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Post by fen on Sept 25, 2019 2:37:46 GMT -6
The calm desert breeze was her only respite in the heat. Yuki’s cloak fluttered gently. It was a used one she managed to buy off a street merchant in the outskirts of the city, enough to get her by in the open jeep as she drove. Though she had been invited to the wedding, she truly could not see herself putting up with it… It wasn’t the antics that drove her nuts, it was something entirely different. Something she couldn’t stomach.
She found herself shivering for once.
“...mhm, it’s colder than I thought out here.”
Her voice reached out to no one in particular. She brought her binoculars up, scanning the horizon. What couldn’t have been more than 100 meters away was indeed a collection of buildings, most of which seemed new. They were simple structures, not more than two stories high. At least one had to have been a makeshift warehouse. It was no wonder that she had to get so close to it to be able to spot it, even in the middle of nothingness- they were built in a large partial pit, with the encroaching sand in part kept back by angled steel walls.
Yuki suddenly felt exposed. Her jeep was perched partially up a short dune, and compared to her target, nothing was stopping a keen eye from spotting her from a mile away. If this mysterious construction had anything to do with their Martian target, it meant that there was a possibility for danger. Long, open range, for any inspired marksman to take her out. Maybe not from the encampment, but no doubt from a hidden outpost, or by a traveling patrol.
She felt her mind wander on those thoughts, and as she fell back into the driver’s seat, the grip she took on the wheel only tightened.
With a roar, the wheels began to tear through sand as the vehicle lurched forward.
---
Surprisingly, the trickle of people seemed to increase as the day went on, and by the time the proceedings had begun in earnest, there was a decently sized group of people present that had absolutely no idea who was getting married. Partially encouraged by the booze obtained either earlier in the day or now, they watched the wedding continue with a mix of giddy enjoyment and sly amusement.
Most of the attendants were surprisingly just workers and management related to the energy industry. The workers were not quite laborers, but specialized personnel or scientists. There only seemed to be a handful of truly rich individuals present- at least at a glance, but even then it wasn’t difficult to cut through the chaff.
At least two seemed to fit the bill. Owners and operators of large energy conglomerates, both with ties to Mars. The first, Ra Dae-won, is heir an owner to one of the largest energy conglomerates on Mars, owning and operating roughly 80% the industry there. His presence at the convention is not entirely unexpected for a man of his status, given that he is the face and public speaker of his conglomerate. The sunny, cheerful Dae-won is as successful as he is enchanting, having his own fanbase back on Mars, and famed for his good looks and smooth words.
The second, Feofilakt Sanya Konstantinov, could be argued to own the other 20% of the industry on Mars, and unlike Dae-won, he also had a sizeable investment in the industry on Earth. In contrast with the somewhat young and smooth heir, Feofilakt was hardy and gruff. Old enough to have seen some of the less fortunate times in Martian energy, Feofilakt is known for being a hard sell, preferring to keep business practices simple, and ideally in the dark.
One of them was somewhat drunk, chuckling in the front row, and the other was sitting in the back row, sipping on a martini and quietly staring down the proceedings.
Both of them had no idea what was about to happen.
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moo!!
Cosmic Kiddie
Posts: 63
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Post by moo!! on Oct 3, 2019 19:04:07 GMT -6
Masked by the general sounds of hotel bustle nearby and aided by both the groom and bride’s splendid acting and the generous amounts of alcohol given freely to the attendees, nobody heard the sound of hoofprints on stone and dirt until it was too late, preceded by a singular, powerful:
“Then speak, I will!”
Spooking a few attendants out of their seats was a white Andalusian mare, having cleared one of the nearby wedding signs with an elegant leap and making its landing with a thunderous clop of its hooves. On its back was a woman, her features presently hidden by the wide brim of her brown hat, and her previous apparel of choice covered by a matching poncho. Both horse and rider looked perfectly at ease among the baffled attendants, and with naught but a tug of the reins, the horse stopped directly before the to-be-married couple and their priest.
“For this man…” As the mysterious rider raised her chin to look down upon those standing before her, the light glinted first off her crimson eyes (she’d taken her glasses off), then her pale, freckled skin. “… does not truly love you – not like I, Catalina Westwood!”
It was fucking Lin. She seemed really into the whole acting thing.
“This treacherous puma—“ She spat out the word with surprising hate and rage, “—plans to pounce not only on your innocence, but your family fortune as well! I heard him talking to his dude-bros last night – about how he’d gotten his claws on some ‘easy prey’, how simple it’d be to string you along with sweet words so that you’d give him anything he’d ask for.”
She paused, though if it was for dramatic effect or to catch a breath, it was uncertain.
“And as your best friend, I cannot stand idly by as this frat boy takes your life right out from under you… and take you from me, Clementine.”
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Post by S☆E on Oct 7, 2019 15:47:39 GMT -6
After the brief rise and fall of potential desert racing, Daryl had reported the "construction" situation and took to availing himself of the casino's many colorful vices. He won a small fortune betting on the horse-races which he promptly lost at the roulette. He had a triumphant five-hour run of blackjack, amassing a pile of winnings that dwarfed his previous windfall and then promptly lost it all at the roulette. He then had a hot streak at the craps table, winning almost enough money to pay for an early retirement, but the roulette wheel called his name once more.
"Maybe I should stop playing roulette?" Daryl thought to himself as the wheel spun round and round. "Double Zeroes, hombres!" called out the roulette attendant. "Bum luck, bud." As his tower of chips was ushered back into house custody Daryl calmly sipped his drink, a liquor-riddled bombshell dubbed the Lone Ranger Special. "Nah." With a tip of his hat, a good luck charm someone had stuck on his head during his run at craps, he swung back by the ATM once more and pulled a couple grand out of his savings. "I can win it back. I always do."
--
"I'm betting it all on red." Daryl didn't know that he'd been at it for two straight days. Between dozing softly at a slot machine, resting his eyes at the bar and nodding off during one of the complementary in-house shows he hadn't actually gotten any real sleep. There were no clear windows in the casino. The passage of time had melted away as he trudged from one table to the next seeking his fortune. Every now and then he'd see one of his other crewmates off doing... whatever it was they were doing and he'd give them a wave before going back to the grind. His stomach floundered. He hadn't eaten any real food for at least twelve hours but if he stopped now he'd lose the streak he was on. Plus he had to keep drinking or his hangover would catch up to him. "I'm BETTING it ALL on RED!" he said again, this time much louder, but the wheel was already turning. "All of it IS NOW ON RED!" The other players gave him some space. The wheel attendant asked him to quiet down, but Daryl couldn't. He was electric. He could feel that this time, this time was the score he'd been chasing. It was finally coming together. The Veil of Probability had parted to allow him, Daryl Dimartino Diaz, to enter its Parlor of Prosperity and kiss the gold ring that lay snugly on Lady Luck's finger.
"Red 12! Red 12, hombres!" hollered the wheel attendant. A collection of sighs, curses and cheers rose up from the crowd gathered. Daryl's heart leapt, the lurching feeling causing him to almost vomit. "Ha! I knew it! Now! One more. One more spin, I can feel this one. Gimme that STREET!" he said to no one in particular as he shuffled all of his winnings to numbers 25, 26 and 27. "Gonna BET THE FARM on this one!"
The wheel spun hypnotically. Daryl stared at the shifting colors, unable to even see the ball in his current state. He turned his head to the left and right, trying to spot it but every time he thought he caught a glimpse of the ivory marble it danced away again. His brain couldn't keep up with his mechanical eyes. "Should I stop now?" he said aloud. His gut twisted and his legs felt numb. He shook his head and pinched himself, trying to stay focused. "This will be it. The last SPIN! C'mon little marble! SAVE the DAY!"
The wheel slowed down. The marble came to rest. The attendant looked up, right at Daryl and gave him a wink. "Red 27! Red 27, hombres!" He motioned for a security guard to come to the table. Daryl had already picked up his stool, thrusting it up and down overhead in triumph. "BET THE FARM! WIN THE FARM!" The security guard lowered the stool back down and motioned for Daryl to collect his winnings. "It's time for you to cash out, cowboy." Daryl's head was swimming. He scooped all the chips into his shirt, holding the bottom out like a sling, and walked along with security to the chip exchange kiosk. "I KNEW I could do it, man!" Daryl blurted loudly, the smell of strong, stale whiskey on his breath. "I KNEW I could WIN IT BACK! I always do!"
--
It was now day three of being stuck in the desert. Daryl sat in one of the pews, headache excruciating. Someone from his group had sat him down after he'd come back into the casino. He didn't remember anything after getting off the sweaty rig with the rest of his group days ago. Something about a race, a blur of drinks, lights and chips and now some wedding? Who was getting married? He looked around to try and see where he was at, if anyone he knew was nearby, but just then somebody came riding in on a horse right in the middle of everything. "What the hell is going on?" Daryl wondered as the crowd started getting unruly. He turned around again and felt a metallic clink in his jacket pocket. Wait, this wasn't his jacket. He looked down and saw the word "SECURITY" on it in reflective print. "Fuck, where did this come from?" he mentally shouted. He reached in his pocket and found a taser and a can of high-strength pepper spray. He grabbed his phone and fired off a group text to his squadmates.
[HAVE SEC JACKET, TASER AND MACE. AT WED. WHAT DO?]
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Mary
Little Twinkle
Posts: 14
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Post by Mary on Oct 11, 2019 13:18:14 GMT -6
Honestly the whole thing was enough to sweep off her feet! Like, in perspective of the assumed identities, the rather dashing childhood friend persona Lin had just thrown together was far more appealing than the boneheaded frat boy...Harleen shook her head, clearing her thoughts of actually weighing her options before she gave it her best theatrical yelp, going limp as she was caught by Meta at her side. (Even if the urge to drop her was a constant urge in Eva's head.) "Catalina...You've been my bestie through thick and thin. And know you're telling my poor weak heart that my beloved is slicker'n owl shit! Oh mother...What ever should I do?"
Eva had returned to her wine bottle the moment that Harleen had stabilized, giving the situation a quick, disinterested look over. "Dump his ass." She said plainly, tipping her glass into an overly long sip, giving a disheartened sigh soon after. "Do it before he takes away the best years of your life just like your father." Harleen gasped, stamping her foot in indignation at the very notion of the comment. At this point it was hard to tell if either was acting, if their mutual dislike was controlling the flow of the conversation, or some unhealthy mixture of both. "Mama, this my day! I don't want none of your negativity festerin' 'round here! Big Daddy's gone!" Eva took one glance at the pouting Harleen, opting to return to her drinking as per her "part".
Harleen grumbled, returning her indifference with an annoyed grunt before the situation at hand snapped to her attention. "Oh right...Chad, darlin, say this ain't so!"
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Post by montywonty on Oct 13, 2019 11:18:11 GMT -6
The loud, trotting entrance of the equine and the woman atop it caused Renardo’s obnoxious shades to fall back down over his eyes. And with good timing as well. It was just enough time to cover up the widened eyes in disbelief. Were he not deeply in character, his visage would be having a prompt rendezvous with his metallic palm. He was being silly. That Linnea girl was just being ridiculous.
Nonetheless, he would commend Lin’s power move and Harleen’s adherence to it, slipping in to join in on the ludicrous act. Renardo as Chad shook his head in horror towards Lin, then looking back towards Harleen with furrowed brow. “Whoah. Whoah, whoah, babe. You’re not, like, actually believing her, right? Tch. C’mon.”
He poses with defiance in Lin’s directly, shrugging his shoulders and holding his arms outwards in a challenging stance. “I dunno which of my dude-bruhs you saw me hanging out with, cuz my dude-bruhs? We drink beer and respect women. And like, my fiance here? My babe who’s gonna be my wife in like, five minutes? I respect her more than any woman.”
A pause, making his pose even more ridiculous. “And there’s like, zeeeeeero way I’m marrying babe for her money! You seen my pops? I could just ask for a little cash any time! If there’s anyone out here who’s trying to crash our vibes, our party, and my Clementine’s money, it’s you, Catalina Westwhore.” Renardo gritted his teeth tightly, feigning anger in order to conceal the never-ending cringe.
“You know what my babe is like. She’s generous! She’ll spoil like, anyone she cares about, and that goes for you because you’re like, her best friend and stuff. You just want a bigger slice of the pie, don’t you?” Renardo pirouetted, shifting Harleen away from Eva’s grasps and dipping her down into his arms. “Well this is my pure homegrown organic vegan non-fat skinny pecan pie.”
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Post by Captain Ameijin! on Oct 13, 2019 13:49:25 GMT -6
Sean wondered if the ad-libbed introduction had been such a good idea. Those thoughts were quickly quashed as he held back uproarious laughter at Lin’s impromptu performance. How she had smuggled a real-life horse into the venue was anyone’s guess. He was almost certain there was a story behind that horse, and a damn good one at that. He would have to ask about it later. Sean retreated from the stage as the others played their parts, followed by the groomsman and bridesmaid. In a way, Lin’s chosen form of absolute chaos to bring to the table was welcome, at least for Gabe. And here he thought that he might end up a bad influence on her as her Martian Buddy, when it turns out she was the kind to bring a horse to a goddamn wedding. But more importantly, he was the only one with connections to the Martian elite, which meant he was the best to find any kind of important people there. And boy did they attract some bigwigs. Not just Konstantinov, but Dae-Won too? Jackpot. Apart from a personal issue or two. “So uh, not to ruin the mood, but I might wanna get a better disguise. But related, we got two big marks.” Gabe pointed first to the gruffer of the well-dressed individuals that had chosen to attend, doing his best to remain unseen as he did so. “Konstantinov. Big name in the energy racket on Mars. Owns basically everythin’ that guy,” His finger moved to point at the much more pleasant face of Dae-Won. “Don’t already got. Both of ‘em are practically celebrities, and big-ass names besides.” “I knew we kept ye around for a reason,” Sean replied with a grin, tipping his hat to cover his eyes. He memorized their faces with a glance and rolled their names around his tongue. “Konstantinov and Dae-Won… those are leads if I ever heard ‘em.” He peered over his shoulder with one eyebrow cocked. “What did ye mean by ‘getting a better disguise’, anyhow? These folks know ye from somewhere?” At that, Gabe would seem, if not bashful, at least nervous. “Well, remember that one wild game of ‘never have I ever’ we did that I told ya I’d tell ya if it came up? Long story short, pretty sure I fooled ‘round with…” Gabe gestured vaguely at the two Elite Martians, more to emphasize his point than anything. “At least one of their daughters. Definitely someone related to each at one point or another.” “Nice going, studmuffin,” Myra playfully interjected. “Sleep with anyone else that we should know about?” “Don’t encourage him,” Sean warned. “Yeah, it was a bit wild. I was pretty into my ‘bridge burnin’ phase when I decided to pull crap like that. Pretty sure I knocked out...I think it was Dae-Won’s cousin? But he was a few times removed.” Gabe turned to look at Myra’s sudden interjection, flashing her a smirk. “I’ll let ya know if it comes up.” His attention then turned to Sean, leaning in closer. “How’s Mona doin’, by the way?” “Nice try, but ye won’t fool me that easily. Only guy she’s ever been into was some hipster scumbag who thought he could beat me in old fighting games and whined about frame windows when I kicked his ass. Think he turned her off men forever.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “More to the point, what’s all this about knocking folks out now?” “Ya know I couldn’t actually do it. She’s like the sister I’ve never actually met. Plus I ain’t ‘bout the hipster scene.” Gabe shrugged, looking at Sean in near-disbelief. “Now? Where do ya think I started doin’ that? The guy was a sissy though. I sock him once and he runs off near in tears. Course it probably helped with that and me not gettin’ sued that he was pretty drunk…” “Thought you said you knocked him out,” Myra prodded, adjusting the strap on her dress. “Didn’t keep punching after you made him run away crying, did you?” “Punched out, whatever. Same difference. Point is I hit him, ain’t it? And nah, I ain’t gonna punch someone who’s bawlin’ like a baby. That’s just wrong.” “Either way ye slice it, I don’t think he’ll be too happy to see yer face around here. Just make yerself scarce before someone recognizes ye, find someplace to watch from the sidelines and see if either of our marks make a run for the exit.” Gabe nodded and slipped away from the wedding troupe, his stature making it relatively easy for him to blend in with the awestruck waitstaff. “Calling dibs on Dae-Won,” Myra piped up, folding her hands innocently behind her back. “Maybe that old bastard Konstantine or… whatever his name was will give you a lecture on the days when they ground up dinosaur bones for energy.” “Know as well as I do that that’s not how fossil fuels work,” Sean remarked with a sigh. “And ye only picked Dae-Won because he’s good looking, didn’t ye?” “Of course not,” she lied through her teeth, skipping backwards into the aisle. “Now don’t get into any trouble ‘Texas Ranger’ might find himself in.” “Think I can keep it in my pants long enough,” he grumbled, whipping out his phone to fire off a response to Daryl’s message. This wasn’t their most well thought-out plan, but it wasn’t their least well thought-out plan either.
...
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Post by S☆E on Oct 13, 2019 19:06:21 GMT -6
Daryl peeped down at the reply and, through the mental fog and pounding headache, couldn't help but smirk. He didn't know the meaning of "too much trouble."
As the bride and groom and conscientiously-objecting horse jockey quibbled, he used the distraction to clench the canister of pepper spray tighter and tighter in his mechanically-enhanced grip. He waited until Myra was at the bar with what he presumed was her target and gave the can a final squeeze.
With a sound like a gunshot the spray can ruptured, the debilitating spray pouring out like tear gas in the crowd. Guests and onlookers started to cough, spit and scream. "Everybody don't panic!" Daryl said, jumping up and gesturing to his Security wear. "We need to evacuate the area!" he said, making clear movements with his arms towards the exits. The horse caught a snoutful of the mace and started to go ballistic. Daryl waved both his arms at Myra, who coolly had jumped into action already. "Lady, you and your boyfriend need to get lost before that horse goes nuts!" He then turned towards the back of the room, ushering people as best he could. "You, big guy, help the old guy get clear! This area has been compromised! Everyone is at risk!" he hollered at Sean. By this time the actual security had made their way over from the casino floor, a few of them already ushering guests towards the exits and two more trying to get the horse under control. In the frenzy Daryl ducked behind the pulpit and shed his Security jacket, keeping the taser, and then did a tactical roll underneath the decorative faux ivy trellis, running for an exit.
"God damn that shit burns and I don't even have eyes. Hope they all make it out okay!"
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Post by Captain Ameijin! on Oct 14, 2019 19:38:06 GMT -6
Did that son of a bitch just–?
The thought had only barely set in as pepper spray assaulted their senses. Those who weren’t quick enough to find a wet towel found themselves with a mouthful, noseful, throatful, and eyeful of capsaicin. The chemical rattled around their sinuses like firecrackers up the nose…
...a sensation Sean was all-too familiar with. He fought his instincts to dunk his head into the ice-filled punch bowl, training from boot camp kicking in as he swiped a bottle of water from a nearby table and poured it onto his left sleeve. He took a few quick breaths into it before hoisting the immobilized Konstantinov over his shoulder.
“Sorry about all this old man,” he grumbled as he muscled his way through the growing crowd that raced for the exit. “But we need to get out of here toot-fucking-sweet.”
Myra reached behind the counter of the open bar and scooped out a handful of ice, tossing it into her mouth for temporary relief. Her eyeshadow dripped from her eyes as tears welled up unwillingly. She popped out her colored contacts, batting her eyes as fast as she could before wrapping her hand around Dae-Won’s collar to pull him away from the disaster area. The two managed to slip away from the crowd and through a nearby emergency exit that dumped them out into the street.
“Haa, haa… did you hear all that? Don’t even know your name and we’re–” she coughed, spitting onto the pavement. “–already going steady?”
---
Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.
“Will that be uhhh, cash or credit?”
“Put it on my card,” Sean answered, jamming it into the reader before the cashier had the chance to press the button. The old machine bleeped, automatically deducting funds from their ‘business account’. “Unless ye wanted to count a wad full of spicy dollar bills.”
“No, no, I don’t think… that sounds like it would suck. It would suck, right?”
“Ye don’t even know the half of it. Now would ye have a little mercy and hand over the keys to the restroom? Feels like I’m dying over here.”
“Oh yeaaah, you’re paying customers now… but uh, try not to make too much of a mess with all that.” The cashier stared down at the odd selection of items he’d purchased: a quart of milk, off-brand dish soap, and a pack of paper towels. “I only cleaned the bathroom yesterday…”
“More reason for ye to clean it again today.”
Sean swiped the keys from the cashier’s hand, forcing them into the restroom’s keyhole with more than a little difficulty. He dragged Konstantinov in behind him, plopping himself onto the toilet. The old man splashed cold water onto his face while Sean cracked open the jug of milk, pouring it directly over his face.
“Sweet, sweet relief… The Lord truly does have mercy on us dreadful sinners.”
He was given a long moment on the toilet as milk drenched his face, cascading down onto his ample chest.
A mechanical click brought him to attention. In front of him was Konstantinov, a hefty pistol in one hand and pointing at his chest. The older man’s shirt was partially open, having since been drenched. Though he had quite a few gray hairs- the man was surprisingly fit for his age, and his open shirt revealed pecs that could compete with Sean’s, covered in a thick fur coating of curly brown-and-gray hair. A short-brimmed black and silver trimmed hat sat on his head, a thick brown beard hiding most of his face.
“Who are you?” Was his first question, and judging by his demeanor the energy executive had been around the block a few times.
“Ye wouldn’t kill a man in a corner store bathroom, would ye?” Sean chuckled dryly, leaning against the backside of the porcelain toilet. He set the milk jug down onto the tiled floor and rested his hands against his lap. “But to answer yer question, well… I’m just a dead man walking. Heard rumors about someone looking to stir up trouble in my old stomping grounds and I thought I ought to come back and haunt the place.”
He unrolled the paper towels, grabbing a handful and wiping them over his milk-drenched face.
“I’ve answered your question, so here’s one of my own: the name ‘Karaka’ ring any bells?”
There was a period of silence as Konstantinov looked him over, his pistol still trained on Sean’s chest. The silence was punctuated with the rolling of toilet paper and that awkward quiet that always seemed to be present in a public restroom. It seemed like the gears in the older man’s head seemed to be clicking, one by one…
“How much did he pay you?” Came his second question, though his posture remained the same. It seemed as though he wasn’t concerned by Sean’s line of questioning. “My security is already on its way here, so I would recommend keeping your answers simple and brief.”
A pause, the grip on his pistol shifted. “To think he would employ a terran to do his dirty work…”
“I’m afraid that I’m not being paid nearly as much as ye think,” Sean (truthfully) confessed. His expression grew more sinister, and by the time Konstantinov looked back down at his pistol, he had already crumpled it like aluminum foil between his fingers. Sean sprang from the toilet seat and headbutted the older man right in the jaw, sending Konstantinov stumbling backwards into the restroom door.
“And for yer information, I’m a lunie, not a terran.”
---
The hotel’s wedding venue was only a hop, skip, and a jump away from the nearest hole-in-the-wall bar. While New Prescott was known for its western-styled spittoons filled with cheap cowboy paraphernalia, this bar looked straight out of an old black-and-white detective film. Regulars grunted in annoyance as Myra and Dae-Won stumbled through the doors. She helped him onto a bar stool and lifted herself onto the one next to it, pressing her face against the pleasantly cool bar counter.
“Could you find us something really, really cold?” she pleaded to a wary bartender. “A wet towel. A tall glass of milk. A bucketful of ice. Anything.”
“Yes, of course.” The bartender ducked under the counter, rinsing a pair of hand towels under the sink. He wrung them out until water no longer dripped freely, setting them on a plastic tray that he slid towards the two. Tall glasses of milk followed soon after. “Would you like anything alcoholic to drink tonight?”
“Irish Cream, light on the alcohol heavy on the ice.” She gulped down her glass without stopping to breath, a milk moustache growing on her upper lip. “Ahhh… to think that I was hoping to catch the bouquet. What a mess this whole wedding’s been.”
Dae-Won’s reaction to the scuffle could only be interpreted as laughter shifting into an all-out shriek as the gas engulfed him (and others in the front row). He felt a strong arm grab him by the collar and start tugging. The executive could only presume it was security nearby that (rightfully) realized he was in danger and took him to safety.
When he came to the realization that security was in fact, a handsome young lady, well- Dae-Won’s sputtering, teary-face did its best to shift into a much more approachable look. This was in between him ruthlessly dabbing a cold towel on his face, and half-chugging the flask of milk.
Once suitably de-spiced, the executive loosened the tie around his neck.
A closer examination revealed that he was exactly as much of a pop star as the files had described him. A faint hint of makeup on the cold towel seemed to imply he really did care a lot about his personal appearance. His clean-cut, white suit seemed fairly standard at a distance, but up-close there were obvious personal touches that meant it was a designer custom. Gilded cuffs, little hidden patterns, the works. Now it was dirtied.
“My oh my, I suppose I have you to thank for my rescue, miss…?” He gave her a warm smile. Dae-Won’s hair was clean cut and short, slightly tapered to a side. A small gold earring hung from his left ear, shaped like a cross. His eyes were sharp- red, and despite being a Martian, he was surprisingly tan- likely to do with all the time he spent on Earth.
“Emerald Memphis,” she declared, dabbing away the rest of her own makeup with the towel. The skin underneath remained relatively untouched by the cloud of pepper spray. “Friends just call me Emma. You can call me that too, if you’d like.”
She tucked her sweat-covered hair behind her ear and smiled. As handsome as he was, it was hard for her not to think about him screaming bloody murder at the first whiff of trouble. “Don’t worry about it one bit. Security asked me to help and I sprung right into action… the adrenaline is still wearing off in all honesty! Now I’m just glad to have a drinking buddy.”
“So you came to my rescue just like that?” He cooed, his voice taking a smooth tone as he took a swift sip of his drink. Dae-Won downed it in a go, turning his sip into a swig about partways through. He looked amused, more than anything, at the idea of ‘Emerald Memphis’ heroics.
“An angel you are, then! One sent down from the heavens… This must be a sign.” With a hop, he stood up from his seat. “Bartender! Six more to go, please!” With a semi-flushed expression, he reached his hand out to Emerald.
“Please, you must come with me. I think you’d be a wonderful partner in a little… Endeavor, I have.”
Myra gently took his hand. “Oh do tell me more…”
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Post by fen on Nov 8, 2019 18:13:32 GMT -6
The scenery change from the ostentatious clubs and casinos to the interior of an armored truck was certainly something. Myra sat across from Dae-Won, a small table fitted between them, holding drinks for the two. Despite the exterior, the interior of the truck was much more refined. It was likely his personal transportation.
Outside was the desert, the faint silhouette of the city could be seen, but at this point they had made considerable headway. Dae-Won had spent the time chatting away about unimportant, high-life socialite things. Gossip he thought a woman like Myra would enjoy, stories that were a bit extra, and boasts that seemed much. Not once did he clarify where they were headed, or what his ‘endeavor’ entailed.
“Ah! There it is.”
Pitted between two large dunes and partially dug deeper into the sand, entrenched by metal plates that served as barriers, was a spacious warehouse.
“A bit unseemly, I know, I know, but I promise you- what goes on inside? Truly phenomenal work.”
The doors to the armored truck opened, and two of his security personnel were there to greet them. The contrast between their outerwear and Dae-Won’s considerably more… Indoorsy suit, spoke volumes about his connections, and what this place meant.
With a flair for the dramatic, he motioned for his companion to follow him in, walking with a stride that made it seem like he owned the place. Stepping into the warehouse, they were greeted by the sight of…
“Automobile armors… A fine lady such as yourself has heard of them, no?”
Rows upon rows of crouched AA lined the factory sides, mostly unarmed. Two were being put together right before their eyes, a team of mechanics and engineers lining up the arms on a particularly meddlesome Phalanx. Some of its parts were being unloaded by a side bay, from a particularly fat hover-truck. Though hardly visible, it seemed like there was a short tunnel beginning along the edge of the dune.
“Smuggling them in took so much work… You truly have no idea, but the profits? Oh, they’re incredible.”
“Certainly so, though I can’t say I’ve ever seen one up close and personal… all seems like such a thrill doesn’t it?” Myra held her thin smile steady, though her blood ran cold at the sight of the long rows of machines housed in the warehouse. The armored guards reminded her what would happen should she break character.
So she didn’t.
“Have you ever taken one of these out for a joy ride? Were I in your position, I can’t imagine resisting the temptation…”
“Please, why drive a sedan when you have a sports car?” He dismissed her almost immediately. A guard walked over and leaned into him, whispering into his ear. As he nodded, he shot a warm smile and a glance towards Myra. “But I’m getting ahead of myself, care to see something else quite interesting?”
“Something even more interesting than all this?” She peered towards the guard and quickly took inventory of his weaponry, then looked back at Dae-Won to return his smile. “Now whatever could that be?”
“Oh you’ll see, I’m sure it’ll come as even… More of a surprise.”
A wry grin gripped his face as he motioned for her to follow once more, his guards not far behind at all. Countless eyes peered at them from around the warehouse. That it was well-defended was no surprise at all, and it seemed just about everyone present except Dae-Won was armed.
He led her into a side building- an office it seemed. They reached an unmarked door which he promptly opened, greeting them with darkness. “Please, don’t mind the lights. The switch is a bit further in.”
As they stepped in, the lights came on. A familiar figure was bound to a chair by handcuffs shackled around her wrists from behind, cloth wrapped around her mouth. It was Yuki.
“Familiar face, eh?”
Myra felt what had to have been the slight pressure of two gun barrels against her back. Dae-Won had already shifted to the side, arms crossed behind his back, that wry smile still present. “Take a seat, please! We should reintroduce ourselves.” He motioned to the seat beside Yuki. The look on her face screamed, “Oh goddammit!”.
A heavy breath escaped from Myra’s lips. It was… a sigh of relief.
“Honestly... I’m just happy to be done with that charade,” she confessed, sidling into the chair as if she wasn’t being threatened to do so at gunpoint. “If I had to flirt with you another single, solitary second I think I would’ve hurled right onto your three-hundred dollar shoes. Rather you pull my fingernails out one by one than listen to another one of your endless flights of fancy.”
“Speaking of which,” Myra continued, flashing her brightly-painted fingernails. “Should warn you that these are fake before you pull out the torture tools.”
The armed guards entered the room, though they kept their distance as Dae-Won took his seat across from them. His grin had certainly not faltered, despite Myra’s provocations. “Oh no need for that, we’re all reasonable people here. Well, most of us. Your friend thought it would be a fun game to poke around the warehouse with a gun and some explosives.”
Yuki could hardly respond to that, though her eyes flickered between their host and Myra.
“But it’s a pleasure to finally have one of the Menaulion elite before me! I’ve heard so many things about you and your group. To be honest, when I heard the report that the Vice Admiral was turning over every rock and tree on the African continent, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed… After all, I thought you went down with the rest of the fleet that day.”
There seemed to be a dissonance between what had happened and what he knew. Certainly a huge chunk of the ESU fleet had been destroyed… But still, there had been plenty left too. Was MR information being manipulated somehow? By who?
“I really have to ask… How did you deal with Blanco’s machine? The Hyperion? The report said a Hoplite took it on but I’m just totally perplexed by that!”
“Why don’t you just ask him yourself?”
“As a matter of fact…”
A screen came on to their left, illuminating the room in a stark bright light. The familiar (or not so familiar) face of Kamille Euzone came on, his hands tented and a sharp grin cutting through the screen. Unlike their last encounter, he wore a clean-cut white shirt with a somewhat rugged tie, messed with just enough to give others the impression of disheveledness. A lab coat hung around his shoulders, as did a stethoscope around the back of his neck. Yet that grin quickly faded as he the pilots came into view.
“...Dae-Won.”
“Blanco! There you ar- err, where is your mask?”
“...Dae-Won.” He repeated himself, his tone growing grimmer. Daewon on the other hand seemed to have already been halfway into his next sentence.
“-really this is a fairly big security risk if they know who you are, surely you could-”
“Dae-Won!”
The heir froze.
“Neither of them are the pilot I’m looking for!”
“But-”
“And second of all, they were already hunting me down in person! You know damn well that they know who I am!”
“But-!”
“Did you think they’re clueless?! Someone is feeding them information, how else do you think they found you?!”
“But I-”
Kamille’s hand shot up as he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting loose a deep sigh. “Shut- shut it! I don’t want to hear it!”
The heir kept his lips shut, a red blush creeping along his cheeks. He had not only been called out, but in front of his own captives. Before he could try to save face, Kamille spoke up again.
“Keep them there for now. I have a suspicion they’ll be coming to pick them up soon, even with their GPS dismantled…”
A single sweat crept across Dae-Won’s brow.
“...you did remove their GPS… right?”
Myra whipped out her vape pen from her jacket and gave it a nice, long puff. The cloud of barbecue-scented vapor smacked Dae-Won like a sack of bricks.
“Now that you’ve gone ahead and made an ass out of yourself, didn’t you have a question to ask? Something about eating shit the last time we faced him?” She looked toward the camera and waved to Kamille with a friendly smile. “And don’t worry, I’ll let her know you said hello.”
There was a twitch in his brow as her words finally cleared his mind. This subtle gesture caused a guard behind him to step forward. The lumbering fellow grabbed Myra’s vape hand by the wrist, pulling it backwards and forcing the pen to fall to the ground, where he crushed it with a mighty stomp.
“Please do, as I’m currently indisposed and I’m certain Dae-Won will be as well.”
“Sir I-”
“As tempted as you might be to launch the Hyperion, remember that it is still in its testing phase. You’d be better off shooting these two where they stand and leaving immediately.”
“But our plans-”
“Moot. The hornet’s nest has come knocking, and no one has ever derived pleasure from a half-load spent early.”
The screen cut off immediately after. Dae-Won’s fist came down on the table, his face flushed as he shot up. His guards exchanged glances, unsure of what to expect. Dae-Won’s teased question remained unanswered.
“...Prepare to send them into the canyon.”
The guards soon flanked the two, blocking their view. Once they were forced to stand up, they realized Dae-Won had left the room.
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Post by Captain Ameijin! on Nov 8, 2019 18:47:40 GMT -6
The older man seemed to right himself after the collision, and the (relatively) calm demeanor told Sean this wasn’t his first scuffle.
“All the same to me.”
The door suddenly slammed open, a rugged (and clearly exhausted) security guard burst through, heavy pistol aimed towards Sean. “Drop to the ground!” He shouted, the grip on his weapon tightening as he caught his breath.
“Easy lad! Easy.”
Konstantinov brushed the blood off his lip, glancing down at his palm with a half-amused glint.
“You can’t be working for him… No, it would be too convenient.”
He looked up at Sean, once again motioning for his guard to steady himself. “You! Where are the others?”
“I… They got caught up with some… I don’t know who he was sir, but he just saw them and went ballistic.”
His glare redirected towards Sean. “Yes, too sloppy. I see. I’ll cut through the pleasantries then. What do you want with this ‘Karaka? If you’re not working for him, you must be hunting him.”
“I want him dead,” Sean answered bluntly. He rubbed the sore spot on his head where he’d clocked Konstantinov. “...but if I can’t have that, I’ll settle for wounding his pride a bit. Now tell yer men to stand down before they get themselves hurt.”
Konstantinov raised a hand, and his man lowered his weapon in turn. There was a look of uncertainty on his face, but his boss wouldn’t budge. “This person coming must be your friend, yes? You best make sure he doesn’t do anything rash once he arrives.”
A flick of his wrist and the click of a lighter signalled a sharp breath. A cloud of smoke passed the older man’s lips as he looked Sean over. Eyeing him. Judging him. “The fact that I am here and not him… You don’t know his identity, do you? Or is it that you’ve finally figured it out now?”
“Process of elimination suggests—” Sean wrinkled his nose. He was tempted to snuff out the cigarette himself, but decided to begrudge the old man his smoke. “—Dae-Won. And if I’m right, I don’t have time for a smoke break.”
He undid the buttons on his milk-soaked suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. The jacket dripped behind him as he shoved his way past Konstantinov’s hired muscle and through the door. Sean looked toward the corner store clerk, who had somehow remained entirely clueless. “Afraid ye’ll have to clean the bathroom again after all. Mind the blood, would ye?”
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moo!!
Cosmic Kiddie
Posts: 63
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Post by moo!! on Nov 9, 2019 16:14:03 GMT -6
…
The fiasco was a blessing in disguise. That didn’t do much to abate the murderous intent roiling about within her, but Lin was efficient: she’d squeeze in the homicide after she was done with the mission. While she could see people of all sorts – hotel staff, security, passersby, even some local police – rushing to the general wedding area, there was a visible area at which people stopped giving a shit about whatever drama was going on. With the horse running off in the exact opposite direction that Linnea was headed, she didn’t have much to worry about the commotion following her.
Myra had thought similarly.
It was sheer luck that Lin had caught a glimpse of her teammate stumbling away with one of their targets, and given the sheer mayhem that happened at the reception, it was doubtful that the others would have noticed. And while it was reasonable to want to back up your teammate when they were alone, the sight of it immediately put Lin on edge.
And so, she pressed on. Excellent reflexes and an extremely handy – and disposable – poncho meant Lin got out of the fiasco with a couple of cuts, bruises, and a manageable burn in her eyes and her lungs. With a few handy-dandy baby wipes to clean the cuts, the lucky placement of some of the worse bruises, and a bit of convincing crying and sulking around on a bench, she was the perfect picture of a woman who’d undergone a bad breakup. All she had to do was ignore the sharp pain every time she breathed in and the uncomfortable feeling of something grinding in her ribs.
It was a good cover to sit by and watch the bar she’d seen Myra enter. It was made even better, but perhaps a bit awkward, when a well-intentioned stranger sat by to console her out of genuine worry.
But still, Lin missed nothing – not even a familiar duo exiting the bar and sliding into the back of an unknown car.
…
She was able to shake off the stranger easily after that; and the moment she was free of their presence she sent a quick message to the group via cell, using the wall of a nearby building for support. Breathing was starting to get a little difficult, enough for Lin to abandon her usual style of typing.
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Post by S☆E on Nov 9, 2019 16:41:02 GMT -6
As Daryl pushed through the emergency exit door he shed the Security jacket, tossing it unto the dumpster outside. He followed the back of the building, keeping against the wall until he reached another entrance back into the casino. The ruckus certainly caused a distraction at the tables, attendants trying to coax players back into their seats amid the noise and keep the games going. Daryl nonchalantly slid to the casino gift shoppe, grabbed a shirt (I BUSTED AT THE CRAPS), hat and cheap pair of shades in the hopes that none of the security staff would recognize him.
The souvenirs were cheap, so he bought a bunch and a tote bag to carry them all in. The rest of the crew, the ones that he'd left in the cloud of pepper spray, would probably be pretty pissed at him, so he made sure to get them some knickknacks as a peace offering. To commemorate the time they-
Shit, that wouldn't work. All these things would remind them of is the time they got maced.
Daryl looked down at the bag, annoyed at the useless purchases and the big NO REFUNDS sign behind the cashier's counter. Oh well. Maybe these will come in handy? Having acquired a new "disguise", he felt better. In his wallet there had been an unfamiliar keycard, a hotel room key that he didn't remember paying for. As good a place as any to lay low for awhile, I suppose...
~~
Standing in the hotel elevator, Daryl rested his head against the cool interior. The adrenaline had faded, headache and fatigue taking its place. According to the clock on his phone it'd been three days since arrival. He looked through his DMs. There was a conversation with a number he didn't recognize. Some flirty messages, some drunken garble and... pictures? Oh... Oh no. Daryl hit the emergency stop on the elevator and climbed out through the hatch in the ceiling. There was no way he'd be able to go anywhere near that hotel room. Taking the utility ladder in the elevator shaft back down to the ground level, he climbed through the elevator door and ran out of the building.
~~
Back on the megahauler Naomi heard a clattering ruckus as Daryl clambered back into the trailer at full sprint, bag of junk in tow. He climbed back into the hot little bunk but the heat didn't faze him now. He was too exhausted to care. He turned off his phone, avoiding looking at those pictures again. "I better not dream about this shit," he threatened his brain before slipping into unconscious oblivion.
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Post by Captain Ameijin! on Nov 10, 2019 23:01:15 GMT -6
The bell above the corner store door jingled as the door swung open.
Fists flung wildly around him, unbridled chaos from the wedding party spilling out into the streets. Drunken attendees began to accuse one another of setting off the ‘big ol’ stink bomb’ as they had come to call it, brawling in the open streets as the local police struggled to maintain peace and order. This was a blessing in disguise, masking the fistfight between Gabe and Konstantinov’s guards. Despite their numbers, the security guards seemed to have taken a beating.
“Goddammit would you stop it already! Stop, stop— ow!” Blood splattered from the guard’s nose, his baton rolling farther from his reach and out onto the street. A stray horse kicked it aside with its hooves, closely followed by a winded policeman. “Get the fuck off of me, you whackjob!”
Gabe felt an arm wrap around his waist and tear him away. After a brief struggle he was pulled up onto his feet, where Sean gave him a couple smacks on the cheek to gain his attention.
“Hold yer horses! This fight is already over,” Sean cooed. He pat down the dirt and blood from the shoulders of Gabe’s suit. “Konstantinov isn’t the man we’re looking for.”
When Gabe felt an arm around him ready to lift him up, Gabe’s first reaction was to keep on swinging. Or in this case, slam an elbow at the first soft target he was pretty sure he could find without looking. But hearing the ever-familiar voice of Sean would assure him he didn’t need to be ready to continue going feral as he turned around.
“Phew...Alright...I’m good. Sorry ‘bout that.”
Looking at him, Gabe wasn’t exactly a pretty sight either. He’d definitely given more than he’d taken from Konstantinov’s guards, but security for someone as important as him wasn’t going to be gentle or weak. He already had several bruises visible and blood poured freely, if slowly, from one nostril. Despite that, he almost seemed jovial after getting into a proper brawl.
“I assume he wasn’t happy regardless? Did my best to hold ‘em off for ya, but I think one or two may have followed ya. Hope they didn’t cause too much trouble.”
“He didn’t seem too happy about being pepper sprayed and dragged down the street like a sack of potatoes, but Konstantinov calmed down a bit once he figured I wasn’t out to murder him. Think he’s all too happy to see us take down his competition.”
Sean grabbed a wrinkled ball of paper towels he’d stuffed into his pocket and pat down the blood that leaked from Gabe’s nose. He twisted one of the corners of the paper and gingerly shoved it up the bleeding nostril.
“And don’t ye worry yerself about me. Take more than a couple mooks for me to cry uncle. I’ll tell ye what, though, this arm of mine comes in handy.” He looked over his shoulder and started down a narrow side street, thinking up the most inconspicuous route back to the megahauler. “We ought to get this show on the road before police start sniffing around.”
Gabe would make a few token swats and complaints as Sean helped wipe his face off and plug his nose, but they’d danced this dance enough to know he didn’t mean it. He’d just kicked the asses of a team of security goons, how could he be upset?
As Sean started to move, he’d follow a bit behind, lagging a bit behind thanks to both his shorter stature and being pretty out of breath. “Still tellin’ ya that piston punch is exactly what ya need for this kinda thing.” He’d call ahead with a grin.
“So if Konstantinov ain’t our guy, guessin’ that leaves Dae-Won by default. I assume Myra’s little date ain’t gonna end well if she ain’t already gettin’ ready to dig her own grave. We got any word on her position?”
“Haven’t heard anyth—”
A vibration interrupted Sean’s reply. He whipped out his burner phone and read the message.
“Speak of the devil. Linnea says they’re headed towards Yuki’s position and that we should regroup at the truck. Good thing I was headed that direction already.” He tried his best not to look concerned, but it showed in his eyes. “Don’t worry yerself too much about Myra, besides. Lass is tougher than she looks.”
At the same time, Gabe would reach for his phone as he got the same message. His phone had a few cracks in the case and screen, but it wasn’t supposed to last longer than the mission anyway. He squinted at the half-visible message, able to decode enough to get the important part. Shockingly, Dae-Won was not, in fact, on the up and up.
“Well at least we’re already on the way…” His earlier breezy attitude was gone as the reality of the situation was thrust back upon them. More teammates in likely mortal peril, and likely at the mercy of some very unfriendly friends of Dae-Won. “I trust her. It’s Dae-Won and his buddies I don’t. Ya don’t get where he is without fillin’ a few graveyards.”
“Unfortunately for him, guys like us don’t stay dead and buried long.”
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Post by Captain Ameijin! on Nov 13, 2019 10:19:38 GMT -6
“Start the truck,” Sean wheezed, breath heavy as he practically tore open the door to the passenger’s seat. “The others aren’t far behind now, caught a glimpse of them on the way down.”
The sound of snoring from behind him caught his attention. He adjusted the backseat mirror. “...is that Daryl? How’d he knock himself out like that?”
“Not sure; he got here just before Lin sent the regroup message, muttered something and went to bed.” She pointed at the lit dashboard. “And uh, the truck’s already started.”
Under Daryl’s heavy snoring, the faint humming of the electric engine could indeed be heard.
“Figured we’d have to get out of here quick, so I turned it around to face the exit already.”
“That it is.” Sean’s heartbeat finally stopped drumming against his ears. He now heard the soft hum of the engine in the background, interrupted by the clattering of dress shoes of the rest of the wedding party as they clamored inside. “Good thinking, Naomi. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
He climbed from the passenger’s seat into the back of the truck, cracking open a locker that slid under their bunks. Handguns, shotguns, rifles, and even the odd rocket launcher were stored safely inside. Sean reached for a Tokone Saiba, loading the shotgun with several dozen shells. He began to hand out the other firearms like presents to all the good little boys and girls of the Menaulion, a red-headed Kris Kringle on an all-too-sunny Christmas Day.
“We’re all locked and loaded!” He yelled from the back. The pilots had already begun to prep their machines for takeoff, while the others took the opportunity to clean the pepper spray from their eyes. Sean approached the Nemea and motioned for Linnea to hop on in. “How about we get this thing rolling, aye?”
---
The thought of being the ‘damsel in distress’ infuriated Myra.
Only two guards remained after Dae-Won left the room. Sure, they were armed— who wasn’t around these parts?— but this was far from the worst odds she’d overcome. So she stood when the guards told her to and lifted her hands when they told her to. But as the handcuffs locked onto her left wrist and reached to restrain her right, her weight shifted onto the heels of her plain white stilettos.
Snap!
Myra collapsed in place, the long heel of her shoes snapping off under her. “Shit shit shit shit shit! Think I twisted my fucking ankle…”
“Get back up,” the guard demanded. He didn’t miss a beat.
“What, no sympathy for a pretty girl stuck in a bad situation? Guys like you… piss me off.”
She reached for her broken heel and flipped out the blade from inside. The edge of the knife reflected the light from above as it was flung straight into the second guard’s hip. A burst of electricity surged through their body and stunned them. The electricity arced into the ceiling light and darkening the room in an instant.
The first guard gripped his rifle in his hands and reached for the trigger, but found the butt of the weapon smashed into his face. Myra took advantage of his momentary disorientation and tore the rifle away from him. As the weapon dropped to the floor, she slipped behind the guard and wrapped her handcuffs around his neck. The carbon nanofiber rope slid through the crack between his helmet and chest armor.
He grasped at it desperately, flailing to escape. A sharp knee to the small of his back knocked the wind out of his sails. The rope tightened around his neck, further constricting his airflow. Myra’s hands trembled as the security guard choked and sputtered, until his body finally fell limp and lifeless. Deep, labored breaths escaped from her lips as she loosened her grip and allowed the body to slump onto the floor.
She blinked as her eyes struggled to grow accustomed to the darkness. A moment of clarity reminded her that her phone was still stuffed into her bra, and she turned its light towards Yuki.
“Hhaaaah… haa… ha… there you are. Should get out of here before more guards come knocking, yeah?” Myra stumbled over to Yuki, undoing the gag around her mouth before taking a crack at her handcuffs. “Damn, these things don’t come off easy. Wonder if they’ve got the keys around here somewhere…”
A quick search of their belongings came up empty.
“Might sound like a weird question, but you ever seen Star Wars?”
---
Dust clouds billowed out from behind the wheels of the megahauler as it raced across the desert. Yuki and Myra’s signals hadn’t gone dark yet, which either meant that the pair had evaded scrutiny or that the others were running headfirst into an ambush. On the horizon, a warehouse hidden between a pair of sand dunes came into visual range.
The megahauler screeched as it came to a halt. Its trailer opened up to reveal the machines inside, laid out like corpses in a morgue. The Nemea and Meléagros emerged first, followed closely by the Big Boy and Hobgoblin. Their giant metal feet stepped onto the sand and marched toward the facility.
“Might want to find a good position to park the truck and wait for the storm to blow over,” Sean suggested to Naomi through the Nemea’s comm link. “Rather not have our getaway vehicle run into any trouble. Should the worst happen, ye have my express permission to kick Daryl’s ass into gear.”
He flicked the comm link off, crouching to avoid obstructing the view from the pilot’s seat. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable arrangement, but Lin was the most obvious choice as a substitute pilot for the Nemea. She was also the only one aside from Gabe that would begrudgingly tolerate Sean hanging around her cockpit.
“Are ye starting to get the hang of this thing yet? Won’t be long now before they start sending out their defenses.” He trained his eyes on the warehouse, adjusting the shotgun that rested against his shoulder. “Not to sound like a worrywart, but I haven’t got a seatbelt on, so... let me know if ye decide to start jerking this thing around.”
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Post by Charredgp on Dec 7, 2019 20:26:47 GMT -6
Gabe wasn't far behind Sean in boarding the truck, squeezing his way past the scottsman's bulk with a few muttered curses. Like a greedy gremlin he was already eyeing the weapons they had brought with them, extremely tempted to go for a shotgun. But he hopefully wouldn't need that given he was one of the pilots for this mission, so he'd settle on a nice-looking Cerberus P-K7. Hopefully that would be all the firepower he'd need for himself.
With practiced ease, he would start the Hobgoblin up, fidgeting impatiently in his seat while he waited for the others to get strapped in and launched. He didn't like having to wait even a second for this. Too many chances for things to go wrong. Whether it was Dae-Won escaping, or them losing someone else.
The walk so far was slow and uneventful. One giant, robotic foot in front of the other. Even though he knew that everything was good to go, Gabe's eyes would still flick to the various displays, as if worried that a leg or several tons of ammunition would suddenly disappear if not under his watchful eye. "We got any signs of life yet? Gonna feel pretty dumb if we got all sortied out for a buncha footsoldiers stoppin' this rescue."
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