MCKhaos, Jamee is 14 years old. After touching down in Shan City, the elf boy busies himself climbing about inside the Sixes' innards, conducting preventative maintenance checks and evaluating the systems that were damaged in the most recent fiasco.
MCKhaos, Jamee is 14 years old. After touching down in Shan City, the elf boy busies himself climbing about inside the Sixes' innards, conducting preventative maintenance checks and evaluating the systems that were damaged in the most recent fiasco.
Sona’s expression grows tight as Grellick continues to make his case. So very very few understood her, as if the litmus of justice were either far too simple or far too complex to understand. The wash of information is elucidating, but only in that it helped the technician narrow down just what kind of self-centered, chaotic good, Robyn of Loxley-9 the goblin wanted to believe he was. Not that she suspected he doctored the information, or that it would make a difference if he had, but a man’s heart could be read in the work he chooses to do and the work he turned down, and Grellick was the sort of person who let his personal experience dictate what was or wasn’t objectionable.
“It only makes sense that if we are to work together, we must come to an understanding, and to that end you should understand that this 0ne must operate across a great many written laws.” Sona spits the word ‘written’ with a measure of disgust. As she continues, the technician approaches Grellick’s desk in a slow, rocking pace. “To serve social justice, 0ne must adapt and forge compromise. Like your secret skyscraper. There were design constraints which seemed to conflict until a clever architect found a way to make the ends meet. To say this 0ne despises ‘criminals’ oversimplifies what was found objectionable about your… domineering expression of ardor, and you’ve shown you recognize that distinction yourself by apologizing. We're beginning to scratch the walls of our fishbowl, Grellick, and without a new place to spread, there will come a time when entropy has smothered the processes that you would call life. This 0ne is no more than a force against that entropy, trimming away dangerous branches for the health of the tree.”
When she reaches the desk, Miss Muffet climbs out of Sona’s shoulder compartment and down her arm onto the desk, connecting to Grellick’s console. Using the information recorded while dealing with Grellick’s hacking attempts, and any surface data he may have on his ships, she begins to construct a short shopping list of parts and drivers which will need to be installed. Most parts come from the Theta catalog, but some can be substituted with generic parts. There are a few packets, the algorithms used to break down security systems, which would come directly from Sona’s systems. This is primarily because Theta does not sell proprietary hacking software. “This isn’t like handing you a warhead. You should understand these particular algorithms would be recognized by the Sixes. Similarly, this 0ne would not be able to breach your systems. You should also be warned that any work-around the Kvothan might have found hasn’t been patched out yet, so this arrangement might not work against them as-is, but as long as we work together you will be sent updated dictionaries which you may install at your discretion. Installation should take eighteen hours."
"My questions are: What dealings have you had with Theta Securities, have you come across any information about a race of parasites calling themselves the Flesh, and if you could only recover one crew-member from the twisted wreckage of the Sixes, whom would you have recovered?"
I should point out that Jamee keeps his true age hidden from everyone except Sona and Captain Bucanero, basically - through a voice modulator, and through projecting a false image through BoT's transmitters when facetime is needed. His youth is a closely guarded secret.
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Grellick nods as he watches Sona work, with the admiring expression of an amateur enthusiast watching a seasoned professional. As Sona finishes asking her questions, Grellick takes off his glasses, sets them on the desk, and sighs.
You certainly know how to cut to the chase. Five days ago I would have recovered Bucanero. He and I have a long history, as I expect you have figured out. I really did not want to destroy your ship, but Bucanero can be so stubborn. Yesterday, I would have recovered Retzack. That ... thing has literally forgotten more than you or I will ever know. I have no idea how old he is, but I strongly suspect he was there at the beginning of the mess we find ourselves in. Today ... He takes a moment to look Sona up and down. Today it would be a difficult choice.
The old goblin rubs his eyes, suddenly looking weary beyond his many years.
The Flesh. Most call them the Fleet, because people are dumb, and lack imagination. The Flesh claim to be a utopian society, a melding of the races, brought together with a goal of ending the glory of capitalism, freeing the galaxy of consumption. But this is a lie. My people tell legends of a time, millennia ago, when we discovered how to harness the dead to labor on behalf of the living. Our darkest practitioners cultivated insects that would animate the dead and put them to work toiling with sword or plow. And on the backs of our dead my people became strong.
But at some point, we lost control. The insects left, and the dead went with them. They reached the stars like the rest of us, and then just disappeared. From the news reports, it sounds like they are back. They are certainly a common enemy, but not our only one. He sits back for a moment and looks out the window.
As for Theta, we sometimes purchase equipment, field generators, shielding, androids, the lot. If you are asking if I've ever done a job for Theta, the answer is no. Now, I suggest you go back to your ship, and make yourselves at home here in Shan City while my men fix up the Sixes. Certainly you have something that can occupy the lot of you for a few days. Oh and Sona, keep an eye out for Retzack. He's gregarious to a fault, but he is a fount of knowledge. We'll need him. We'll need all of you for what is coming.
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Mollified by Grellick's words, Retzack, having been given no direct task, and not feeling so greatly moved to begin any level-3 game playing just now, simply walks around and ingratiates himself amongst the various ships's staff.
If there's a conversation around a water-cooler, he's there offering wise insight and funny adlibs. Around the lunch table he's telling jokes both new and old, while being the perfect listener and an engaging conversationalist. Some of his stories must of course be either made up or from fantasy-vids, since steel rings off helm in half of them, but the heroes are raucous and the maidens well-endowed so it makes for a good story all the same.
You suspect that, were he to lay on a couch and speak openly, you'd hear a story about a rough childhood, or some great loss that would take your mind off his story and, eventually, would be simply answering questions about yourself.
Bucanero's voice chimes in over general comms. De s$&+stain gobbos be sayin' it be tree days afore d' Sixes be seaworthy. Best be about t' T.E.R.R.A t' git paid. I be stayin' t' watch t' mongrels ... N' offense Retzack.
The party regroups at the Sixes. What do you do?
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When the other Theta workers are offloaded for theor return, Sona returns to the docking bay to find Thorne, Yaelin, and Hephaestus waiting for her. “Apologies, it would appear the three of you were left behind. A cab will be called to return you to your employers at the earliest convenience.”
Thorne gives a rough solute, more from habit than anything else. “Our contracts were up, Commander. We figure we’ve got work to do here, under your supervision, of course.” The corporal has her personal kit still packed into an old milspec rucksack.
“This 0ne is not-” Sona began, before being interrupted by a young gnome in his thirties fostering an electric blue moustache that was not much more than peach fuzz.
“I heard you had an old O.R.A.C.L.E. module. You know, those things are banned in most federations.” Hephaestus, a halo of grease where his goggles would cover his eyes, has his hands on a piece of burned out casing Sona thought she had disposed of. “They say they can beat a tactical AI at Go, four to one with the right input.”
Yaelin has a bit more luggage than her companions, and looks even less ready to fight off man-eating dogs, but nonetheless, the Dwarf had taken up arms when Sona had come to call. “I heard you’ve got bleeders and credits. Here’s better than the T.E.R.R.A. severance plan in any case.”
Sona waited for them to finish and look to her for a response, then reiterated: “This 0ne is not built for an executive role. This 0ne is hardly fit for interpersonal relations.”
Thorne gives a hearty chuckle, “If I may speak freely, sir: not a one of us was, er… built for this sort of work, but here we are. You kept a clear head and saw clear to keeping us alive, and in the cold clutches of space, that’s all any ”one” can hope for.”
“It is an inconvenience that a substantial portion of the crew are given to fits of organic frailty, and a few more skilled hands would be an advantage in engineering.[b]” The pause Sona takes for consideration is so short as to seem a sudden mood swing. “[b]Corporal Thorne, it is a pleasure to welcome you aboard the Lucky Sixes.”
this.parent.Manifest["crew"].apend("A’gatha Thorne", CORPORAL, DEPARTMENTS.OPERATIONS, "Pilot", "Crowd Suppression");
this.parent.Manifest["crew"].apend("Daerol Hephaestus", ENSIGN, DEPARTMENTS.ENGINEERING, "Apprentice Engineer", "Shields Technician");
this.parent.Manifest["crew"].apend("Mochii Yaelin", DOCTOR, DEPARTMENTS.MEDICAL, "Doctor", "Cook");
On the first day, Sona is busy making upgrades to Grellick’s ship. She works with Hephaestus in her down time to build some experimental tools he can use during her operations. Thorne and Yaelin follow anyone who leaves the ship. They’ve been given errands to do in Shan City, but they hesitate to leave the ship alone.
Jamee performs some moderate preventative maintenance on the Sixes, but his curiosity about the City of Shan overwhelms him after a short time. Adopting direct control of Blast-O-Tron, he leaves the ship and begins to wander around Shan City, with no particular destination in mind. As he walks, he lets his mind wander, thinking about the kind of work they were getting into just to make some jingle. If he sees anything interesting as he wanders the streets, he'll pursue it until it's fully investigated - this includes making use of his jetpack if necessary, assuming that's not illegal or anything to do within city limits. He's intending to be gone for about 4 hours before making his way back to the ship.
A new gun, with nothing to shoot.
Half a ton of ammo and fuel, with no-where to go, and nothing to do.
Retrorockets and heat-sensing goggles, but nothing to kill.
With a corrupted and filtered mind, a vivisected and reconstructed psyche, the soulless killing machine that grew itself a soul out of pure insanity, sits. Brooding.
Sits and waits.
Thorne and Yaelin follow Jamee, and hope quite desperately that he doesn't jet off into the sunset on short notice. They watch him scour the shopping district and some of the random back streets, not quite sure what to make of his recon stratagem. At a certain point, Yaelin whispers something to Thorne, and after tugging quite heartily on her vape stick, she addresses the robot. "Are we not contacting Horvus today? ... Sir? I was told that was a thing we still needed to do."
Yaelin, who seems to have immediately given up on Jamee's leadership, looks around to see if any of the other crew members tagged along.
Jamee, as you wander through the city you begin to notice a pattern. Men and women in unmarked vehicles appear to be running search patterns. You and your escort manage to avoid notice and return to the Sixes to report this to the crew.
Not before commanding RAE, my android animal companion, to follow one of these unmarked vehicles. She's trained to scout and hunt, so tailing one should provide some useful data. He doesn't acknowledge or interact with Yaelin or Thorne, even after they attempt to tug on his sleeve.
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Patiently awaiting both company and purpose, Retzack finds himself alone playing Go with Simmons. He realizes that the status of the various rescued minors has not really been communicated to him--and, indeed, why should it?
Still, it is useful to have at least one lackey, and there is, as they say, no time like the present.
In between tales of heroes slaying monstrosities with shiny, sharp STEEL and heroes slaying monstrosities with improbably large laser cannons, he simply slips in, "You will be coming with us on our next mission, of course?"
Somehow it sounds like both a question and a command.
He'll inform of Grellick of the change at the next opportunity.
And maybe Bucanero. That would be polite.
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<Insert end of conversation / awkward silence with Tuber here>
Like most of its cousins in the age of digital communication and interstellar travel, the post office is a small, sparsely furnished affair, with little room for waiting and an implicit assumption that anyone actually shipping a package could handle their own paperwork. Thorne, Yaelin and Haphaestus had elected to contact Terra on their own, so Picket's story about sending off their paperwork is just that–but under the disinterested eye of the elderly goblin behind the desk, he does have other business, and it's the type that could more than sour any relief he feels at being out from under Terra.
He grimaces as he enters the public ansible set into the lobby wall and picks up the receiver, hand hesitating over the touch-pad. After a moment, he lets out a long breath and punches in the alphanumeric code for his contact at the PGLMI, waiting through the interstellar static until the call is answered by a synthetic voice.
"You are leaving a collect message. Please state your name for the intended recipient's benefit."
"Junior."
"Thank you, <Junior>. Please record your message after the tone. When you are finished recording, you may hang up, or press Omega for more options. <beep>."
"Hey Dad, how's the weather?"
Agent checking in. I am not communicating under duress or coercion.
"Hope it's better than over here. Planet I just got back from had a storm come out of nowhere; hailstones the size of your fist, couldn't see down the street if you were dumb enough to go outside. Put the speeder in the shop, it was so bad."
Just escaped from unexpected danger area. Minimum scope, continental; full extent, unclear. Most personal resources lost during extraction.
"But hey, enough about that, you can check the weather yourself, right? Meantime, I caught a ride to Shan City. I think I've got a cousin who lives here, right? What was her name again... Sona?"
Request investigation of incident. I can be found at Shan City, but am not traveling alone. Suspected fellow operative nearby, request confirmation. Name: Sona.
"Anyway, I won't keep you; I know these messages aren't cheap, especially from a payphone. You know where to reach me."
Secure lines unavailable, but may access dropbox locations.
"So I'll talk to you later, then. Tell Mom I said hi."
Sign-off code for agent Mazen, Picket-Fence.
As Picket hangs up the receiver, he sees an incoming communication from Jamee, and steps back out into the streets before answering.
"Ensign Mazen, go ahead."
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Scene: Top down view of a black hover vehicle as it travels through city side streets.
Morin said it descended towards this sector, but dropped off the radar about 300 feet up.
Ships that size don't drop off the radar Ulek.
Well apparently this one does. Must have gone to ground around this area though. They will have to come up sometime. Rumor is that they completed a job for Horvus, so Jules has that old diner staked out, just in case.
Ulek, you remember Johnson? From fifth? He in deep with Grellick's organization now. Apparently that old goblin left system. Can you believe it? I don't think he's been out of Shan City in years...
The camera stops as the vehicle enters a tunnel, pauses for a moment, and then gains altitude, heading towards the east.
That's what's being transmitted to me via RAE, correct? If so, I'm going to run a query on well-established diners in a 3 mile radius of the vehicle's current location.
Finding nothing on his initial search, he turns to Yaelin and Thorne, turning on his voice modulator to sound like a middle-aged elf. "Do either of you know of the likeliest location to be called the "old diner" in this neighborhood?" he asks them.
The camera fades on RAE's surveillance feed, and cuts back in to the group sitting at the old diner.
As before, Louis' Restaurant is not particularly packed. However, your much larger group fills up two tables this time. In short order Horvus appears, glancing at each of the tables, and electing to sit at the table to Sona, Retzack and Picket. 2BR and BoT stand at ease nearby, wary for signs of danger. Picket, your scar is glowing very faintly, a sign that there is danger, but it is not immediate.
Horvus smiles at the group, and tosses a chit card worth 2,000 credits onto the table. My higher ups tell me that you rescued some of our personnel. Nice work. Here is an additional 500 credits for going above and beyond. Horvus tosses another chit onto the table. He sits down and leans in towards the group. It is quite obvious that he does not recognize Thorne, Haephaestus, Yaelin, and Simmons sitting at the adjacent table, nor does he recognize Picket.
I've also heard some strange rumors going around about ... We'll why don't you tell me what you uncovered. He pulls out a datapad and gets ready to take some notes.
"While the site was overrun by local fauna, this was not the inciting incident. Operations on LV-425 were halted by internal systems after a swarm of ships descended on the site. The swarm identified itself as the Flesh. The swarm proceed to scorch the surface of the planet with grade E weaponry, suggesting they either did not have access to any bunker busters, nukes, or plasma weaponry; or they intended for there to be survivors. Secondary research suggests this is not the first such incident, and--depending on where you file the claim--insurance should cover damages. The third-party incident assessment sent to you should strengthen your claim." Sona looks from Horvus to his former colleagues, and decides against displaying the message. Depriving the Flesh of their intimidation tactics overrode the slim chance that this man would recognize the woman they chose to deliver it.
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Morcar Simmons wanted to be liked.
As a young man he eased himself into an internship at a high-powered advertising agency. As he fetched coffee for people that were (in his perception) beautiful and intelligent, paid large amounts of money to turn a phrase to get other people interested in something they didn't know they couldn't live without, he was consumed with envy.
He'd go drinking with the men and watch them, effortlessly, pick up the most gorgeous women in the bar, any bar they were in, and he dreamed of doing that--of being in the In Crowd.
But he was careless. Instead of sitting back and methodically building up the self-esteem needed to carefully handle charisma and skill, he kept bulldozing forward, trying to climb both the corporate and the social ladder without skill or guile.
In time he tried a hostile takeover of a vice-president's pants, and found himself out of work and on the run from a gang of thugs.
Although he managed to put his troubles behind him, he only did so by hitting, literally, rock-bottom, swinging a pick loading a daily quota of ore. Such a simple existence allowed him time to meditate and think on where he'd gone wrong. Since his hair-splitting escape he's grown as a person and even gained a little bit of wisdom. He'd like to try get back to that scene, but first he needs a way out...and maybe a mentor.
In Retzack he sees his Second Chance. The self-assured, smart, funny gobblin seems to be everything he always thought he wanted. He wants to absorb all this strange man has to teach and use this chance to get back into the Life of Riley that he knows he deserves.
As they enter the restaurant, Simmons runs his patented "My friend is actually a famous person" routine. He might not be the greatest ad exec or Pick Up Artist, but he plays backseat to NO ONE when it comes to convincing people that other people are famous!
Retzack had no knowledge of this, but he's been famous before, and he's ran the same game for other people, so he accepted it graciously and played along. After a moment of direct eye contact, the maitre D` offers his most sincere apologies that he wasn't informed that "THE Mr. Black" would be making an appearance and Retzack assured him that it wasn't a planned public appearance and he needn't put himself out.
Since they swore him to secrecy, word of course got out and Retzack spends the rest of the evening accepting free drinks and occasionally singing autographs. All come away unsure exactly which simsense star that is, but -certain- that he -must- be someone famous.
BoT is scanning all targets within the diner, but he's paying especial attention to the new goblin in their ranks. The newcomer was charming, had a great smile, and had the social slipperiness of an eel. Jamee knew there was something about the goblin that he didn't like, and he was determined to find out why. Such was his focus, that he didn't pay as close attention to the rest of his surroundings as he normally would.
"Plenty of rockhounds went out fighting," Picket adds. "Cold comfort for the next of kin, but I'm sure they'd want to know. Assuming Terra's still sending out bereavement letters."
He rubs his scar absentmindedly, glancing at the diner's entrance with unease as Sona relays the information to Horvus. The city was sketchy at best, and apparently the Lucky Sixes had its attention. More than enough reason to keep his head on a swivel, even without more reminders of Kanata.
Horvus shakes his head absentmindedly while Sona and Picket speak. The Flesh... Zealots. He spits the word. This is a significant loss and will no doubt reduce quarterly projections.
This roster lists 42 MIA. Of course the families will be compensated pursuant to provision 66. 9 survivors ... And 5 termination requests? He flips through personnel information quickly and nods. Terminations approved. If you keep taking my people I won't be able to hire you in the future. He laughs good naturedly but there is ice in his eyes.
He looks over to the bar where Simmons and Retzack have acquired a large retinue. You are welcome to stay as long as you like. Food and drink are on the house. Please leave your report with my assistant. He gestures to a woman sitting at the bar ignoring the gregarious goblin's group.
Sona, at this point your internal analysis of the arrival vectors of the Flesh ships completes. You believe that they arrived from no less than ten separate origin points, all well off established trading lanes. Either they traveled for a very long distance in rift space before attacking, or they mustered in deep space far from any system.
One last thing. Were you able to recover anything from the station computers?
Horus says his goodbyes, promising to contact you with more work and leaves you to carouse.
Several hours later Picket's scar begins to burn sharply. From outside you hear a loudspeaker, which quiets the crowd inside. Come out with your hands up.
What do you do?
Picket had learned a lot over the years, not least of which was this: never turn down a free meal. There was pretty much always a catch involved, but at least you'd be meeting it on a full stomach. Besides which, he was still getting his footing when it came to Shan City, and people always seem chattier over food and drink. Something about being fed makes you feel safe, turns off the part of the brain that keeps your hackles up and your mouth shut.
Same thing happens when you've got somebody famous in your midst, he thinks as he looks over at the crowd Retzack has gathered. People get so eager to open up, they don't pay much mind to what comes out. And much like the free meal, it'd be a right shame not to tuck in. Might at least catch a few moments of peace before the other shoe dropped.
Moving over to the bar, Picket raises a drink in Retzack's direction, giving the goblin a small nod before easing into a conversation with a few of the other patrons seated nearby.
At the sound of the loudspeaker, Sona stands, and her conscripts stop what they're doing and look to her for instruction. She balks, still not used to people giving her direct command, but quickly formulates a plan.
"Hephaestus, we need intel. See what you can gather from the surrounding camera systems, and use the DELPHI to crunch the numbers. Yaelin-" She throws the 500 cred stick in the dwarf's direction, "Consider it a down payment. Try to keep everyone here alive. It would be best if it didn't come to bloodshed, but you shouldn't be left wondering when your next pay is coming. Thorne, we're going out there keep your force dampener hot, they may not want civil discourse, but we're going to give them the benefit of the doubt." To the rest of the people in the pizza parlor she states, "No one who wishes to stay out of prison will take aggressive action before they fire their first volley."
The conscripts react quite uniquely to the orders, Thorne giving a rough salute and sliding coolly into place at her Commander's side, while Yaelin taps the cred stick into her com pad to confirm the contents and quickly siphon it off into her family's account. Haephestas makes a punching motion in the air and jacks his utilitool into the table's POS consol, absolutely giddy to make use of the ORACLE's companion module.
Sona and Thorne exit the pizza parlor with their hands raised. "Parley!" Thorne shouts, and Sona cocks her brow at the former soldier. "Does this 0ne look like a Theta 4? Where is Retzack?"
MCKhaos, there are tall structures all around this bar building. Making good use of his jetpack, Jamee pilots Blast-O-Tron up to an abandoned window in a building nearby on the same street. He would pick his location carefully to give him a commanding view of the street outside the bar. While the others drink and make merry, Jamee, not being a very social elf, left and flew up to his sniper perch. Now he looks down from above on the speaker through the megaphone outside, and he can hear Sona's declaration of parley.
Sona:
Within moments Haephaestus transfers the conclusions of the DELPHI unit to Sona: It is exceptionally unlikely that Lodestar wants the PR blowback of a daylight public firefight. You also know that T.E.R.R.A. frequently hires Lodestar for a variety of longer term jobs and that T.E.R.R.A. would certainly frown on any collateral damage to T.E.R.R.A. assets. In other words, violence is an unacceptable outcome for the Lodestar commander, and he knows it. Your best bet is to call his bluff, and hope he is rational.
As Sona and Thorne exit the restaurant, a dozen guns are immediately trained on Sona's head. The commander immediately speaks over the loudspeaker: Where's that thrice damned Theta 2 unit? Bring it out where I can see it!
Picket and Retzack:
Even on a miss you get to chose one:
You befriend a useful NPC.
You hear rumors of an opportunity.
You gain useful information.
You are not entangled, ensorcelled, or tricked.
Jamee:
From your perch you can see a dozen lodestar soldiers, however they are not wearing the same power armor they wore during your first space battle. Of particular interest, a soldier in the back is wearing a backpack that you recognize to be a local area communications jammer. He is also wearing a headset designed to pierce through communications jamming. You quickly test your team comms and find only static.
What do you do as the commander responds to Sona?
I'm going to Called Shot on that backpack to fry its systems. No way am I going to sit out here in radio silence! However, I won't deploy RAE to assist in this shot. Too hot down there for her.
Jamee, what does a shot from BoT's blaster look and sound like?
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2BR looms up behind the commander. The low rumble of his speakers causes any glass objects nearby to shiver and shimmer.
"Here I am. What did you want?"
Closest analogue I can think of would be this.
Carousing:
The bartender refuses Simmons' coin as he begins ordering drink after drink. Soon, Simmons is ordering rounds for the entire bar as Horvus looks on. The crowd soon becomes visibly intoxicated, both by the drink, and by Retzack's aura. Simmons has no difficulty convincing the crowd that they are among celebrity. A pair of humans sitting at the end of the bar can't help but take notice, and unbeknownst to the PCs, they begin recording the night's festivities.
2BR is quickly bored by the organic antics of the evening and leaves to patrol the area, searching for potential victims. BoT also leaves, but for his own reasons.
Meanwhile, Picket plies the drunken crowd for information about a topic near and dear to his heart, the Flesh. He finds one woman, horribly scarred by a grievous accident, more than happy to spin a tale.
Five months ago I was on Katapesh. Did you hear about Katapesh? It was a nice place once. Not anymore obviously. It was a peaceful planet, without much to speak of in the way of defenses. Wouldn't have mattered anyway. They swarmed in like angry gnats, obliterating the planet's manufacturing and commercial centers. Left the residences alone, but so what? I was half crushed by some debris, but I saw. She sloshes her drink at this point, spilling some to the ground as she gets excited. This green light, knocked everyone down. Killed em, I swear! I saw it! They were certainly dead. Then the monsters landed, injected em with something, and they stood back up! I swear it. Dead walking, talking ... laughing! They took everyone else, but they couldn't touch me. She pulls out an old amulet. This saved me. Started to glow a bright blue when they came near, and when they reached for me, they shied away like they was on fire! She puts it back in her pocket, but in her inebriated state the chain is still dangling down. Who would have thought my aunt's old locket could save me! Anyway, I was alive down there for two weeks before I managed to steal a ship. They were converting the capital building into some sort of compound. Moved a lot of equipment in. Weird stuff. She reaches out for your datapad, and clumsily enters in some data. Then she points at a map she had updated. Boom! Right there. Place was crawling with them. Seemed almost normal you know? Friendly. Creepiest thing I've ever seen. She shudders and returns to her drink.
What do you do before the other shoe drops?
Picket nods quietly along to the woman's story, listening with keen interest. Whatever the Flesh were, if she was telling the truth, they could raise the dead. No, it was more than that; he'd heard of undead before, but they were supposed to be little more than husks, nearly brainless. To have the fallen get up and carry on like they'd never died at all was... unsettling.
He's silent for a moment after she finishes talking, then reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out a yellowed, singed piece of paper folded into quarters.
"You know, I was on Reno when the sky fell. War made its mark even before then, so I know what it's like watching the world fall apart around you. Only thing left is this."
He unfolds the paper on the counter, sliding it over to show her the crude crayon drawing of four kobolds and a tiny house scrawled across the surface.
"My sister's kid Hero drew that. That's him there, and that's me and his parents. Been some downright terrible places the last few years, almost gave up on everything more than once--but every time I did, I just looked at this, and it kept me going. The things that keep you alive will surprise you. Like that locket of yours."
He looks up from the picture, the map on the datapad still blinking beside it. "Listen, do you mind if I... take a look at that for a moment? I've seen a lot in my time; if there's a reason it kept the Flesh away, I might be able to tell you what it is. I promise, I'll give it right back."
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The woman pulls out the amulet and watches it reflect the light for a moment. She seems a bit reluctant to hand it over to Picket, but finally relents. Sure, what's the harm, right? she tosses it to you.
Picket, you've never seen anything like this amulet, although your scar feels warm when the amulet is close.
As you are inspecting the object, the voice of Commander Jules blares through the loudspeaker. Come out with your hands up!
The woman chokes on her drink and stands up wild eyed. She is clearly panicked and runs towards the exit. Picket, you look down at the amulet in your hand and look back up to see her duck into the crowd.
What did you do?
Outside:
From a distance, 2BR had casually watched the lodestar mercenaries surround the diner, excited at the prospect of imminent violence. He had fought these mercenaries before, and was not particularly concerned. Then Sona and Thorne exited the building and 2BR moved to hear the exchange.
Where's that thrice damned Theta 2 unit? Bring it out where I can see it!
As if on cue, 2BR ghosts up to the Commander and speaks, Here I am. What did you want?
Jules curses and spins bringing his blaster to bear on the mechanical monstrosity. Ten soldiers follow suit. At this moment 2BR senses that BoT is about to take a shot. 2BR raises an empty hand and gives the commander the finger gun gesture as the communication jammer explodes.
The mercenaries dive for cover, weapons trained on 2BR, but they do not open fire.
What do you all do?
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Retzack took another sip and smiled as he held court. Of course, when the kobold was told a story by a woman, he only paid as much attention to it as he did to every other conversation in the room--an old habit he picked up. It merely took a quick three centuries to perfect, but it was well worth it.
At the mention of it's power he puts his smile on auto-control and turns a full third of his attention to the exchange. An amulet that can resist the power of...? No, it couldn't be.
With the weight of a sniper's scope his eyes coyly see the exchange, and then the female's rapid retreat.
Good move. It saved him the trouble of killing her.
His smile regained an easy quality as he kept tabs on the activities outside. He -could- interfere, but did he really want to?
Retzack searches his memories. There used to be...SO...many magical amulets. Many of which he had a hand in creating. But for one to have survived this long? The description is so very very vague. But does it ring a bell?
The fog of aeons clouds his thoughts. Too little to go on. Too little.
Seeing pops surprise the leader, Sona clicks into comms just as the jamming clears.
> Hephaestus, we need splinter targeting, run duckHunt.exe
Inside, Daerol turns the boxy utilitool over to a tiny LED display with a blunt joypad and three red buttons. Outside, orange arcs of lightning lick the gaps in Sona's plating. When she realizes pops is discharging, she fires a staccato barrage of tiny laser slugs.