to stick around and watch that evaporate from their senses as they got a real good look at what they were about to step into. As the door opened, and the putrid smell of the station hit him like a hammer, he couldn't help but smile. This place was perfect for what he was going to do. He heard a couple people gag behind him, and gave a small laugh. This was going to be fun.
"Welcome to Pax Station passengers. Now get off my ship!" Jakana gave a grunt as the order was given, and hoisted his weapon upwards ushering everyone off. Vince got off without a sound, and found himself in some sort of rundown area of the station. Low buildings that looked ready to collapse at any second littered the area. Dirty and grungy people walked the streets covered in rags and littered in filth, and a giant tower loomed in the distance. That had to be the transport hub. Platforms spread from the tower like branches from a tree, and small vehicles could be seen coming and going from the Landings themselves. At the top loomed a large looking bluish orb. Most likely where the well off resided over the masses. Aside from the tower, the 'sky' was actually a giant energy shield designed to protect from the vastness of space and simulated to represent a 28 hour night/day cycle. As the last of the passengers got off, Jakana gave a hearty laugh.
"Welcome to the Pit Grakana*! Enjoy the rest of your lives!" The door shut and everyone started milling away. No one knew what exactly to do, but Vincent had his ideas. First, he had to find a place start with, then he had to somehow get out word of what he was trying to do. The best place to do either one of those was a bar, or at least, what could pass as a bar in this god forsaken place. Vincent secured his backpack, making sure his helmet was still in there, checked his Hyperion MKI armour to make sure nothing had been hampered with, and hoisted his Bloodeye Rifle onto his back. He doubted an armed man wandering these streets would get attention, if anything, it would warn off would be thieves. With everything set, he set off wandering through the broken down streets to see what he could find.
It wasn't long before he wandered through what must have been a sort of market for the Pit. Merchants of every size, colour, and race ran forward and tried to stop anybody passing by holding out trinkets and items. A couple tried to stop Vincent on his trek through the area, but he quickly and rudely brushed them out of his way with a slight shove. He didn't have time for them, nor did he care to even consider giving it. They were simply trying to get by, but they meant nothing to him. His eyes darted from one side of the street to another, hoping to see some sort of gathering spot for anyone worth while. Finally, after about ten minutes of walking, he saw a shady looking place with a neon sign that was half burnt out that read "Last Chance Bar". An oddly appropriate name for a place like this. A man, human, leaned next to the door in standard light armour. A pistol was placed in his holster, and his head hung low next as people walked by, in, and out. With an air of caution, Vince approached the bar and attempted to simply walk by the obvious bouncer.
"I don't know you." The man stated, not even raising his head. Vince looked over at him. The man tilted his head slightly in his direction, but the visor from his black helmet made it impossible to see his face. "Word of advice friend. Keep your gun holstered and your temper in check. You start shooting, and that entire bar will put you on the first coffin to be shot into the closest sun. You get me?" Vincent gave a slight nod, and showed no other sign of emotion. He didn't like getting warnings like that, but that was the law on Pax. The strongest controlled what happened, and anyone that challenged them either had to be stronger, or suicidal.
The inside of the bar was anything but spectacular. Dirty tables, seats, and floors covered the place. Broken floor tiles and ceiling patches made walking hazardous and threat of the roof caving in on you seemed very real. The bar was off to Vince's left, a small counter with a couple of seats lining it. Off to his right sat a few tables, one even lucky enough to have a VR interface to do anything from satisfying one's hormonal urges to conversing with someone across the galaxy. An old looking Boros stood pouring a few drinks for a couple of Kira sitting at the counter. They were talking in hushed tones, and when they looked at Vince, stopped all together. A couple humans at one of the tables stopped to stare as well as he made his way to the counter and took a seat. The Boros looked at him for a second, served the Kira their drinks, and wandered over slightly. He had a noticeable limp, and his 'skin' was a deep yellow colour, a sign of old age on their species.
"The name is Frankeso of Jurain, but most simply call me Frank. Welcome to my bar. What can I get you?" Vince looked over at the Kira for a moment, seeing as they were still staring at him, and gave a small evil looking smile.
"Nuruvian Whiskey." Vince said, his voice low but neutral. This was simply his normal fashion of talking. Frank nodded, and went to get the man his beverage. Vince saw that everyone was still watching him, but didn't say anything. When Frank returned with the bubbling beverage, Vince nodded towards everyone else. "They not used to seeing a merc?"
"They're not used to seeing someone new." Frank answered. "Usually new people mean new problems. They have enough as it is." Vince simply shrugged and took a drink of his beverage.
"Well they don't need to worry, I'm not going to be in this bar for long. I simply want some information."
"What is it with humans and thinking bartenders always have information?" Frank asked as he stepped back a little to start cleaning some glasses.
"Because they always do. Bars are places where people get together to talk, trade, and tell secrets. Bartenders are one of the most unassuming professions, and over hear a lot of things. Tell me I'm wrong." Vince said as he looked at the man. Frank simply sighed, placing the glass down and leaning on the counter.
"Alright. What are you looking for? Oh, and don't ask for a hiding spot, because I'm not giving one. I have a hard enough time running this bar and keeping it safe from the gangs without having them search me out cause I hid someone they're looking for."
"No worries about that." Vincent stated as he finished his drink and placed it aside. "I'm looking for a place to stay, preferably able to hold a number of people, equipment, and vehicles."
"You're trying to form your own PMC company?" Frank asked, his tone indicating he was almost taking it as a joke.
"Nah, a company means I'd have a huge number of people below me. No, I want to start a simple group operation. We do jobs and we get paid. I need somewhere that we can set up shop." Frank looked off to the side for a moment. "Don't tell me you don't know anyone Frank. I can see it in your face when you're trying to hold out on me." Frank looked over at Vince for a moment.
"An interesting choice of words coming from a human. We Boros don't have the same facial expressions you humans do."
"No, you don't." Vince said. "I've spent enough time around your kind to know a few signs and words in your tongue as well. I'm not here to make a statement, I'm here to make a living. Give me an option." Frank tapped the counter for a few seconds before looking up.
"Alright, I can't tell you exactly where there would be a place that you can set up, but I do know a wastelander, runs with the Bottom Dwellers. He owns a few pieces of real estate that could be of use to you. He's a malformed Nuro'Tai, goes by the name of Icar'sus Brus'nik. You'll find him in the markets, next to the transport spire. It's quite a ways if you plan on walking, I would suggest finding a transport to take you there." Vince gave a nod, and pushed off from the bar.
"Should I be worried about these...'Bottom Dwellers'?" Vincent asked, reaching down and tapping his sidearm for a second. Frank simply shook his head.
"No. Bottom Dwellers are mainly information brokers. Most of them are pacifists, or as close as you can get on this station. You won't have to worry about them."
"I appreciate the help Frank. Oh..." Vince pulled out a few credits, and added a few extra and handed it over. "Here's what I owe you, plus a little extra if you spread the word that Vincent Kestral is recruiting." Frank looked at the credits, and nodded.
"You got yourself a deal Mr. Kestral. Good luck." Vince simply nodded and walked away. He had gotten what he came for.
A short ride later on a small flying vehicle known as a Dart by most of the population on Pax, Vincent arrived at the marketplace in the Pit. He paid the cabby what was owed, and looked over the scene. The small market alley he had run into when he first stepped off of the transport that brought him here was nothing compared to this. As he walked through the area, it was packed with people of all species, including a couple Aradar milling through the shops. Anything from weapons, to armour, to exotic spices, food, junk, pawnshops, repair stations, and even a live sex show was in the corner. It was run by a Nuro'Tai, and Vincent shuddered to even think of what he considered beautiful. The Spire towered above them, heading towards the landings and eventually the Oracle, which stood at the very top of the station.
Vincent pulled his eyes from the Spire, and looked around. He was looking for a malformed Nuro'Tai, which at the time, seemed like an easy find. Now seeing the crowd and how they were damn near suffocating him with the sheer number of them, he started reconsidering his initial assumption. He slowly made his way through the crowd, simply pushing those who refused to get out of his way. They gave him a mean look as he walked by, but so long as they didn't attack him, he didn't care. Chances were they wouldn't even know who had pushed them in the first place. Finally, after a few minutes of searching, Vince caught sight of a rather plump looking Tick on a floater talking to one of the merchants. Without a second thought, Vincent made his way over there.
"Look, I'm telling you that the charge capacitor is off!" Icar'sus stated as they looked over a plasma weapon of some sort. The other Tick simply shook his head.
"I built this one myself, there is nothing wrong with it!" The merchant yelled back, obviously offended that his work would be called out like that.
"Oh really? Then how come one of the men I was supposed to be leading through the Pit went to defend himself...and the GUN EXPLODED!" The merchant looked at the rather large hole in the weapon.
"There is nothing here to suggest that it wasn't simply shot by another weapon, your refund is denied." Icar'sus was about to continue when Vince's hand landed on his shoulder, and would have jumped had his floater allowed him to.
"That's ok, he's needed elsewhere." Vince grabbed the Tick and yanked him away from the merchant. As he turned him around, Vince had to suppress a slight jump from his body. Icar'sus was mutated to the point of having only one eye, and it was differing shades of red. His skin was slightly green and his body fat seemed to only make it seem worse. Obviously the mutation must have adapted his eyes because unlike most Ticks who had to use blackened goggles to see during the day cycle, this one wore none. He glared at Vincent.
"What do you want mercenary? Shouldn't you be shaking someone down or something?"
"That could be you if you don't watch your tone Tick. You Icar'sus Brus'nik?" Vincent stated quite bluntly, and that made the Tick take a figurative step back slightly. Icar'sus nodded slightly.
"What do you want?" He asked. Straight to the point, Vince liked that.
"I heard you're a man with a head for real estate." Vince stated, and instantly the Nuro'Tai picked up.
"You looking to buy or sell?" He asked, his curiosity instantly piqued.
"Buy. I need somewhere large enough to house a few...recruits, equipment, vehicles, weapons, etc. Can you find me a place?"
"Hmmm..." Icar'sus sat for a moment, staring off to the side. "I may have a few places, but how much of a budget are we looking at here?"
"Anything 200,000 credits and below." The Tick stared at him for a moment.
"Been saving up for awhile, have we? Give me some time to make sure each one is...well, safe and still standing. The gangs have made it hard arou-"
"I don't care about your troubles unless you're paying me to solve them." Vince interrupted. "I'll give you an hour, you can find me at Last Chance Bar on the other side of the Pit. Don't keep me waiting or I'll find someone else." Icar'sus looked at him slightly with a frown, but nodded.
"Fine. I'll be in touch." The Tick turned around and floated away, leaving Vincent in the midst of the market with the crowds of people. Vince stared after him for a second, before making for the nearest cabby center to get back to the bar.
It wasn't long before Vincent found himself back in Last Chance Bar. He was enjoying another Nuruvian Whiskey, when Frank pointed behind him. "Looks like your boy decided to keep his word Kestral." Vincent turned around to see the mutated Nuro'Tai look through the bar for him. When his eye finally settled, he quickly floated next to him.
"Alright merc, I managed to get a few listings that might fit what you're looking for. I can take you to a few of them now. A couple of my fellow Dweller members have agreed to give us a lift there. You ready to go?"
"Been waiting for you." Vince said as he shelled out the credits to Frank and followed the Tick outside. Time to see what exactly was out there for him to start with.
They travelled a good distance, looking at several buildings all over the Pit ranging from a simple broken down store to an apartment complex that seemed a little too small for Vince's liking. A house that seemed too weak for his purposes, and a couple other areas that he wasn't even considering buying. Finally however, Icar'sus brought him to a rather down trodden area even by Pit standards. The Tick seemed to be looking over his shoulder every five seconds as they approached the warehouse that stood in front of them. "Something I should know?" Vince asked, his hand unconsciously staying near his sidearm.
"Well, this area is relatively close to the Toxix territory. They've kind of brushed past this area, but they're an insane bunch. It takes nothing for them to go out on raiding parties and kill as many as they can see." Icar'sus answered as they finally stood in front of the building.
"Dangerous. Good thing I'm going to be employing people who enjoy that kind of work. Give me the laydown." Vince stated as he looked over the rather bland grey facing of the warehouse.
"Well this is one of the more expensive sites we've looked at, standing at 190,000 credits. It's got two floors and 25,000 square feet with a separate garage that used to be used for business vehicles. The warehouse itself used to be an energy conversion plant until, well the people who owned it decided their lives were worth more than the energy this building produced. With the gangs pressing inwards, it's a very dangerous site indeed."
"Wait." Vince stated. "This building can provide it's own power?" Icar'sus stopped and thought for a moment.
"In theory, yes it could. However, the gear in there has shut off and rusted for quite a number of years now. I would be surprised if you could even get basic power running again." Vincent simply nodded, thinking about the possibility of getting this place up and going again, and selling power to nearby businesses. "Come. Let us view the inside." Icar'sus floated ahead, and opened the door that was off to the side of the warehouse. Vincent stepped inside and looked at all the room that was offered to him. The inside was dark, with small windows offering little light, but that could be fixed. Above him, rusted and broken generators sat in a line waiting to be fixed and brought back to life. Cables and random bits of equipment was sprawled along the floor. Dust covered every little bit of the building, and structural weaknesses could be seen where he was standing. Still, the weaknesses could be fixed with a little effort, dust was not problem, and the bits of equipment might be salvageable. "Here we have the main area, the work floor if you will. The second floor is much of the same thing. We have separate rooms at the back, used for the workers who were stationed here at that time. Although you lack any real furniture in this place, I think the miscellaneous equipment can more than make up for that." Vincent didn't say anything, but slowly walked around the place. The Tick followed along behind him as he made his way to the back, and opened a door to a separate area at the back. Inside were cots, all placed with the heads to the wall. There must have been at least 10 of them.
"I thought you said they were separate rooms?" Vincent asked as he walked along each cot. They were spread out well enough to avoid people waking up and slamming into each first thing in the morning, but he didn't know if this was such a good idea when dealing with a bunch of new recruits who may or may not like each other.
"Separate from the rest of the building yes, these were the worker's quarters. It's not like privacy was a big thing among them." Vincent gave a grunt as he looked around a bit more. Each cot came with a small locker beside it. He opened one up, and it gave a loud creaking noise as it revealed it's interior. Obviously no one had used it in a long time. The locker wasn't large, but it would be enough to stash most gear, save for someone's armour. He closed the locker, and looked around the room once more.
"This place have running water? A washroom or any other personal commodities?" Vince asked as he walked out of the shared bedroom.
"This place was hooked up to it's own personal water reserves underground. Now, as to whether or not that's been used up, or is even still good, I have no clue. The washrooms are just on the other side." Vince gave a nod towards the next room.
"Well let's see what the bathrooms look like then." He walked across the width of the place and entered another door. There a small wall met him, and he quickly walked around it into another semi-shared bathroom. "Should have figured." Vince said, no emotion coming from his voice. Stalls lined the left side of wall, some with broken doors and by the looks of it, broken toilets. On the other side were more stalls for the men, half were broken, and the other half looked like they were breeding new diseases. At the back there was another wall that hid another section of the bathroom. Vincent walked back there and looked around. A shared shower with about another ten shower heads all together lined up along each side of the wall. The place was filthy, as one would imagine, and he wasn't even sure if the water was running anymore.
Vince walked to the first shower head, and pressed the button that was underneath at chest level. Nothing happened for a moment, but soon there came a rumble of water travelling through the pipes. At first just trickles of water poured through the head, then suddenly it exploded and water poured unhindered into the rest of the shower. The Tick jumped back, and Vince simply covered his face. A couple minutes later though, and the water automatically shut itself off. "Well...it has water." Icar'sus stated as he looked at the broken hole in the wall from the water pressure.
"Yeah, it's still going to take some work." Vince walked out of the bathroom and looked around for some stairs to the second level. Seeing them along the left side of the wall from the entrance to the warehouse, he walked over and climbed up to see what else there was to this building. Once upstairs, it looked very similar to the downstairs save for being better lit. The windows were larger, and were pouring in light from the Pit, along with a hole in the roof. There was also a hole in the floor across the width from him with a bunch of cables running down to the lower floor. To his right, at the back of the warehouse were a couple of doors that led to separate rooms. Vincent walked up to the first one on the right, and opened it up to find a decent looking lunch room.
It was large enough to suit his needs, with destroyed counters and a table lying in a heap on the floor from someone deciding to pile drive it from the looks of it. Everything else kept the trend of the entire building with a disgusting and rusted look to everything. It wasn't bad, but before anyone could really eat in here they would need to clean it out or risk dying from several diseases all at once. Vincent closed the door, and walked over to the smaller looking room. Opening that door, he realized it was an office of some kind. It was missing a desk and much of anything that would signify it's purpose, but the size and general feel of it spoke of what it really was. It would be a good place to work out their finances, as well as organize their jobs into workable piles. Vince guessed that he would be spending a good amount of time in this room. "Alright...what about the garage?" Vincent asked.
"It's outside, we'll have to go out the way we came." The Tick answered, already heading to the stairs.
"There's no quick access?" Vince asked as he followed it down to the first level.
"Afraid not, although I'm sure you can work something out with one of the contractors here on Pax to fix you up with a side door." They quickly walked/floated out the way they came and took a quick right turn. Right there, just a few feet away from the warehouse itself, sat a double garage perfect for storing any two vehicles aside from an actual starship. It was bland, just like the rest of the warehouse and blended right in with the rest of the surrounding area. Icar'sus wandered over and pressed a button on the side of the building. he waited for a moment, but when nothing happened, he pressed it again. "Hmmm...that was supposed to open the main door here." Icar'sus stated. Vince simply walked up and placed his hands on the bottom of the door. With a quick jerk, he lifted the door up, and forced it into a locked open position. The Tick quickly flew inside, and looked around slightly. Vince did the same thing, keeping an eye to details about the place.
It was large enough to house not only two vehicles, but probably a few workshops as well. A rusted and broken down car beyond all repair sat in the middle. Rusted beyond all recognition and looking ready to collapse at any given second. Aside from the vehicle itself, there was little else in the building. "This is the last of deal?" Vincent asked as he turned to walk out. There was little else to look at in the garage.
"That would be it." The Tick said as it floated out after him. Vince closed the door as soon as he got out, and they walked back to where the car was waiting for Icar'sus. "So, you like what you see? The price is still the same, at 190,000 credits."
"How about 150,000 credits." Vincent said. When the Nuro'Tai simply looked at him, Vincent pointed back towards the warehouse. "There's a lot of work that needs to go into the building, and I can't spend all of my initial funding simply doing that when I would have people to pay as well."
"Look, I know what you're trying to do Mr. Kestral. I however, am a businessman, and I'm already close to losing profit on this building." The Tick answered, floating a little closer. "Normally a building like this would sell for nothing less than 400,000 credits, but because of it's state and proximity to the Toxix, no one has been wanting to buy it. If I go lower than 190, I'm losing a massive amount of money on this building. I know that you liked what you saw, so it's either 190 or no deal." Vincent thought it over for a second, looking at the building as he wondered how he was going to pay for the building and it's repairs. Hopefully he might be able to grab some people who had some mechanical know how and would be able to fix the place up cheap.
"Fine, I'll do 190." Vince stated. The Tick gave a sickly looking smile and clapped.
"Splendid! Come! Come! We must get you your paperwork and deed and keys and everything!" Icar'sus stated as he hopped back into the Dart. Vince watched after him for a second, before looking back at the warehouse. He hoped he hadn't made a bad deal, but only time would tell if he could hold off the approaching Toxies long enough to get this place up and operational. He broke off his gaze, and walked back to the dart. It was time to get the show on the road.
3 days later, and Vince was still waiting on recruits to join him. He had been wandering around the Pit, fixing up what he could of his warehouse, and generally keeping an eye open for anyone that might be of use to him. He knew the initial few days would be slow, there needed to be time for the word to circulate among the population. He had spread the word that anyone looking to grab a jab with him was to contact Frank at Last Chance Bar in order to find out a series of locations that Vince could be contacted from. Meanwhile, while all the circulation was taking place, Vince had been hard at work trying to make the warehouse at lease semi-decent for him and his recruits. He had managed to clean up the sleeping areas at least to a point where they were liveable. the bathrooms were another matter as he only managed to get a couple working after one exploded much like the shower head when he tried to see if it was operational. He had also managed to fix a couple shower heads and get the water flowing relatively safely. The generators were beyond his skill set to restore, and he would need help moving the car out of the garage before he could do anything in there. He had already grabbed himself an old desk and placed it in the office, along with an old chair that he wasn't necessarily sure would hold his weight half the time.
3 days should have been good enough. By now, the word must have circulated that he was looking for mercs to join his band, and he hoped he was right. He didn't have the time or money to be sitting here wasting his time in a building that required more than himself to fix back to a proper state. In the meantime, he split up his time between wandering through the markets near the spire, working out the smaller kinks at the warehouse, or spending a couple credits at Last Chance Bar. All he had to do now was wait for people looking for work to find him, and hopefully everything would start rolling soon.
He hated waiting.
*A swear or insult in the Kira language that can be along the lines of 'Bitch' or 'asshole'
quakernuts- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-09-19
Posts : 702
Age : 32
Location : Sask. Canada
Re: Black Dawn
by Digital Muse Wed Jan 04, 2012 12:03 pm
Rebecca bent low in the tight sewer tunnel beneath the main streets of the Lorandin level of Pax. Behind her she heard a bong and a muffled curse. "Damn it Waster! You did that on purpose!" The complainer scuffled briefly with someone else in the group that she was leading through the underground.
A basso voice growled at the man, "Shut up, Travis! She's fucking blind! You aren't! Now keep moving and keep quiet or we're all dead."
Rebecca glanced over her shoulder at the group of 4 men that she was guiding back to the Pit after they had pulled some robbery or other. Rebecca really didn't care what it was. She got them in and got them back out again. That was the agreement. Contrary to what the second man thought, Rebecca wasn't blind, just hyper sensitive to strong light. But her abnormally large milky white eyes made most jump to that conclusion.
Some of the twists and turns of the tunnels made things a very tight squeeze and the air was fetid . It took them nearly 3 hours to descend to the level of the Pit. Rebecca paused 50 yards from the outlet to the main street with the owner of the basso voice. Her hood hid her unusual features as she spoke. "Keep going forward 50 yards and up the ladder. The covering is heavy, it'll take two of you to lift, but it's out of sight." Those instructions given, she held out a slender hand revealing her pale green, mottled skin, "My fee." She asked.
The hard-faced, bald man dug into his pocket and placed a chit into her hand. "2500, as agreed." He looked back to the other three men, "Let's go. Dearing. Michaels. You get that covering off." The bald man looked back toward Rebecca's mutated features, "Thanks, kid. Hope we can do business again."
Travis shouldered roughly between them, shoving against Rebecca unnecessarily. "I don't. God-damned freak." He splashed down the tunnel, "She shoulda been killed at birth. All them freaks below should have."
The bald man followed after with a hard look on his face.
The shove made Rebecca hit the wall of the sewer hard. A flare of pain raced up her arm and shoulder, but no real damage was done. She flipped the chit into the air and caught it again with satisfaction. Most of it would go to her gang, the Bottom Dwellers, for food and medical treatment. But 500 credits was her reward for doing the job. It was a small fortune for her.
________________________________________________________________________________
The following day found Rebecca in the Pit cautiously shopping for something for herself and as always, keeping an ear out for possible jobs for her gang. While the Bottom Dwellers had little in the way of money, they had plenty in the way of information and there were always buyers for information.
Keeping her hood up so her features weren't immediately evident, Rebecca slipped through the crowds in the larger market place in the Pit like a fish through water. The one by the landing bay was nothing but cheap tourist stuff and of absolutely no use to her.
At one stall, Rebecca picked up a pair of goggles while the shop owner eyed her suspiciously. The were 1250. Well out of her league, even if they were old and probably only worked half the time. She knew she should save her credits to buy some goggles to help her in the lighted areas, but she never seemed to be able to. Putting the goggles back, she used the length of copper pipe she had with her to tap along the crowded streets. It helped her find curbs and dangerous table legs whenever she was forced to close her eyes in brightly-lit parts of the market.
In the end Rebecca used some of her precious credits to buy herself a large sandwich with questionable meat inside along with a drink. She sat at a table set outside the cafe, at least she liked to call it that. Hole in the wall was too ordinary, she thought with a grin. She ate half of her sandwich as slowly as she could manage without the owner throwing her out. And she listened. It was one of the gifts of her mutation. She could hear much better than most people.
At the table to her left, she heard. "But, my husband. We have to stop meeting like this...."
And at another; "Look, I don't have time to dick around. Do you want the damned gun or not?..."
While the cafe's owner was stopped by a tall and strongly built blur and asked "You know a guy named Kestral? He's supposed to be here. I heard he's hiring." The shop owner must have shaken his head, because the questioner grunted in dissatisfaction and disappeared into the crowd again.
Hiring? Rebecca thought. For what? The questioner had smelled of gun oil and his posture (what she could make out, anyway) was predatory and ready. Like a coiled spring inside a clock. That usually meant soldier or merc. Probably the latter. It got Rebecca's wheels turning, trying to figure out a way to use the information. But nothing came to her at that moment.
Rebecca then put half of her sandwich into her pocket for later (since you never knew when you'd be able to eat again) and headed back into the flow around the market. The 5 foot length of copper tubing panged along slightly before her feet and Rebecca decided that just a little supplementation to her income might be a good idea. The crowd around her seemed more relaxed than normal and with the crush of bodies, no one would notice her lifting a wallet or two.
Rebecca's supple body and oddly sinuous movements permitted her the ability to reach into pockets and bags with an eerie subtlety. The credit chits or wallets she managed to snag went directly into her ruck sack with no one the wiser. She worked the crowd, ensuring that she was many yards away from one 'contributor' before picking another.
A rather tall blur loomed in front of Rebecca and she could tell he had his back toward her. As she drew closer, she noted the loose cargo pants and t-shirt the man was wearing. And his wallet. Just one more, she thought. Supple fingers began to lift the wallet from the man's pocket when the back of her wrist brushed the body armor hidden beneath the t-shirt. She started to jerk her hand away when the man's hand snapped out behind him suddenly and latched onto her wrist in a painful grip. He hadn't even turned his head to do it.
"Not today." He growled lowly. Kestral jerked Rebecca around to face him, but didn't let her go. He hood fell back from her hair revealing her mutated features. He paused only minutely. "I think we need to have a little talk." He murmured ominously.
Rebecca gasped when Kestral jerked her forward so he could see her and she managed to keep a grip on her copper 'cane'. His grip was immensely painful, so much so, she had no chance of objecting as he moved through the crowd with her in tow. The pair moved through the market until Kestral could get a cab. He made sure Rebecca got in before him and never relinquished his grip on her wrist for the duration of the ride. His silence terrified Rebecca. What did he want? Was he part of the Bomb Squad? The thought made her tremble. She started to question him, but a single look that she could see quite well from the inside of the cab silenced her immediately.
They finally arrived at a bar Rebecca knew of by name, but had never been to. Kestral hauled her out of the cab with a painful tug and marched her into the Last Chance. Moving to the back of the bar to an unoccupied table, Kestral sat her down and ordered a Nuruvian whiskey. Once Frank delivered the drink and went back to his bar, Kestral looked to Rebecca while she tried to rub the pain from her wrist.
"Let's talk about what just happened, shall we?" Kestral said. "I'm thinking you should be dead by now, am I right?"
Rebecca looked toward the door, but was fairly sure she'd never make it. "Depends." She replied cautiously.
"The way I see it. I just saved your life. I think you owe me." Kestral took a drink from his glass. "You part of the Bottom Dwellers?"
Rebecca nodded, not entirely sure where this conversation was headed.
"I watched you and you're not bad. But I don't need a pickpocket. I need information and ways into and out of tight situations." The big man looked at her directly. "That'd be you." He watched Rebecca while she mulled that statement over. "I'm getting a group of independents together. Going to do some jobs. Pay depends on the jobs." He paused again before continuing. "I'll give you 10 minutes to decide."
Rebecca blinked. A job? For a Merc company? But, she didn't fight. She'd held a gun once in her whole life! On the other hand...if he just wanted a guide and information. She could do that and maybe bring more money to her gang. She was torn.
She looked up at the big man's face and took in the lines and prematurely graying hair. He'd stayed alive this long. So he wasn't stupid. "Alright." She finally decided. "I'll do it."
He nodded with a sharp dip of his chin. "Alright." He held out his hand. "Now hand over those wallets and credit chits. There's a penalty for screwing up."
A basso voice growled at the man, "Shut up, Travis! She's fucking blind! You aren't! Now keep moving and keep quiet or we're all dead."
Rebecca glanced over her shoulder at the group of 4 men that she was guiding back to the Pit after they had pulled some robbery or other. Rebecca really didn't care what it was. She got them in and got them back out again. That was the agreement. Contrary to what the second man thought, Rebecca wasn't blind, just hyper sensitive to strong light. But her abnormally large milky white eyes made most jump to that conclusion.
Some of the twists and turns of the tunnels made things a very tight squeeze and the air was fetid . It took them nearly 3 hours to descend to the level of the Pit. Rebecca paused 50 yards from the outlet to the main street with the owner of the basso voice. Her hood hid her unusual features as she spoke. "Keep going forward 50 yards and up the ladder. The covering is heavy, it'll take two of you to lift, but it's out of sight." Those instructions given, she held out a slender hand revealing her pale green, mottled skin, "My fee." She asked.
The hard-faced, bald man dug into his pocket and placed a chit into her hand. "2500, as agreed." He looked back to the other three men, "Let's go. Dearing. Michaels. You get that covering off." The bald man looked back toward Rebecca's mutated features, "Thanks, kid. Hope we can do business again."
Travis shouldered roughly between them, shoving against Rebecca unnecessarily. "I don't. God-damned freak." He splashed down the tunnel, "She shoulda been killed at birth. All them freaks below should have."
The bald man followed after with a hard look on his face.
The shove made Rebecca hit the wall of the sewer hard. A flare of pain raced up her arm and shoulder, but no real damage was done. She flipped the chit into the air and caught it again with satisfaction. Most of it would go to her gang, the Bottom Dwellers, for food and medical treatment. But 500 credits was her reward for doing the job. It was a small fortune for her.
________________________________________________________________________________
The following day found Rebecca in the Pit cautiously shopping for something for herself and as always, keeping an ear out for possible jobs for her gang. While the Bottom Dwellers had little in the way of money, they had plenty in the way of information and there were always buyers for information.
Keeping her hood up so her features weren't immediately evident, Rebecca slipped through the crowds in the larger market place in the Pit like a fish through water. The one by the landing bay was nothing but cheap tourist stuff and of absolutely no use to her.
At one stall, Rebecca picked up a pair of goggles while the shop owner eyed her suspiciously. The were 1250. Well out of her league, even if they were old and probably only worked half the time. She knew she should save her credits to buy some goggles to help her in the lighted areas, but she never seemed to be able to. Putting the goggles back, she used the length of copper pipe she had with her to tap along the crowded streets. It helped her find curbs and dangerous table legs whenever she was forced to close her eyes in brightly-lit parts of the market.
In the end Rebecca used some of her precious credits to buy herself a large sandwich with questionable meat inside along with a drink. She sat at a table set outside the cafe, at least she liked to call it that. Hole in the wall was too ordinary, she thought with a grin. She ate half of her sandwich as slowly as she could manage without the owner throwing her out. And she listened. It was one of the gifts of her mutation. She could hear much better than most people.
At the table to her left, she heard. "But, my husband. We have to stop meeting like this...."
And at another; "Look, I don't have time to dick around. Do you want the damned gun or not?..."
While the cafe's owner was stopped by a tall and strongly built blur and asked "You know a guy named Kestral? He's supposed to be here. I heard he's hiring." The shop owner must have shaken his head, because the questioner grunted in dissatisfaction and disappeared into the crowd again.
Hiring? Rebecca thought. For what? The questioner had smelled of gun oil and his posture (what she could make out, anyway) was predatory and ready. Like a coiled spring inside a clock. That usually meant soldier or merc. Probably the latter. It got Rebecca's wheels turning, trying to figure out a way to use the information. But nothing came to her at that moment.
Rebecca then put half of her sandwich into her pocket for later (since you never knew when you'd be able to eat again) and headed back into the flow around the market. The 5 foot length of copper tubing panged along slightly before her feet and Rebecca decided that just a little supplementation to her income might be a good idea. The crowd around her seemed more relaxed than normal and with the crush of bodies, no one would notice her lifting a wallet or two.
Rebecca's supple body and oddly sinuous movements permitted her the ability to reach into pockets and bags with an eerie subtlety. The credit chits or wallets she managed to snag went directly into her ruck sack with no one the wiser. She worked the crowd, ensuring that she was many yards away from one 'contributor' before picking another.
A rather tall blur loomed in front of Rebecca and she could tell he had his back toward her. As she drew closer, she noted the loose cargo pants and t-shirt the man was wearing. And his wallet. Just one more, she thought. Supple fingers began to lift the wallet from the man's pocket when the back of her wrist brushed the body armor hidden beneath the t-shirt. She started to jerk her hand away when the man's hand snapped out behind him suddenly and latched onto her wrist in a painful grip. He hadn't even turned his head to do it.
"Not today." He growled lowly. Kestral jerked Rebecca around to face him, but didn't let her go. He hood fell back from her hair revealing her mutated features. He paused only minutely. "I think we need to have a little talk." He murmured ominously.
Rebecca gasped when Kestral jerked her forward so he could see her and she managed to keep a grip on her copper 'cane'. His grip was immensely painful, so much so, she had no chance of objecting as he moved through the crowd with her in tow. The pair moved through the market until Kestral could get a cab. He made sure Rebecca got in before him and never relinquished his grip on her wrist for the duration of the ride. His silence terrified Rebecca. What did he want? Was he part of the Bomb Squad? The thought made her tremble. She started to question him, but a single look that she could see quite well from the inside of the cab silenced her immediately.
They finally arrived at a bar Rebecca knew of by name, but had never been to. Kestral hauled her out of the cab with a painful tug and marched her into the Last Chance. Moving to the back of the bar to an unoccupied table, Kestral sat her down and ordered a Nuruvian whiskey. Once Frank delivered the drink and went back to his bar, Kestral looked to Rebecca while she tried to rub the pain from her wrist.
"Let's talk about what just happened, shall we?" Kestral said. "I'm thinking you should be dead by now, am I right?"
Rebecca looked toward the door, but was fairly sure she'd never make it. "Depends." She replied cautiously.
"The way I see it. I just saved your life. I think you owe me." Kestral took a drink from his glass. "You part of the Bottom Dwellers?"
Rebecca nodded, not entirely sure where this conversation was headed.
"I watched you and you're not bad. But I don't need a pickpocket. I need information and ways into and out of tight situations." The big man looked at her directly. "That'd be you." He watched Rebecca while she mulled that statement over. "I'm getting a group of independents together. Going to do some jobs. Pay depends on the jobs." He paused again before continuing. "I'll give you 10 minutes to decide."
Rebecca blinked. A job? For a Merc company? But, she didn't fight. She'd held a gun once in her whole life! On the other hand...if he just wanted a guide and information. She could do that and maybe bring more money to her gang. She was torn.
She looked up at the big man's face and took in the lines and prematurely graying hair. He'd stayed alive this long. So he wasn't stupid. "Alright." She finally decided. "I'll do it."
He nodded with a sharp dip of his chin. "Alright." He held out his hand. "Now hand over those wallets and credit chits. There's a penalty for screwing up."
Digital Muse- Guardian Ghost
- Join date : 2009-08-12
Posts : 1381
Location : South Dakota
Re: Black Dawn
by Guilty Carrion Wed Jan 04, 2012 9:12 pm
Sitting round the table, four humans exchanged glances and stares, worriedly checking their cards and tossing chips into the center. Seated at the back of the table, Khy watched with muted interest as one of them tossed half his chips into the center, earning a fold from the man to his immediate right and a nervous check from the one to his left. All the pairs of eyes then zeroed in on the mercenary, who casually examined his cards for a moment, before sighing. “You guys are making this way too easy.”
The three exchanged looks, before the big one straight across from him snarled, revealing rows of crooked teeth. “Call or fold, merc. We’re here to play, not trade jabs with a half wit.” The others chuckled lightly, but stopped as he joined in. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, just you trying to intimidate me. It’s quite charming really. As if I didn’t gut rats like you for half the money we’re playing for.” Checking his cards again, Khy fixed the man across from him with an arrogant smirk. “I raise.” He tossed a large number of chips into the center, watching the reactions carefully. The big man’s grin only got wider, so he likely had him dead to rights. The nervous one paled, the pot obviously too rich for his blood, and he quickly folded without a moment’s hesitation. “Well, well, well, looks like it’s just me and you now.”
The large man grit his teeth, and for a moment, Khymera could have mistaken him for a Kira in the low light of the bar. “I call.” Khy chuckled, earning a sharp glare from the large man. “Got something to say, Merc?”
“Nah. Just wondering what your cards are. Could have a royal flush. Maybe aces.” He checked his cards for a moment before shaking his head. “But I doubt it. The odds are stacked, and since the champ on my left here has been dealing crooked since we started, I doubt you have anything decent.” All eyes snapped to the man on his left, and the large brute roughly grabbed his collar, pulling him close.
“You cheating us?! No wonder you’ve been winning so many hands, you dirty tick!” The man shook his head in feeble protest, and Khy grinned at his handiwork.
“Shit, looks like I got you right into the pisser there, pal. Tell you what, send half that healthy stack of yours my way, and I’ll handle Goliath and David here. Sound fair?” The three looked at him again, and he shrugged carelessly. “Unless you two wonder boys have a better offer.” The man on the left took the opportunity to push a large portion of the chips towards Khy, who grinned darkly at the brute. “Sucks to be you, big guy. I just got paid.” The man couldn’t even move before Khy was up from his seat, slamming the man on the right’s head down into the table, as he rounded on the brute.
A pair of strikes to the stomach doubled him over in pain, before a sharp knee to the face broke his nose with all the elegance of a bull in a china shop. Unwilling to go down so easy, the brute swung wide, but Khy ducked under it easily, striking his unprotected gut again, then delivering a vicious uppercut that sent the human toppling backwards. A soft click reached his ears, and the mercenary sighed. Turning around slightly, he found the barrel of a Tusken pistol hovering inches from his face, his employer frowning darkly on the other side of the weapon. “You cost me a lot of money, merc.”
“Shit, you were cheating? I was just doing it to get out of a piss poor hand.” He glanced at the brute’s unflipped cards, raising a curious brow. “So, why haven’t you shot yet?” The man blinked, tightening his grip slightly. “You’re young, that’s why. Been on Pax maybe a week, and figured you’d buy a piece just in case. Word of advice, if you’re not dead in the next three seconds.” He grinned wide. “Shoot first.’
A gunshot echoed, and the card shark dropped like a sack of potatoes, a crimson puddle pooling out from the side of his head. Blinking once, the mercenary glanced over towards the counter, where Frank stared in annoyance at some stranger with a still smoking pistol. “Vince, have I taught you the rule about bodies, yet?”
“What rule, Frank? That body was there before I got here.” Glancing back down at the corpse, Khy shook his head silently, retrieving the pistol and tossing it inelegantly to the Boros behind the counter, who snatched it out of the air.
“Sorry for the trouble, Frank. People just can’t keep bar fights with fists anymore, can they?” Taking a seat beside the curious stranger, Khymera examined him for a moment before chuckling. “So, the way I see it, there are only two reasons you did that. Stop me if I get it right. Either you’re a moronic white knight here to save everyone and anyone, in which case I will thank you and point you in the general direction of the Hopefuls…” Frank stashed the pistol calmly under the counter, before pouring the mercenaries another round. “Or you want something from me.”
“You seem to know your way around this shit hole, and from the look of things, know how to handle yourself. Merc?” The greying man looked at him for the first time, but unlike his unfortunate poker mates, his face betrayed nothing of his motives or thoughts.
“Unfortunately. Nine years on Pax, four years military during the war, and a couple more before the war.” He looked at his drink, grimacing at the amber contents. “Ugh, Nuruvian whisky? This shit is horse piss, Frank.” The stranger drained his contents in one go, ordering another for himself. “Someone has an acquired taste. So, a man looking for mercs, eh? If you’re hiring for one of the PMCs, you’re out of luck. Not interested.”
“Think smaller. Do a job, get paid. Basic mercenary work.” That peaked his interest, and he gave the man his attention. “Nothing fancy, but I doubt you’re doing much of that solo anyway.”
“You’re a sharp one…Vince, was it?” He looked at the whisky, and shook his head slowly. “You happen to be in luck, Vince. I just so happen to be in the market for a team.” He raised the glass to his lips, downing the burning liquid in a single go. “Hopefully your tactics are better than your taste in whisky. When can I start?”
Frank interrupted, motioning towards the corpse lying on the floor. “After you get rid of the body stinking up my bar, Khymera. You know the deal.” The older mercenary sighed, rising and hoisting the body over his shoulder.
“That Kira down the street still serving her ‘specialty sausage’?” Frank nodded and Khy chuckled darkly. “Well then, I’m about to earn a little extra cash.” He paused, catching the glare from the Boros. “I mean, you are, Frank. Straight to my tab, as always.”
“Shut up and get rid of him. I have enough bloodstains without you helping.”
“Yes sir.” He paused by the poker table, and flipped over the brute’s cards. “Shit, a pair.” He kicked the groaning man in his side. “When the fuck did you get good at cards, asshole?”
The three exchanged looks, before the big one straight across from him snarled, revealing rows of crooked teeth. “Call or fold, merc. We’re here to play, not trade jabs with a half wit.” The others chuckled lightly, but stopped as he joined in. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, just you trying to intimidate me. It’s quite charming really. As if I didn’t gut rats like you for half the money we’re playing for.” Checking his cards again, Khy fixed the man across from him with an arrogant smirk. “I raise.” He tossed a large number of chips into the center, watching the reactions carefully. The big man’s grin only got wider, so he likely had him dead to rights. The nervous one paled, the pot obviously too rich for his blood, and he quickly folded without a moment’s hesitation. “Well, well, well, looks like it’s just me and you now.”
The large man grit his teeth, and for a moment, Khymera could have mistaken him for a Kira in the low light of the bar. “I call.” Khy chuckled, earning a sharp glare from the large man. “Got something to say, Merc?”
“Nah. Just wondering what your cards are. Could have a royal flush. Maybe aces.” He checked his cards for a moment before shaking his head. “But I doubt it. The odds are stacked, and since the champ on my left here has been dealing crooked since we started, I doubt you have anything decent.” All eyes snapped to the man on his left, and the large brute roughly grabbed his collar, pulling him close.
“You cheating us?! No wonder you’ve been winning so many hands, you dirty tick!” The man shook his head in feeble protest, and Khy grinned at his handiwork.
“Shit, looks like I got you right into the pisser there, pal. Tell you what, send half that healthy stack of yours my way, and I’ll handle Goliath and David here. Sound fair?” The three looked at him again, and he shrugged carelessly. “Unless you two wonder boys have a better offer.” The man on the left took the opportunity to push a large portion of the chips towards Khy, who grinned darkly at the brute. “Sucks to be you, big guy. I just got paid.” The man couldn’t even move before Khy was up from his seat, slamming the man on the right’s head down into the table, as he rounded on the brute.
A pair of strikes to the stomach doubled him over in pain, before a sharp knee to the face broke his nose with all the elegance of a bull in a china shop. Unwilling to go down so easy, the brute swung wide, but Khy ducked under it easily, striking his unprotected gut again, then delivering a vicious uppercut that sent the human toppling backwards. A soft click reached his ears, and the mercenary sighed. Turning around slightly, he found the barrel of a Tusken pistol hovering inches from his face, his employer frowning darkly on the other side of the weapon. “You cost me a lot of money, merc.”
“Shit, you were cheating? I was just doing it to get out of a piss poor hand.” He glanced at the brute’s unflipped cards, raising a curious brow. “So, why haven’t you shot yet?” The man blinked, tightening his grip slightly. “You’re young, that’s why. Been on Pax maybe a week, and figured you’d buy a piece just in case. Word of advice, if you’re not dead in the next three seconds.” He grinned wide. “Shoot first.’
A gunshot echoed, and the card shark dropped like a sack of potatoes, a crimson puddle pooling out from the side of his head. Blinking once, the mercenary glanced over towards the counter, where Frank stared in annoyance at some stranger with a still smoking pistol. “Vince, have I taught you the rule about bodies, yet?”
“What rule, Frank? That body was there before I got here.” Glancing back down at the corpse, Khy shook his head silently, retrieving the pistol and tossing it inelegantly to the Boros behind the counter, who snatched it out of the air.
“Sorry for the trouble, Frank. People just can’t keep bar fights with fists anymore, can they?” Taking a seat beside the curious stranger, Khymera examined him for a moment before chuckling. “So, the way I see it, there are only two reasons you did that. Stop me if I get it right. Either you’re a moronic white knight here to save everyone and anyone, in which case I will thank you and point you in the general direction of the Hopefuls…” Frank stashed the pistol calmly under the counter, before pouring the mercenaries another round. “Or you want something from me.”
“You seem to know your way around this shit hole, and from the look of things, know how to handle yourself. Merc?” The greying man looked at him for the first time, but unlike his unfortunate poker mates, his face betrayed nothing of his motives or thoughts.
“Unfortunately. Nine years on Pax, four years military during the war, and a couple more before the war.” He looked at his drink, grimacing at the amber contents. “Ugh, Nuruvian whisky? This shit is horse piss, Frank.” The stranger drained his contents in one go, ordering another for himself. “Someone has an acquired taste. So, a man looking for mercs, eh? If you’re hiring for one of the PMCs, you’re out of luck. Not interested.”
“Think smaller. Do a job, get paid. Basic mercenary work.” That peaked his interest, and he gave the man his attention. “Nothing fancy, but I doubt you’re doing much of that solo anyway.”
“You’re a sharp one…Vince, was it?” He looked at the whisky, and shook his head slowly. “You happen to be in luck, Vince. I just so happen to be in the market for a team.” He raised the glass to his lips, downing the burning liquid in a single go. “Hopefully your tactics are better than your taste in whisky. When can I start?”
Frank interrupted, motioning towards the corpse lying on the floor. “After you get rid of the body stinking up my bar, Khymera. You know the deal.” The older mercenary sighed, rising and hoisting the body over his shoulder.
“That Kira down the street still serving her ‘specialty sausage’?” Frank nodded and Khy chuckled darkly. “Well then, I’m about to earn a little extra cash.” He paused, catching the glare from the Boros. “I mean, you are, Frank. Straight to my tab, as always.”
“Shut up and get rid of him. I have enough bloodstains without you helping.”
“Yes sir.” He paused by the poker table, and flipped over the brute’s cards. “Shit, a pair.” He kicked the groaning man in his side. “When the fuck did you get good at cards, asshole?”
Guilty Carrion- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2010-01-12
Posts : 856
Age : 33
Location : The Underdark
Re: Black Dawn
by Gabe Fri Jan 06, 2012 1:57 am
About a week ago...
Khalil was walking with a little more spring in his step than usual. He hadn't been excited about much recently, but that was going to change today. Since he had arrived on Pax a month ago, the rumors he'd heard about job opportunities had been just that; rumors. Why anyone would willingly come to this place seemed like a mystery to him, but no more! Today, his beloved toolbox was being shipped in from Silcrun, a dustbowl of a planet primarily used for city sized warehouses, storage facilities, and other similar installations. Khalil had retired his tool set two years ago when he started freelancing, but his streak of bad luck recently made him glad that he'd not sold them, and today they were finally arriving.
With his trusty set of tools, ranging from modular socket wrenches to micro welding devices, there were few engineering tasks he wasn't ready to tackle. He'd saved up every credit he could scrape together for 4 years to make the purchase, and they were worth every cent. He was eager to get back into technical work, as mercenary business hadn't been treating him well, especially on Pax. Twice in the previous week, he'd been dumped on dead end jobs where his fee wasn't paid in full, or he was simply chased off by a hail of gunfire after completion of the job. It seemed like everyone was a crook, at least in the Pit. With his skills, Khalil knew he'd be able to work his way up the figurative ladder that made up Pax station, and maybe even find himself on one of the upper levels someday.
Shipping and receiving for United Interstellar Parcels was located on the central spire of the station. Their storefront in the Pit was a dingy place, but Khalil wasn't in the financial category of being able to afford shipping costs (or rent for that matter) anywhere else on the station.
It was early in the day cycle, and the store was empty save for a Nuro'Tai in the corner, who was impatiently tapping away at some Personal Data Assistant on his floater. The attendant on duty was a Boros who seemed rather cheery for having such a mundane job. He gestured rather politely as Khalil approached the desk.
"Hello, I've come to pick up a parcel...here's the claim check." he said, producing the slip of paper. The Boros went to work on his terminal, looking up the number. The computer made a dissatisfying beep, to which the Boros sighed lightly and reentered the information, only to be given the same error response. Khalil felt his mouth dry out and his face turn red with stress. "What's wrong?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.
"Ah, well Mr. Noga, it seems like your item isn't here..." he trailed off for a moment. "Did you by chance sign for it to arrive at your apartment located here on Pax? My terminal is saying it was a rather heavy parcel, 174...what is your human word for it...kilograms?" The Boros seemed to be nervous now, but Khalil couldn't tell if that was normal body language for these people. Truth be told, he couldn't remember if he was too excited to come pick it up in person or not...surely he'd have remembered, but on the other hand this week had been busy.
"Ah, right, maybe I did, terribly sorry." he replied, embarrassed with himself. Keeping his chin up, he marched out of the store and flagged the nearest cab. He stopped to grab lunch and decided to walk the rest of the way home.
Khalil's apartment made the parcel store look like a luxury hotel, but since he spent most of his time out and about, he didn't mind. Unfortunately, there was no claim check at the door waiting for him. The thought of losing his prized possessions to some clever punk on this god forsaken station pissed him off. He wrung his hands in nervous anger, trying to keep his cool. Where could they possibly be? He thought. This last month on Pax had been hell, but the arrival of his tool set had been the light at the end of the tunnel. There was just no way that he could let them slip away from him. He flagged down another cab and headed back to the UIP store.
When he arrived, the Nuro'Tai who was in the corner earlier was behind the counter, and the Boros was nowhere to be found. Without keeping his manners in check, Khalil marched straight up to the counter, his nervousness and frustration clearly apparent in his face.
"Hey, where's the Boros that was here earlier?" he said sharply, both hands grasping the counter.
"Back off human, it's just me here." came the reply. "You can calm down or I can't help you. What's the problem?" Khalil explained his situation, and the Nuro'Tai gave a knowing sigh. "Bad news kid... your stuff is probably being pawned as we speak, but I-"
"Whoa, what?!" Khalil interrupted, "You can't be serious...I have 20,000 credits worth of tools in that shipment!"
The Tick shrugged his bony little arms and continued as if Khalil had never said anything. "I CAN however, help you out." He tapped away at his PDA, then looked back at the terminal again, as if he was cross referencing something between them.
"Where is the Boros that was here earlier?" Khalil said, barely containing his anger. "He acted strangely when I presented my claim ticket, and now that I'm back, he's gone. What the hell is going on?" The Tick practically ignored him and kept typing.
"Look, bit of advice...Pax is a hell hole, the Pit especially so. Any fortunes here, are made here. I can front you the money you had insured your parcel with, but beyond that-"
"Yeah...I understand." Khalil said, feeling a wash of defeat. What the hell had he been thinking, to ship such valuable things to a terrible place like this? Unfortunately for him, he was too broke at the time to insure the package.
Fuck my life.
Yesterday
Khalil stumbled into Last Chance Bar with as little grace a man could have while still managing to stay on his feet. He was in a funk, and decided to break down and drown his sorrow in alcohol. He slouched at the bar, which was somewhat busy at the time. People were carrying on about all sorts of things, as is normal in such places, but Khalil wasn't listening at all. He never had much of an ear for other people's business, and right now, all he wanted to do was drink himself into a stupor.
"What'll it be?" The bartender, and older looking Boros, asked. Khalil simply gave an apathetic wave of the hand and said "Anything." A moment later, a strong smelling caramel colored shot glass was presented. Without even giving it a whiff, the downtrodden man downed the glass in a single swig, which was a mistake. He nearly gagged on the stuff, which lit his throat on fire as it passed into his stomach. He exhaled sharply as the gasoline flavored drink landed in his gut. It had been a long time since he'd had anything to drink, and the familiar burn was comforting.
Good god that burns, he thought. "Start me up a tab, sir...and another one of those if you don't mind." The Boros obliged. "It's Nuruvian, popular with a few of you humans lately. Don't get a whole lot of humans around here." the bartender said, striking up a conversation. "What brings you to my corner of the Pit?"
"Work, I thought." came the reply. Khalil spoke with the bartender for about an hour, progressively loosening his tongue as he became more intoxicated. He spoke about his upbringing, his previous jobs, and how he eventually ended up at Last Chance after a week of skulking over his stolen tool set.
"So...uh, the uh....yeah.....being a gun fer 'ire was cool for a bit, y' know....two years...ugh." he paused for a moment and belched obnoxiously. "Yeah, but cha' know, fixin shit...that...that was my favorite job. A buddy I worked with....uh....about a.....fuck it....this guy told me about good work on Pax and I uh...was hopin' to get back into my old job...seein' as I had so much good shit to work with." he paused for a second to gain his thoughts. He had clearly had too much to drink, and was clearly rambling beyond the point of anyone's interest. The Boros however, had a deal to keep. He wrote a name on a napkin and stuffed it in the drunk man's breast pocket.
"Look that guy up when you're sober. He'll get you on track, fella."
Today
Khalil had been up and down nearly every market street in the district looking for some guy named Kestral. Had he sobered up enough before leaving, he may have been able to remember where the bar was and inquire about him there, but that simply wasn't going to happen. About midday, a few hours into his search, he finally got a pointer from a Nuro'Tai who knew another Nuro'Tai who possibly knew where Khalil could find him. Another hour into the search led him to a mutated wastelander named Icar'sus Brus'nik offered something useful about his whereabouts.
"Yes, actually I recently sold him some real estate on this end of the station. You might find him at this address." he said, jotting down the address for Khalil to copy on his PDA. "He's an aggressive fellow, but if you're looking to join up with whatever he's doing...well...he seems like a good investment of your time Mr. Noga."
The 'real estate' the Tick sent Khalil to was a total dump. Khalil made his rounds around the perimeter, looking in windows, but couldn't see much. There was a good bit of crap on the inside, but the musty glass made it impossible to tell if it was anything good. Khalil froze when the distinct clicking of a pistol's hammer was heard behind him.
Shit. He thought.
"What the hell are you doing?" a low voice asked, with a hint of annoyance in his tone.
"Ah, okay, um...no need to go killing me man, just take it." Khalil said, slowly pulling his wallet from his hooded jacket. It was a dummy loaded with fake money, but most muggers weren't smart enough to look until afterwards. He slowly turned to face a guy who was definitely a good bit older than him, and definitely knew his way around guns. His posture was perfect, and the rifle on his back wasn't an economy model.
"You jackass, I'm asking what you're doing. I'm not necessarily going to kill you. I will take your money if you're just handing it out though." came the reply. His posture relaxed a bit, but the pistol was still pointed towards Khalil.
"I'm looking for a guy named Vincent Kestral, and I'm really hoping that's you." Khalil replied, returning the wallet to his pocket.
Last Chance Bar
"Well, I hadn't planned on staying in this line of work, but like I said, recent events have really put a damper on things. I've got a set of armor and weapons at my apartment, but I'll gladly move them to your place." Khalil said, carefully sipping his whiskey. "Come to think of it, I won't really need a place to stay if I'm working with you."
"I can put you to good use, kid. We'll see if you're as good as you say you are. My place, as you saw, needs some work. Pull your weight around there and I'd say we'll have a good working relationship." Vincent replied. "Of course, you still gotta be good with a gun. You survived two years, so that's a good start."
Khalil was walking with a little more spring in his step than usual. He hadn't been excited about much recently, but that was going to change today. Since he had arrived on Pax a month ago, the rumors he'd heard about job opportunities had been just that; rumors. Why anyone would willingly come to this place seemed like a mystery to him, but no more! Today, his beloved toolbox was being shipped in from Silcrun, a dustbowl of a planet primarily used for city sized warehouses, storage facilities, and other similar installations. Khalil had retired his tool set two years ago when he started freelancing, but his streak of bad luck recently made him glad that he'd not sold them, and today they were finally arriving.
With his trusty set of tools, ranging from modular socket wrenches to micro welding devices, there were few engineering tasks he wasn't ready to tackle. He'd saved up every credit he could scrape together for 4 years to make the purchase, and they were worth every cent. He was eager to get back into technical work, as mercenary business hadn't been treating him well, especially on Pax. Twice in the previous week, he'd been dumped on dead end jobs where his fee wasn't paid in full, or he was simply chased off by a hail of gunfire after completion of the job. It seemed like everyone was a crook, at least in the Pit. With his skills, Khalil knew he'd be able to work his way up the figurative ladder that made up Pax station, and maybe even find himself on one of the upper levels someday.
Shipping and receiving for United Interstellar Parcels was located on the central spire of the station. Their storefront in the Pit was a dingy place, but Khalil wasn't in the financial category of being able to afford shipping costs (or rent for that matter) anywhere else on the station.
It was early in the day cycle, and the store was empty save for a Nuro'Tai in the corner, who was impatiently tapping away at some Personal Data Assistant on his floater. The attendant on duty was a Boros who seemed rather cheery for having such a mundane job. He gestured rather politely as Khalil approached the desk.
"Hello, I've come to pick up a parcel...here's the claim check." he said, producing the slip of paper. The Boros went to work on his terminal, looking up the number. The computer made a dissatisfying beep, to which the Boros sighed lightly and reentered the information, only to be given the same error response. Khalil felt his mouth dry out and his face turn red with stress. "What's wrong?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.
"Ah, well Mr. Noga, it seems like your item isn't here..." he trailed off for a moment. "Did you by chance sign for it to arrive at your apartment located here on Pax? My terminal is saying it was a rather heavy parcel, 174...what is your human word for it...kilograms?" The Boros seemed to be nervous now, but Khalil couldn't tell if that was normal body language for these people. Truth be told, he couldn't remember if he was too excited to come pick it up in person or not...surely he'd have remembered, but on the other hand this week had been busy.
"Ah, right, maybe I did, terribly sorry." he replied, embarrassed with himself. Keeping his chin up, he marched out of the store and flagged the nearest cab. He stopped to grab lunch and decided to walk the rest of the way home.
Khalil's apartment made the parcel store look like a luxury hotel, but since he spent most of his time out and about, he didn't mind. Unfortunately, there was no claim check at the door waiting for him. The thought of losing his prized possessions to some clever punk on this god forsaken station pissed him off. He wrung his hands in nervous anger, trying to keep his cool. Where could they possibly be? He thought. This last month on Pax had been hell, but the arrival of his tool set had been the light at the end of the tunnel. There was just no way that he could let them slip away from him. He flagged down another cab and headed back to the UIP store.
When he arrived, the Nuro'Tai who was in the corner earlier was behind the counter, and the Boros was nowhere to be found. Without keeping his manners in check, Khalil marched straight up to the counter, his nervousness and frustration clearly apparent in his face.
"Hey, where's the Boros that was here earlier?" he said sharply, both hands grasping the counter.
"Back off human, it's just me here." came the reply. "You can calm down or I can't help you. What's the problem?" Khalil explained his situation, and the Nuro'Tai gave a knowing sigh. "Bad news kid... your stuff is probably being pawned as we speak, but I-"
"Whoa, what?!" Khalil interrupted, "You can't be serious...I have 20,000 credits worth of tools in that shipment!"
The Tick shrugged his bony little arms and continued as if Khalil had never said anything. "I CAN however, help you out." He tapped away at his PDA, then looked back at the terminal again, as if he was cross referencing something between them.
"Where is the Boros that was here earlier?" Khalil said, barely containing his anger. "He acted strangely when I presented my claim ticket, and now that I'm back, he's gone. What the hell is going on?" The Tick practically ignored him and kept typing.
"Look, bit of advice...Pax is a hell hole, the Pit especially so. Any fortunes here, are made here. I can front you the money you had insured your parcel with, but beyond that-"
"Yeah...I understand." Khalil said, feeling a wash of defeat. What the hell had he been thinking, to ship such valuable things to a terrible place like this? Unfortunately for him, he was too broke at the time to insure the package.
Fuck my life.
Yesterday
Khalil stumbled into Last Chance Bar with as little grace a man could have while still managing to stay on his feet. He was in a funk, and decided to break down and drown his sorrow in alcohol. He slouched at the bar, which was somewhat busy at the time. People were carrying on about all sorts of things, as is normal in such places, but Khalil wasn't listening at all. He never had much of an ear for other people's business, and right now, all he wanted to do was drink himself into a stupor.
"What'll it be?" The bartender, and older looking Boros, asked. Khalil simply gave an apathetic wave of the hand and said "Anything." A moment later, a strong smelling caramel colored shot glass was presented. Without even giving it a whiff, the downtrodden man downed the glass in a single swig, which was a mistake. He nearly gagged on the stuff, which lit his throat on fire as it passed into his stomach. He exhaled sharply as the gasoline flavored drink landed in his gut. It had been a long time since he'd had anything to drink, and the familiar burn was comforting.
Good god that burns, he thought. "Start me up a tab, sir...and another one of those if you don't mind." The Boros obliged. "It's Nuruvian, popular with a few of you humans lately. Don't get a whole lot of humans around here." the bartender said, striking up a conversation. "What brings you to my corner of the Pit?"
"Work, I thought." came the reply. Khalil spoke with the bartender for about an hour, progressively loosening his tongue as he became more intoxicated. He spoke about his upbringing, his previous jobs, and how he eventually ended up at Last Chance after a week of skulking over his stolen tool set.
"So...uh, the uh....yeah.....being a gun fer 'ire was cool for a bit, y' know....two years...ugh." he paused for a moment and belched obnoxiously. "Yeah, but cha' know, fixin shit...that...that was my favorite job. A buddy I worked with....uh....about a.....fuck it....this guy told me about good work on Pax and I uh...was hopin' to get back into my old job...seein' as I had so much good shit to work with." he paused for a second to gain his thoughts. He had clearly had too much to drink, and was clearly rambling beyond the point of anyone's interest. The Boros however, had a deal to keep. He wrote a name on a napkin and stuffed it in the drunk man's breast pocket.
"Look that guy up when you're sober. He'll get you on track, fella."
Today
Khalil had been up and down nearly every market street in the district looking for some guy named Kestral. Had he sobered up enough before leaving, he may have been able to remember where the bar was and inquire about him there, but that simply wasn't going to happen. About midday, a few hours into his search, he finally got a pointer from a Nuro'Tai who knew another Nuro'Tai who possibly knew where Khalil could find him. Another hour into the search led him to a mutated wastelander named Icar'sus Brus'nik offered something useful about his whereabouts.
"Yes, actually I recently sold him some real estate on this end of the station. You might find him at this address." he said, jotting down the address for Khalil to copy on his PDA. "He's an aggressive fellow, but if you're looking to join up with whatever he's doing...well...he seems like a good investment of your time Mr. Noga."
The 'real estate' the Tick sent Khalil to was a total dump. Khalil made his rounds around the perimeter, looking in windows, but couldn't see much. There was a good bit of crap on the inside, but the musty glass made it impossible to tell if it was anything good. Khalil froze when the distinct clicking of a pistol's hammer was heard behind him.
Shit. He thought.
"What the hell are you doing?" a low voice asked, with a hint of annoyance in his tone.
"Ah, okay, um...no need to go killing me man, just take it." Khalil said, slowly pulling his wallet from his hooded jacket. It was a dummy loaded with fake money, but most muggers weren't smart enough to look until afterwards. He slowly turned to face a guy who was definitely a good bit older than him, and definitely knew his way around guns. His posture was perfect, and the rifle on his back wasn't an economy model.
"You jackass, I'm asking what you're doing. I'm not necessarily going to kill you. I will take your money if you're just handing it out though." came the reply. His posture relaxed a bit, but the pistol was still pointed towards Khalil.
"I'm looking for a guy named Vincent Kestral, and I'm really hoping that's you." Khalil replied, returning the wallet to his pocket.
Last Chance Bar
"Well, I hadn't planned on staying in this line of work, but like I said, recent events have really put a damper on things. I've got a set of armor and weapons at my apartment, but I'll gladly move them to your place." Khalil said, carefully sipping his whiskey. "Come to think of it, I won't really need a place to stay if I'm working with you."
"I can put you to good use, kid. We'll see if you're as good as you say you are. My place, as you saw, needs some work. Pull your weight around there and I'd say we'll have a good working relationship." Vincent replied. "Of course, you still gotta be good with a gun. You survived two years, so that's a good start."
Gabe- Spectral Light
- Join date : 2009-06-12
Posts : 399
Age : 35
Location : Pax
Re: Black Dawn
by Anubis Fri Jan 06, 2012 12:56 pm
The place reeked of crowds and filth. The figure smiled down at the crowd, perched above them in a small cubbyhole carved into the wall. After running afoul of a Kira upon landing, the man had been sleeping up there, away from most people.
As much as he liked his perch, he would need to go find work very soon. He hadn't exactly arrived with a lot of money in the first place, and what he had left was going towards food right now. He quickly threw on a dark cloak, hiding the fact he was wearing armor, and dropped down from his spot. He landed gracefully and slung his bag over his shoulder, making his way to the crowd.
If someone was observing him move, it would have looked like he was water moving through rocks. The sheer number of people seemed to pose no hindrance to the small man at all, and most of the people he passed payed no attention to him. He cut through the crowd and made his way to a small bar.
He almost went in, but noticed a group of Kira sitting at the bar and laughing. His smile disappeared and he immediately went the other direction, walking into a small food stall of some sort. He sat down and absentmindedly ordered some food, not really paying much attention to what it was. He paid the vendor and walked out, his food wrapped for eating later. He saw a couple of guys with guns and armor walk by and decided to follow. He caught up to the quickly in the crowd and tapped one on the shoulder.
"S'cuse me. I'm looking for Merc work, you seem like you know where to find some."
The merc snarled and swatted at him with a large, powerful hand. Ian smiled as he ducked the blow with ease and looked at the next guy.
Ok, maybe you can help. Name's Ian, I may not look like much, but I can pull my weight."
The first merc brought both hands down, trying to smash Ian to the floor, but this blow was sidestepped. The second merc put his hand on the first's shoulder and shook his head, causing the large man to stop attacking.
"I like your style kid, but we ain't got room for someone like you. Keep looking though, heard some guy named Kestrel is looking for folks. Luck."
They turned and left, forcing their way through the crowd, leaving Ian standing there with a dejecting look on his face. But he shrugged and decided to start looking for this Kestral guy, after he had lunch that was.
Ian wandered around the Pit, trying to find someone who know this Kestral guy. He longed for the old days, when jobs were just handed to him and he didn't have to find them himself. After three hours of looking, he finally decided to stop in a bar and have a quick drink. He smirked at the name of the bar, Last Chance, and made his way inside.
There were a lot of aliens in this bar, and he noticed a group of Kira sitting on the other side of the room. Ian promptly sat down at the bar and waved over the bartender.
"A Jorakree Duststorm."
The old bartender stared at him, something similar to surprise on his face. At least, Ian assumed it was surprise, hard to tell on some races. The Boros cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes a little.
"Look, human, I don't know if you're aware of this, but a Jorakree Duststorm is normally drank by Kira. I've found most humans can't stand them."
Ian nodded and smiled politely to him. This wasn't the first time he had run into this reaction to his drink of choice.
"I understand the risks associated with it and you are free from responsibility for my health."
The Boros nodded and turned around, shaking his head slightly as he made the drink. A few moments later he set down a viscous bright red liquid that was giving off a little bit of smoke. The Kira sitting on the other side of the room seemed to have noticed this and were staring at Ian intently. He picked up the glass, counted to three in his head, and downed half of the glass in one shot.
The room began to spin and his throat burned like fire. Ian sat with his eyes closed tight, and slowly counted backwards from ten silently. When he reached one, the room stopped spinning and he could breathe normally again, though his stomach was less than enthused at the new intruder.
The Kira all nodded respectfully and went back to their conversation, already bored with the human drinking their drink. Ian glanced at the rest of the drink, knowing he would need to wait at least twenty minutes before trying to drink it, unless he wanted some unfortunate health concerns. He glanced up at the bartender, suddenly realizing he might know what he was looking for.
"S'cuse me, I'm looking for work as a Merc. I heard there's a guy named Kestral who's hiring. You know how I could get a hold of him?"
The Boros looked at Ian with a blank face. Ian reached into his pocket and removed some money, smiling hopefully at the bartender.
Ian approached the warehouse cautiously. He had his hands in plain sight and was walking with a neutral posture. He really didn't want anybody shooting him before he could talk to Kestral. As he approached, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Summoning all his willpower Ian managed not to scream like a murder victim, but just barely. He turned to see a tall, muscular man with gruff features. He spoke with a voice that was low, and with little inflection to it.
"Can I help you? You were wandering near my place. You don't look like you belong to the Toxix, but looks can be deceiving. What do you want?"
Ian took a very slight step back, really more shifting his weight than anything else. He was prepared to run if he needed.
"Name's Ian Kaine. I'm looking for someone called Kestral."
He smiled, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.
"Well, you found 'em, I'm Vincent Kestral What do you want?"
"I'm told you are hiring for Merc jobs. I'm looking to work Merc jobs. I may not look like much," he added hastily, seeing Vince look him over, "But I have skills that can be useful. I can blend into crowds very well, and I'm really good at climbing.
Vince raised and eyebrow and looked down at Ian.
"Interesting, you're skill sets sound like the kind a thief might have. I'm really looking more for Mercs."
"I'm not a thief! I used to...I used to be an assassin. Current state of things is, that type of work is very rare, so here I am trying to be a Merc. Look, just give me a chance and I'll prove to be useful."
As much as he liked his perch, he would need to go find work very soon. He hadn't exactly arrived with a lot of money in the first place, and what he had left was going towards food right now. He quickly threw on a dark cloak, hiding the fact he was wearing armor, and dropped down from his spot. He landed gracefully and slung his bag over his shoulder, making his way to the crowd.
If someone was observing him move, it would have looked like he was water moving through rocks. The sheer number of people seemed to pose no hindrance to the small man at all, and most of the people he passed payed no attention to him. He cut through the crowd and made his way to a small bar.
He almost went in, but noticed a group of Kira sitting at the bar and laughing. His smile disappeared and he immediately went the other direction, walking into a small food stall of some sort. He sat down and absentmindedly ordered some food, not really paying much attention to what it was. He paid the vendor and walked out, his food wrapped for eating later. He saw a couple of guys with guns and armor walk by and decided to follow. He caught up to the quickly in the crowd and tapped one on the shoulder.
"S'cuse me. I'm looking for Merc work, you seem like you know where to find some."
The merc snarled and swatted at him with a large, powerful hand. Ian smiled as he ducked the blow with ease and looked at the next guy.
Ok, maybe you can help. Name's Ian, I may not look like much, but I can pull my weight."
The first merc brought both hands down, trying to smash Ian to the floor, but this blow was sidestepped. The second merc put his hand on the first's shoulder and shook his head, causing the large man to stop attacking.
"I like your style kid, but we ain't got room for someone like you. Keep looking though, heard some guy named Kestrel is looking for folks. Luck."
They turned and left, forcing their way through the crowd, leaving Ian standing there with a dejecting look on his face. But he shrugged and decided to start looking for this Kestral guy, after he had lunch that was.
Ian wandered around the Pit, trying to find someone who know this Kestral guy. He longed for the old days, when jobs were just handed to him and he didn't have to find them himself. After three hours of looking, he finally decided to stop in a bar and have a quick drink. He smirked at the name of the bar, Last Chance, and made his way inside.
There were a lot of aliens in this bar, and he noticed a group of Kira sitting on the other side of the room. Ian promptly sat down at the bar and waved over the bartender.
"A Jorakree Duststorm."
The old bartender stared at him, something similar to surprise on his face. At least, Ian assumed it was surprise, hard to tell on some races. The Boros cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes a little.
"Look, human, I don't know if you're aware of this, but a Jorakree Duststorm is normally drank by Kira. I've found most humans can't stand them."
Ian nodded and smiled politely to him. This wasn't the first time he had run into this reaction to his drink of choice.
"I understand the risks associated with it and you are free from responsibility for my health."
The Boros nodded and turned around, shaking his head slightly as he made the drink. A few moments later he set down a viscous bright red liquid that was giving off a little bit of smoke. The Kira sitting on the other side of the room seemed to have noticed this and were staring at Ian intently. He picked up the glass, counted to three in his head, and downed half of the glass in one shot.
The room began to spin and his throat burned like fire. Ian sat with his eyes closed tight, and slowly counted backwards from ten silently. When he reached one, the room stopped spinning and he could breathe normally again, though his stomach was less than enthused at the new intruder.
The Kira all nodded respectfully and went back to their conversation, already bored with the human drinking their drink. Ian glanced at the rest of the drink, knowing he would need to wait at least twenty minutes before trying to drink it, unless he wanted some unfortunate health concerns. He glanced up at the bartender, suddenly realizing he might know what he was looking for.
"S'cuse me, I'm looking for work as a Merc. I heard there's a guy named Kestral who's hiring. You know how I could get a hold of him?"
The Boros looked at Ian with a blank face. Ian reached into his pocket and removed some money, smiling hopefully at the bartender.
Ian approached the warehouse cautiously. He had his hands in plain sight and was walking with a neutral posture. He really didn't want anybody shooting him before he could talk to Kestral. As he approached, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Summoning all his willpower Ian managed not to scream like a murder victim, but just barely. He turned to see a tall, muscular man with gruff features. He spoke with a voice that was low, and with little inflection to it.
"Can I help you? You were wandering near my place. You don't look like you belong to the Toxix, but looks can be deceiving. What do you want?"
Ian took a very slight step back, really more shifting his weight than anything else. He was prepared to run if he needed.
"Name's Ian Kaine. I'm looking for someone called Kestral."
He smiled, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.
"Well, you found 'em, I'm Vincent Kestral What do you want?"
"I'm told you are hiring for Merc jobs. I'm looking to work Merc jobs. I may not look like much," he added hastily, seeing Vince look him over, "But I have skills that can be useful. I can blend into crowds very well, and I'm really good at climbing.
Vince raised and eyebrow and looked down at Ian.
"Interesting, you're skill sets sound like the kind a thief might have. I'm really looking more for Mercs."
"I'm not a thief! I used to...I used to be an assassin. Current state of things is, that type of work is very rare, so here I am trying to be a Merc. Look, just give me a chance and I'll prove to be useful."
Anubis- Mist
- Join date : 2011-11-28
Posts : 58
Age : 39
Location : Texas
Re: Black Dawn
by Moon's Jester Sun Jan 08, 2012 4:12 am
---- Yesterday ----
The tall man in the secured EVA suit sighed in relief as the cargo shuttle kissed the ground gently. The landing was nigh-perfect, and even the odious little tick strapped beside him couldn't fault his performance for re-certification for his small craft licenses. The malodorous little shit struggled into his floater while Jon unstrapped quickly. The three hours together seemed like an eternity, a very stressful eternity. Within seconds he was lowering the cargo bay door to Fresnan, and waving the pretty blond cargomaster from Icarus Landings.
“Ms. Ashley Mitchell?”
“Yes, that's me.”
“ID, and gene print.” She handed a thin ID over which he professionally plugged into the Port Authority scanner. It beeped green and Jon handed the cargo manifest to get a thumbprint. She hissed in pain as it sampled her blood. She handed it back, and raised an eyebrow in surprise when he didn't leave.
“Loathsome little Tick is looking for any reason at all to deny my re-certs. He is even skimming money by making me pay for fuel. So, I am going to wait until it's all off-loaded.”
“Ahh, that sucks. What's with the eye patch?”
“That would ruin my air of roguish mystery. I'll tell you over a drink later tonight, though.” She dimpled a little and turned pink. The shy, down-turned eyes were adorable, and Jon made a mental note to remember this girl. They flirted while she directed lower level grunts unloaded the 'machine parts.' Jon doubted the legitimacy of the all of the cargo loads, but he wasn't a customs officer who got a cut of the contraband, so who cared.
“Well, Ms. Mitchell, it has been an absolute pleasure.” He nodded his head and retrieved the confirmation of delivery. He bowed his head slightly, and lowered his voice so only she could hear easily. “I'll be at the Last Chance if you want to share a few drinks.” He winked, and she blushed again. He strode confidently back into the shuttle, and gave the confirmed receipt to the obnoxious Tick.
“It was a pleasure flying with you today, sir.” The words came out cold, but with unfailing courtesy. The tick gave its version of grudging grunt of approval and gene printed his approval for his certification and tossed the pad at him. Jon looked over the electronic paperwork and counter-signed with a bit of his blood. Aside from the glacially slow bureaucracy in charge, his certs were renewed and he could use a stiff drink to relax after an entire shift of silent agony. He was still seething in silent rage, after being extorted to work for free, and even pay for the shuttle fuel in the name of 'test fees.' Also, the requirement to use a hard EVA (Extra-Vehicular Activity) suit for every shuttle run was a joke outside of combat areas. The alien bastard just wanted to make him sweat in ill-fitting, sweltering crap that he rented for a 'premium' fee.
Jon cursed like a sailor, venting frustration for dropping an extra 1000 credits on top of the legitimate 250 credit registration and processing fee. Jon was just happy could only pull the records, and didn't have any say over small craft. With his last name, he would never be able to follow in his father's footsteps without being able to buy his own vessel outright. The chance of that happening was the same as Vernex admitting culpability for illegal testing. His right 'eye' ached.
“Damn, I need a drink.”
The walk to the Last Chance bar seemed to extend endlessly while Jon slowly dragged his tired feet. He stopped along the way for some street food, the contents of which were better left unexamined if the consumer had any sense, especially if it might contain Kira 'special' sausage. It was special alright. He crumpled up and tossed the left-over greasy paper behind his shoulder towards an alley. The market was going through a slow period today, no one had pan-handled or tried to lift his wallet. It was almost disappointing, he could use a convenient outlet to turn into meat paste.
The doors to the Last Chance burst open as some brawling toughs were tossed unceremoniously out on their ass. Jon could smell the rot gut alcohol from ten yards out, which was no doubt the reason they were all still alive. He ignored the mess, the front door bouncer would kick the drunks until they had enough sense to realize getting robbed was better than having a flailed chest. It had happened before, but the battered meat sacks had no doubt survived worse.
“Is it gonna be one of those nights?” Jon didn't recognize this bouncer, but they changed all the time, and he had only been on Pax a couple months.
“Seems so.” The big bouncer cradled a Spartan assault rifle. Jon's sigh was equally expressive.
“Fuck.”
He walked in without any problems, but the bar was more crowded than usual. His proposed date with Ms. Mitchell vanished in smoke at this point. Time to get good and drunk.
“Hey Frank, which one do you have Charisian Green or Ice?” There was no need to ask if he had Charisian Fire, every bar had a bottle of that.
“Ice. Why, you actually going to drink it?”
“No, I hate Ice.” Bad memories from Ielous.
“Give me the Fire.” The Boros stopped, and Jon continued, “the entire bottle.” Frank went still for a few seconds.
“You know the consequences?”
“I grew up on Ares.” Frank stopped in shock again.
“And you still want to drink it?” The question was more of a warning statement.
“The. Entire. Bottle.” The Boros gave him a questioning look.
“I don't know if it's a good batch.” Having a regular die from the various strains of bacteria used could be from unpleasant to dangerous for everyone else, and Frank knew what was bad for business. Jon just slapped 130 credits on the bar. The Boros slowly handed over the thick hexagonal bottle, and Jon felt his hand tremble slightly. He still picked up it up with similar sloth. The sounds of two drunks arguing grew in the background while Jon tried to find a corner table without any luck.
When a weight slammed into his legs, Jon twisted, tossing the bottle onto a nearby table while attempting to fall properly. The theme of the day was being unlucky, so his skull rattled around as it clipped a table and knocked it over. He twisted around and disentangled his legs from the cursing drunk with a few gratuitous kicks to the head of the brutish human. Both men got to their feet, and the drunk telegraphed a wild haymaker. Jon blocked it, and raked his fingers across the man's eyes, and followed with a kick to the knee while the drunk reeled back clutching his face. A bellow of rage, and the man took another huge swing. This time Jon stepped in and ducked the blow. His fist jacked from the floor to the ceiling, catching the man's jaw in a vicious uppercut. The man lifted a few inches off the ground before collapsing backwards.
“Mark! Oh, honey!” It was Ashley Mitchell staring at Jon in revolted horror and shock. She rushed over to the fallen brute and glared at him. Jon brushed himself off and rolled his eyes. The other drunk with Mark was lifting him up by a shoulder. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and his head lolled. Probably a broken jaw.
Turning around, he righted the fallen table and took a quick glance at the man sitting at the table. He had a forced scowl and hard eyes. A drink dangled carelessly in his hand, and laughter lurked behind his expression. Jon's bottle was no where to be found.
“Uh, sorry about that.” The man said nothing, but the scowl cracked and a bit of amusement leaked through. He tossed back the rest of the liquid, and Jon sighed.
“I'll buy you another round. What are you drinking?”
“Neruvian Whiskey.” Jon rubbed his right eye, still concealed under the eye-patch, and went back to the bar.
“Hey Frank, a Neruvian Whiskey, and did you see where my bottle went?” The Boros stared at him in disapproval. Then he glanced with vicious mirth to where the customary group of Kira were drinking. No fucking luck.
“Uh, give me a tall glass of the Ice. That whiskey tastes like shit.” A quick professional pour, and Jon was back on his way to the table
He sat down with the man and slid the whiskey to him. The man nodded his appreciation and took a sip.
“Name's Jon.” Another sip, while Ashley and the other drunk dragged Mark out of the door. Jon downed half the Ice in one go, feeling the characteristic cool burning sensation. The man paused, and then replied, “Vince Kestrel.”
“You new around here, Mr. Kestrel? I haven't seen you before, but only been here three months myself.” He nodded, and took another sip.
“What's with the eye-patch?” Jon laughed softly; always the same question from everyone.
“Long story short, the hack that replaced my eye attached a first gen P.O.S. Vernex bionic to my optic nerve wrong. Can't take it off without first class treatment, and it's pain to use continuously.” Jon slammed the rest of his drink, letting the sensation slowly take away the stress.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Kestral. I hope you enjoy your stay on our friendly hellhole.” Jon did a quick two finger salute, and the man returned the gesture.
Jon returned to the bar for some heavy drinking. “Hey, Frank, another round for me. I'm looking for work, do ya know anyone who needs anyone?” The bartender poured the drink, and hooked a finger towards Vince Kestral. Jon took a sip, and asked, “For what?”
“Some kind of mercenary group.” The Kira who purloined the fallen bottle started to change colors, and one rushed for the restroom. A bad batch of Fire turned a pyloric sphincter into a waste waster valve full up, and burned all the way through. Jon smiled as he took another swift slug. Maybe the winds of fortune are turning after all.
--Today--
Jon woke up when his guts demanded their independence from the rest of his body. His head fired a devastating return salvo, and his mouth became the graveyard. The only thing that didn't protest was his left leg, too busy being pinned down by a fallen bag. Some movement woke an angry bear there, and Jon seriously considered rolling over to his Neraxis pistol for some permanent relief. Some uncoordinated thrashing disentangled him from the sling hammock and the half-used sleeping bag.
“Ugh,” was the most coherent thing out him all morning, or looking at a chronometer, afternoon. He absently patted himself down for injuries before plunging into an ice-cold shower. The tiny little apartment had lacked a few amenities, like heating. The bracing shock took his rebellious brain and slammed some sense into it. His mouth opened, and he thirstily gulped the freezing water, dropping his temperature even more before taking the minimum time required to get clean before hopping out.
The rest of the afternoon passed in hazed stupor, and somehow he found himself sitting at the same table he had shared with Vince Kestral last night with a pair tumblers filled with Neruvian Whiskey. He blinked intently at the glasses as thinking processes returned to his brain. Something about a better paying job than his current one. His right hand clenched down on his thigh. It was something about mercenary work, and Jon was tired of two-bit welding jobs, and other menial crap to pay for his flight hours.
He sipped thoughtfully, although grimaced at the taste. A point detracted from his prospective employer's favor. A shrug negated the thought considering he wanted to drink an entire bottle of Charisian Fire. A pale looking Kira limped out of the bathroom and out of the bar at the thought. He shuddered and thanked his lucky stars it wasn't him. Even irradiated, the bacteria from Ares was some of the nastiest shit in the universe.
Jon was lost in thought when Vince Kestral quietly entered the bar.
“Mr. Kestral!” He took a slow glance at younger man, who gestured to the drink. Vince walked over slowly, and a little suspiciously. Caution was a good tool to use for survival, and Jon smiled mentally in approval.
“Yes?” Vince sat down slowly and confidently.
“I heard from Frank that you are hiring mercs.” Vince nodded curtly.
“I would like to join your crew.”
Vince crossed his arms slightly. “And?”
“I was a Charisian partisan.” Jon noticed a flicker of surprise an interest at the statement, but maintained his neutral expression.
“Aren't you a little young for that?”
“The youngest I can think of was Billy Grayvel, who vented an entire section to Hades' atmo to kill a patrol that shot his parents. He was eight.” Of course, Billy's plan didn't work too well on the Aradar suits, but that was a different story.
“So you've fought and killed, who on this rock hasn't?” The neutral tone and expression remained.
“Eh, being Charisian was enough for the last guy. I'm also a pilot, anything you can think of, I can fly it. I just finished my five year re-certification for all small craft yesterday, commercial, private...”
“How about a Hydra?”
“Not... officially. I have no desire to be put under a microscope by the GDF.”
“I'll give you a shot.” Vince picked up the second tumbler and raised it. Jon clinked it and drank the last bit of his. “Thanks Mr. Kestral. I'll go grab my stuff and see you tomorrow at your warehouse.”
Vince took a careful sip, and watched the younger man go before returning to scanning the bar.
The tall man in the secured EVA suit sighed in relief as the cargo shuttle kissed the ground gently. The landing was nigh-perfect, and even the odious little tick strapped beside him couldn't fault his performance for re-certification for his small craft licenses. The malodorous little shit struggled into his floater while Jon unstrapped quickly. The three hours together seemed like an eternity, a very stressful eternity. Within seconds he was lowering the cargo bay door to Fresnan, and waving the pretty blond cargomaster from Icarus Landings.
“Ms. Ashley Mitchell?”
“Yes, that's me.”
“ID, and gene print.” She handed a thin ID over which he professionally plugged into the Port Authority scanner. It beeped green and Jon handed the cargo manifest to get a thumbprint. She hissed in pain as it sampled her blood. She handed it back, and raised an eyebrow in surprise when he didn't leave.
“Loathsome little Tick is looking for any reason at all to deny my re-certs. He is even skimming money by making me pay for fuel. So, I am going to wait until it's all off-loaded.”
“Ahh, that sucks. What's with the eye patch?”
“That would ruin my air of roguish mystery. I'll tell you over a drink later tonight, though.” She dimpled a little and turned pink. The shy, down-turned eyes were adorable, and Jon made a mental note to remember this girl. They flirted while she directed lower level grunts unloaded the 'machine parts.' Jon doubted the legitimacy of the all of the cargo loads, but he wasn't a customs officer who got a cut of the contraband, so who cared.
“Well, Ms. Mitchell, it has been an absolute pleasure.” He nodded his head and retrieved the confirmation of delivery. He bowed his head slightly, and lowered his voice so only she could hear easily. “I'll be at the Last Chance if you want to share a few drinks.” He winked, and she blushed again. He strode confidently back into the shuttle, and gave the confirmed receipt to the obnoxious Tick.
“It was a pleasure flying with you today, sir.” The words came out cold, but with unfailing courtesy. The tick gave its version of grudging grunt of approval and gene printed his approval for his certification and tossed the pad at him. Jon looked over the electronic paperwork and counter-signed with a bit of his blood. Aside from the glacially slow bureaucracy in charge, his certs were renewed and he could use a stiff drink to relax after an entire shift of silent agony. He was still seething in silent rage, after being extorted to work for free, and even pay for the shuttle fuel in the name of 'test fees.' Also, the requirement to use a hard EVA (Extra-Vehicular Activity) suit for every shuttle run was a joke outside of combat areas. The alien bastard just wanted to make him sweat in ill-fitting, sweltering crap that he rented for a 'premium' fee.
Jon cursed like a sailor, venting frustration for dropping an extra 1000 credits on top of the legitimate 250 credit registration and processing fee. Jon was just happy could only pull the records, and didn't have any say over small craft. With his last name, he would never be able to follow in his father's footsteps without being able to buy his own vessel outright. The chance of that happening was the same as Vernex admitting culpability for illegal testing. His right 'eye' ached.
“Damn, I need a drink.”
The walk to the Last Chance bar seemed to extend endlessly while Jon slowly dragged his tired feet. He stopped along the way for some street food, the contents of which were better left unexamined if the consumer had any sense, especially if it might contain Kira 'special' sausage. It was special alright. He crumpled up and tossed the left-over greasy paper behind his shoulder towards an alley. The market was going through a slow period today, no one had pan-handled or tried to lift his wallet. It was almost disappointing, he could use a convenient outlet to turn into meat paste.
The doors to the Last Chance burst open as some brawling toughs were tossed unceremoniously out on their ass. Jon could smell the rot gut alcohol from ten yards out, which was no doubt the reason they were all still alive. He ignored the mess, the front door bouncer would kick the drunks until they had enough sense to realize getting robbed was better than having a flailed chest. It had happened before, but the battered meat sacks had no doubt survived worse.
“Is it gonna be one of those nights?” Jon didn't recognize this bouncer, but they changed all the time, and he had only been on Pax a couple months.
“Seems so.” The big bouncer cradled a Spartan assault rifle. Jon's sigh was equally expressive.
“Fuck.”
He walked in without any problems, but the bar was more crowded than usual. His proposed date with Ms. Mitchell vanished in smoke at this point. Time to get good and drunk.
“Hey Frank, which one do you have Charisian Green or Ice?” There was no need to ask if he had Charisian Fire, every bar had a bottle of that.
“Ice. Why, you actually going to drink it?”
“No, I hate Ice.” Bad memories from Ielous.
“Give me the Fire.” The Boros stopped, and Jon continued, “the entire bottle.” Frank went still for a few seconds.
“You know the consequences?”
“I grew up on Ares.” Frank stopped in shock again.
“And you still want to drink it?” The question was more of a warning statement.
“The. Entire. Bottle.” The Boros gave him a questioning look.
“I don't know if it's a good batch.” Having a regular die from the various strains of bacteria used could be from unpleasant to dangerous for everyone else, and Frank knew what was bad for business. Jon just slapped 130 credits on the bar. The Boros slowly handed over the thick hexagonal bottle, and Jon felt his hand tremble slightly. He still picked up it up with similar sloth. The sounds of two drunks arguing grew in the background while Jon tried to find a corner table without any luck.
When a weight slammed into his legs, Jon twisted, tossing the bottle onto a nearby table while attempting to fall properly. The theme of the day was being unlucky, so his skull rattled around as it clipped a table and knocked it over. He twisted around and disentangled his legs from the cursing drunk with a few gratuitous kicks to the head of the brutish human. Both men got to their feet, and the drunk telegraphed a wild haymaker. Jon blocked it, and raked his fingers across the man's eyes, and followed with a kick to the knee while the drunk reeled back clutching his face. A bellow of rage, and the man took another huge swing. This time Jon stepped in and ducked the blow. His fist jacked from the floor to the ceiling, catching the man's jaw in a vicious uppercut. The man lifted a few inches off the ground before collapsing backwards.
“Mark! Oh, honey!” It was Ashley Mitchell staring at Jon in revolted horror and shock. She rushed over to the fallen brute and glared at him. Jon brushed himself off and rolled his eyes. The other drunk with Mark was lifting him up by a shoulder. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and his head lolled. Probably a broken jaw.
Turning around, he righted the fallen table and took a quick glance at the man sitting at the table. He had a forced scowl and hard eyes. A drink dangled carelessly in his hand, and laughter lurked behind his expression. Jon's bottle was no where to be found.
“Uh, sorry about that.” The man said nothing, but the scowl cracked and a bit of amusement leaked through. He tossed back the rest of the liquid, and Jon sighed.
“I'll buy you another round. What are you drinking?”
“Neruvian Whiskey.” Jon rubbed his right eye, still concealed under the eye-patch, and went back to the bar.
“Hey Frank, a Neruvian Whiskey, and did you see where my bottle went?” The Boros stared at him in disapproval. Then he glanced with vicious mirth to where the customary group of Kira were drinking. No fucking luck.
“Uh, give me a tall glass of the Ice. That whiskey tastes like shit.” A quick professional pour, and Jon was back on his way to the table
He sat down with the man and slid the whiskey to him. The man nodded his appreciation and took a sip.
“Name's Jon.” Another sip, while Ashley and the other drunk dragged Mark out of the door. Jon downed half the Ice in one go, feeling the characteristic cool burning sensation. The man paused, and then replied, “Vince Kestrel.”
“You new around here, Mr. Kestrel? I haven't seen you before, but only been here three months myself.” He nodded, and took another sip.
“What's with the eye-patch?” Jon laughed softly; always the same question from everyone.
“Long story short, the hack that replaced my eye attached a first gen P.O.S. Vernex bionic to my optic nerve wrong. Can't take it off without first class treatment, and it's pain to use continuously.” Jon slammed the rest of his drink, letting the sensation slowly take away the stress.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Kestral. I hope you enjoy your stay on our friendly hellhole.” Jon did a quick two finger salute, and the man returned the gesture.
Jon returned to the bar for some heavy drinking. “Hey, Frank, another round for me. I'm looking for work, do ya know anyone who needs anyone?” The bartender poured the drink, and hooked a finger towards Vince Kestral. Jon took a sip, and asked, “For what?”
“Some kind of mercenary group.” The Kira who purloined the fallen bottle started to change colors, and one rushed for the restroom. A bad batch of Fire turned a pyloric sphincter into a waste waster valve full up, and burned all the way through. Jon smiled as he took another swift slug. Maybe the winds of fortune are turning after all.
--Today--
Jon woke up when his guts demanded their independence from the rest of his body. His head fired a devastating return salvo, and his mouth became the graveyard. The only thing that didn't protest was his left leg, too busy being pinned down by a fallen bag. Some movement woke an angry bear there, and Jon seriously considered rolling over to his Neraxis pistol for some permanent relief. Some uncoordinated thrashing disentangled him from the sling hammock and the half-used sleeping bag.
“Ugh,” was the most coherent thing out him all morning, or looking at a chronometer, afternoon. He absently patted himself down for injuries before plunging into an ice-cold shower. The tiny little apartment had lacked a few amenities, like heating. The bracing shock took his rebellious brain and slammed some sense into it. His mouth opened, and he thirstily gulped the freezing water, dropping his temperature even more before taking the minimum time required to get clean before hopping out.
The rest of the afternoon passed in hazed stupor, and somehow he found himself sitting at the same table he had shared with Vince Kestral last night with a pair tumblers filled with Neruvian Whiskey. He blinked intently at the glasses as thinking processes returned to his brain. Something about a better paying job than his current one. His right hand clenched down on his thigh. It was something about mercenary work, and Jon was tired of two-bit welding jobs, and other menial crap to pay for his flight hours.
He sipped thoughtfully, although grimaced at the taste. A point detracted from his prospective employer's favor. A shrug negated the thought considering he wanted to drink an entire bottle of Charisian Fire. A pale looking Kira limped out of the bathroom and out of the bar at the thought. He shuddered and thanked his lucky stars it wasn't him. Even irradiated, the bacteria from Ares was some of the nastiest shit in the universe.
Jon was lost in thought when Vince Kestral quietly entered the bar.
“Mr. Kestral!” He took a slow glance at younger man, who gestured to the drink. Vince walked over slowly, and a little suspiciously. Caution was a good tool to use for survival, and Jon smiled mentally in approval.
“Yes?” Vince sat down slowly and confidently.
“I heard from Frank that you are hiring mercs.” Vince nodded curtly.
“I would like to join your crew.”
Vince crossed his arms slightly. “And?”
“I was a Charisian partisan.” Jon noticed a flicker of surprise an interest at the statement, but maintained his neutral expression.
“Aren't you a little young for that?”
“The youngest I can think of was Billy Grayvel, who vented an entire section to Hades' atmo to kill a patrol that shot his parents. He was eight.” Of course, Billy's plan didn't work too well on the Aradar suits, but that was a different story.
“So you've fought and killed, who on this rock hasn't?” The neutral tone and expression remained.
“Eh, being Charisian was enough for the last guy. I'm also a pilot, anything you can think of, I can fly it. I just finished my five year re-certification for all small craft yesterday, commercial, private...”
“How about a Hydra?”
“Not... officially. I have no desire to be put under a microscope by the GDF.”
“I'll give you a shot.” Vince picked up the second tumbler and raised it. Jon clinked it and drank the last bit of his. “Thanks Mr. Kestral. I'll go grab my stuff and see you tomorrow at your warehouse.”
Vince took a careful sip, and watched the younger man go before returning to scanning the bar.
Moon's Jester- Mist
- Join date : 2011-12-31
Posts : 32
Re: Black Dawn
by quakernuts Thu Jan 12, 2012 11:03 pm
The past few days had been productive to say the least. Vincent sat in his makeshift office on the second floor, an assortment of papers and blueprints sat across his desk. Mainly anything that grabbed his attention and warranted a closer look at was dangling right in front of him. He knew they didn't have the choice of being picky right off the bat. No one was going to know or hire them if they had no reputation, so Vince was specifically taking high presence offers and putting them at the top of the pile. Most were shit jobs, even for what he was looking for, but some looked to be both profitable and reputable. Vince could hear the others downstairs, mainly moving around and getting a feel for the place while a few were talking in low tones. He needed them to group together quickly, and get used to each other's presence. It wasn't going to be that easy, a room full of killers and adrenaline junkies. He hoped the people he had picked would be up to the job. He looked into the drawer of his desk, and pulled out a small piece of paper that he had written names on along with their specialities.
First on the list was Rebecca. A wastelander with an aptitude for theft, recon, and possibly information gathering. She looked frail, and with her eyes enlarged and obviously light-sensitive, he doubted he would be using her for anything other than those tasks. Whether or not she was with the Bottom Dwellers was yet to be found out, but if she was, that could cause friction. He didn't want the Bottom Dweller gang suddenly wanting a cut out of his business because he employed one of their people. In the meantime, he was content to see how things would play out.
Beneath her was a man by the name of Khy. Vince remembered this guy clearly, saving him from a point blank shot to the face by taking out the threatening and cheating poker player in front of him. Despite the obvious save, the guy looked like he had not only been around, but survived to take on more years than Vince himself. He was, in theory, the least likely to try and steal Vince's command from underneath him. If he wanted his own gang, he could have started it up no problem with his age and experience. This made Vince trust him slightly more than the young upstarts he had in his crew, but he still had his caution about him. You didn't get to an old age in this profession without always having an ace in your sleeve.
After him was the man by the name of Khalil. From what he had been able to gather from the man, was that he liked to tinker. He seemed to be a capable fighter at the very least, and if they needed something fixed around the place, no doubt he would be the man to call. Khalil seemed a little too soft for his tastes, seeming as if he was trying to be a nice guy despite what he would often be hired to do. He would be asked to blackmail, enforce, extort, threaten, and kill on a regular basis, and yet he continued on with an attitude that contradicted his life style. Only time would tell whether or not he would be up for the hard decisions.
Next on the list was Ian. He had been pretty open about him being an assassin before, and Vincent had to wonder if that was simply a hook to get hired. After all, why would an assassin want to get in with a regular mercenary group when people would pay thousands upon thousands of credits to get people out of their lives? Chances are he had something to hide, and even though this raised a flag in Vince's mind, an assassin would come in handy. Not everything called for brute force, and sometimes contracts could only be cashed in if only the target and no one else is killed. Vince didn't like these methods, but he usually did them anyways. Aside from that fact, Ian seemed a little off. Casual observation left him with a little tingling sensation at the back of his neck, and he hadn't gotten this far in life to ignore those feelings now. If it became life threatening, he would deal with it. Until then, he would use the man until he reached his expiry date.
Last on the list was a man by the name of Jon. He was a Charisian, which was saying something. A lesser man might have been impressed by a survivor of the longest lasting battle in history between the GDF and the human navy. However, Vince was not that sort of man. He was not impressed, but could use a decent pilot while he was here on Pax. He could fly the transports flying around the station, but only from point A to point B. He would come in handy for any extractions or insertions the team needed to do. As for his personality, Vince felt like he was going to need to knock this guy down a peg in his arrogance. Vince knew that Jon probably thought he deserved a little swagger, but if he tried any of that 'I'm better than you' shit with him, he would knock him flat on his ass before he could say 'Charisian lost.'
Those were the names he had so far, a decent group of people with an assortment of skills that would all come in handy at some point or another. Vincent gave the list one more look over before putting it a pouch in his armour. He stood up, making sure everything was fit for when he had to address them to give the 'introduction to mercenary work 101' class lecture. He knew that they probably heard all the rules before, but he wanted to make sure everything was clear. To enforce this fact, he was currently wearing his Hyperion MKI armour. A medium style armour that was mainly blue with yellow streaks down the side. His helmet lay on the corner of his desk, completely blue save for a two yellow streaks that looked like sideburns on the side of the helmet. The 'T' formation of the visor finished the look, and it had saved Vincent many a times on raids and missions. Assured that everything was as it should, he made his way downstairs.
As he finished his decent, he noticed everyone was still in the main room. Most of them were looking around at the place, either looking for escape routes or possible defensive positions. If they were worth any of their salt, he would place money on both. A few looked at him as he approached, but he said nothing until he was on their side. There, he leaned against one of the rails surrounding one of the generators. "Alright people, listen up." Vincent projected across the room. His voice still slightly lowered but commanding attention. He waited until people had grouped around him before he started.
"In case you need a refresher, my name is Vincent Kestral." He started, making sure everyone knew the name. "You're here for the same reason I am, and that's to make money. So lets keep this short shall we." Vincent got slightly more comfortable on his railing, and crossed his arms as he looked at everyone. "Rule 1: You're useful to me, or your dead. I didn't hire you to become dead weight, so do your job or I let you go with a kick out the door or a bullet in the brain. Rule 2: My word is law. I shouldn't have to say this, as I suspect you've all been in a mercenary racket at least once. You follow my orders, and listen to what I say. If you don't, you become useless and Rule 1 comes into effect.
Rule 3: I get 25 percent of every job's payout. This goes into a group fund that is used to repair and maintain this broken down heap we call home. The rest will be split between you. If you don't come on the job, you don't get a cut, pure and simple. That being said, not all of us can constantly be going on a mission, in that case, I expect you to make yourself useful here. Clean the place up, repair some of the equipment, fend off some of the nearby Toxix. You'll get a cut only if you have proven to me that you can do work wherever I need you most."
Vince took a pause, waiting for all the rules to sink in. "These are standard, and I reserve the right to make more rules as the situation demands it. This goes in accordance with Rule 2." Vince looked over everyone, and gave a nod. "Alright, with that out of the way, let's move on. This will be where you all will be staying from now on. It's relatively close to Toxix territory, so we will have at least one of you on guard throughout the day and night for these assholes. My office is upstairs if you ever need to talk to me, and the lunch room is right next to it.
Down here are the rooms, bathroom, and shower. They are all shared, but I expect everyone too deal with it. I'm not here to play comforter. There is a separated garage outside that can fit roughly two vehicles plus some equipment, but there's not easy access. Both good and bad." Vince pushed off of the rails, and placed a hand on his pistol out of habit. "Alright, introductions are over. Introduce yourself to the others all you want, but for now, I want you to start cleaning up this shit pile. Khalil, see what equipment you can scrounge up and see what we need to get these generators up and running. Khy, you have first watch out front. The rest of you, get this place clean. I'm tired of living in a dump." Vince turned to walk away, but paused for a second before turning back.
"Oh...and welcome to Black Dawn." Vince stated, before heading to the stairs and ascending to his office.
First on the list was Rebecca. A wastelander with an aptitude for theft, recon, and possibly information gathering. She looked frail, and with her eyes enlarged and obviously light-sensitive, he doubted he would be using her for anything other than those tasks. Whether or not she was with the Bottom Dwellers was yet to be found out, but if she was, that could cause friction. He didn't want the Bottom Dweller gang suddenly wanting a cut out of his business because he employed one of their people. In the meantime, he was content to see how things would play out.
Beneath her was a man by the name of Khy. Vince remembered this guy clearly, saving him from a point blank shot to the face by taking out the threatening and cheating poker player in front of him. Despite the obvious save, the guy looked like he had not only been around, but survived to take on more years than Vince himself. He was, in theory, the least likely to try and steal Vince's command from underneath him. If he wanted his own gang, he could have started it up no problem with his age and experience. This made Vince trust him slightly more than the young upstarts he had in his crew, but he still had his caution about him. You didn't get to an old age in this profession without always having an ace in your sleeve.
After him was the man by the name of Khalil. From what he had been able to gather from the man, was that he liked to tinker. He seemed to be a capable fighter at the very least, and if they needed something fixed around the place, no doubt he would be the man to call. Khalil seemed a little too soft for his tastes, seeming as if he was trying to be a nice guy despite what he would often be hired to do. He would be asked to blackmail, enforce, extort, threaten, and kill on a regular basis, and yet he continued on with an attitude that contradicted his life style. Only time would tell whether or not he would be up for the hard decisions.
Next on the list was Ian. He had been pretty open about him being an assassin before, and Vincent had to wonder if that was simply a hook to get hired. After all, why would an assassin want to get in with a regular mercenary group when people would pay thousands upon thousands of credits to get people out of their lives? Chances are he had something to hide, and even though this raised a flag in Vince's mind, an assassin would come in handy. Not everything called for brute force, and sometimes contracts could only be cashed in if only the target and no one else is killed. Vince didn't like these methods, but he usually did them anyways. Aside from that fact, Ian seemed a little off. Casual observation left him with a little tingling sensation at the back of his neck, and he hadn't gotten this far in life to ignore those feelings now. If it became life threatening, he would deal with it. Until then, he would use the man until he reached his expiry date.
Last on the list was a man by the name of Jon. He was a Charisian, which was saying something. A lesser man might have been impressed by a survivor of the longest lasting battle in history between the GDF and the human navy. However, Vince was not that sort of man. He was not impressed, but could use a decent pilot while he was here on Pax. He could fly the transports flying around the station, but only from point A to point B. He would come in handy for any extractions or insertions the team needed to do. As for his personality, Vince felt like he was going to need to knock this guy down a peg in his arrogance. Vince knew that Jon probably thought he deserved a little swagger, but if he tried any of that 'I'm better than you' shit with him, he would knock him flat on his ass before he could say 'Charisian lost.'
Those were the names he had so far, a decent group of people with an assortment of skills that would all come in handy at some point or another. Vincent gave the list one more look over before putting it a pouch in his armour. He stood up, making sure everything was fit for when he had to address them to give the 'introduction to mercenary work 101' class lecture. He knew that they probably heard all the rules before, but he wanted to make sure everything was clear. To enforce this fact, he was currently wearing his Hyperion MKI armour. A medium style armour that was mainly blue with yellow streaks down the side. His helmet lay on the corner of his desk, completely blue save for a two yellow streaks that looked like sideburns on the side of the helmet. The 'T' formation of the visor finished the look, and it had saved Vincent many a times on raids and missions. Assured that everything was as it should, he made his way downstairs.
As he finished his decent, he noticed everyone was still in the main room. Most of them were looking around at the place, either looking for escape routes or possible defensive positions. If they were worth any of their salt, he would place money on both. A few looked at him as he approached, but he said nothing until he was on their side. There, he leaned against one of the rails surrounding one of the generators. "Alright people, listen up." Vincent projected across the room. His voice still slightly lowered but commanding attention. He waited until people had grouped around him before he started.
"In case you need a refresher, my name is Vincent Kestral." He started, making sure everyone knew the name. "You're here for the same reason I am, and that's to make money. So lets keep this short shall we." Vincent got slightly more comfortable on his railing, and crossed his arms as he looked at everyone. "Rule 1: You're useful to me, or your dead. I didn't hire you to become dead weight, so do your job or I let you go with a kick out the door or a bullet in the brain. Rule 2: My word is law. I shouldn't have to say this, as I suspect you've all been in a mercenary racket at least once. You follow my orders, and listen to what I say. If you don't, you become useless and Rule 1 comes into effect.
Rule 3: I get 25 percent of every job's payout. This goes into a group fund that is used to repair and maintain this broken down heap we call home. The rest will be split between you. If you don't come on the job, you don't get a cut, pure and simple. That being said, not all of us can constantly be going on a mission, in that case, I expect you to make yourself useful here. Clean the place up, repair some of the equipment, fend off some of the nearby Toxix. You'll get a cut only if you have proven to me that you can do work wherever I need you most."
Vince took a pause, waiting for all the rules to sink in. "These are standard, and I reserve the right to make more rules as the situation demands it. This goes in accordance with Rule 2." Vince looked over everyone, and gave a nod. "Alright, with that out of the way, let's move on. This will be where you all will be staying from now on. It's relatively close to Toxix territory, so we will have at least one of you on guard throughout the day and night for these assholes. My office is upstairs if you ever need to talk to me, and the lunch room is right next to it.
Down here are the rooms, bathroom, and shower. They are all shared, but I expect everyone too deal with it. I'm not here to play comforter. There is a separated garage outside that can fit roughly two vehicles plus some equipment, but there's not easy access. Both good and bad." Vince pushed off of the rails, and placed a hand on his pistol out of habit. "Alright, introductions are over. Introduce yourself to the others all you want, but for now, I want you to start cleaning up this shit pile. Khalil, see what equipment you can scrounge up and see what we need to get these generators up and running. Khy, you have first watch out front. The rest of you, get this place clean. I'm tired of living in a dump." Vince turned to walk away, but paused for a second before turning back.
"Oh...and welcome to Black Dawn." Vince stated, before heading to the stairs and ascending to his office.
quakernuts- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-09-19
Posts : 702
Age : 32
Location : Sask. Canada
Re: Black Dawn
by Digital Muse Sat Jan 14, 2012 9:00 pm
After agreeing to meet with Kestral back at a warehouse he'd purchased from a Nuro 'Tai she knew named Icar'sus, Rebecca headed back home to tell her friends what was happening. The location of the warehouse was uncomfortably close to Toxix territory, but she presumed the Merc knew what he was doing. If not, she could always fade away to the Wasteland and leave the man to his fate. It was late in the evening by the time she returned to the small apartment she shared with 4 of her friends who were also without parents for various reasons.
She filled the other three girls in on the deal she'd struck with Kestral to their shock. They all thought she was taking an insane risk staying in the Pit and working for a Merc. What was she thinking?
Rebecca laid out her reasoning for taking the job Kestral had offered. The money she earned would come back to the Bottom Dwellers except for a small amount she customarily kept for herself. Her friends still looked skeptical and worried. She packed her few belongings in her rucksack. She didn't have much to pack, truth be told. Rebecca told Jasmin, the oldest of her friends, to let the leader of the Bottom Dwellers, Isaac, know what she was doing and where she was going, just to be on the safe side. Hugging her three friends and with some trepidation, she headed back up to the Pit to join Kestral at his warehouse.
________________________________________________________________________________
Once she arrived at the sight of the warehouse, Rebecca hesitated going inside. It was a huge place, rusted, neglected with boarded over windows and painted gang tags everywhere. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she headed toward the main door. There was too much open ground in the yard. It made the hair at the back of her neck stand up in fear. She tried very hard not to run for the door just in case someone was watching her.
The inside of the warehouse was covered in filth and festooned with cobwebs and old, rotted plastic. Huge machines that might have been turbines hulked along one side of the main room, and she could see metal stairs leading up to another level with offices. She nearly tip-toed into the main room, "H-Hello?" She called out. Her echo was the only answer she got. The thought of spending the night alone in the warehouse terrified her. Just as she began to turn to leave again, she heard someone exit from one of the upstairs rooms.
It was Kestral. He looked down at her with an unreadable expression. Almost like he was surprised that she had actually shown up. "Find a bunk. The others will be here shortly." And that was it. He went back into his office leaving her on her own once more.
"Man of few words." She murmured to herself. Turning back toward the door he'd pointed her at, Rebecca found the bunk room. She smiled seeing so much space and took almost 15 minutes picking a cot of her own. Choosing the cot in the farthest corner, she felt it almost like a little fort or home of her own. Now all that remained to be seen was who else Kestral had recruited.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Little by little the rest of Kestral's recruits filtered in. They were an interesting bunch. Only one man was older. The other three looked to be in their early 20's. She remained toward the back to the main room, hood up to hide her features for the time being. She had no idea how any of the others would react to her mutated features. For that matter, she didn't know how long any of the men had been on station.
Not long after her initial assessment, Kestral himself made his appearance. In full armor, no less. She didn't know what kind or what the colors might mean, but he cut quite an impressive figure. The others quieted down when he descended the stairs, their own eyes assessing him.
Kestral gave a simple and to the point run down of the rules. Rule #1 was of particular worry to Rebecca. Would she be able to pull her weight in a company like this? The rest mostly looked quite capable. She was just a guide. Would it be enough? Her attention was brought back to Kestral when he set the older man to the first watch and ordered the rest of them to cleaning the warehouse and showers.
Rebecca smiled and nodded beneath her hood. Cleaning. Yes, that she could definitely do. As she worked her way around with the others, she introduced herself shyly, giving only her first name. She didn't hide her hands, but she made no attempt to push her hood back from her features. She took particular pride in sweeping and cleaning the room with the cots. It was going to be her new home and it was going to be perfect, she decided.
She filled the other three girls in on the deal she'd struck with Kestral to their shock. They all thought she was taking an insane risk staying in the Pit and working for a Merc. What was she thinking?
Rebecca laid out her reasoning for taking the job Kestral had offered. The money she earned would come back to the Bottom Dwellers except for a small amount she customarily kept for herself. Her friends still looked skeptical and worried. She packed her few belongings in her rucksack. She didn't have much to pack, truth be told. Rebecca told Jasmin, the oldest of her friends, to let the leader of the Bottom Dwellers, Isaac, know what she was doing and where she was going, just to be on the safe side. Hugging her three friends and with some trepidation, she headed back up to the Pit to join Kestral at his warehouse.
________________________________________________________________________________
Once she arrived at the sight of the warehouse, Rebecca hesitated going inside. It was a huge place, rusted, neglected with boarded over windows and painted gang tags everywhere. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she headed toward the main door. There was too much open ground in the yard. It made the hair at the back of her neck stand up in fear. She tried very hard not to run for the door just in case someone was watching her.
The inside of the warehouse was covered in filth and festooned with cobwebs and old, rotted plastic. Huge machines that might have been turbines hulked along one side of the main room, and she could see metal stairs leading up to another level with offices. She nearly tip-toed into the main room, "H-Hello?" She called out. Her echo was the only answer she got. The thought of spending the night alone in the warehouse terrified her. Just as she began to turn to leave again, she heard someone exit from one of the upstairs rooms.
It was Kestral. He looked down at her with an unreadable expression. Almost like he was surprised that she had actually shown up. "Find a bunk. The others will be here shortly." And that was it. He went back into his office leaving her on her own once more.
"Man of few words." She murmured to herself. Turning back toward the door he'd pointed her at, Rebecca found the bunk room. She smiled seeing so much space and took almost 15 minutes picking a cot of her own. Choosing the cot in the farthest corner, she felt it almost like a little fort or home of her own. Now all that remained to be seen was who else Kestral had recruited.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Little by little the rest of Kestral's recruits filtered in. They were an interesting bunch. Only one man was older. The other three looked to be in their early 20's. She remained toward the back to the main room, hood up to hide her features for the time being. She had no idea how any of the others would react to her mutated features. For that matter, she didn't know how long any of the men had been on station.
Not long after her initial assessment, Kestral himself made his appearance. In full armor, no less. She didn't know what kind or what the colors might mean, but he cut quite an impressive figure. The others quieted down when he descended the stairs, their own eyes assessing him.
Kestral gave a simple and to the point run down of the rules. Rule #1 was of particular worry to Rebecca. Would she be able to pull her weight in a company like this? The rest mostly looked quite capable. She was just a guide. Would it be enough? Her attention was brought back to Kestral when he set the older man to the first watch and ordered the rest of them to cleaning the warehouse and showers.
Rebecca smiled and nodded beneath her hood. Cleaning. Yes, that she could definitely do. As she worked her way around with the others, she introduced herself shyly, giving only her first name. She didn't hide her hands, but she made no attempt to push her hood back from her features. She took particular pride in sweeping and cleaning the room with the cots. It was going to be her new home and it was going to be perfect, she decided.
Digital Muse- Guardian Ghost
- Join date : 2009-08-12
Posts : 1381
Location : South Dakota
Re: Black Dawn
by Guilty Carrion Mon Jan 16, 2012 11:38 pm
Khymera had perched himself quietly on one of the generators, watching the various recruits as they moved and interacted. The lot were young, and he was quickly looking to be the oldest of the bunch. No harm there, nor was it entirely unexpected. Mercenaries didn’t live to be his age often, unless they retired or were damn fucking good. The thought made him ponder the Pariahs, and he chuckled. Diona had three years on him, and she wasn’t even the oldest mercenary in that damn PMC.
“Couldn’t sign up though, have to do things the hard way.” He rapped an armoured knuckle against his helmeted skull, shifting his focus to the stairs as Kestral descended down from the second floor, clad from head to toe in the unmistakable Hyperion armour. The leader of the ‘merry’ band settled into a lean on a nearby generator, and Khy could already tell where this was going. The ever infamous intro speech. Everyone had their own version, but everything was generally the same. Tuning it out slightly, the older merc dropped down to ground level proper, straightening out as Kestral pointed at him. “Khy, you have first watch.”
He nodded silently, retrieving one of his Lyger SMGs attached to the side of his thigh(the right one, specifically) via magnetic clips. He gave the weapon a quick check over, ensuring everything was working right before exiting the warehouse for his exciting shift of shooting at morons. At least he didn’t have play housekeeper with the fresh faces, but guard duty was always one of the more…boring shifts he could imagine.
“Money is money.” He reminded himself, finding a spot with a good view and ample cover, sitting on the rail and staring out at the half scrap shit hole the Pit called it’s skyline. Time ticked by, and the veteran shifted through a series of sitting positions before finally settling for leaning over the railing, half lidded eyes staring at nothing in particular. “Hel, this is dull…”
Slinging his back around to the front, Khy rummaged through the few of his belongings, grabbing his sketch book and a few pencils before hopping back to his position. Thumbing through the pages, his eyes flickered over every picture, some of buildings, others of various people or random rooms. Stopping on a blank page, he tapped the pencil on his helmet for a moment, before grinning beneath his visor. “Start with the group, move onto the rest.”
Goal set, he began his work, starting with the rough long lines before slowly adding in more and more detail. Periodically, he’d pause, checking his surroundings for anything of importance, before returning back to his sketch. Anyone listening closely would hear him muttering about features or quirks of his subject, and the occasional swear over some mistake followed by the fevered erasing of whatever mistake he’d made.
Once satisfied, he leaned back slightly, examining his work with a critical eye. The group had been entertaining to sketch, although he hadn’t been able to get a good look at the lone female of the group, hiding beneath her hood. Rubbing his chin curiously, Khymera pondered reasons she could have for hiding her face. Was she a spy? Or perhaps had a rather nasty scar?
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and his Lyger snapped up, the red dot of it’s laser sight smack on the center of some poor sod’s forehead. “Hi there. Can I help you?” He called, watching the individual quickly raise their hands in surrender.
“I-I-I…” Khy blinked once, flicking off the laser sight and motioning with his free hand for the person to come forward. The figure took a hesitant step towards him, as if testing the waters for getting shot at. To their credit, they were at least cautious. Slowly over the course of five minutes, the stranger made their way across the small stretch of ground, stopping a good ten feet away from the mercenary, staring cautiously at the Lyger still primed for use. “Just…curious, is all.”
The figure was bundled up tightly in slightly too big armour, although there was no helmet to go with it, replaced instead by a full face breather mask. The voice gave them away as female. Khymera lowered the gun, still easily used, but far less threatening than before. “About what?”
“That building’s been abandoned forever. It’s weird to see someone guarding it.” The stranger looked down at the gun, still nervous from it’s presence. “Did you buy it?”
“It’s rare to see curiosity in the Pit.” His comment caused the stranger to tense, taking a panicked step back as if expecting an attack. “Relax, I’m not going to shoot you.” He paused, before chuckling. “Well, not unless you give me a reason too. Now, I’ll need you to take off that mask for me.” The figure shook her head. “It’s not negotiable. You might be a threat, so I’m going to need to remember you.” He flipped a page in his sketchpad, eyes watching as the stranger slowly reached for the clamps on her rebreather.
“I won’t cause any trouble…” Despite the protest, the stranger disengaged the clamps, and pulled the helmet off. Khy raised an eyebrow, although she very well couldn’t see it. The stranger was young, couldn’t be a day over eighteen, but the weathered look that clung to her eyes spoke of an maturity not right for someone her age.
His pencil went to work, but his eyes never left her for longer than a second. “What’s your name?”
“L-Lynn, sir.” The title was new, but fear coloured everyone differently.
“Lynn. Good name, if a little ambiguous.” He glanced down at his sketch pad, comparing it briefly with the living version across from him before continuing. “So, Lynn, you said this building was abandoned for awhile. Why is that?”
She stammered, quickly trying to answer his question but tripping over her own words. Finally finding her voice, she spoke quickly. “The Toxies, sir. They passed through here awhile ago and killed or captured anyone they found. They barely come by here anymore, but every now and again they send a patrol to check the area.”
“Ah, the Toxies. Fun bunch that. Guess he wasn’t lying about them being near by.” Examining his mostly dull pencil, Khy tossed it into his pack before fetching another. “And what about you, Lynn? You a local?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Live nearby, do you?” She nodded slowly, eyeing him cautiously. “I won’t ask where, relax. Secrets are worth more than lives, I’m well aware.” Finishing his sketch, Khy grinned proudly at his work. While he lacked the colours to give it a living feeling, he felt it captured the desperate look of the girl well. “Alright, Lynn, I’m done. I won’t keep you from whatever it is you do.” Glancing at the chronometer in the corner of his helmet, Khy was pleased to see his shift should be just about up.
“Thank you, sir.”
Straightening from his seat, the mercenary stretched out, feeling his back crack and pop all up his spine. “If I can make a recommendation, don’t approach any buildings with guards from now on, yeah? Most aren’t friendly.” The mercenary holstered his SMG, watching as Lynn placed her breather back in place. “If you want, feel free to visit when I’m on shift. I could use the company, but the other’s look a little more trigger happy than me.”
Lynn looked a little unsure, even with the helmet once again hiding her face. “I’ll…think about it, sir.” She turned to leave, and he whistled to get her attention. She turned, and barely had time to catch the small object flying at her face. He could practically feel the confusion as she examined the small object.
“Some credit chit I pinched off a bad boss. Go get something to eat, my treat.” He reached for the door, glancing back at the stunned teen. “And call me Khymera. Sir is way too polite for the Pit.” Khy waved his hand for her to go, and watched as she vanished into one of the countless alleyways. At least the shit hole had lots of hiding places. Tugging the door open, he walked inside, jabbing a finger towards the first mercenary he stumbled across, a proud looking man with a ratty leather jacket. “You’ve got next shift, champ. Get on it.”
Once the new guard had taken his post, Khy bee-lined for the bunkroom, intent on at least having a choice before all the young mercs snatched the good ones.
“Couldn’t sign up though, have to do things the hard way.” He rapped an armoured knuckle against his helmeted skull, shifting his focus to the stairs as Kestral descended down from the second floor, clad from head to toe in the unmistakable Hyperion armour. The leader of the ‘merry’ band settled into a lean on a nearby generator, and Khy could already tell where this was going. The ever infamous intro speech. Everyone had their own version, but everything was generally the same. Tuning it out slightly, the older merc dropped down to ground level proper, straightening out as Kestral pointed at him. “Khy, you have first watch.”
He nodded silently, retrieving one of his Lyger SMGs attached to the side of his thigh(the right one, specifically) via magnetic clips. He gave the weapon a quick check over, ensuring everything was working right before exiting the warehouse for his exciting shift of shooting at morons. At least he didn’t have play housekeeper with the fresh faces, but guard duty was always one of the more…boring shifts he could imagine.
“Money is money.” He reminded himself, finding a spot with a good view and ample cover, sitting on the rail and staring out at the half scrap shit hole the Pit called it’s skyline. Time ticked by, and the veteran shifted through a series of sitting positions before finally settling for leaning over the railing, half lidded eyes staring at nothing in particular. “Hel, this is dull…”
Slinging his back around to the front, Khy rummaged through the few of his belongings, grabbing his sketch book and a few pencils before hopping back to his position. Thumbing through the pages, his eyes flickered over every picture, some of buildings, others of various people or random rooms. Stopping on a blank page, he tapped the pencil on his helmet for a moment, before grinning beneath his visor. “Start with the group, move onto the rest.”
Goal set, he began his work, starting with the rough long lines before slowly adding in more and more detail. Periodically, he’d pause, checking his surroundings for anything of importance, before returning back to his sketch. Anyone listening closely would hear him muttering about features or quirks of his subject, and the occasional swear over some mistake followed by the fevered erasing of whatever mistake he’d made.
Once satisfied, he leaned back slightly, examining his work with a critical eye. The group had been entertaining to sketch, although he hadn’t been able to get a good look at the lone female of the group, hiding beneath her hood. Rubbing his chin curiously, Khymera pondered reasons she could have for hiding her face. Was she a spy? Or perhaps had a rather nasty scar?
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and his Lyger snapped up, the red dot of it’s laser sight smack on the center of some poor sod’s forehead. “Hi there. Can I help you?” He called, watching the individual quickly raise their hands in surrender.
“I-I-I…” Khy blinked once, flicking off the laser sight and motioning with his free hand for the person to come forward. The figure took a hesitant step towards him, as if testing the waters for getting shot at. To their credit, they were at least cautious. Slowly over the course of five minutes, the stranger made their way across the small stretch of ground, stopping a good ten feet away from the mercenary, staring cautiously at the Lyger still primed for use. “Just…curious, is all.”
The figure was bundled up tightly in slightly too big armour, although there was no helmet to go with it, replaced instead by a full face breather mask. The voice gave them away as female. Khymera lowered the gun, still easily used, but far less threatening than before. “About what?”
“That building’s been abandoned forever. It’s weird to see someone guarding it.” The stranger looked down at the gun, still nervous from it’s presence. “Did you buy it?”
“It’s rare to see curiosity in the Pit.” His comment caused the stranger to tense, taking a panicked step back as if expecting an attack. “Relax, I’m not going to shoot you.” He paused, before chuckling. “Well, not unless you give me a reason too. Now, I’ll need you to take off that mask for me.” The figure shook her head. “It’s not negotiable. You might be a threat, so I’m going to need to remember you.” He flipped a page in his sketchpad, eyes watching as the stranger slowly reached for the clamps on her rebreather.
“I won’t cause any trouble…” Despite the protest, the stranger disengaged the clamps, and pulled the helmet off. Khy raised an eyebrow, although she very well couldn’t see it. The stranger was young, couldn’t be a day over eighteen, but the weathered look that clung to her eyes spoke of an maturity not right for someone her age.
His pencil went to work, but his eyes never left her for longer than a second. “What’s your name?”
“L-Lynn, sir.” The title was new, but fear coloured everyone differently.
“Lynn. Good name, if a little ambiguous.” He glanced down at his sketch pad, comparing it briefly with the living version across from him before continuing. “So, Lynn, you said this building was abandoned for awhile. Why is that?”
She stammered, quickly trying to answer his question but tripping over her own words. Finally finding her voice, she spoke quickly. “The Toxies, sir. They passed through here awhile ago and killed or captured anyone they found. They barely come by here anymore, but every now and again they send a patrol to check the area.”
“Ah, the Toxies. Fun bunch that. Guess he wasn’t lying about them being near by.” Examining his mostly dull pencil, Khy tossed it into his pack before fetching another. “And what about you, Lynn? You a local?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Live nearby, do you?” She nodded slowly, eyeing him cautiously. “I won’t ask where, relax. Secrets are worth more than lives, I’m well aware.” Finishing his sketch, Khy grinned proudly at his work. While he lacked the colours to give it a living feeling, he felt it captured the desperate look of the girl well. “Alright, Lynn, I’m done. I won’t keep you from whatever it is you do.” Glancing at the chronometer in the corner of his helmet, Khy was pleased to see his shift should be just about up.
“Thank you, sir.”
Straightening from his seat, the mercenary stretched out, feeling his back crack and pop all up his spine. “If I can make a recommendation, don’t approach any buildings with guards from now on, yeah? Most aren’t friendly.” The mercenary holstered his SMG, watching as Lynn placed her breather back in place. “If you want, feel free to visit when I’m on shift. I could use the company, but the other’s look a little more trigger happy than me.”
Lynn looked a little unsure, even with the helmet once again hiding her face. “I’ll…think about it, sir.” She turned to leave, and he whistled to get her attention. She turned, and barely had time to catch the small object flying at her face. He could practically feel the confusion as she examined the small object.
“Some credit chit I pinched off a bad boss. Go get something to eat, my treat.” He reached for the door, glancing back at the stunned teen. “And call me Khymera. Sir is way too polite for the Pit.” Khy waved his hand for her to go, and watched as she vanished into one of the countless alleyways. At least the shit hole had lots of hiding places. Tugging the door open, he walked inside, jabbing a finger towards the first mercenary he stumbled across, a proud looking man with a ratty leather jacket. “You’ve got next shift, champ. Get on it.”
Once the new guard had taken his post, Khy bee-lined for the bunkroom, intent on at least having a choice before all the young mercs snatched the good ones.
Guilty Carrion- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2010-01-12
Posts : 856
Age : 33
Location : The Underdark
Re: Black Dawn
by Anubis Fri Jan 20, 2012 4:40 pm
Ian had been sitting on the floor, near the back of the room. He would have preferred to be perched in the rafters, or at least on of the generators, but the older guy was already there. Ian had considered going up there anyway and introducing himself, but he decided that going as unnoticed as possible might help him out the most right now. To be honest, he wasn't really sure why he was here. Mercenary work was so different from his old job, but he really didn't have a lot of other choices now. His old Master, Cairn, had told him the assassin's were going to try to hash it out in the new universe. "There always people who want other people dead", the words echoed through Ian's mind. He had been told he was no good to them anymore, unstable was the word that had been used. Ian snapped back to the room, watching the other Mercs getting antsy while waiting for Kestral. He finally arrived, wearing Hyperion armor and bringing a commanding presence.
Ian stood during Kestral's speech, listening intently to what the Merc had said. This was the first person to have given Ian a chance since the old days, and he wasn't about to screw it up. He gave a speech that pretty much lined up with what Ian was expecting, but Ian shortened it to it's most basic form in his head.
"I don't trust you yet, and will not hesitate to kill you if you cause me trouble."
He then dismissed everyone to clean up, except the older guy who went out for the first watch. It was at this moment that Ian realized that he was shorter than everyone here, even the woman in the back with the hood. This, naturally, made Ian feel a little inadequate and he decided to amuse himself while performing the task.
He grabbed a broom and began sweeping the floor. He made a song and dance to go with it, but he quickly noticed that no-one was left in the room. He shrugged and continued, his dance now containing more intricate moves the longer it went. After a while, he realized that he was really just pushing dust from one side of the room to the other, so he decided to call it a success and check out the sleeping arrangements.
He decided to check out the sleeping situation, not being able to think of anything else to do in this room. When he entered the bunkroom, Ian was surprised at how many cots were fit into the small room. There appeared to be about ten in total, and they were in varying degrees of dirty and clean. Ian frowned slightly, he had never really liked beds after his stay in the prison. He grabbed some blankets and made himself a small nest in the corner, making a mental note to find a high spot he could squat in later.
Ian stood during Kestral's speech, listening intently to what the Merc had said. This was the first person to have given Ian a chance since the old days, and he wasn't about to screw it up. He gave a speech that pretty much lined up with what Ian was expecting, but Ian shortened it to it's most basic form in his head.
"I don't trust you yet, and will not hesitate to kill you if you cause me trouble."
He then dismissed everyone to clean up, except the older guy who went out for the first watch. It was at this moment that Ian realized that he was shorter than everyone here, even the woman in the back with the hood. This, naturally, made Ian feel a little inadequate and he decided to amuse himself while performing the task.
He grabbed a broom and began sweeping the floor. He made a song and dance to go with it, but he quickly noticed that no-one was left in the room. He shrugged and continued, his dance now containing more intricate moves the longer it went. After a while, he realized that he was really just pushing dust from one side of the room to the other, so he decided to call it a success and check out the sleeping arrangements.
He decided to check out the sleeping situation, not being able to think of anything else to do in this room. When he entered the bunkroom, Ian was surprised at how many cots were fit into the small room. There appeared to be about ten in total, and they were in varying degrees of dirty and clean. Ian frowned slightly, he had never really liked beds after his stay in the prison. He grabbed some blankets and made himself a small nest in the corner, making a mental note to find a high spot he could squat in later.
Last edited by Anubis on Mon Jan 23, 2012 9:07 am; edited 1 time in total
Anubis- Mist
- Join date : 2011-11-28
Posts : 58
Age : 39
Location : Texas
Re: Black Dawn
by Gabe Sat Jan 21, 2012 11:38 pm
Khalil checked his watch for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. He'd been the last to arrive at the warehouse, and couldn't shake the nervous tension that hung in his surroundings. The place was run down to say the least, but there was a fair amount of room to maneuver and flank in the event of an enemy attack. Plenty of junk too. Whatever couldn't be reworked into something useable could always be sold. The generators had gained his immediate attention, but just a rudimentary glance was enough to tell him that they wouldn't be working any time soon. It was a little surprising that the entire warehouse hadn't been picked completely clean, but perhaps the nearby Toxix gang was just too dangerous to deal with.
He sized up the others in the room, being as subtle as he could. Of course, they were probably doing the same to him, given that they were being as cautious of one another as he was. He felt like a black sheep among the others, who were either better armed or equipped, or had a more aggressive way of carrying themselves. The hooded female was hard to determine, as she didn't speak much and wasn't apparently armed from what he could tell.
Finally, the sound of a steel door clattering shut was heard from the floor above. Kestral. He ambled down the steps and casually propped himself against one of the generators. He quickly went over his rules with an authoritative tone. His presence was somewhat commanding, even a little intimidating to Khalil.
His words sank in, and took hold. Kestral wasn't the first to explain that being useless was equivalent to being dead, but he was the first to be truly convincing about it. Without much of a pause, he dismissed the groups to their assignments.
"Khalil, see what equipment you can scrounge up and see what we need to get these generators up and running. Khy, you have first watch out front. The rest of you, get this place clean."
Khalil set to work without really introducing himself. He simply nodded towards his new boss and dismissed himself to the attached garage area since he had not seen it yet.
The garage was an unsurprising dump. Some of the built in storage units were falling apart, a broken down gravity jack lay in the corner, and several rusted out bits of miscellanea littered the floor. After scrounging through the useless junk in the storage units, Khalil found a beat up, but serviceable plasma torch. After picking at the nozzle and adjustment dial with his knife, Khalil had it working again. It was a simple fix, but a set of real tools would be needed to fully repair it. At the very least, the set of brushes in his firearm cleaning kit could do the job.
He set the torch to the side and proceeded to dump the contents of the storage units in the middle of the floor. A good amount was worthless trash, but little bits here and there could be sold or used to fix other components here and in the main part of the warehouse. Underneath a rather large tarp cover sat a neat stack of sheeted metal. It was in surprisingly good shape, and could be used for all sorts of things. Makeshift defenses and fixing the multitude of holes in the warehouse came to mind first.
The last storage unit revealed a range of electronic wiring and conduits. This was a proverbial jackpot, as the metals used in electrical wiring are relatively valuable, and if it's actually used for its intended purpose, there was almost nothing electrical that couldn't be fixed with a good rerouting of wires. The generators in the main floor area came to mind, but even this amount of material wouldn't be enough to fix them. Regardless of that, Khalil lacked to tools to really open them up and fix them.
Khalil spent the next two hours separating the useable from the useless, and hauling the garbage outside. The garage was looking better and almost what a person would call 'clean' when he was finished. A good bit of repair and restoration would be needed to make the shop good to go, but he'd already started making plans for that. If Kestral didn't do it himself, Khalil would be putting a fair amount of his earnings into this shop. He was formulating ideas for setting up vehicle maintenance lifts, a workbench for fixing armor, and planned on fixing the gravity jack in the next week or so with that plasma torch he'd found.
"Speaking of which." Khalil said aloud to himself before firing it up...
The plasma torch was old and a little crappy, but it still cut through steel with little effort. Khalil had fabricated a small bed right into the wall bordering the warehouse. It could be folded right into the wall to squeeze a little more floorspace out of the shop if it was really needed. One of the better off storage units also made for a great footlocker, which Khalil took the liberty of storing his armor and weapons inside of.
Khalil patted his hands together at his handiwork and wondered if cutting down a portion of the wall between the garage and the warehouse next door would be a good idea. Accessing the garage was inconvenient and possibly dangerous at this point, but cutting straight through a wall and framing in a door wasn't a weekend project either. At least, not with his current set of tools.
Khalil returned to the main floor area of the warehouse and began removing the chassis of the long dormant generators. Most were in good shape from the outside, but the output wires had been cut from each one, most likely salvaged by some scrapper to be sold, and the copper bundles on all but one were also missing. The engines that powered the turbines were all stripped as well, but Khalil thought he could at least get one running with a few credits worth of parts and some fresh fuel. They seemed to be powered by long outdated Wankel rotary engines, but they were solid and reliable once they were running again.
Khalil jotted down the things he needed to get the engines running again, along with what parts the generator rotors needed to actually produce electricity. The wiring harnesses themselves weren't a big problem, as they could be run to any relay Kestral wanted, and power pretty much anything. 50KW generators like these were overkill, and having this many was simply killing overkill. As they sat now, however, they were little more than solid cover in a gun fight.
Khalil delivered the notes of what he needed to Kestral's desk and made for the makeshift barracks that were set up nearby. Without much more than a nod to the others in the room, he grabbed the first mattress he came across and hauled it to the garage where his makeshift bed frame hung.
He sized up the others in the room, being as subtle as he could. Of course, they were probably doing the same to him, given that they were being as cautious of one another as he was. He felt like a black sheep among the others, who were either better armed or equipped, or had a more aggressive way of carrying themselves. The hooded female was hard to determine, as she didn't speak much and wasn't apparently armed from what he could tell.
Finally, the sound of a steel door clattering shut was heard from the floor above. Kestral. He ambled down the steps and casually propped himself against one of the generators. He quickly went over his rules with an authoritative tone. His presence was somewhat commanding, even a little intimidating to Khalil.
His words sank in, and took hold. Kestral wasn't the first to explain that being useless was equivalent to being dead, but he was the first to be truly convincing about it. Without much of a pause, he dismissed the groups to their assignments.
"Khalil, see what equipment you can scrounge up and see what we need to get these generators up and running. Khy, you have first watch out front. The rest of you, get this place clean."
Khalil set to work without really introducing himself. He simply nodded towards his new boss and dismissed himself to the attached garage area since he had not seen it yet.
The garage was an unsurprising dump. Some of the built in storage units were falling apart, a broken down gravity jack lay in the corner, and several rusted out bits of miscellanea littered the floor. After scrounging through the useless junk in the storage units, Khalil found a beat up, but serviceable plasma torch. After picking at the nozzle and adjustment dial with his knife, Khalil had it working again. It was a simple fix, but a set of real tools would be needed to fully repair it. At the very least, the set of brushes in his firearm cleaning kit could do the job.
He set the torch to the side and proceeded to dump the contents of the storage units in the middle of the floor. A good amount was worthless trash, but little bits here and there could be sold or used to fix other components here and in the main part of the warehouse. Underneath a rather large tarp cover sat a neat stack of sheeted metal. It was in surprisingly good shape, and could be used for all sorts of things. Makeshift defenses and fixing the multitude of holes in the warehouse came to mind first.
The last storage unit revealed a range of electronic wiring and conduits. This was a proverbial jackpot, as the metals used in electrical wiring are relatively valuable, and if it's actually used for its intended purpose, there was almost nothing electrical that couldn't be fixed with a good rerouting of wires. The generators in the main floor area came to mind, but even this amount of material wouldn't be enough to fix them. Regardless of that, Khalil lacked to tools to really open them up and fix them.
Khalil spent the next two hours separating the useable from the useless, and hauling the garbage outside. The garage was looking better and almost what a person would call 'clean' when he was finished. A good bit of repair and restoration would be needed to make the shop good to go, but he'd already started making plans for that. If Kestral didn't do it himself, Khalil would be putting a fair amount of his earnings into this shop. He was formulating ideas for setting up vehicle maintenance lifts, a workbench for fixing armor, and planned on fixing the gravity jack in the next week or so with that plasma torch he'd found.
"Speaking of which." Khalil said aloud to himself before firing it up...
The plasma torch was old and a little crappy, but it still cut through steel with little effort. Khalil had fabricated a small bed right into the wall bordering the warehouse. It could be folded right into the wall to squeeze a little more floorspace out of the shop if it was really needed. One of the better off storage units also made for a great footlocker, which Khalil took the liberty of storing his armor and weapons inside of.
Khalil patted his hands together at his handiwork and wondered if cutting down a portion of the wall between the garage and the warehouse next door would be a good idea. Accessing the garage was inconvenient and possibly dangerous at this point, but cutting straight through a wall and framing in a door wasn't a weekend project either. At least, not with his current set of tools.
Khalil returned to the main floor area of the warehouse and began removing the chassis of the long dormant generators. Most were in good shape from the outside, but the output wires had been cut from each one, most likely salvaged by some scrapper to be sold, and the copper bundles on all but one were also missing. The engines that powered the turbines were all stripped as well, but Khalil thought he could at least get one running with a few credits worth of parts and some fresh fuel. They seemed to be powered by long outdated Wankel rotary engines, but they were solid and reliable once they were running again.
Khalil jotted down the things he needed to get the engines running again, along with what parts the generator rotors needed to actually produce electricity. The wiring harnesses themselves weren't a big problem, as they could be run to any relay Kestral wanted, and power pretty much anything. 50KW generators like these were overkill, and having this many was simply killing overkill. As they sat now, however, they were little more than solid cover in a gun fight.
Khalil delivered the notes of what he needed to Kestral's desk and made for the makeshift barracks that were set up nearby. Without much more than a nod to the others in the room, he grabbed the first mattress he came across and hauled it to the garage where his makeshift bed frame hung.
Gabe- Spectral Light
- Join date : 2009-06-12
Posts : 399
Age : 35
Location : Pax
Re: Black Dawn
by Moon's Jester Wed Jan 25, 2012 10:23 pm
A man in well maintained clothes, if a bit battered, with a full duffel bag in similar condition was not normally a target on Pax. Even with the Naraxis pistol prominently displayed slung in a holster, Jon could feel lingering gazes, hungrily eying his gear. The few people still around anyway.
“What a grand place we have here.” Jon muttered under his breath. The soft-case for his sniper rifle would have been a tempting target had it been visible. A few greasy dirty things shambled idly along the street, staring with rabid eyes. A few shepherds in third-rate armor glared at him for making the natives restless. Jon pretended not to notice, sauntering confidently down the street. The entire area made his palms tingle, and he fought the need to nervously fidget with his pistol. The effort wasn't entirely successful, and Jon loosened the pistol in the holster.
The buildings in the block around were scarred and crumbling. Jon blinked a few times, and then hesitantly opened his right eye. Rarely using it had an interesting benefit; it was easier to memorize with it. He started scanning the block surrounding the Kestral's place. Luckily, it was separated from the other buildings enough to create some good fire lanes. It was still tight enough to make being swarmed possible, and Jon shuddered at the thought of being attacked by the crazy Bombers. His right cheek twitched, surpressing memories long past.
Jon noticed three buildings on his scan that might be worth buying later if Kestral really wanted to turn the place into a fortress. A crumbling five story building about half a block to the north would make a good fortified outpost, with a good line of sight for sniping, as well as a heavy weapons enfilade. There were two squat rectangular buildings across the southwest corner of the garage. He doubted anyone would use the 'grocery store' and 'pawn shop' would make it into a bunker, if any thing, it looked like a former waste treatment facility and attendant storage, no doubt honeycombed with holes and structural weaknesses.
Everything else was haze of one and two story buildings tight-packed and crumbling. A few lots were mostly cleared of rubble, and a few makeshift shacks looked semi-inhabited. Bullet holes were ubiquitous in a hell hole, and he wasn't going to get close enough to check for age. Maybe twenty people were 'living' in the vicinity of his new home. Jon's hands tingled unpleasantly and he made a mental not to sleep with a loaded gun. The warehouse itself didn't look like much from the outside, but the garage was spacious. He checked there first, assuming he would spending most of his time working there.
A quick peek inside revealed a rusting hulk and open space. It lacked a few amenities to make it a real working garage, the depressed pits with supports for instance. It was also unpleasantly isolated from the main building. Maybe digging out a pit, and a tunnel would make a nice secret bolt hole, but who knew if the foundation would support it. Jon sighed, and once again wished he could legally obtain a deep space pilot certs. Neither his lineage nor his eye would pass muster with the GDF, so without his own ship it was hopeless. A wish and a dream. Where would I get a credit line for a couple billion credits... Jon grimaced and left the rusty garage.
Jon strode into the garage, acting like his arm wasn't tired from holding a fifty pound bag for what seemed like an eternity. He glanced around, noticing that a few of Kestral's crew were already here. He reflexively opened his right eye to get a better look while walking into the relative darkness.
The reward was a highly detailed image of older man, with hard features. Scars centered around his right eye, a bionic, and the short mohawk emphasized the tough exterior. The man's eyes flicked over. Jon's foot slammed into some rusted piece of crap and he cursed, loudly. The older man grunted softly, no doubt laughing. Jon turned slightly, to see a hooded woman hide her face behind her hand.
“Uhh, hi. I'm Jon.” He scratched the back of his head in embarassment.
“I'm Rebecca. Pleased to meet you.” The voice was soft, but pleasant with a tinge of humor. Jon walked a little closer to hear her more clearly. She didn't back away, but a something of the posture spoke of a need for personal space. Wish they juiced my ears instead of my eyes...
“So are you a regular member of Mr. Kestral's crew?”
Rebecca lifts her slender shoulders in a shrug, "I don't know that there is a regular member. But, I will be working with him, yes."
Jon scratched his nose idly, "I guess you wouldn't know how many people are expected, then." Jon shrugged, and continued, "So why are you in this line of work if you don't mind me asking?"
This time Jon could see more of Rebecca's face when she smiled broadly at him. "The same as everyone else, I'd imagine. The money."
Jon nodded. “Can't argue with that. I wonder what the boss has got in mind for jobs, but I guess the first one will be cleaning this place up.” He kicked the offending rusted junk away. “Wonder if any of the machines are still usable.” A sweeping gesture indicated all rusted hulks from a better time.
Rebecca shrugged slightly. "I don't really know. I just got here too." She looked around at the huge expanse of warehouse and has to agree with a sigh, "Yes. Cleaning."
The corners of his mouth pulled back in a helpless grin. "Can't help it, I suppose. I wonder if the rest is like this too. Some unidentifiable wreck has taken up a dominating presence in our garage. Guess I'll go check."
The rest of the warehouse was no better. He tossed his gear into the middle of cots. The room was obviously the barracks, but Jon was probably just going to use the mag seal and sleep on his much more comfortable hammock anyway, so which one didn't matter much to him. The rest of the gear was neatly stowed underneath the cot. Should be safe enough for now... Jon stopped on second though and pulled out a few extra loaded mags.Couldn't hurt to be safe. The wrecked pipes in the washroom were particularly appalling, and it looked to be at least a five hour job. At least it wasn't piping locked in bulkheads, those jobs were particularly nasty.
Jon wandered back in, and put his back against the wall next to the door that was closest to the barracks. Where he came from, paranoia was encouraged as a survival trait. Two more men in their twenties filtered later. Kestral strode down after an interminable amount of time. It could have been thirty seconds, or thirty minutes. Jon shifted, unsettled by the full load out. Armor always slightly intimidated him, a psychological ploy no doubt intended by the manufacturers. Of course, most didn't have experience with Charisian hell-suits, designed to withstand anything from volcanic activity to a 400 meter ice fall drop. Not that the user would necessarily survive either... The ensuing speech was pretty standard, although the death threat at the beginning was new. Usually mercs waited towards the end to make sure the new recruits remembered.
“Cleaning, fuck that.” Jon muttered softly to himself. I'ld rather have a working bathroom. The bathroom itself was a hellhole. It would be easier to tear it down and renovate the entire thing than patch it up. “Doubt we have the budget...”
Judging from the hole in the wall the entire water system would need to checked. Regardless of Mr. Kestral's desires, the damage mains required some kind of replacement. A few minutes of hunting around found the equivalent of pipe switch board. No doubt some of the controls were originally electronic, but every plumber made sure they had a nexus for physical locks. Playing with those only burst about four more holes in the wall, and no doubt the rest of the crew would be wondering what the sounds were.
Jon walked back out of the bathroom, all the water mains leading locked for the moment. The toilets were next to non-functional, and no one should be drinking the shit that had no doubt leached into the tanks. Maybe there's a cutter and pick in the garage. Aside from a few idle thoughts about finding a copy of the blue prints, which no doubt didn't work anymore, it looked like a complete tear down job. Hopefully no one minded torn out walls, but honestly who was going to notice.
A hand on his shoulder yanked him out of the reverie, and the older guy barked out an order to stand watch. Jon's first thought was to laugh it off, but the man was almost gone. Hope he's not going to the bathroom.
“If you find some rats, try to keep one alive for me!”
“What a grand place we have here.” Jon muttered under his breath. The soft-case for his sniper rifle would have been a tempting target had it been visible. A few greasy dirty things shambled idly along the street, staring with rabid eyes. A few shepherds in third-rate armor glared at him for making the natives restless. Jon pretended not to notice, sauntering confidently down the street. The entire area made his palms tingle, and he fought the need to nervously fidget with his pistol. The effort wasn't entirely successful, and Jon loosened the pistol in the holster.
The buildings in the block around were scarred and crumbling. Jon blinked a few times, and then hesitantly opened his right eye. Rarely using it had an interesting benefit; it was easier to memorize with it. He started scanning the block surrounding the Kestral's place. Luckily, it was separated from the other buildings enough to create some good fire lanes. It was still tight enough to make being swarmed possible, and Jon shuddered at the thought of being attacked by the crazy Bombers. His right cheek twitched, surpressing memories long past.
Jon noticed three buildings on his scan that might be worth buying later if Kestral really wanted to turn the place into a fortress. A crumbling five story building about half a block to the north would make a good fortified outpost, with a good line of sight for sniping, as well as a heavy weapons enfilade. There were two squat rectangular buildings across the southwest corner of the garage. He doubted anyone would use the 'grocery store' and 'pawn shop' would make it into a bunker, if any thing, it looked like a former waste treatment facility and attendant storage, no doubt honeycombed with holes and structural weaknesses.
Everything else was haze of one and two story buildings tight-packed and crumbling. A few lots were mostly cleared of rubble, and a few makeshift shacks looked semi-inhabited. Bullet holes were ubiquitous in a hell hole, and he wasn't going to get close enough to check for age. Maybe twenty people were 'living' in the vicinity of his new home. Jon's hands tingled unpleasantly and he made a mental not to sleep with a loaded gun. The warehouse itself didn't look like much from the outside, but the garage was spacious. He checked there first, assuming he would spending most of his time working there.
A quick peek inside revealed a rusting hulk and open space. It lacked a few amenities to make it a real working garage, the depressed pits with supports for instance. It was also unpleasantly isolated from the main building. Maybe digging out a pit, and a tunnel would make a nice secret bolt hole, but who knew if the foundation would support it. Jon sighed, and once again wished he could legally obtain a deep space pilot certs. Neither his lineage nor his eye would pass muster with the GDF, so without his own ship it was hopeless. A wish and a dream. Where would I get a credit line for a couple billion credits... Jon grimaced and left the rusty garage.
Jon strode into the garage, acting like his arm wasn't tired from holding a fifty pound bag for what seemed like an eternity. He glanced around, noticing that a few of Kestral's crew were already here. He reflexively opened his right eye to get a better look while walking into the relative darkness.
The reward was a highly detailed image of older man, with hard features. Scars centered around his right eye, a bionic, and the short mohawk emphasized the tough exterior. The man's eyes flicked over. Jon's foot slammed into some rusted piece of crap and he cursed, loudly. The older man grunted softly, no doubt laughing. Jon turned slightly, to see a hooded woman hide her face behind her hand.
“Uhh, hi. I'm Jon.” He scratched the back of his head in embarassment.
“I'm Rebecca. Pleased to meet you.” The voice was soft, but pleasant with a tinge of humor. Jon walked a little closer to hear her more clearly. She didn't back away, but a something of the posture spoke of a need for personal space. Wish they juiced my ears instead of my eyes...
“So are you a regular member of Mr. Kestral's crew?”
Rebecca lifts her slender shoulders in a shrug, "I don't know that there is a regular member. But, I will be working with him, yes."
Jon scratched his nose idly, "I guess you wouldn't know how many people are expected, then." Jon shrugged, and continued, "So why are you in this line of work if you don't mind me asking?"
This time Jon could see more of Rebecca's face when she smiled broadly at him. "The same as everyone else, I'd imagine. The money."
Jon nodded. “Can't argue with that. I wonder what the boss has got in mind for jobs, but I guess the first one will be cleaning this place up.” He kicked the offending rusted junk away. “Wonder if any of the machines are still usable.” A sweeping gesture indicated all rusted hulks from a better time.
Rebecca shrugged slightly. "I don't really know. I just got here too." She looked around at the huge expanse of warehouse and has to agree with a sigh, "Yes. Cleaning."
The corners of his mouth pulled back in a helpless grin. "Can't help it, I suppose. I wonder if the rest is like this too. Some unidentifiable wreck has taken up a dominating presence in our garage. Guess I'll go check."
The rest of the warehouse was no better. He tossed his gear into the middle of cots. The room was obviously the barracks, but Jon was probably just going to use the mag seal and sleep on his much more comfortable hammock anyway, so which one didn't matter much to him. The rest of the gear was neatly stowed underneath the cot. Should be safe enough for now... Jon stopped on second though and pulled out a few extra loaded mags.Couldn't hurt to be safe. The wrecked pipes in the washroom were particularly appalling, and it looked to be at least a five hour job. At least it wasn't piping locked in bulkheads, those jobs were particularly nasty.
Jon wandered back in, and put his back against the wall next to the door that was closest to the barracks. Where he came from, paranoia was encouraged as a survival trait. Two more men in their twenties filtered later. Kestral strode down after an interminable amount of time. It could have been thirty seconds, or thirty minutes. Jon shifted, unsettled by the full load out. Armor always slightly intimidated him, a psychological ploy no doubt intended by the manufacturers. Of course, most didn't have experience with Charisian hell-suits, designed to withstand anything from volcanic activity to a 400 meter ice fall drop. Not that the user would necessarily survive either... The ensuing speech was pretty standard, although the death threat at the beginning was new. Usually mercs waited towards the end to make sure the new recruits remembered.
“Cleaning, fuck that.” Jon muttered softly to himself. I'ld rather have a working bathroom. The bathroom itself was a hellhole. It would be easier to tear it down and renovate the entire thing than patch it up. “Doubt we have the budget...”
Judging from the hole in the wall the entire water system would need to checked. Regardless of Mr. Kestral's desires, the damage mains required some kind of replacement. A few minutes of hunting around found the equivalent of pipe switch board. No doubt some of the controls were originally electronic, but every plumber made sure they had a nexus for physical locks. Playing with those only burst about four more holes in the wall, and no doubt the rest of the crew would be wondering what the sounds were.
Jon walked back out of the bathroom, all the water mains leading locked for the moment. The toilets were next to non-functional, and no one should be drinking the shit that had no doubt leached into the tanks. Maybe there's a cutter and pick in the garage. Aside from a few idle thoughts about finding a copy of the blue prints, which no doubt didn't work anymore, it looked like a complete tear down job. Hopefully no one minded torn out walls, but honestly who was going to notice.
A hand on his shoulder yanked him out of the reverie, and the older guy barked out an order to stand watch. Jon's first thought was to laugh it off, but the man was almost gone. Hope he's not going to the bathroom.
“If you find some rats, try to keep one alive for me!”
Moon's Jester- Mist
- Join date : 2011-12-31
Posts : 32
Re: Black Dawn
by quakernuts Thu Jan 26, 2012 7:53 pm
As Vince finished his intro speak to his new crew, thinking it was pretty standard, he made his way back up the stairs. As he finished climbing, and entered his office, he looked at the neatly piled assortment of papers on his desk. Some of these were job offers, others were specs for equipment, and the rest were simply news articles. They couldn't always rely on someone to hire them, sometimes they needed to take a proactive role in life. He made his way around the desk, and sat down in his comfy if somewhat rickety chair. He hated office work, but he had resigned himself to it the moment the thought of starting his own group formed in his mind. As he sorted through the papers, he specifically sought out lower end jobs. Enforcement and protection details that would be easy to coordinate and control a group of mercs who were not yet familiar with each other. It would also be a chance to test several things from each of them, such as loyalty to orders, ability to think on their feet, and intimidation factor. None of them look overly scary, Khy being the closest, but Vince knew that a psycho man was more frightening then a full grown Kira in close combat.
He had sorted through about half of the papers, placing them in 'do' and 'don't' columns. Khalil came in and dropped off his list of salvages and repairs. With little more than a nod, he left the room and Vince took the moment to look it over. It wasn't bad, considering they were getting these items for free. A fairly workable plasma torch, some sheet metal, a broken grav-jack and assorted electrical wiring and conduits. Those themselves would come in handy, everything else was simply a bonus. As he read further about the generators, he knew for a fact that they would be out of commission for a long time. He didn't have the time to pump money into those generators when it had to go towards food, weapons, armour, repairs, bribes, and other mercenary essentials. He wasn't dismissing the idea, but at the moment, it was more a dream than a goal.
Letting the paper slide, he looked at his 'do' pile of jobs. There were only a few, and out of those few were only a couple he knew he could grab for certain without having to worry about other mercenary gangs attempting to horn in on the money. Looking back at the pile that he still had to go through. He gave a slight sigh as he continued. Beginnings were always slow, and he knew that if they didn't want to get killed, that was the speed things needed to be.
It was a couple hours later that Vince had managed to go through the jobs in scrupulous detail. Once that was done, he chose one from the group of possibilities, and made his way down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he was comforted with the fact that, for the most part, people were still cleaning up the area. While dirt, grime, and broken equipment still covered the area, it was already starting to look better then when he first bought the place. He looked around, noticing that a couple were not in the area. He knew that someone would be on guard duty, and if that someone wasn't Khalil, Khalil himself would be in the garage. Vince approached Rebecca.
"Rebecca. Fetch who ever is guarding the front and Khalil." His voice was filled with authority, but not as overly demanding as one might expect. She gave a quick nod, and quickly made her way to fetch the others. Vince took up his old position resting against one of the generators, reading over the job description once more. Once Rebecca returned with whoever was outside the warehouse, Vince stood straight.
"Everyone, listen up!" Vince projected, getting everyone's attention as he stood there waiting to make sure everyone was listening. "Got us a job, nothing big or really well paid, but you expected that." Vince held up the paper. "Alright. A small time extortion job for one of the less well known merchants down here in the Pit trying to make a name for herself." Vince rested himself against the generator once more. "A human merchant by the name of Lila Tileed is wanting us to get rid of, preferrably non-lethally, a Tick merchant by the name of..." Vince took a moment to pronounce the name in his head. "Kil'heen Hera'sten. He'll be with at least two bodyguards, reports have them as humans so it shouldn't be too difficult to deal with." Vince looked up at everyone, and slipped the paper into one of his pouches on his waist. "In a nutshell, get in there, deal with his bodyguards, and force the merchant out of the area non-lethally if possible." Vince sat up, and paced in front of everyone.
"Ian. You'll be tasked with eliminating his guards. Lethal, non-lethal, I don't care so long as you do your best to keep it quiet. Rebecca, you'll stay hidden among the crowds as our contingency alarm. If this Tick has an ace up his sleeve, I want to know before it happens. Jon, you're our backup should things go south. You'll stay back, providing overwatch with your sniper should things take a wrong turn from one of the buildings looking over the Tick's booth. Khalil, Khy, you two will be with me when we confront him. I want it kept clean and quick. No big scenes if we can avoid it, and only shoot the Tick as a last resort. For those of you using a PCD, enter the code 'Beginning' in your search to bring up my frequency. The code will be deleted and locked once you're all connected." Vince crossed his arms in front of him, stopping so he was once again placed center to everyone. "Pay is 2000 credits. Given the math of 25% off the top for me, and split among the rest of you, each of you will walk away with 325 credits." Vince paused for a moment, waiting for reactions before continuing.
"Questions?"
After Vince had answered their questions, he and the rest of his group had taken a bit of a walk from their base of operations. They found themselves in a rather crowded street. It was wide enough that Jon would be able to see down it, but one twitch would most likely send the bullet from his weapon into an innocent rather than his target. The others followed behind him, and as he caught sight of the booth in question, he gave a quick nod backwards. Everyone split up to their assigned duties, and Vince took a moment to look over the booth.
It was a small thing, having a window in a shack with what looked like weapons behind the counter attached to the walls. The building itself was short and small, most likely a few inches shorter than the standard height of a first floor of a multiple story building. It was made of what looked like some substandard metal loosely put together to form what Kil'heen now called his business. Shifting his gaze to the security he started analyzing them. The two guards, humans wearing standard body armour, and carrying Masker SMG's and standing on either side of the booth in a relaxed almost lazy posture. They didn't look intimidating, and Vince doubted either of them had seen action in quite some time. They were in it for the easy money, and nothing else. Vince had nothing else to say about them. They had allowed themselves to get compliant and tried to find an easy way to do a deadly job. It was up to Ian whether or not they died, so he could care less about them. There was a group of people crowded around him, obviously listening to his sales pitch. His booth was also placed in a crossroads of sorts, with one path reaching his place of business, and two paths diverging once you reached his booth. There were multiple escape paths, so Vince had to plan accordingly.
"Khy, take the left road. Khalil, take the right. If the Tick tries to bolt before we get our point across, try to take him down alive. All else fails, kill." Vince looked towards the booth one last time.
"Go."
He had sorted through about half of the papers, placing them in 'do' and 'don't' columns. Khalil came in and dropped off his list of salvages and repairs. With little more than a nod, he left the room and Vince took the moment to look it over. It wasn't bad, considering they were getting these items for free. A fairly workable plasma torch, some sheet metal, a broken grav-jack and assorted electrical wiring and conduits. Those themselves would come in handy, everything else was simply a bonus. As he read further about the generators, he knew for a fact that they would be out of commission for a long time. He didn't have the time to pump money into those generators when it had to go towards food, weapons, armour, repairs, bribes, and other mercenary essentials. He wasn't dismissing the idea, but at the moment, it was more a dream than a goal.
Letting the paper slide, he looked at his 'do' pile of jobs. There were only a few, and out of those few were only a couple he knew he could grab for certain without having to worry about other mercenary gangs attempting to horn in on the money. Looking back at the pile that he still had to go through. He gave a slight sigh as he continued. Beginnings were always slow, and he knew that if they didn't want to get killed, that was the speed things needed to be.
It was a couple hours later that Vince had managed to go through the jobs in scrupulous detail. Once that was done, he chose one from the group of possibilities, and made his way down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he was comforted with the fact that, for the most part, people were still cleaning up the area. While dirt, grime, and broken equipment still covered the area, it was already starting to look better then when he first bought the place. He looked around, noticing that a couple were not in the area. He knew that someone would be on guard duty, and if that someone wasn't Khalil, Khalil himself would be in the garage. Vince approached Rebecca.
"Rebecca. Fetch who ever is guarding the front and Khalil." His voice was filled with authority, but not as overly demanding as one might expect. She gave a quick nod, and quickly made her way to fetch the others. Vince took up his old position resting against one of the generators, reading over the job description once more. Once Rebecca returned with whoever was outside the warehouse, Vince stood straight.
"Everyone, listen up!" Vince projected, getting everyone's attention as he stood there waiting to make sure everyone was listening. "Got us a job, nothing big or really well paid, but you expected that." Vince held up the paper. "Alright. A small time extortion job for one of the less well known merchants down here in the Pit trying to make a name for herself." Vince rested himself against the generator once more. "A human merchant by the name of Lila Tileed is wanting us to get rid of, preferrably non-lethally, a Tick merchant by the name of..." Vince took a moment to pronounce the name in his head. "Kil'heen Hera'sten. He'll be with at least two bodyguards, reports have them as humans so it shouldn't be too difficult to deal with." Vince looked up at everyone, and slipped the paper into one of his pouches on his waist. "In a nutshell, get in there, deal with his bodyguards, and force the merchant out of the area non-lethally if possible." Vince sat up, and paced in front of everyone.
"Ian. You'll be tasked with eliminating his guards. Lethal, non-lethal, I don't care so long as you do your best to keep it quiet. Rebecca, you'll stay hidden among the crowds as our contingency alarm. If this Tick has an ace up his sleeve, I want to know before it happens. Jon, you're our backup should things go south. You'll stay back, providing overwatch with your sniper should things take a wrong turn from one of the buildings looking over the Tick's booth. Khalil, Khy, you two will be with me when we confront him. I want it kept clean and quick. No big scenes if we can avoid it, and only shoot the Tick as a last resort. For those of you using a PCD, enter the code 'Beginning' in your search to bring up my frequency. The code will be deleted and locked once you're all connected." Vince crossed his arms in front of him, stopping so he was once again placed center to everyone. "Pay is 2000 credits. Given the math of 25% off the top for me, and split among the rest of you, each of you will walk away with 325 credits." Vince paused for a moment, waiting for reactions before continuing.
"Questions?"
After Vince had answered their questions, he and the rest of his group had taken a bit of a walk from their base of operations. They found themselves in a rather crowded street. It was wide enough that Jon would be able to see down it, but one twitch would most likely send the bullet from his weapon into an innocent rather than his target. The others followed behind him, and as he caught sight of the booth in question, he gave a quick nod backwards. Everyone split up to their assigned duties, and Vince took a moment to look over the booth.
It was a small thing, having a window in a shack with what looked like weapons behind the counter attached to the walls. The building itself was short and small, most likely a few inches shorter than the standard height of a first floor of a multiple story building. It was made of what looked like some substandard metal loosely put together to form what Kil'heen now called his business. Shifting his gaze to the security he started analyzing them. The two guards, humans wearing standard body armour, and carrying Masker SMG's and standing on either side of the booth in a relaxed almost lazy posture. They didn't look intimidating, and Vince doubted either of them had seen action in quite some time. They were in it for the easy money, and nothing else. Vince had nothing else to say about them. They had allowed themselves to get compliant and tried to find an easy way to do a deadly job. It was up to Ian whether or not they died, so he could care less about them. There was a group of people crowded around him, obviously listening to his sales pitch. His booth was also placed in a crossroads of sorts, with one path reaching his place of business, and two paths diverging once you reached his booth. There were multiple escape paths, so Vince had to plan accordingly.
"Khy, take the left road. Khalil, take the right. If the Tick tries to bolt before we get our point across, try to take him down alive. All else fails, kill." Vince looked towards the booth one last time.
"Go."
quakernuts- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-09-19
Posts : 702
Age : 32
Location : Sask. Canada
Re: Black Dawn
by Anubis Thu Jan 26, 2012 9:49 pm
"GO."
Ian walking onto the crowd and vanished. Even people who were watching him would have lost track in the mass of people. He walked through the people, his eyes on his targets. He had multiple ideas go through his head at once. One, that he was rather fond of, involved getting one guard, then climbing up and over the stall to the other guard. This idea ultimately was shot down as he figured the climbing would make too much noise. If he managed to alert the merchant, this whole thing would go south really quick.
Another idea that came to mind involved paying a few people to help distract one guard and the merchant, allowing him time and opportunity to take out the guards one at a time. He shook his head, this was a bad idea. Not only did he not have the credits for that sort of thing, but he would involve a lot of people in their mission that didn't need to be involved.
As he walked, he closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath, remembering the centering techniques he learned years ago. When he opened his eyes again, he saw his opportunity. He made his way through the people, and came up to the one of the guards, walking past the man, and appearing to go unnoticed. He quickly grabbed the man by elbow and pulled with all his might, bringing the guard around the wall with him quickly and without sound. He used the momentum of the guard moving to bring his right arm around the man's face and over his mouth. He the unsheathed his knife and brought it across the guard's throat in a quick and clean motion. He felt the man struggle, trying to fight, but he had been caught unawares and the life was draining from him quickly. Ian lowered him to the ground quietly and propped him against the wall, so he would appear to be asleep until inspected closely. The whole thing had taken ten seconds, all in all. Ian cursed under his breath, in the old days he would be done by now. One down, one to go.
Ian crept up to the other side of the wall and took a quick glance around, checking that the guard was still leaning casually. He waited half a second while the crowd surged around and took chance. He grabbed the guard and yanked him around the wall. This time, however, Ian had misjudged the size of the man. He quickly pushed a foot off the wall to get the height necessary to grab him about the mouth, and that second gave the guard's wildly swinging arm a chance to clock Ian in the eye. His world erupted into pain and stars, but he could cut a throat on instinct alone at this point. He kept his hold on the man's mouth and sunk the knife into the flesh, felling the man tense as he realised what was happening. He struggled a little, but it was pointless and he too fell. Ian took a moment to prop him up too, struggling a moment with his weight, but ultimately succeeding. This one had taken fifteen seconds. Ian nodded, less than thirty seconds for both, maybe he wasn't losing it after all.
He pulled the hood of his cloak up, using it's shadows to hide his newly black eye and quickly made his way around the wall and back into the crowd. He was back to Kestral within thirty seconds and he hoarsely muttered.
"Done boss, your move."
Ian walking onto the crowd and vanished. Even people who were watching him would have lost track in the mass of people. He walked through the people, his eyes on his targets. He had multiple ideas go through his head at once. One, that he was rather fond of, involved getting one guard, then climbing up and over the stall to the other guard. This idea ultimately was shot down as he figured the climbing would make too much noise. If he managed to alert the merchant, this whole thing would go south really quick.
Another idea that came to mind involved paying a few people to help distract one guard and the merchant, allowing him time and opportunity to take out the guards one at a time. He shook his head, this was a bad idea. Not only did he not have the credits for that sort of thing, but he would involve a lot of people in their mission that didn't need to be involved.
As he walked, he closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath, remembering the centering techniques he learned years ago. When he opened his eyes again, he saw his opportunity. He made his way through the people, and came up to the one of the guards, walking past the man, and appearing to go unnoticed. He quickly grabbed the man by elbow and pulled with all his might, bringing the guard around the wall with him quickly and without sound. He used the momentum of the guard moving to bring his right arm around the man's face and over his mouth. He the unsheathed his knife and brought it across the guard's throat in a quick and clean motion. He felt the man struggle, trying to fight, but he had been caught unawares and the life was draining from him quickly. Ian lowered him to the ground quietly and propped him against the wall, so he would appear to be asleep until inspected closely. The whole thing had taken ten seconds, all in all. Ian cursed under his breath, in the old days he would be done by now. One down, one to go.
Ian crept up to the other side of the wall and took a quick glance around, checking that the guard was still leaning casually. He waited half a second while the crowd surged around and took chance. He grabbed the guard and yanked him around the wall. This time, however, Ian had misjudged the size of the man. He quickly pushed a foot off the wall to get the height necessary to grab him about the mouth, and that second gave the guard's wildly swinging arm a chance to clock Ian in the eye. His world erupted into pain and stars, but he could cut a throat on instinct alone at this point. He kept his hold on the man's mouth and sunk the knife into the flesh, felling the man tense as he realised what was happening. He struggled a little, but it was pointless and he too fell. Ian took a moment to prop him up too, struggling a moment with his weight, but ultimately succeeding. This one had taken fifteen seconds. Ian nodded, less than thirty seconds for both, maybe he wasn't losing it after all.
He pulled the hood of his cloak up, using it's shadows to hide his newly black eye and quickly made his way around the wall and back into the crowd. He was back to Kestral within thirty seconds and he hoarsely muttered.
"Done boss, your move."
Anubis- Mist
- Join date : 2011-11-28
Posts : 58
Age : 39
Location : Texas
Re: Black Dawn
by Digital Muse Sat Jan 28, 2012 8:17 pm
A few hours passed while Rebecca swept, cleared and cleaned almost everything not nailed down in the bunk area. It took 4 trips to the back of the building to dump garbage, detris and sweepings to have the place looking livable. At least by her standards. The others went about their own version of chores, but Rebecca could see that it would take quite a while before the warehouse was truly a workable place to work and stay in.
The rest of the group were reticent, obviously not trusting one another so soon. Rebecca really couldn't fault anyone that trait. It was simply survival, after all. She wondered if Kestral showing up in his full armor helped them place a little more faith not only in Kestral's ability to keep them alive, but also in what he said he would do if they didn't hold up their end of things. Somehow, she thought that Kestral knew exactly the effect the armor had.
On her last trip back from the refuse pile she'd started behind the building, Kestral caught her attention and send her to fetch Jon and the mechanic, Khalil. Once they were all gathered once more, Kestral laid out the first job he'd chosen for them. It was a very simple job and Rebecca was sure it was a test more than anything for his team. A quick sketch out of his plan and each of their roles in it were laid out.
Rebecca chewed the inside of her lip. She never did jobs in the open market. She belonged in the underground or the air shafts. It scared her, but she was determined. 325 credits was huge for her.
Wasting no time, Kestral got the group moving to the market area of the Pit. Giving a signal, they all split up to take their places. Rebecca knew she had to place herself where she could see as much of the surrounding area as she could and yet close enough to warn Kestral if something went wrong. She looked around quickly and when she looked back to the Tick's stall, she noticed one of the guards was gone. She blinked. She hadn't seen a thing and yet the big human had simply vanished. The Tick kept up his patter, trying to draw in the customers, not aware he was down one....oops! The other guard was jerked around the end of the stall with no one appearing to notice. Not even his employer.
Rebecca decided she couldn't get to any sort of high ground, so she spent her time weaving through the crowds, watching for hands on guns or other weapons or beginning to converge in Kestral's direction. If she kept circling the general area with no discernible pattern, maybe she could spot trouble before it became more than an annoyance. Her copper pipe tanged along the street in a regular pattern as she used it like a cane for the blind. It helped people steer clear of her path and had the added bonus of letting people overlook her as a non-entity. Maybe Kestral could hear it over the hue and cry of the market as well, but she couldn't be sure of that yet.
Once or twice, Rebecca paused to look at the goggles she still coveted for her light-sensitive eyes, but invariably, the shop-keeper waved her off within seconds pegging her for a Bottom Dweller. Soon, she promised herself. Soon she could buy some. A large man with an obvious armored vest and large rifle stood blocking her view of the stall that they had been sent to. As the man began to move forward, Rebecca had to make a split second decision. Was he moving against them? Was he just another bystander? She couldn't take the chance. Reaching out, Rebecca slipped the copper pipe between his feet, catching his ankles. The man fell to his hands and knees heavily with a growled out curse. The fall was so heavy that the copper pipe was wrenched from Rebecca's hands and she fell into the man with a small squeak of alarm. The man was up in a flash, tossing Rebecca off of him bodily. Her hood fell back revealing her mutated face. Fearing he'd try to kick her, but needing to keep up the act, Rebecca started scrambling, feeling for her length of copper pipe. "I-I'm sorry! Where's my cane?" She kept feeling around, even though no one stopped to help her. "I'm so sorry. Please, don't hurt me," The act of helplessness, apparently was convincing enough because the man just snorted in disgust. After a few minutes of cursing her out and laying horrible curses on the heads of her and all 'freaks' from down below, the man shoved his way through the crowd in another direction entirely.
Retrieving her pipe, Rebecca stood, adjusted her hood again and took a deep breath to calm her shakiness. "Ohmigod....I dunno if I can do this." She whispered to herself.
The rest of the group were reticent, obviously not trusting one another so soon. Rebecca really couldn't fault anyone that trait. It was simply survival, after all. She wondered if Kestral showing up in his full armor helped them place a little more faith not only in Kestral's ability to keep them alive, but also in what he said he would do if they didn't hold up their end of things. Somehow, she thought that Kestral knew exactly the effect the armor had.
On her last trip back from the refuse pile she'd started behind the building, Kestral caught her attention and send her to fetch Jon and the mechanic, Khalil. Once they were all gathered once more, Kestral laid out the first job he'd chosen for them. It was a very simple job and Rebecca was sure it was a test more than anything for his team. A quick sketch out of his plan and each of their roles in it were laid out.
Rebecca chewed the inside of her lip. She never did jobs in the open market. She belonged in the underground or the air shafts. It scared her, but she was determined. 325 credits was huge for her.
Wasting no time, Kestral got the group moving to the market area of the Pit. Giving a signal, they all split up to take their places. Rebecca knew she had to place herself where she could see as much of the surrounding area as she could and yet close enough to warn Kestral if something went wrong. She looked around quickly and when she looked back to the Tick's stall, she noticed one of the guards was gone. She blinked. She hadn't seen a thing and yet the big human had simply vanished. The Tick kept up his patter, trying to draw in the customers, not aware he was down one....oops! The other guard was jerked around the end of the stall with no one appearing to notice. Not even his employer.
Rebecca decided she couldn't get to any sort of high ground, so she spent her time weaving through the crowds, watching for hands on guns or other weapons or beginning to converge in Kestral's direction. If she kept circling the general area with no discernible pattern, maybe she could spot trouble before it became more than an annoyance. Her copper pipe tanged along the street in a regular pattern as she used it like a cane for the blind. It helped people steer clear of her path and had the added bonus of letting people overlook her as a non-entity. Maybe Kestral could hear it over the hue and cry of the market as well, but she couldn't be sure of that yet.
Once or twice, Rebecca paused to look at the goggles she still coveted for her light-sensitive eyes, but invariably, the shop-keeper waved her off within seconds pegging her for a Bottom Dweller. Soon, she promised herself. Soon she could buy some. A large man with an obvious armored vest and large rifle stood blocking her view of the stall that they had been sent to. As the man began to move forward, Rebecca had to make a split second decision. Was he moving against them? Was he just another bystander? She couldn't take the chance. Reaching out, Rebecca slipped the copper pipe between his feet, catching his ankles. The man fell to his hands and knees heavily with a growled out curse. The fall was so heavy that the copper pipe was wrenched from Rebecca's hands and she fell into the man with a small squeak of alarm. The man was up in a flash, tossing Rebecca off of him bodily. Her hood fell back revealing her mutated face. Fearing he'd try to kick her, but needing to keep up the act, Rebecca started scrambling, feeling for her length of copper pipe. "I-I'm sorry! Where's my cane?" She kept feeling around, even though no one stopped to help her. "I'm so sorry. Please, don't hurt me," The act of helplessness, apparently was convincing enough because the man just snorted in disgust. After a few minutes of cursing her out and laying horrible curses on the heads of her and all 'freaks' from down below, the man shoved his way through the crowd in another direction entirely.
Retrieving her pipe, Rebecca stood, adjusted her hood again and took a deep breath to calm her shakiness. "Ohmigod....I dunno if I can do this." She whispered to herself.
Digital Muse- Guardian Ghost
- Join date : 2009-08-12
Posts : 1381
Location : South Dakota
Re: Black Dawn
by Moon's Jester Tue Feb 07, 2012 8:35 pm
Jon kept his head down, the brim of a stolen cap covering as much of his face as possible. The street seller had no doubt found discovered the theft now, but he was already gone, lost in the crush of the crowd. The beaten duffel bag clinked together over his shoulder, and with the hat, hopefully he would appear like any other repair man. There wasn't time to get a better disguise, but Jon was going to make do. His hands tingled in anticipation of trouble; he needed to get set up fast, but without making a commotion.
He started pushing his way through the crowd faster, heading towards the run-down four story building that would give him some decent vantage point on the target. The smell of the unwashed masses was less than pleasant, and a trail of curses behind. He was swallowed in Brownian motion of the crowd before anyone could complain face to face.
Jon was rattled the door to the rear exit. He consulted his mental clock, and figured he had about five more minutes of leeway. He glanced around and then popped off the outside pins in the hinges with the butt of his gun and the multi-tool. The lock and the strength of the door was irrelevant if they forgot to protect the hinges. He chuckled softly, and wrenched open the door. A bit of effort pulled the door off, and then he balanced it precariously so it looked closed. Hopefully no one would notice in the next hour or so.
Jon walked quickly up the stairs, ignoring the startled or suspicious looks. Usually, if you walked with authority people assumed you were supposed to be there, especially after getting in. Hopefully, they will just think I am the new guy. The fourth floor was almost completely deserted when he pushed open the door. A pair of teen girls stared at him strangely, and he nodded in their direction. Jon kept walking past, and knocked loudly on the apartment next to the stairs. No one answered, so he rapped his knuckles against the door louder. No one answered again.
“Maintenance, anybody home?” Silence continued. He glanced around, and noticed the girls had left. The lock picks came out, and his hands trembled slightly. He took a few deep breaths to calm the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and started picking the lock. It didn't take long, and he swung the door open to a small entryway, and locked it behind him.
Jon shut the door and drew his pistol. It was three room apartment, battered but well maintained. No one was home. He opened the duffel bag and pulled out a string of bells and some tape. They would ring if someone tried to open the door. A little creative rearranging of the furniture gave him a stable shooting position, although a book and a towel needed to be used to make sure neither it nor the chair rocked. Kestral's command to proceed was a little to early for Jon, and he rapidly reassembled the sniper rifle. Checking the wind and the range ate up another ten seconds, but he was dialed in just in time to see Ian walk out from an alley. The tick either didn't notice or didn't care that his guards were temporarily missing. Wonder if I can get him to help me swipe some pipes? Jon watched for a bit.
“Boss, you're clear. The target hasn't noticed his missing guards.” Kestral clicked once in acknowledgment. He started moving through the crowd, and Jon began breathing deeply and slowly to bring down his heart rate as much as possible. He nestled into the rifle and opened his right eye once Kestral broke the ring of people. Jon couldn't tell what was being said over the background noise, but the Tick looked startled. The floater jerked to one side as the prick started to run away.
Crack!
The shot ripped a chunk out of the floater, but it kept functioning. The hole sparked, and smoke rose from the damaged machine. He reloaded the rifle in smooth practiced gestures while cursing. The crowd had yet to notice or react in general panic. It wouldn't last long. The floater shuddered, and started jerking the tick in different directions.
Crack!
The second shot clipped the floater, ripping another chunk out, but it kept going. The crowd had figured out what was going on and started panicking, hiding the floater from view. Jon reloaded again, hands going through the graceful motions of muscle memory.
“Can't get another shot at the floater, Boss. I can kill him, but only for about another ten seconds.”
He started pushing his way through the crowd faster, heading towards the run-down four story building that would give him some decent vantage point on the target. The smell of the unwashed masses was less than pleasant, and a trail of curses behind. He was swallowed in Brownian motion of the crowd before anyone could complain face to face.
Jon was rattled the door to the rear exit. He consulted his mental clock, and figured he had about five more minutes of leeway. He glanced around and then popped off the outside pins in the hinges with the butt of his gun and the multi-tool. The lock and the strength of the door was irrelevant if they forgot to protect the hinges. He chuckled softly, and wrenched open the door. A bit of effort pulled the door off, and then he balanced it precariously so it looked closed. Hopefully no one would notice in the next hour or so.
Jon walked quickly up the stairs, ignoring the startled or suspicious looks. Usually, if you walked with authority people assumed you were supposed to be there, especially after getting in. Hopefully, they will just think I am the new guy. The fourth floor was almost completely deserted when he pushed open the door. A pair of teen girls stared at him strangely, and he nodded in their direction. Jon kept walking past, and knocked loudly on the apartment next to the stairs. No one answered, so he rapped his knuckles against the door louder. No one answered again.
“Maintenance, anybody home?” Silence continued. He glanced around, and noticed the girls had left. The lock picks came out, and his hands trembled slightly. He took a few deep breaths to calm the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and started picking the lock. It didn't take long, and he swung the door open to a small entryway, and locked it behind him.
Jon shut the door and drew his pistol. It was three room apartment, battered but well maintained. No one was home. He opened the duffel bag and pulled out a string of bells and some tape. They would ring if someone tried to open the door. A little creative rearranging of the furniture gave him a stable shooting position, although a book and a towel needed to be used to make sure neither it nor the chair rocked. Kestral's command to proceed was a little to early for Jon, and he rapidly reassembled the sniper rifle. Checking the wind and the range ate up another ten seconds, but he was dialed in just in time to see Ian walk out from an alley. The tick either didn't notice or didn't care that his guards were temporarily missing. Wonder if I can get him to help me swipe some pipes? Jon watched for a bit.
“Boss, you're clear. The target hasn't noticed his missing guards.” Kestral clicked once in acknowledgment. He started moving through the crowd, and Jon began breathing deeply and slowly to bring down his heart rate as much as possible. He nestled into the rifle and opened his right eye once Kestral broke the ring of people. Jon couldn't tell what was being said over the background noise, but the Tick looked startled. The floater jerked to one side as the prick started to run away.
Crack!
The shot ripped a chunk out of the floater, but it kept functioning. The hole sparked, and smoke rose from the damaged machine. He reloaded the rifle in smooth practiced gestures while cursing. The crowd had yet to notice or react in general panic. It wouldn't last long. The floater shuddered, and started jerking the tick in different directions.
Crack!
The second shot clipped the floater, ripping another chunk out, but it kept going. The crowd had figured out what was going on and started panicking, hiding the floater from view. Jon reloaded again, hands going through the graceful motions of muscle memory.
“Can't get another shot at the floater, Boss. I can kill him, but only for about another ten seconds.”
Moon's Jester- Mist
- Join date : 2011-12-31
Posts : 32
Re: Black Dawn
by Gabe Thu Feb 09, 2012 12:02 am
Khalil returned to work in the garage after delivering his list to Kestral. The broken down gravity jack in the corner seemed to be calling his name. An earlier inspection revealed that two of its anti gravity emitters needed to be fixed, but their integral design meant that the plasma torch would be needed to cut them out of the jack's frame. Khalil grabbed his helmet and gauntlets from the storage unit on the wall and put them on. The helmet's tinted lens partially protected his eyes while the gauntlets made for decent makeshift welding gloves. Khalil chuckled to himself at the thought; his armor had been getting more use in this way than its intended purpose.
After dismantling the jack, Khalil used a wire brush to clean the corrosion off of the non insulated sections of wire, and replaced the burned out bits that were causing the faulty emitters to fail. Thankfully the emitters themselves seemed serviceable. Using a few bits of sheet metal, Khalil fabricated four brackets for the emitters to rest in, so they would be easier to remove and service if they failed again. The jack itself would probably be better off in a scrap yard, but this simple fix would suffice for now.
As Khalil was reassembling the jack, Rebecca peeked in through the door. She seemed rather timid, which Khalil completely understood. He wasn't particularly sociable himself. She explained what was going on and lead him back to the main warehouse area where Kestral was explaining the group's first assignment. He was suited in full armor already, which reminded Khalil that he was still wearing just the gauntlets of his Lavaskin. Nobody seemed to notice, so he made no effort to correct himself.
Once Kestral was done, Khalil silently dismissed himself back to the garage for the rest of his equipment. He didn't have any questions anyway. He already started budgeting the 325 credits he'd get for finishing the job. It wouldn't get much, but using his leftover funds from his previous work, he could at least afford a good armor surfacing tool and a rudimentary tool set for fixing various things around the warehouse. More specialized tools like what he had before moving to Pax could be ignored until they purchased a vehicle or Kestral decided to go ahead with restoring the generators.
Khalil checked his Spartan one last time before rallying out front with the others. He loaded a magazine, but didn't chamber a round yet. His Lavaskin armor was in immaculate condition, which wasn't a big surprise considering how infrequently Khalil actually wore it. Thankfully the helmet hid his face. He wasn't particularly good at putting on an intimidating air, so the empty stare of a tinted visor was definitely a bonus. Standing out front with the boss was a simple part of the job too, or so he hoped. If everything went well, he wouldn't even need to speak, just stand there and be intimidating.
Khalil synchronized his PCD to Kestral's frequency. He made a mental note to himself to secure himself a copy of the necessary software to integrate the PCD into a helmet display. While this mission probably wouldn't require it, there would definitely be times where he would need to use the PCD or his PDA without taking his helmet off.
The group split up into their individual parts as they approached the vendor's stall. Khalil gripped his rifle nervously, but maintained an aggressive posture as Kestral addressed the store owner.
After dismantling the jack, Khalil used a wire brush to clean the corrosion off of the non insulated sections of wire, and replaced the burned out bits that were causing the faulty emitters to fail. Thankfully the emitters themselves seemed serviceable. Using a few bits of sheet metal, Khalil fabricated four brackets for the emitters to rest in, so they would be easier to remove and service if they failed again. The jack itself would probably be better off in a scrap yard, but this simple fix would suffice for now.
As Khalil was reassembling the jack, Rebecca peeked in through the door. She seemed rather timid, which Khalil completely understood. He wasn't particularly sociable himself. She explained what was going on and lead him back to the main warehouse area where Kestral was explaining the group's first assignment. He was suited in full armor already, which reminded Khalil that he was still wearing just the gauntlets of his Lavaskin. Nobody seemed to notice, so he made no effort to correct himself.
Once Kestral was done, Khalil silently dismissed himself back to the garage for the rest of his equipment. He didn't have any questions anyway. He already started budgeting the 325 credits he'd get for finishing the job. It wouldn't get much, but using his leftover funds from his previous work, he could at least afford a good armor surfacing tool and a rudimentary tool set for fixing various things around the warehouse. More specialized tools like what he had before moving to Pax could be ignored until they purchased a vehicle or Kestral decided to go ahead with restoring the generators.
Khalil checked his Spartan one last time before rallying out front with the others. He loaded a magazine, but didn't chamber a round yet. His Lavaskin armor was in immaculate condition, which wasn't a big surprise considering how infrequently Khalil actually wore it. Thankfully the helmet hid his face. He wasn't particularly good at putting on an intimidating air, so the empty stare of a tinted visor was definitely a bonus. Standing out front with the boss was a simple part of the job too, or so he hoped. If everything went well, he wouldn't even need to speak, just stand there and be intimidating.
Khalil synchronized his PCD to Kestral's frequency. He made a mental note to himself to secure himself a copy of the necessary software to integrate the PCD into a helmet display. While this mission probably wouldn't require it, there would definitely be times where he would need to use the PCD or his PDA without taking his helmet off.
The group split up into their individual parts as they approached the vendor's stall. Khalil gripped his rifle nervously, but maintained an aggressive posture as Kestral addressed the store owner.
Gabe- Spectral Light
- Join date : 2009-06-12
Posts : 399
Age : 35
Location : Pax
Re: Black Dawn
by Guilty Carrion Fri Feb 10, 2012 12:06 am
It was good to be working again. Cracking his shoulders, Khymera kept his position beside Kestral as they moved through the big crowds of the market. The armour did it's work, parting the mobs like a proverbial messiah splitting the seas. Whether through dumb luck or benevolent intervention, the crowd that surrounded their target didn't seem to even mind their arrival, focused on whatever pitch the Tick was tossing out.
Eighty percent of it was shit, but he was obviously doing enough to piss someone off, particularly this Lila Tileed that had so graciously employed their unknown outfit. Sparing a glance to their dispersing group, it was hard not to peg it as over-kill. Kestral probably could have done this job solo, but he'd dragged every one of his grunts down here in either a show of force, or what was likely to be a lovely shakedown run for a bunch of unknowns.
Did he count as an unknown? Probably. He'd never worked with Kestral, and as far as he knew, they'd never crossed paths in the combat zone. It'd serve well to make a good impression, but this wasn't exactly the situation for it.
Shrugging, Khy glanced to Kestral as he issued his orders, nodding once before meandering through the crowd. Once in position, he busied himself at one of the local food joints, examining various foods as the cook tried to coerce him into a purchase.
The situation progressed smoothly, and the older merc almost caved into buying on of the meals when the crack of a sniper rifle rang out. He turned slowly, almost casual from his post, as a second shot sent the crowd into a panicked rush. The damaged floater raced forward, and a smile spread across his lips.
His gauntlet snapped out, catching the front of the floater. The Tick lurched in it's seat, the momentum almost flinging it, but it's tiny hands quickly tried to navigate the device away from him. Khy gripped the alien's throat and hoisted it unceremoniously from it's floater, tossing the device away once the target was clear. "No running for you, friend. We just need a word, and then we'll be out of your hair." He blinked behind his helmet. "Metaphorical hair, anyway."
Tossing it into the dirt, Khy pulled one of his Lyger's from it's magnetic clamp on the small of his back, leveling it on the tick's large head. "Now you just sit pretty, and let the chief have a few words with you."
Eighty percent of it was shit, but he was obviously doing enough to piss someone off, particularly this Lila Tileed that had so graciously employed their unknown outfit. Sparing a glance to their dispersing group, it was hard not to peg it as over-kill. Kestral probably could have done this job solo, but he'd dragged every one of his grunts down here in either a show of force, or what was likely to be a lovely shakedown run for a bunch of unknowns.
Did he count as an unknown? Probably. He'd never worked with Kestral, and as far as he knew, they'd never crossed paths in the combat zone. It'd serve well to make a good impression, but this wasn't exactly the situation for it.
Shrugging, Khy glanced to Kestral as he issued his orders, nodding once before meandering through the crowd. Once in position, he busied himself at one of the local food joints, examining various foods as the cook tried to coerce him into a purchase.
The situation progressed smoothly, and the older merc almost caved into buying on of the meals when the crack of a sniper rifle rang out. He turned slowly, almost casual from his post, as a second shot sent the crowd into a panicked rush. The damaged floater raced forward, and a smile spread across his lips.
His gauntlet snapped out, catching the front of the floater. The Tick lurched in it's seat, the momentum almost flinging it, but it's tiny hands quickly tried to navigate the device away from him. Khy gripped the alien's throat and hoisted it unceremoniously from it's floater, tossing the device away once the target was clear. "No running for you, friend. We just need a word, and then we'll be out of your hair." He blinked behind his helmet. "Metaphorical hair, anyway."
Tossing it into the dirt, Khy pulled one of his Lyger's from it's magnetic clamp on the small of his back, leveling it on the tick's large head. "Now you just sit pretty, and let the chief have a few words with you."
Guilty Carrion- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2010-01-12
Posts : 856
Age : 33
Location : The Underdark
Re: Black Dawn
by quakernuts Sat Feb 11, 2012 7:55 pm
The first part was going smoothly. As they all walked forward, Vincent kept an eye on Ian, watching as one guard disappeared, then the other. It wasn't long before the assassin had made his way back to the group, notifying Vince that it was done. He simply nodded, and watched as Khalil and Khy both took opposite sides of the stand in order to keep him from running. Vincent grunted at the crowd, and forcibly made his way to the front. A commotion off to the side caused him to stop mid way to the stall, and saw that Rebecca was having some trouble. He kept an eye out only long enough to ensure the man wouldn't kill her, and when he started moving off in the other direction, Vince returned his full attention back to the merchant and moved forward once more. The Tick looked at him in curiosity, but made no attempt to move or speak. Only when Vince had reached his stand did he bother to say anything. "You really desperate for my supplies I take it merc?"
"Kil'heen Hera'sten?" Vince asked in a gruff tone, his eyes locking on the small alien.
"Yes...?" Kil'heen answered hesitantly. Vince continued.
"Looks like you pissed off some of the wrong people. I suggest you get the fuck out of dodge and don't allow me to see you in this part of town again." Vince stated in a matter of fact tone. The Tick just blinked.
"Really? You really think you're the first mercs to come after me? That bitch Lila has always been trying to oust me because she sells shit! Go try to be intimidating elsewhere! Boys!" The Tick yelled, and when no one came, his face became a bit more panicked. "Boys!" He yelled once more, only to be ignored again. He looked to either side, and noticed his guards weren't there. He cautiously looked to Vince.
"What? You didn't think we wouldn't take out your 'boys' first? One last time, get the fuck out of town." Kil'heen looked at Vince, then out into the crowd, then around his shop. Without notice, he booked it out of the shack out the back. Vince simply looked up at the buildings behind him for a second. A moment later, the crack of a sniper rifle was heard over the din of the crowd. Vince quickly made his way out of the group of people, not wanting to get caught up in the panicked mob of people. A second crack of the sniper rifle, and people started running. Vince got out of the thick of it, and saw the Tick trying to make a getaway on his broken floater.
Luckily Khy was right where he needed to be, as he grabbed the front of the floater and threw Kil'heen out of the contraption. He levelled his pistol at the Tick, but did not fire. Vince simply walked up casually to the Tick, none of his weapons drawn but obviously in plain sight. By now, he had been joined by Khalil, Ian, and Rebecca as they all formed around him. Jon was still providing overwatch for any unnecessary surprises. "We're not your average idiotic guns for hire." Vince knelt down to Kil'heen, who was very much in panic mode at the moment. "You're simply lucky that not killing you is preferred."
"Oh how chivalrous of you, you fucking piece of shit!" Kil'heen spat in Vince's face, but he remained as stoic as ever.
"I said preferred, and the contract never said anything about damage. Khy." The man looked up at him. "Break his arm." The Tick looked around quickly and started spouting off words.
"No! No, I'll leave! I won't come back! I'll get out of here! I'll..."
"A merchants word is worth as much as those piece of shit weapons you were just peddling." The Tick tried to say something else, before Khy's boot came down hard on the creature's arm. Kil'heen shrieked loudly as his bones simply crumbled beneath the man's stomp. He rolled back and forth, cradling his arm and crying from the pain. Vince held a sneer of disgust on his face at the lack of restraint coming from the Tick. Vince knelt down, took out his Tusken Pistol, and gripped the Tick by the throat. He shoved the pistol into his face, and made Kil'heen concentrate on it instead of the pain. "If I so much as hear about you coming back to this part of town, I will find you, and I will make sure that boot is implanted into your head instead of your arm next time around, are we clear?" Vince's voice was as calm as if he was giving a lecture and not a threat, making that much more intimidating.
Kil'heen simply nodded vigorously as he stared at the barrel of the pistol. Vince stood up, holstering his weapon once again. "Good." Vince touched his PCD. "Jon, we're done here. Pack up." Vince then looked to the rest and nodded away from the Tick. They all walked away, leaving the small alien crying in the dirt in pain.
They met up a small time later, the group of them in one of the market areas in the pit. Vince was currently checking his PCD. He stopped long enough to address the whole group. "Alright. You're free to go do whatever you want. I don't care what you do, just be back at the warehouse tonight. I'll have the credits for you all by then." Vince turned and walked away from the group, making his way towards all of their benefactor.
It was a short walk later when he finally met up with her, she was peddling the same shit Kil'heen had been, which meant she had probably already been there in the crowd when the enforcement was in progress, stealing the supplies. What she did was no business of his, they did what they were paid to do, and now he was here to collect. The woman, a short ugly beast of a thing looked at him through a drawn up hood. She smiled, revealing several missing teeth as she wandered over to him.
"That was good work. Breaking the arm was a nice touch."
"I'm not here to recap the job, I'm here to get paid." The woman flinched slightly, and nodded.
"Of course Mr. Kestral. Just a second." She wandered into the back of her shop, and came out holding a bag. "Here you go, 2000 credits as we agreed." Vince took the bag, and looked inside. He took out a few of the square looking things, and did a quick look over at the number of them inside. Satisfied that she wasn't trying to screw them over, he simply nodded and turned to walk away. "I hope we can do business in the future Mr. Kestral!" She yelled after him. Vince just grunted, and continued back to the warehouse.
It had been a couple of hours now, as Vince sat in his office. Night cycle was shutting off the lights used to simulate day, and the others should have been returning soon. Vince himself had been at the warehouse the entire time, his head in his one hand as the other held up the job offers that ranged from bad to worse. He was used to getting better working terms than these, but he had guessed that wouldn't have been the case on Pax. Instead, he had to take the ones that he could get. As the individuals had returned, he had presented each of them with their share and told them to get some sleep for tomorrow. Whether they did that or not was their choice, but if they fucked up a mission because they were too tired, he would make sure they knew who was in charge.
Vince himself had his eyes set on a couple of missions himself, and it was late into the night cycle by the time he had solidified which ones he should grab. By this time, if his crew wasn't in bed, they would be heading there soon. Vince put the jobs in his 'to do' folder, and stripped himself of his armour. Making his way down to the sleeping quarters, and not caring who was actually in there or not, he grabbed a bed that wasn't occupied and quickly made it his own. With little more than a sound, he laid himself on the mattress and fell asleep.
Tomorrow would be a busy day.
"Kil'heen Hera'sten?" Vince asked in a gruff tone, his eyes locking on the small alien.
"Yes...?" Kil'heen answered hesitantly. Vince continued.
"Looks like you pissed off some of the wrong people. I suggest you get the fuck out of dodge and don't allow me to see you in this part of town again." Vince stated in a matter of fact tone. The Tick just blinked.
"Really? You really think you're the first mercs to come after me? That bitch Lila has always been trying to oust me because she sells shit! Go try to be intimidating elsewhere! Boys!" The Tick yelled, and when no one came, his face became a bit more panicked. "Boys!" He yelled once more, only to be ignored again. He looked to either side, and noticed his guards weren't there. He cautiously looked to Vince.
"What? You didn't think we wouldn't take out your 'boys' first? One last time, get the fuck out of town." Kil'heen looked at Vince, then out into the crowd, then around his shop. Without notice, he booked it out of the shack out the back. Vince simply looked up at the buildings behind him for a second. A moment later, the crack of a sniper rifle was heard over the din of the crowd. Vince quickly made his way out of the group of people, not wanting to get caught up in the panicked mob of people. A second crack of the sniper rifle, and people started running. Vince got out of the thick of it, and saw the Tick trying to make a getaway on his broken floater.
Luckily Khy was right where he needed to be, as he grabbed the front of the floater and threw Kil'heen out of the contraption. He levelled his pistol at the Tick, but did not fire. Vince simply walked up casually to the Tick, none of his weapons drawn but obviously in plain sight. By now, he had been joined by Khalil, Ian, and Rebecca as they all formed around him. Jon was still providing overwatch for any unnecessary surprises. "We're not your average idiotic guns for hire." Vince knelt down to Kil'heen, who was very much in panic mode at the moment. "You're simply lucky that not killing you is preferred."
"Oh how chivalrous of you, you fucking piece of shit!" Kil'heen spat in Vince's face, but he remained as stoic as ever.
"I said preferred, and the contract never said anything about damage. Khy." The man looked up at him. "Break his arm." The Tick looked around quickly and started spouting off words.
"No! No, I'll leave! I won't come back! I'll get out of here! I'll..."
"A merchants word is worth as much as those piece of shit weapons you were just peddling." The Tick tried to say something else, before Khy's boot came down hard on the creature's arm. Kil'heen shrieked loudly as his bones simply crumbled beneath the man's stomp. He rolled back and forth, cradling his arm and crying from the pain. Vince held a sneer of disgust on his face at the lack of restraint coming from the Tick. Vince knelt down, took out his Tusken Pistol, and gripped the Tick by the throat. He shoved the pistol into his face, and made Kil'heen concentrate on it instead of the pain. "If I so much as hear about you coming back to this part of town, I will find you, and I will make sure that boot is implanted into your head instead of your arm next time around, are we clear?" Vince's voice was as calm as if he was giving a lecture and not a threat, making that much more intimidating.
Kil'heen simply nodded vigorously as he stared at the barrel of the pistol. Vince stood up, holstering his weapon once again. "Good." Vince touched his PCD. "Jon, we're done here. Pack up." Vince then looked to the rest and nodded away from the Tick. They all walked away, leaving the small alien crying in the dirt in pain.
They met up a small time later, the group of them in one of the market areas in the pit. Vince was currently checking his PCD. He stopped long enough to address the whole group. "Alright. You're free to go do whatever you want. I don't care what you do, just be back at the warehouse tonight. I'll have the credits for you all by then." Vince turned and walked away from the group, making his way towards all of their benefactor.
It was a short walk later when he finally met up with her, she was peddling the same shit Kil'heen had been, which meant she had probably already been there in the crowd when the enforcement was in progress, stealing the supplies. What she did was no business of his, they did what they were paid to do, and now he was here to collect. The woman, a short ugly beast of a thing looked at him through a drawn up hood. She smiled, revealing several missing teeth as she wandered over to him.
"That was good work. Breaking the arm was a nice touch."
"I'm not here to recap the job, I'm here to get paid." The woman flinched slightly, and nodded.
"Of course Mr. Kestral. Just a second." She wandered into the back of her shop, and came out holding a bag. "Here you go, 2000 credits as we agreed." Vince took the bag, and looked inside. He took out a few of the square looking things, and did a quick look over at the number of them inside. Satisfied that she wasn't trying to screw them over, he simply nodded and turned to walk away. "I hope we can do business in the future Mr. Kestral!" She yelled after him. Vince just grunted, and continued back to the warehouse.
It had been a couple of hours now, as Vince sat in his office. Night cycle was shutting off the lights used to simulate day, and the others should have been returning soon. Vince himself had been at the warehouse the entire time, his head in his one hand as the other held up the job offers that ranged from bad to worse. He was used to getting better working terms than these, but he had guessed that wouldn't have been the case on Pax. Instead, he had to take the ones that he could get. As the individuals had returned, he had presented each of them with their share and told them to get some sleep for tomorrow. Whether they did that or not was their choice, but if they fucked up a mission because they were too tired, he would make sure they knew who was in charge.
Vince himself had his eyes set on a couple of missions himself, and it was late into the night cycle by the time he had solidified which ones he should grab. By this time, if his crew wasn't in bed, they would be heading there soon. Vince put the jobs in his 'to do' folder, and stripped himself of his armour. Making his way down to the sleeping quarters, and not caring who was actually in there or not, he grabbed a bed that wasn't occupied and quickly made it his own. With little more than a sound, he laid himself on the mattress and fell asleep.
Tomorrow would be a busy day.
quakernuts- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-09-19
Posts : 702
Age : 32
Location : Sask. Canada
Re: Black Dawn
by Digital Muse Sat Feb 18, 2012 1:48 pm
The job had continued along with well-oiled precision, once braced, the Tick had attempted to bluff, then run, and been shot down in short order. The short and brutal message was delivered by Kestral with the punctuation added by Khy stomping on the merchant’s frail arm. Rebecca did her best to keep her eyes on the crowds as they began to wander back around the merchant’s stall now that the rifle fire had stopped. She didn’t see the man she’d tripped up in the beginning, so she feared that she’d guessed wrong. Rebecca bit her lower lip. She hoped that Kestral didn’t call her out on it.
Kestral dismissed them to do whatever they wanted once the job was complete. He was going to collect their pay and had ordered them to meet back at the warehouse before the night cycle. Rebecca had to consider what to do with herself. Without the extra credits, she really couldn’t purchase her goggles or armor…not that she knew what sort of armor she’d be getting in the first place. Instead, she considered her new ‘home’. Her own cot, with a mattress…she kept following that track. A pillow. Oh heavens…a real pillow. Once the idea had come into her head, nothing was going to sway her.
Taking up her copper pipe, Rebecca tanged her way along the street heading back into the market on a quest for the fattest, softest pillow to be had. Though she had a goal in mind, it didn’t stop her natural paranoia from taking the day off. As she moved along, Rebecca kept close tabs on the crowd around her, feeling for any potential threats before they might get too close to her. It had been the way she’d lived since she’d been born. She felt the person following her long before she spotted him. It was the loud-mouthed man from the tunnel job before she’d met Kestral.
Rebecca frowned. Why was the man following her? Did he hold a grudge? It was likely, she thought. He’d been a closed-minded brute with few original thoughts in his head. A few more turns in the market confirmed he was following her deliberately, but appeared to be alone. Rebecca considered what to do. She couldn’t head to the warehouse and bring her troubles to Kestral’s doorstep. The best thing was to get underground and quickly. If the man followed, he was a fool and he’d be at a distinct disadvantage.
Taking in her surroundings swiftly, Rebecca made her way to into a tiny space between two overflowing merchant stalls. Her copper pipe-cane allowed her to pass without disturbing any of the merchandise as she went. A grunt of surprise from behind her told her that the big merc hadn’t expected her to disappear so suddenly. Crashes and swearing from behind her signaled the big man’s unsuccessful attempt to slide between the stalls after her. Pursuit confirmed. Rebecca thought. She picked up her pace to get to the air duct opening and squeezed through the opening in the heavy wire mesh that had been placed there to keep the Waste Landers out of the Pit.
The light faded almost immediately into darkness and Rebecca moved along the length of tunnel easily now that she could see better. She just hoped that the big man didn’t bring along his own light source or she’d be in trouble. Harsh screeching sounds told her that the heavy mesh behind her was being pulled aside more fully and she picked up her pace. She knew she could never fight the man. But she could get him hopelessly lost. The harsh beam of a powerful flashlight splashed against the tunnel wall beside Rebecca’s head, making her wince in pain and shy away. A guttural growl of satisfaction sounded behind her. “Can’t hide down here anymore, Waster. You’re gonna pay.” The big man named Travis called to her. Rebecca’s heart pounded and she hurried along, doing her best to keep the map of the underground at the forefront of her mind, rather than her mild panic.
Traps. Where had they placed the traps? She murmured, trying to remember the precautions the Bottom Dwellers had set to keep the Toxix from invading their territory. Behind her, Travis’ heavy boot steps pounded along behind her. Now that he could see her more plainly, he’d begun to run to catch up to his quarry. A knife slid from it metal sheath with a singing ring. Rebecca’s heart jumped into her throat. Rebecca took turn after turn in the darkened tunnels, some tubes angled down and others angled up. She kept a running count, but Travis was getting closer and closer.
Travis began laughing. It was an ugly sound. He knew he had her. She was panicking. But then, Rebecca simply vanished right in front of him. His steps slowed to a cautious stalk as he moved forward to where he’d seen her moments before. His flash light played over the floor, walls and even the ceiling with increasingly jerky, frustrated movements. “Where are you, you bitch?” He screamed out. Only the slow drip of fetid water was heard in the tunnel. Travis kept moving forward cautiously when the floor opened up under his feet and with a sharp shout, he disappeared into the dark tunnel below.
After several minutes, Rebecca crawled out of the tiny side chamber at the top of the tunnel. Shaking, she lifted herself back onto the main tunnel floor and reset the trap door. She knew Travis would be dumped in the very depths of the Waste Lands nearly 50 feet below and didn’t care if he got hurt along the way or not. He’d probably have killed her given the chance. It took another half hour for Rebecca to reach the market once more, her pillow forgotten. Using her cane, she hurried back to the warehouse wanting to be back before the lights went out for the night cycle and not only because Kestral had told them to. This close to the Toxix territory was not a place to e caught in the open in the darkness.
Kestral dismissed them to do whatever they wanted once the job was complete. He was going to collect their pay and had ordered them to meet back at the warehouse before the night cycle. Rebecca had to consider what to do with herself. Without the extra credits, she really couldn’t purchase her goggles or armor…not that she knew what sort of armor she’d be getting in the first place. Instead, she considered her new ‘home’. Her own cot, with a mattress…she kept following that track. A pillow. Oh heavens…a real pillow. Once the idea had come into her head, nothing was going to sway her.
Taking up her copper pipe, Rebecca tanged her way along the street heading back into the market on a quest for the fattest, softest pillow to be had. Though she had a goal in mind, it didn’t stop her natural paranoia from taking the day off. As she moved along, Rebecca kept close tabs on the crowd around her, feeling for any potential threats before they might get too close to her. It had been the way she’d lived since she’d been born. She felt the person following her long before she spotted him. It was the loud-mouthed man from the tunnel job before she’d met Kestral.
Rebecca frowned. Why was the man following her? Did he hold a grudge? It was likely, she thought. He’d been a closed-minded brute with few original thoughts in his head. A few more turns in the market confirmed he was following her deliberately, but appeared to be alone. Rebecca considered what to do. She couldn’t head to the warehouse and bring her troubles to Kestral’s doorstep. The best thing was to get underground and quickly. If the man followed, he was a fool and he’d be at a distinct disadvantage.
Taking in her surroundings swiftly, Rebecca made her way to into a tiny space between two overflowing merchant stalls. Her copper pipe-cane allowed her to pass without disturbing any of the merchandise as she went. A grunt of surprise from behind her told her that the big merc hadn’t expected her to disappear so suddenly. Crashes and swearing from behind her signaled the big man’s unsuccessful attempt to slide between the stalls after her. Pursuit confirmed. Rebecca thought. She picked up her pace to get to the air duct opening and squeezed through the opening in the heavy wire mesh that had been placed there to keep the Waste Landers out of the Pit.
The light faded almost immediately into darkness and Rebecca moved along the length of tunnel easily now that she could see better. She just hoped that the big man didn’t bring along his own light source or she’d be in trouble. Harsh screeching sounds told her that the heavy mesh behind her was being pulled aside more fully and she picked up her pace. She knew she could never fight the man. But she could get him hopelessly lost. The harsh beam of a powerful flashlight splashed against the tunnel wall beside Rebecca’s head, making her wince in pain and shy away. A guttural growl of satisfaction sounded behind her. “Can’t hide down here anymore, Waster. You’re gonna pay.” The big man named Travis called to her. Rebecca’s heart pounded and she hurried along, doing her best to keep the map of the underground at the forefront of her mind, rather than her mild panic.
Traps. Where had they placed the traps? She murmured, trying to remember the precautions the Bottom Dwellers had set to keep the Toxix from invading their territory. Behind her, Travis’ heavy boot steps pounded along behind her. Now that he could see her more plainly, he’d begun to run to catch up to his quarry. A knife slid from it metal sheath with a singing ring. Rebecca’s heart jumped into her throat. Rebecca took turn after turn in the darkened tunnels, some tubes angled down and others angled up. She kept a running count, but Travis was getting closer and closer.
Travis began laughing. It was an ugly sound. He knew he had her. She was panicking. But then, Rebecca simply vanished right in front of him. His steps slowed to a cautious stalk as he moved forward to where he’d seen her moments before. His flash light played over the floor, walls and even the ceiling with increasingly jerky, frustrated movements. “Where are you, you bitch?” He screamed out. Only the slow drip of fetid water was heard in the tunnel. Travis kept moving forward cautiously when the floor opened up under his feet and with a sharp shout, he disappeared into the dark tunnel below.
After several minutes, Rebecca crawled out of the tiny side chamber at the top of the tunnel. Shaking, she lifted herself back onto the main tunnel floor and reset the trap door. She knew Travis would be dumped in the very depths of the Waste Lands nearly 50 feet below and didn’t care if he got hurt along the way or not. He’d probably have killed her given the chance. It took another half hour for Rebecca to reach the market once more, her pillow forgotten. Using her cane, she hurried back to the warehouse wanting to be back before the lights went out for the night cycle and not only because Kestral had told them to. This close to the Toxix territory was not a place to e caught in the open in the darkness.
Digital Muse- Guardian Ghost
- Join date : 2009-08-12
Posts : 1381
Location : South Dakota
Re: Black Dawn
by Anubis Mon Feb 27, 2012 3:01 pm
Ian had watched the rest of the mission with boredom. After his part was over, he came down from the adrenaline pretty quick and it wasn't a pleasant crash, what with the black eye and all. It took a lot of concentration to pay attention to Kestral when the fight was over. He had been dismissed, but had to be back that night.
Ian made his way to the warehouse and changed out of his armor and into his hoodie. He then left and went to the nearest medical station. He had just run out of his previous meds and needed more before things started to get...odd again. He sat for a decent bit of time before the "doctor" finally saw him. She looked over the paperwork he had hastily filled out and stopped on the current prescriptions page. Her eyes widened a bit then she look up at Ian.
"You are on an interesting combination of drugs here, Mr. Kaine. Might I ask why?"
"Uh, Psycosomething trauma doohicky, I think. I spent 4 years in a Kira prison. Kind of jumbled my mind a bit."
The woman stared at him for a bit, not saying a word.
"I'm better than I used to be."
Ian offered this last bit with a smile, hoping that would calm whatever the doctor was feeling. She finally shook he head and made some notes on her clipboard.
"Well, you aren't going to be taking any of these anymore. I'm going to give you two new prescriptions, and I want to to check in at least once a week with me so I can see how you are progressing."
Ian nodded, he had learned that it was a bad idea to argue with doctors. She wrote the scrips and handed them to Ian, stopping to look at his eye.
"Well, that's a nasty hit there. You should put something on it before it swells. How did you get it?"
Without missing a beat Ian responded.
"Oh, there was a misunderstanding in the streets and I had an unfortunate altercation."
"Hmm. Well rehearsed and almost convincing. Oh well, not really my business. Give them this when you pick up your meds, it will help."
She handed him another piece of paper and left the room without another word. Ian looked down at the papers in his hand, wondering how much this was going to cost.
Ian left the store in a slightly foul mood. The meds had been expensive, but he had just been able to swing it. If it wasn't for their payment tonight, he would have had to go without food. At least they had taken pity on him and gave him the medicated eyepatch for free. It wouldn't heal the black eye, but it would keep the swelling down. Ian found that walking with decreased depth perception was a pain, but he adjusted well enough quickly. Finding his way back to the warehouse took a little longer than expected, but he made it.
Once inside, he crept his way into the main room and investigated the beams up near the ceiling. They were rather high up, but Ian could make it. After a bit of struggle and work, he managed to make it up to the beams. He laid back on the beam, hands behind his head and he enjoyed the feeling of being above the floor. He let his mind wander, as he waiting for their leader to make his appearance with their pay.
Ian made his way to the warehouse and changed out of his armor and into his hoodie. He then left and went to the nearest medical station. He had just run out of his previous meds and needed more before things started to get...odd again. He sat for a decent bit of time before the "doctor" finally saw him. She looked over the paperwork he had hastily filled out and stopped on the current prescriptions page. Her eyes widened a bit then she look up at Ian.
"You are on an interesting combination of drugs here, Mr. Kaine. Might I ask why?"
"Uh, Psycosomething trauma doohicky, I think. I spent 4 years in a Kira prison. Kind of jumbled my mind a bit."
The woman stared at him for a bit, not saying a word.
"I'm better than I used to be."
Ian offered this last bit with a smile, hoping that would calm whatever the doctor was feeling. She finally shook he head and made some notes on her clipboard.
"Well, you aren't going to be taking any of these anymore. I'm going to give you two new prescriptions, and I want to to check in at least once a week with me so I can see how you are progressing."
Ian nodded, he had learned that it was a bad idea to argue with doctors. She wrote the scrips and handed them to Ian, stopping to look at his eye.
"Well, that's a nasty hit there. You should put something on it before it swells. How did you get it?"
Without missing a beat Ian responded.
"Oh, there was a misunderstanding in the streets and I had an unfortunate altercation."
"Hmm. Well rehearsed and almost convincing. Oh well, not really my business. Give them this when you pick up your meds, it will help."
She handed him another piece of paper and left the room without another word. Ian looked down at the papers in his hand, wondering how much this was going to cost.
Ian left the store in a slightly foul mood. The meds had been expensive, but he had just been able to swing it. If it wasn't for their payment tonight, he would have had to go without food. At least they had taken pity on him and gave him the medicated eyepatch for free. It wouldn't heal the black eye, but it would keep the swelling down. Ian found that walking with decreased depth perception was a pain, but he adjusted well enough quickly. Finding his way back to the warehouse took a little longer than expected, but he made it.
Once inside, he crept his way into the main room and investigated the beams up near the ceiling. They were rather high up, but Ian could make it. After a bit of struggle and work, he managed to make it up to the beams. He laid back on the beam, hands behind his head and he enjoyed the feeling of being above the floor. He let his mind wander, as he waiting for their leader to make his appearance with their pay.
Anubis- Mist
- Join date : 2011-11-28
Posts : 58
Age : 39
Location : Texas
Similar topics» Black Dawn OOC (Closed)
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» The new dawn
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