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Re: REKT: BTE Mission 2: Fuhodo Station

#316
Follow Brom, keeping an eye out for trouble and trying to act as natural as a human's presence here can be
While we're on the way, if we're passing through an area with no traffic/people other than us, discreetly take out my PDA and look if there's a public station-side WiFi (or whatever the 4th millennium analog is) and search for the name of the person we're looking for on whatever channels my character would deem appropriate (while asking Brom if he knows how the hell that name is even supposed to be spelled)
if the local internet appears to be private/requires some kind of credentials to access:
-Unless it seems like the network is highly secure or would very likely draw attention to us if accessed (e.g. a high-tech military network) try and hack into it non-intrusively
if I find any useful info about the person, relay it to the other two
Also look up on recent news, primarily for Fuhodo itself, but also on the wider sector, if anything catches my eye
Whenever I notice someone else approaching, quickly put my PDA back into my pocket (or wherever it is stored)
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Re: REKT: BTE Mission 2: Fuhodo Station

#318
Turn 10

  Vynkor and Sukava, surrounded by enemies, quietly discuss clever, intelligent plans on how to combat this new threat. Or... that would be the ideal thing to happen in this situation, at least. The reality falls fairly far from there.

  "Well, I'm glad to see your brain is as corroded as the rest," Vynkor spits out in a thoroughly bitter tone. She's had more than enough of Sukava's shit at this point, and it's finally led her to the breaking point. "Don't really know what I was expecting. You lose a little upstairs when they were replacing your legs or something?"
  Sukava shrugs and makes no response.
  Vynkor rolls her eyes and continues to say, in a thoroughly mocking tone: "You think they like spaghetti as much as the priest? I'd hate to see the marinara sauce go to waste. Maybe if you had -"
  But the effects of the mockery are lost: Sukava isn't even listening. "DO ANY OF YOU SPEAK STANDARD? WE WERE TOLD YOU PEOPLE HAD AN ISSUE, WE CAME TO SEE IF WE COULD HELP!"
  "That wasn't the part I was talking about," Vynkor mutters under her breath in irritation.
  At Sukava's words, a larger, stronger-looking fysar rises from the throng clustered around them. She appears very heavily armed and armored, and even though it's makeshift gear, it nevertheless looks quite powerful. She seems to hold a position of authority over the others: when she stands, they grow quieter to listen as she finally speaks... in broken Galactic. "'Help'?" she calls out skeptically to the two intruders. "You, who cannot talk hirmiin, Kriivar? Say to me: What is our name called? And from who you come? Why they say we need help, and that you now attack first? Answer these questions, Kriivar." She bears the attitude of a superior conversing with one so far beneath themselves that an air of authority serves little purpose - the attitude of an adult talking to a small child.
  Vynkor raises an eyebrow, very mildly impressed that Sukava actually got them to do something vaguely resembling negotiation. Maybe being sociable is somewhat useful every now and then.
  Thinking quickly, Sukava shouts back, "We know not your name, but know your need for our services! We come from those who know, but are not known! We do not attack you first, but we respond to attack in kind!" This last is said despite knowing full well that the fysar on the balcony hadn't actually been intending to "shoot to kill". He was just firing warning shots. Sukava and Vynkor, however, initiated actual combat.
  Her companion leans over and whispers, "You don't seem at all concerned that this plan is a poorly constructed tapestry of lies."
  "It's the truth!" Sukava hisses. "We are looking for a job, we do come from people they don't know, and they clearly have issues."
  "Right, right," Vynkor mumbles. Then, she raises her voice and adds, "You guys need something shot or unshot, or acquired or disposed of, then we're the ones to ask. And you don't even have to leave the luxury of your home!"
  The gang's speaker gives the two a flat stare in response, seeming thoroughly unimpressed. The inmates have cleverly succeeded spectacularly failing to satisfactorily answer any of the four questions she had asked. "So, my questions have no answer to you," she muses slowly, deliberately. "You are Kriivar; you have no... dobiri. We had think you maybe someone... hmm. Ikaffi mikika - someone of power, or of friends with power. But no. You are lish." She stares for a moment longer. Finally, she shrugs, turning and beginning to walk away as though the entire incident is of little consequence, and lazily raises a hand as a signal. "Sishae kwakiil," she speaks, in a thoroughly bored tone as she walks away.
  "I tried!" Sukava says loudly. "I fukcing tried! Vynk, let's use that doorway as cover!" She points at a building nearby and starts to head in that direction, but Vynkor's reply stops her short.
  "Fukcing nope! You had your chance, I'm out," she says lividly, fighting panic. "If we get out of this, I'm going to look for someone less suicidal!"
  "So... what?" the other laughs. "We're just going to run away?"
  "I don't give a fukc what you do," Vynkor retorts, taking off the direction she came in. "But yes, I'm running away."
  As the fysar rapidly close in, Sukava watches after Vynkor for a moment, flabbergasted. Finally, with a groan, she gives up and starts chasing after her "friend".

  But the fysar have circled around them. There's no way out.
  Her plasma rifle ready, Vynkor fires ahead of her, behind her - only one of her shots land, hitting a foe in the leg. Close behind, Sukava is letting loose with her CRISP with incredible aim, hitting two of the angry, raging fysar right in the chest (one of them goes down and doesn't look like he's getting back up) - but still they close in. Sukava gets shot twice in the back, while Vynkor gets shot three times - once hitting her metal arm with no repercussions, but two hit the same spot on her outer thigh; she shrieks with pain and goes down, bleeding profusely. Her leg is on fire - both figuratively and literally. The fysar close in, and Vynkor manages to hit one more fysar in the stomach as she tries to crawl away, right before her plasma rifle buzzes strangely in her hands and dies. Shortly after, a webbed field arcs over the two inmates - an electric blue - and everything goes dark.

~~~

  At the news that Bob is dead and they've started a civil war, Saoirse staggers back a few steps, her eyes watering. "W-w-w-what? K-killed? B-b-but..." She doesn't understand how he could be dead. He ran away before the mercs got there, right? Right? How did the mercs know who he was? How did they find him? A tear rolls down Saoirse's cheek.
  Beside her, Frank falls to his knees in anguish. "What can we even do?" he whispers, horrified.
  Caleb, meanwhile, is in his own little private hell while he remembers Anba, and his promise not to leave anyone behind ever again. Now he's done just that. And Bob, too - Bob, who most certainly didn't deserve anything like this. And now the rest of us will die soon, too, he thinks. If not by Daneelo's angry hand, then by the warring sides that would only be too happy to parade our corpses through the streets.
  Big Daneelo looks on at their reaction with little display of empathy. While it doesn't show outwardly, he is gradually becoming more impatient - and annoyed. His fronds twitch; he turns to Almina and speaks: "'Mina, poasana mala loritepa calon polas apetohas laro. Fasonona mpe vea pru afaso peloss?" Almina does not reply, but looks embarrassed, or perhaps apologetic. She wrings her pairs of hands together awkwardly.
  Fortunately, it isn't long before Caleb's soldier training begins to take control. With a very clear, concerted effort, he pushes his emotions to the side for now, forcibly bringing order to his mind. Mission mode, Caleb, he repeats to himself. Mission mode. I'm no use to Saoirse and Frank if I'm too messed up to even think straight. Taking a deep breath, he responds to Big Daneelo in an even, professional tone: "If we stay here, we'll only make this worse. We need to leave, for our sake and the station's. I can't see our presence here calming things at all. You obviously know far more than we do about the situation. What's the most realistic course of action? Obviously just walking to the docks is out of the question."
  "You are staying here," Big Daneelo replies curtly - and this time it seems addressed specifically to Caleb, as though his two companions have escaped his notice. "On the station. You are not leaving." Then, sensing he'll need to either explain or risk another dramatic emotional outburst, he adds, "Not yet. If you leave now, they will overtake your ship and destroy you. The Mercenary Union has stronger ships. They will prevail in combat against you. It will fully sway the remaining independents, and likely many that still follow Rebirth's ideology. Then we will not have a civil war, but a massacre."
  Caleb quickly processes this information. "I guess we'll need to stay at least until the FMU's fleet is occupied by the fighting or something. That might not be feasible though. I'm not sure; I'm no admiral."
  Pale-faced, Frank adds, "What do you need - what do you want to use us for?"
  "Need? Use?" Big Daneelo chuckles, seeming mildly taken aback by the suggestion. He says something else - something the bhezian does not translate - and then chuckles again before replying, "I have no 'need' of you. I think, perhaps, you overestimate your importance here. You are merely pawns - powerless tokens to be moved about, as in a game. One one of you has been taken. It upsets the balance."
  Saoirse interjects, "Is there anyone who benefits f-from this mess? All we've heard s-so far just makes me think someone is m-manipulating us to stir up shite..." Her eyes are red, but she's more calm - more focused - now that she's really trying. She'll save the grieving for later.
  The plodus gives Saoirse a long, steady stare, as though sizing up her intelligence. She seems an intelligent enough girl, really - for a human, anyway. He finally says, "In the real world, only one party benefits from anything, Sairsa. If others believe they benefit, they are fooled." He pronounces her name incorrectly, but the bhezian gets it right upon translation. "It remains to be seen who will benefit from this, but if I have it my way, it will be neither Rebirth nor the mercenaries. The pirates of the Hy'sak Viscari have cut their allegiance to the local mercenaries entirely in a quest for power. They are not local, though," he adds, clarifying. "They're part of a larger network, more powerful than any on Fuhodo. It is not wise for us to make enemies with them. We pay them tribute for protection, just as my clients pay me, and you would have been protected had you stayed on your ship." This last is punctuated by a spiteful glare.
  "Where do you stand?" Frank asks, getting back to his feet. "We're still alive, instead of being driven out to further the conflict."
  Big Daneelo starts to speak, but then stops. When he finally answers, he says a good deal more than the bhezian translates - and some of it may not be specifically to Frank and his peers, but to Almina or the bhezian instead. "I protect Fuhodo and its people. I take no side that does not benefit the station."
  The inmates get the distinct feeling that there may be a lot more to this than is being said. They stand silently for a moment, thinking, until Caleb finally says, "I don't exactly like the idea of sitting around and waiting for someone to come looking for us. Is there anything we can do that won't make things even worse?"
  "Yes, actually," the plodus replies slowly, thoughtfully. He glides closer to his desk and begins working with his computer. "I'm not going to keep you here. That hurts my business. Instead, I have an errand for you to run."
  "If we're too active out there, we'll be found and killed regardless," Caleb warns quickly, not liking the idea.
  "Which is why you will stay quiet," Big Daneelo says simply, as he presses a button on his desk.
  Immediately, the door behind the trio opens and two people walk through - a human mercenary escorted by a hiltorel guard. The guard soon leaves, and the mercenary - a scarred man with close-cropped auburn hair - moves to stand near the other three REKT members. He glares briefly at them - despite being a REKT member himself.
  "I mentioned I knew of the cryo, the Nemesis, and so on," Big Daneelo says, waving it away with a hand like it's trivial. "This human, Nilo, was also from cryo. He will replace your fourth party member, as I do not wish to keep him here. He came aboard with the other people earlier - the ones that sought to trade hi-plat. He became separated, and I captured him."
  "I'm Caleb Moore," Caleb introduces himself in a friendly voice, stepping forward. "That's Saoirse, and that's Frank." He points to his squadmates in turn before offering a handshake.
  "Hi," Saoirse says softly in greeting. You can't just "replace" Bob with some random person, she thinks, almost offended by the suggestion from Daneelo.
  Frank nods to Nilo in greeting. "After getting separated from the squad you must've been picked up almost immediately to evade attention and hunts... It's almost hard to believe."
  Nilo looks at the other inmates coldly, and after a moment, refuses the handshake outright, putting his hands behind his back. "I suspect I was sacrificed, giving the veterans a better chance to escape. That being said, Mr. Daneelo has been a fair captor. Any further questions or suspicions?" He seems more than ready to drop the pleasantries and get down to business.
  "Questions?" Frank asks, slightly annoyed. "Are we supposed to work together without even knowing what each other are capable of?" He glances at Big Daneelo sideways, and then says, "I brought a sword and a crossbow. Still got the medkit with me."
  But Caleb places a hand on his shoulder and pulls him back, shaking his head. "We can figure out where to fit him in the squad once we know our job," he says softly. Then, to Big Daneelo: "What're we going to be doing out there?"

  Big Daneelo nods in bland approval. "To business, then," he says, and then begins speaking rapidly as the bhezian translates. "As you've doubtlessly guessed by now, I seek to bring balance, to destabilize any hope of a civil war. At this time, that requires rapid action. Your mission will be simple, but you need to follow it quickly and to the letter, and as you are dressed as mercenaries, you may as well play the part.
  "In the ancient palaces deep beneath the asteroid's surface, there exists a gang called Minas Maniri, near the marketplace entrance." (The translator adds swiftly that this means "War Demons" in Galactic Standard.) "They hold a fair amount of power, and are allied strongly with the Mercenary Union. In fact, they have captured and taken prisoner one of the primary Rebirth members, a woman by the name of Kaquyu Adopan. You are to arrange for her release. You will tell Minas Maniri you come from the Lavloxeri division of FMU. Give them the password: Dexin Ezagetxa. They should let you in without question. You are to take her and leave. After you are far enough away, my men will escort Ms. Kaquyu to safety, and you will return to your ship."
  Big Daneelo begins pacing behind his desk, slowly, thoughtfully. "If you feel as though you would like an extra bargaining chip on your side, there is a weapons dealer in the markets named Hosef'Wa. Just ask for him; you will find him without trouble. Tell him I sent you, and he will help. Remember that you must mention my name and the company I keep to no one else." He glares very sternly at the inmates, as in in warning: "Or you will earn yourself yet another enemy." More than one of those standing there shudders involuntarily; the glare feels quite intense. "Now, do you have any questions?" he asks with finality. "Or are you ready to begin?"
  
~~~

  Vynkor and Sukava wake up occasionally, at separate times, over the next... how long is it? An hour? A day? There's really no way to know. One of them wakes up briefly as they're stripping them down, removing their suits and gear - only to have one of the aliens hit her over the head to knock her back out. The other wakes up sometime later, being held by two Fysar, bound and gagged, as they carry her somewhere - but her back burns so badly it's almost dizzying, and she soon passes out again.

~~~

  Finally, the trio of Killshot, Terminator, and Yuuji slow down enough to pause and take stock.
  "Whew!" Terminator cries. "Hold up, fellas. I need a breather." He pants for several moments, hands on his knees, and finally looks around. And, naturally, it's at this moment that he finally notices that Ishmael is missing. "Well, look who decided to bail on us again," he says derisively. "Bastard. Hey, Yuuji, that's our 'squadmate' for ya. Warned you 'bout him already, but nobody dun' listen to the voice o' reason, as usual. Well, if he wants to ditch us, I ain't stoppin' him."
  Yuuji shrugs and says nothing.
  "It's too dangerous to go back for him," Killshot grouses, "But we can at least send him an encoded message. Bill, this is your area of expertise."
  Billy Butcher pulls out his PDA and launches into a glorious infodump monologue that nobody really wanted, or needed. "Well, even these shitty lil' things have some sort o' built in cipherin'. Every message sent is ciphered, sent over, n' deciphered on our and his side, so anyone monitorin' just the comms ain't gonna be able to read nothin'. Unless the folks in charge o' this place already have our slates singled out already for some reason, doubt they'd want to waste the time they'd need to decipher the message, or hack directly into our slates. If they have access to our pads, though, I could make it ciphered with somethin' that requires, like... a key? You know, an answer to a lil' question or somethin', somethin' only he'd be able to know straight away. Then again, if they had access, they'd already know which ship we're from."
  Killshot stares blankly. He didn't understand a single fukcing word of what the Butcher just said. "Well, anyway, tell him to meet us downtown. Make sure you tell him to delete the message, just to be on the safe side. Don't want anything being traced back to us if he's caught."
  "Right, right," Buck muses. "All right, let me write this out." And so he does:

  alright, u rly done fukced now. we told u 2 stay together, but no, for some reason u thought it would be a smart idea 2 stay in the bar. well, ur shit outta luck, since them alien thugs r at the door of the place now, n theres some huge fukcin mutant or smth n a talkin scary green thing with them n i aint fightin that shit. try goin out the back door or smth cause i think them aliens were lookin to eat someone, n u dun want to be their next meal. if u make it out in 1 piece, shoot me a msg so we know n meet us downtown.

  With the message written, he admires his handiwork, hooks things up, and sends it, encrypting the message with the key "Terminator". After sending the message, he quickly writes a non-encrypted message that says:

  ps the passcode is my alias, n delete that shit after u done read it

  Buck hits "send" once more and holds a thumb-up to Killshot and Yuuji. "Done!" he says triumphantly.

~~~
  
  Ishmael, standing next to the doorway in the Last Ponderance, hears his PDA beeping. He glances down at it. It's a message from Buck. Naturally, he rolls his eyes and ignores it. They left him behind, after all - what could they possibly have to say that would be helpful? Instead, he walks out into the alley, approaching Mebasha himself. He's decided to try a more diplomatic approach than the rest of his former comrades would have attempted.
  Unfortunately... this soon proves to be one of the worst things he could have done.
  "Esteemed leader," he calls. "I'll be brief. We have no intention to mess with you or your business; we are, in fact, merely passing by. However, that Kwari bastard - that double-crossing, cheating landlubber - must pay for his sins. If I see him, I shall eliminate him - unless you want him for anything, that is. Then I shall gladly deliver him to you, as a token of my good intentions and commitment to keeping out of your way in the future."
  Mebasha listens to this declaration of goodwill, but interrupts it partway through to say something in some other base language to his subordinates. He doesn't seem interested in anything Ishmael has to say at all. In fact, Ishmael has hardly finished his speech when two hardy, strong aliens appear beside him, knock him against the wall (quite roughly and painfully) and disarm the man. After Ishmael's weapons are all lying on the ground, they unsheath their own - nasty-looking electric knives, more than the length of a forearm - and prepare to kill him.
  "Gohk!" Mebasha croaks sharply, on noticing Ishmael's quantum lashes. At this word, the aliens assaulting Ishmael stop short and hold still. Mebasha, his hand raised, approaches and points at one of the lashes on the ground. "Uuhk cohn sk'kah hais a goh," he mutters, waving one of his goons over. The goon, obediently, picks the weapon up gingerly and brings it to Mebasha. He looks it over with a sharp eye, not failing to see the tiny Tartarus logo at one end. "Tartarus," he hisses, almost too quietly to be heard. "Tartarus... Incorporated..."
  At this name, Ishmael raises his head. His lip is split and bloodied, as is his nose; his face is scratched up and a ring around his eye is already beginning to darken. He watches as Mebasha approaches, wondering how this all happened so quickly. What should he even do? What should he even say? Silently, he begins a prayer for FSM's guidance and protection.
  "You are with Tartarus... Ah, Lak'tuhk surely smiles on me today," Mebasha growls, with just a hint of something bordering a primitive sort of sadistic pleasure. An incredibly nasty smile twitches across the back corner of his lip, revealing a hideous row of sharp teeth beneath the drab brown hide. "You poor, sad fool of a human. Your death nears you, now. You should have run away."
  Ishmael deliberately, with stubborn fortitude, shakes his head. "The Flying Spaghetti Monster guides and protects me. I need no fear."
  "Do you not?" Mebasha growls. He snatches one of the cruel knives from his subordinates and, with a swift flick of his wrist, slices Ishmael deeply across the upper chest. "Now, before you die, tell me... where is the one that was with you?"
  Ishmael winces at the pain as blood quickly trickles down from the gash, but takes a deep breath and begins praying aloud, his eyes open and locked with Mebasha's. "Our pasta, who art in a colander, draining be your noodles. Thy noodle come, thy sauce be yum, on top some grated Parmesan."
  Mebasha listens for several seconds before he realizes that it's a prayer. Narrowing his catlike eyes to slits with impatience, he stabs Ishmael in the stomach. "Enough. Where are the others? I know you did not come alone."
  Gasping, the priest stumbles; the two aliens holding him try to keep him up, but fail; Ishmael falls to his knees.
  "Tell me now, old man, and I'll be merciful," Mebasha says coolly, ripping the knife back out of the wound; it begins to bleed profusely.
  Nevertheless, Ishmael increases his volume, in obstinate refusal. "Give us this day, our garlic bread," he calls out through clenched teeth, "and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trample on our lawns!"
  Mebasha is running out of patience. "Where are the others??" he orders in a hiss, this time in the forceful manner of someone in unchallenged authority. "By Lak'tuhk, be silenced, or I shall silence you!" He stabs and slices Ishmael - again, and again - Ishmael can feel his insides churning, his stomach burning as his entrails spill, but he keeps his head raised, chanting out the old, familiar prayer he's prayed tens of thousands of times before. "And lead us not into vegetarianism! But deliver us some pizz -" He stops short with a gasp, as the blade plunges into his left lung. For a moment Mebasha slows, thinking the old man has had enough - but no, he picks up the pace again - this time in a fevered shout, spitting the words into Mebasha's face. His eyes flame with the fury and passion of a deeper purpose - of something Mebasha will never understand. "FOR THINE! IS THE MEATBALL! THE NOODLE! AND THE SAUCE! FOREVER AND EV -"
  But Ishmael stops short, choking, as the blade runs him through the heart. Mebasha is thoroughly tired of this little game, and seems to have realized that the priest will not be broken. Blood gurgling in his throat, Ishmael falls back onto the floor and watches as his murderer rises calmly rises to his feet. This was not how he expected it to end - not at all. But he stayed true to his Lord, even to the last. The FSM would welcome him as a long-lost son. He watches Mebasha clean the blade, but everything is already growing dim. "R'amen," he whispers in a breathy hiss. I come back to you, Lord. Your son is coming home.
  And with a final, whispered "Arrrrr..." Ishmael Big bin Mahmood, priest of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, breathes his last.

~~~

  "Did he receive the message?" Killshot asks tentatively.
  Billy the Butcher, watching his PDA's display, nods. "Yeah, he got it," he says with a satisfied smile, watching as the little "unread" icon disappear next to the second message. Then he turns to Yuuji, trying to be conversational. "So, anyways, the hell was that between you n' that ugly alien bastard that was tryin' to get the door open? Was he with that gang o' thugs that were skulkin' outside the bar? Feller looked like he was in a real hurry."
  But Yuuji still doesn't respond, merely seeming contemplative.
  "He can explain on the way," Killshot shrugs. "The sooner we complete this task, the sooner we can move on to more meaningful work. In but a short time, we will be the most respected mercenaries on the station!"
  Killshot and Billy the Butcher march off decidedly to the Downtown area, determined to finish their mission as soon as possible.
  Yuuji, motionless, watches them go.

~~~

  The lights flick on in the little room. It's a nasty, dirty metal cell, filled with an oozy smell heavily overlaid with the unmistakable odor of feces - both human and otherwise. Rough hands unceremoniously toss two barely conscious, half-naked human women into a heap just inside. The door slams shut; a key clicks in the lock. The lights flick off again. Eventually, after their eyes adjust to the darkness, they might spot a third figure sitting in a corner of the room, far from the door. It's a hiltorel - stark naked and beaten bloody, with dried cerulean blood clinging to her dirty skin. She makes no move to approach her two new cellmates - even as they awaken.

~~~

  Buck and Brom wander through the busy corridors, minding their own business and avoiding the stares of onlookers. It isn't long before they reach the Downtown area - and Buck misses most of his journey, his face buried in his PDA. "WiFi here is shit," he mumbles. It is indeed shit: Over most of the station, there is no wifi whatsoever. In fact, there's hardly any wifi anywhere, and only a little bubble of Wifi surrounding the busier part of downtown, where the two inmates now find themselves. Buck therefore busies himself with figuring out the station's "internet" - which is honestly pretty laughably small. The whole "internet" is basically just whatever servers are on the station. They don't even seem to be connected to Nanyej. The biggest problem is just going to be finding any sort of hotbed of information. With his goal in mind, Buck gets to work, while Brom has a more... "straightforward" plan in mind.

  As the pair strolls across the raised accessway into the central boulevard of the Downtown district, they're greeted with a permeating fusillade of sights and sounds. Rusty beams, dim and damaged lighting, and aged, flickering holo-ads are the architectural norm here, with wide streets and relatively low ceilings. Spray paint, grime, and exposed cabling adorn the once-pristine walls, plastered over in opportune locations with countless layers of plastic signage. The streets, littered with garbage and debris, seem scuffed and foul, but above this abysmal setting, the city teems with life. Stereos play loudly in front of shops, advertising the goods within to passersby. Two young children - both aliens, their ages undiscernible - fight over some toy near the edge of the street, while an older hiltorel shoos them away from his storefront. A group of mercenaries flags down a passing plodii driving an electric cart full of goods; the latter produces his papers, and the mercs stare at them suspiciously. Further on, a graceful woman dances artfully in the street, her body, arms and tentacles hung with glittering, brightly-colored ribbons; a small crowd has gathered, both to cheer her on and offer her some spare change for her display.
  It's a busy place. Brom wastes no time in heading directly over to someone that appears to be a shopkeeper - a hiltorel, no less. "Greetings!" he calls as he approaches.
  "Greetings to you, good sir," the hiltorel croaks; his voice sounds dry and cracked. "Have you come to buy some of my nice display cases? All cheap prices, with the best value from here to Derge."
  Brom shakes his head. "We're here to complete a task given to us by one of our clients; would you mind taking some time to help us out? The name is Connley, by the way. Connley McKale! And this is my team." Brom motions swiftly behind him.
  "...Small team," The hiltorel remarks slowly and unconcernedly, leaning on his broom.
  Brom does a double take and looks behind himself - and only sees Buck. Yuuji is, of course, missing. Brom sighs in resignation and turns back around. "What we need to find is a money lender of sorts. One that will lend to humans. We would be appreciative if you could point us in the right direction."
  "Money lender, eh?" The old hiltorel says, blinking his large, dark eyes sideways and smacking his lips in thought. "Well... I think I might be able to point you in the right direction, yes. Tardut Enikil & Co. is just down the street from here. Lots of flashing lights, can't miss it. Doesn't like late payments though." He frowns slightly. "Oh, and there are of course the money lenders in the merc tower. If you're mercs they'll probably have better rates. Have you been there?"
  Buck interrupts the little conversation at this point, poking at Brom. "Killshot, I found our man," he hisses. "Men'ko Mokila." He wasn't hard to find at all. In fact, he seems fairly prominent in the area - a famous name on the station. Along the way, Buck uncovered a lot of other interesting information. Seems there's a local war going on between hiltorel and daxx, for one. Some other planet nearby is struggling with its bio-AI core controlling its systems. Tensions also appear to be rising between local gorvans, azquads, and krolum, with azquads taking the lead. Speaking of azquads, there's actually a volcanic planet in a nearby system that they're trying to evacuate of their people. Closer to home, the station orbiting one of the gas giants in the Nanyej system has shut down operation for "unknown reasons", and are seeking an "extermination crew". Further away, even stranger things are happening - abandoned colonies, mysterious disappearances, distress calls from ships that supposedly disappeared thousands of years ago. It's hard to tell how much of it is reality and how much of it is fiction... mostly because all of it sounds like fiction to begin with. But it's a good place to start, at least. Buck has to wonder why nobody thought of this until now.
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Re: REKT: BTE Mission 2: Fuhodo Station

#320
[IC]Vynkor[/IC]
agh, fukc
Alright, limbs all still here. That's an improvement over last time, I guess. Waste heat, but my leg hurts.
I open my eyes, slowly at first, then quickly after ascertaining the lack of anyone who might take note. Where's my shit? Void take them, where's my medkit? I start unwrapping my chest bandages while assessing Marina's condition.
Finally, I notice the hiltorel at the far corner. "Hey, you alive?"
Not waiting for a reply, I proceed to patch up my leg with the newly-liberated bandages.
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Re: REKT: BTE Mission 2: Fuhodo Station

#321
Talvieno wrote:
Tue Jul 16, 2019 9:31 pm
"Now, do you have any questions?" he asks with finality. "Or are you ready to begin?"
[IC]Frank[/IC]

"Where will we get out after this? We better not waste time with figuring out our location?"
Frank thinks about the last few sentences again before worry enters his face.
"They'll let us in without asking questions...but will they let us take her just as easily...? Or should we expect hostilities from the start?"


To Saoirse and Caleb:
"We should visit the weapons dealer, I believe we should take any help we can get..."
Apparently, sometimes stuff might happen.
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Re: REKT: BTE Mission 2: Fuhodo Station

#324
0111narwhalz wrote:
Wed Jul 17, 2019 1:51 am
Finally, I notice the hiltorel at the far corner. "Hey, you alive?"


Don't move, only open my eyes and look around.
"Fine, just a hangover. Crazy party last night. I got two, I think. How many did you?"
Glance at the Hiltorel.
Look around the room, look for openings, windows, any objects of value.
Visually examine the door for durability and weak points.
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Re: REKT: BTE Mission 2: Fuhodo Station

#326
F4wk35 wrote:
Wed Jul 17, 2019 5:09 am
[IC]Frank[/IC]

"Even if it's only a distraction or a bit of equipment...but if we'd need to take a much longer route...What do you think, Caleb?"
"The route to the palace goes through the markets, so probably not much of a detour."
Warning: do not ask about physics unless you really want to know about physics.
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Re: REKT: BTE Mission 2: Fuhodo Station

#327
As I subtly pull Brom away from the squid, when we're at a safe enough distance that it won't hear us, whisper to him:

"Talkin' to a squid? Are you outta your mind?"

Look around, somewhat nervously

"Did you... notice that third guy's gone missin' as well? First Gene, then that noodle guy, now this feller, too? Somethin' queer's goin' on."

Visibly frown at this point

"The squids are onto us again. Be careful who you talk to, anyone could be one o' them. N' especially don't talk to them unless you really, really need to, for some reason. Whatever that one told you's a lie."
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Re: REKT: BTE Mission 2: Fuhodo Station

#329
[IC]Vynkor[/IC]
Marina wrote:
Wed Jul 17, 2019 5:20 am
"Fine, just a hangover. Crazy party last night. I got two, I think. How many did you?"
"Just one. They fried my gun when they knocked us out."
I look at the hiltorel woman. "I hope you speak Standard. I've had about enough of the language barrier thing."
Back to Marina: "You want me to patch up your back? I think I have a few bandages left, and you look like you'd do more damage if you tried to fix anything."
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Re: REKT: BTE Mission 2: Fuhodo Station

#330
((Making this part into a second post for the sake of convenience))

"Anyways -"

Glance back behind to see that the squid isn't spying my PDA

"This is our guy. Wasn't that hard to find, even on this here shitty network. Looks like he's some big name... 'least on this shithole of a station. Give it two or three days, n' even Frank could be a big name on this tin can. Big fish in a small puddle, as folks say back on Arskosha. Or a tin cup o' water, more like."

Pull up the info I've found on Men'ko Mokila and show it to Brom
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