DrRoninMatango
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Curamelle
Apr 7, 2015 5:21:00 GMT -8
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Post by DrRoninMatango on Apr 7, 2015 5:21:00 GMT -8
*Ronin nodded not saying a word, when they finally arrived to the meet up several hours had gone by, and Ronin found himself bored once again. Had he gotten him into a mess with the boring type of bad guys? Ronin sure hoped not, this whole trip was to be exciting and fun; something to put a little jazz back in his life. Yes the occasional politician or gang lord had actually something of interest to do, but it never lasted long. In the end Ronin just seemed like her was back at square one looking for something more. Was he an adrenaline junkie? maybe, or maybe he just expected more from this life. Closing the door Ronin withdrew his cat mask from his jacket and placed it upon his face; he was back in the zone.*
"Ok captain on your mark."
*Ronin made sure to follow in step, covering ol bucket head*
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Galdaart Fel
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Apr 7, 2015 10:21:37 GMT -8
Fel moved with a purpose, scanning high corners and low points, anywhere that could be used as cover. He saw no sign of the Dubsteps yet. Glad to be early, he killed the external vocoder and activated his internal comms, keying in Melia's coded freq. Keeping his voice low so that it wouldn't carry outside the Stormtroop's helmet, he spoke to his hidden shadow.
Fel here. Entering the warehouse now from the South. You got eyes on, Mel?
Her reply was immediate, and comforting.
Yes. I have you and the Doctor in sight. The Dubsteps have not arrived. I've swept this entire building with thermo-imaging. You and Ronin are the only life-forms in the area. I've locked down all but the West entrance. How you want to play this?
He continued moving into the mostly empty warehouse. There were palettes of cargo containers along the East wall, and a few larger fifty-ton cargo crates for freighter lift on the opposite wall, but considering the size of the place -- nearly 150 yards long -- it was mostly empty. Footfalls echoed and the few active lights cast an eerie gloom to the space. There was a low-voltage overhead light maybe every thirty feet. Fel moved silently into the middle of the room, Ronin flanking to his left. He continued to speak quietly enough for only the internal comm unit to pick up his voice.
Slow and low. We let them come to us. If things go sour -- and I do NOT want that to be the case -- you make an example of the leader. From there you go by highest threat level. Pick your targets and displace as necessary. And don't tell me where you are -- I don't want to know. And Mel?
Yeah?
Keep eyes on the Doctor. He makes a wrong move, he becomes highest threat level, roger?
Roger that.
Business with top-cover concluded, Fel killed the comm unit, and re-activated the helmet vocoder. He didn't look at Ronin when he spoke, but continued scanning the various entrances, settling his field of vision on the West entranceway. There was no question Fel was speaking to the Doctor.
Group paying us a visit are the 'Dubsteps.' Unsure of how many, but my assumption is they like to display superior power, so they'll be bringing some meat sacks with them. This drop is not going to go the way they expect or want, but we hold the cards so they can gripe all they like. It's our way or nothing. All doors are barred except the West entrance, and where we entered from the South. They can come to us in the middle of the floor here. I don't care how close they get, or what kind of toys they bring to the party. We're on equal footing 'cause there's no cover for either side. I want this thing to go smoothly, but I don't entirely expect it to. Pay close attention to who's doing the talking, and who the real leader of the group might, or might not be. I've got the West entrance covered. Watch the South and sing out when you see them.
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Galdaart Fel
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Apr 14, 2015 13:31:28 GMT -8
They didn't have to wait long. News from Melia was succinct, and not entirely unexpected... though more trouble than Fel was hoping for.
Eyes on. Twenty strong, various tactical load-out. Coming at you from the West.
Fel nodded in reply. He didn't need to speak -- he knew Melia would be watching his reaction through the scope of her rifle.
Doc. They're coming from the West side. Twenty plus. I'm going to stay central. Get yourself covered and watch my back, roger?
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DrRoninMatango
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Post by DrRoninMatango on Apr 14, 2015 15:25:09 GMT -8
*Ronin nodded and moved into the shadows, his body vanishing from view. The captain either had some sort of field set up in the perimeter or he had a friend watching from a distance. Weaving in and out of the mountains of containers Ronin found himself a perch to which he had a full field of view, his mask switching between vision modes so he could see in the pitch black. A last minute check of his weapons on his person, his pistol with silencer, several knives dipped in Atracurium, and his wrist blades; the tools of an assassin.*
*The building was silent and peaceful. Almost on cue a crackle of thunder echoed followed by the soft pitter patter of rain.*
"Well I hope something happens soon or I may fall asleep."
*Again irony bit Ronin in the ass, a small cold drip of rain pickled the back of his neck. This was followed by another and another. Looking up Ronin found several leaks in the roof, and he was directly below one.*
"I swear to whatever higher power is out there if I get sick I'm going to choke somebody!"
*It was moments like this he was glad the mask could mute him so noone could hear what he said.*
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Galdaart Fel
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Apr 21, 2015 9:57:06 GMT -8
Fel stood stalk-still in the middle of the open floor. To his left were myriad cargo containers and power-lift cargo crates filled with Kriff-knows-what, and far to his right, the skeletons of three vertical-lift labor drones that looked as though they hadn't been used in near a century, lined against the wall. He stood illuminated by one of several overhead low-wattage sodium lamps that created many specific pools of light in the room, punctuated by as much gloom as light. He removed the DL-22, checked its load, and dropped the piece back into the holster. Oddly, he felt no fear or nerves, even though he had no product to give these people, no promises to make, and almost no hope of avoiding the ire of their leader. It was a lose-lose situation, but he had faced worse odds. 20+ to 3? Galdaart Fel didn't break a sweat for anything less than 1000 - 1.
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Atia
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Post by Atia on Apr 29, 2015 14:32:50 GMT -8
The imperial trained assasin was not the only advantage the newly formed spice dealers had. For one, there was the psychological advantage. 4 was a busy girl. She wanted to allie the srongest gang in the city, and she made sure the Dubsteps were that. The Dubsteps knew too, they had heard the stories, why they had gained territory that easily. Dismemberment, tortured to death and entire families slaughtered by a twilek woman, and she had only targeted rival gangmembers. Other gangs were on the defence while Dubsteps were spreading, and they could only thank the twilek female known as "Mother".
And Mother was also there. 4 had put on her entire Banshee gear, cloaking belt, umbrella, E-11 and vibro shortsword. Her positioning was low, by the road outside. Her plan was simple, and it was based on perviously observed Dubstep Behavior. And it turned out, she was right.
The convoy came in finally. The dubsteps liked to be late, it was something to do with pride and some kind of local cultural link to negotiative protocols. The cars and hover vehicles were the usual. Huge muscle machines that basically were perfect commercial for "thug Life" and an ongoing organised crime event. Not that anybody would have stopped them, the chaos Doctor had seeded now consumed the local law enforcement. So, the neon bottomed uber-painted loud maschines could land/park as they wished. They did. Their "douchebag" meter was on high, so was their parking. If one would be sexist, one would think this was a location for the annual Blond Chicks Assembly. They parked as if they had ever payed taxes and this was THEIR patch of road.
All but one luxury hover car. That one parked a bit down the road and stayed silent. That was what 4 was waiting for. The Boss. It was time for a meet.
The penis extentions opened and adolescent adults exited. Big muscle knots wearing bling, sunglasses and openly carrying small arms. They seemingly came in force to try and even the above mentioned advantages that their deal partners may or may not have had. The leader seemed to be a huge Nautolan, wielding a heavy blaster rifle in one arm, and bandaged all over his body instead of the usual bling. His brother had recently died in a hotel explosion. He wasnt in a good mood.
So, the group of about a dozen thugs entered the warehouse, while a few stayed outside.
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DrRoninMatango
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Post by DrRoninMatango on Apr 29, 2015 20:11:34 GMT -8
Ronin wet his lips at so many targets while checking for communication going on in the area; if any of them were communicating with anything other than word of mouth Ronin would be able to pick up their location.
Scanning each meat bag Ronin made mental notes of positions, weapons, body language, and finally how close to those growing puddles of water they were.
Many of them wouldn't be difficult to take out, in fact size mattered little when a small cut from his blades would paralyze
Still Ronin checked his fall back points if shit hit the fan, better to have a plan and not need to use it than to need and not have one.
Deep breath, the silence before the storm. The weight of his silenced blaster brought about an irrisitable thirst to spill blood and spray brain matter upon the walls; a splash of needed color. Just one, noone would miss him. No, only if truly necessary.
Certain members acted tough and confident, but lacked the true 'swagger' of a true leader, of the boss. Yes the one with the bandages seemed to put off the vibe of a higher up, an enforcer, or a lieutenant but not that off a boss. If one had actually seen fit to come to this they wouldn't be in the building with them but at a distance.
From the shadows Ronin trained his pistol at the head of the bandaged mass, whoever he was if things didn't go the way Ronin wanted them too, he was going to have a very bad day.
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Galdaart Fel
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Apr 30, 2015 5:53:07 GMT -8
If it were possible (and it seems it is...) Fel did almost exactly the opposite of Ronin. He didn't check gear. He didn't read body language. He didn't even get a head count. He just looked at eyes. His gaze moved from being to being, taking in the emotion and intent behind the eyes. His posture, his stance, remained exactly the same, for all intents and purposes, a statue in the middle of the warehouse, hands hanging by his sides, feet shoulder-width apart, head tilted down slightly.
He let them approach, each of them wearing bravado like a brand new pair of underwear -- starchy and slightly uncomfortable. It was an act, but a good one. Convincing to anyone who had an iota of self-preservation left. Those who did would have felt overwhelmed, anxious, fearful. Fel was none of those things.
They approached to within a half-dozen paces, and then as if a signal had been given (Fel certainly didn't see anyone do so -- more likely than not an unspoken safe distance from the unknown among them) they stopped. There was a long silence, during which Galdaart could hear the breath of more than one gang member, tensed and ready for anything.
Finally, he spoke. The Stormie vocoder making his voice sound just like every other Stormtrooper in the 'verse. By the looks of the man before them, this was no Stormtrooper.
You're near fifteen minutes late. pause, scanning the group for an obvious leader Who's doing the talking here?
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Atia
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Post by Atia on May 7, 2015 9:08:14 GMT -8
They stood a bit, looking around. Now, to explain, they were not military. They never had the training of Mel or 4, but they were not amatures. One of the dudes had a fancy looking sunglasses. Now, one would wonder why someone ready for a possible ambush inside a dimly lit warehouse wearing sunglasses. Well, they also were set to nightwision. Carrying 3 million credits gets you paranoid. Said guy, slowly started to raise his weapon towards Ronin.
-Sunglasses- "Heay Boass! Der's a gauy, wid a gan."
Tension. Three weapons were raised against Ronin, rest towards Fel.
-Bandages- "Man, get your dude out in the open, and guns down, and show the merchandise. Nice and easy."
Outside, a twilek started walking towards the motorcade, slowly, as if strolling. She was armed, and covered in dark purple bondages like a mummy, using an umbrella as a walkingstick.
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Galdaart Fel
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 7, 2015 12:10:48 GMT -8
Fel smiled inside the helmet. Scanned the assembled Dubsteps, settling on Sunglasses. He voice-activated the comm unit in the helmet, opening a line to Melia. Left the vocoder on so his words would be heard by the Dubsteps, too.
Sunglasses, huh? a nod Didn't see that one coming. Must be some new tech built into those puppies if you've got IR, Thermo, maybe UV built into such small lenses. Must've cost you a few good days' pay.
He shifted his posture, nothing threatening, just moving the weight from one leg to another, but the silent gesture was received, loud and clear. The shot was silent, muzzle-flash suppressed, and accurate to a tenth of a millimeter. The sunglasses were neatly removed from the Dubstep's face. He cried out as pieces of the glasses peppered him, leaving him standing dumbfounded yet completely unscathed. One of the temples hung useless from his left ear. Heads turned in his direction to see the cause of his cry, and in that moment, Fel's DL-22 was out of its holster and aimed squarely at Bandages' forehead.
spoken to Ronin, though Fel's eye never leaves Bandages Doctor -- please stand up. We wouldn't want these gentlemen thinking we were trying to hide anything from them. to Bandages not going to put down my gun for you nor for any man here. Doesn't work that way. And to be clear -- if any of your men decide to try anything, it won't just be the sunglasses next time. a pause for effect. Fel can see the options scrolling across Bandages' face like departure notices in a spaceport Here's how it works. I have no 'merchandise' here for you to view. I am not a salesman. I'm not an enforcer. I'm not a drug-dealer, either. Hell -- I'm not even a courier. What I have is an address. An address to a self-storage unit, paid by the day, up-front, for two weeks, no cameras, no questions asked. In this storage unit, you will find your merchandise, and no surprises. That way, you and your crew assume 100% of the heat involved with pickup and distribution. I will not play a part in that kind of heat. That's on you.
Fel pauses to let this sink in. He can tell Bandages is not pleased with the direction this is going.
No idiot would go walking into an address supplied by a stranger to pick up the cargo you're here for. Not without some assurances the drop was clean, and that nobody was staking the place out. I could give you those assurances, but you're too smart to believe my word. So. A trade. Some collateral. My associate here indicating Ronin will remain in your care until you are satisfied the deal is good. regarding the frown on Bandages Not a good deal? A former Republic Senator with political and military ties, as collateral for a few crates of spice... seems a fair trade to me. smiling again inside the helmet So what do you say?
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DrRoninMatango
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Post by DrRoninMatango on May 7, 2015 13:30:52 GMT -8
You better know what you're doing bud
Removing his mask Ronin made his way down the mountains of crates which was more difficult than climbing up. Still on a good note he felt noone touched with the force, meaning the edge was still his.
Coming upon bucket head's left flank he handed the man his enforcer pistol and mask
"Take care of both of them captain, and keep her oiled."
Ronin moved forward palms extended, he piped up in the most proper British accent you had ever heard
"Yea didn't have too good of a 401K plan if you know what I mean so after I left that crap whole I just went from large scale proper crime to this jazz. It's all business to me and you folks look like good businessmen."
The words themselves made Ronin laugh on the inside.
"So which one of you guys is my new boss or is the real boss even here with us?"
The dynamic, the hierarchy, these two pieces of information would determine his next few steps. He portrayed himself as a non threat, after all a senator was far from a trained gunman or warrior. If anything the paper pusher was just another middle aged man having a midlife crisis trying to live out a wild west fantasy. Though an idiot a midlife crisis ridden senator was still a prime business opportunity. An individual who would have military, weapon, transportation, legal, political connections, and said connections were perfect to expand on an already growing business. Only a fool would turn their nose at this opportunity
It was this that would help Ronin sink a blade into his targets neck
Holding a hand out to the biggest of guys, the one Ronin knew to only be a mere lieutenant but still the ranking member of this group, he hoped to shake hands like businessmen. Overhead a crackle of lighting sounded signaling heavier rains. The small drips turned into a steady streams from the leaky roof.
As if things weren't bad enough a steady cold stream found its way to the top of Ronin's head which rolled down the back of his neck and down the back of his travelers cloak. Oh how the Gods seemed to be enjoying themselves that night. A cold chill running up his spin. Stepping out of the stream Ronin noticed a good many of the thug were now in a puddle of some sort including the big guy before him. Maybe the Gods did smile upon Ronin this night.
Looking like another weak politician who was trying to look like a 'tough guy' Ronin continued speaking, hand still extended
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DrRoninMatango
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Post by DrRoninMatango on May 8, 2015 5:45:57 GMT -8
"So mind if we get out of here and maybe somewhere dry?"
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Atia
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Post by Atia on May 18, 2015 13:45:35 GMT -8
As Sunglasses lost his namesake, nearly chaos erupted. The only thing that saved this deal from going tottaly sour was that these guys were not amatures. Yes, Sunglasses threw himself on the ground grunting "Oy!" and "Waddafac" and other profanity since his face was a little hot right now from being very close to a blasterbolt, the enforcers around did nothing else but pull up weapons. It was Bandages that made it clear that no shooting would be done with one firm hand gesture. That gave Fel the time to talk, otherwise, everyone would be dead, drugs undelivered, plans foiled and operation failed. Maybe this would be the nail in the Banshee Project coffin.
As Bandages listened to Fel, he seemed to think on the proposition. See, he was old in this business with his elderly 30ish years behind him, and he had some grasps on underground criminal negotiations. For the first, be a wall. Even if the other guys arguments and deals sound reasonable, smart and cautious enough to be good for both sides, he may for one: Fuck you over, and Second: look down on you if you just plainly accept the terms. If you give in, so should the other guy too at some point in his plans, just to save face and fallos lenght.
-Bandages- "Counter offer. You stay to make sure the pament is what it is supposed to be, and your friend shows one of our guys the merchadice. When everything is cool, we get the keys for the stash, you get the keys for a new car and a nice booty in the trunk."
This way they would both get hostages, but it would be on Dubstep terms.
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Galdaart Fel
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 18, 2015 17:44:24 GMT -8
Fel inhaled deeply. Thee wasn't time enough in the 'verse for this dicking around. However, he had to give Bandages credit. A lot of other gangs, he'd be dodging blaster bolts by now. That bought Bandages some lee-way.
I have no problem staying here while you fetch your prize. To that part of your counter-offer, I agree. However, there are holes in your offer: namely, my 'friend' here, hasn't been friends with me long enough to know where or what the merchandise is. That was need-to-know. In fact, he knows less about it than you do. So, I stay. Fine. Your crew goes to check the stash. You can take buddy-boy with you if you like, but he knows nothing about the merchandise, including its whereabouts or contents. If you ask me, he's a liability to your secrecy. He's known in town, and with the shit-storm that's currently hitting Curamelle, I would imagine you'd prefer to keep known persons of interest at a minimum for the sec cams. a pause to let the logic sink in But it's your funeral. If you're so dead-set on having a hostage to take with you, so be it. Just be prepared for the party to get bigger if my friend's face is seen on security cams. Personally, I think it's more trouble than it's worth.
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Atia
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Post by Atia on Jun 4, 2015 15:35:32 GMT -8
Bandages blinked a couple times, then came to the decision. Now that Fel had backed off a bit from his plan, he wasnt loosing so much face anymore.
-Bandages- "You both stay. We open a couple of beers, and wait for my guys to call in with the stuff secured. Then, you get your part, and we leave. Sounds fair? As for fucking you over, we wont. If this thing is really what it is, we wouldnt want to ruin future business with Mother by ditching you on the payment. We want this to work as much as your people."
As Ronin was getting closer, his determined "Aiming at the biggest guy with my gun" turning 180 into "Shaking hands and being all friendly-like" several of Bandages thugs aimed him in, gesturing with their pointy ends that he better not take one more step.
-Bandages- "Plus, you still have a sniper, maybe two looking over us, so its beneficial for most of us to stay here as hostage. Deal?"
Outside, the two bodyguards beside the Luxurious car drew iron at the walking modernised mummy twilek. She stopped, waiting for something to happen. Something else then getting shot. What she waited for came as expected. The window of the armoured VIP carrier opened just an inch, and something was said in huttese. The bodyguards lowered, and opened the door for the twilek to get in.
The Imperial agent disapeared into the car, and shortly thereafter the car drove off, past the small blockade of muscle-hovers outside the warehouse.
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Galdaart Fel
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jun 7, 2015 17:54:58 GMT -8
It didn't take Fel long to mull over the options.
Deal. Now -- you mentioned beers?
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DrRoninMatango
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Post by DrRoninMatango on Jun 13, 2015 12:15:04 GMT -8
Ronin's hands came up as if to say calm down. This whole speal was getting old fast. Taking several steps back Ronin wished for the go ahead to kill these idiot thugs like the ones he did at the tavern, an image of his blades slicing into their flesh brought a smile to his face.
"Well if I'm not going anywhere I think I'll be taking my pistol back."
Ronin took the large pistol back and placed it back in the holster in the small of his back. Waiting for this little game to be over with.
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Galdaart Fel
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Aug 12, 2015 16:27:32 GMT -8
They waited a long time. Maybe seven hours. Maybe more. Sweat trickled freely down Fel's back, and that familiar itch in his guts made him worry he might not make it much longer. But he never moved an inch. Never dropped his guard. Never sat, even when Bandages found an upturned bucket and took it for his throne. Not even when two of Bandages' men produced the beers that had been discussed, and popped the top of one, offering the other to Galdaart. He might as well have been acknowledging a statue, for all the response he got.
The spacer neither spoke, nor activated his comm to signal Melia. Didn't glance at Ronin. Just swept the faces gathered before him, most of whom were either sitting or lying down by hour three. There were still occasional sideways glances, appraising looks that said 'could we take him?' ...and so Fel stood ready.
He had merciful, damnable time to think. He thought of Malora. Little else. Usually, his thoughts concerning her were pure, protective, friendly. He missed their talk, laced with hard edges and barbs, and he missed the glint in her eye. He was hardest on himself, and rightly so. He knew now he'd never be convinced otherwise. He was a bad man. Knew it to the root of his being, but for some reason she saw the good in him. Not just a useful man to have around. He was hardly that. No, she saw through him to something better. Something he couldn't even see in himself. ...This time, the thoughts weren't pure, or friendly. She stood in the shower, the heat of the water fogging the glass. He was a non-entity in the picture. His was the view-point, but he was outside the frame. She turned, saw him. Smiled a wicked smile. She pressed against the glass, the cold drawing her breath and de-fogging in all the right places...
One of the Dubsteps stood quickly, breaking him out of his reverie, and the gun was in his hand before he knew it. He had lost focus for all-too-brief a moment, and the gang member's movement, not even all that sudden, had forced a reaction. He stood for a moment, the gun trained on the gang member's face while the bewildered man stood unarmed, five empty bottles of beer in his arms.
It might have gone on that way had Bandages' comm unit not beeped rhythmically, an incoming call. He gestured to the beer-toting Dubstep, who shrugged and backed away. Fel lowered his weapon. Stupid old man. Nearly wasted the youth for picking up empties. Bandages grunted into the mouthpiece a few times, removed the earpiece, dropped it on the ground. The Dubsteps all visibly tensed, and for an instant, Galdaart thought this was where he'd buy the farm. Then a grin spread across Bandages' visage.
It's good. All of it. Not as much as we were hopin' for... but that's a question of... you know... supply and demand. More toothy grin. You tell your people we'll be in touch for more, dig?
Fel sheathed his piece. You tell them yourself. This is done, they'll be in touch to keep you in supply... 'less you screw it up. Then they'll likely be in touch for... other reasons.
He looked over to find Ronin more or less where he had been, hours before. Looked back to Bandages. I'd 'ppreciate it if you'd gather up your folks and leave the way you came. We'll make our own way at our leisure.
Bandages nodded slowly, whistled once to marshall his troops, and they began to make for the door, weapons down but not completely at ease. It's been real.
Fel did not reply, keeping his posture much the same as it had been for the last almost-eight hours. Even when the last of them had disappeared out of the warehouse, he maintained his posture and stance. Finally Melia's voice spoke into his ear.
Clear.
And he crumpled to the floor.
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Galdaart Fel
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Aug 13, 2015 16:48:55 GMT -8
When he awoke, he had no idea how much time had passed. Melia knelt over him, working. When his vision cleared, he waved away her hand from whatever it was doing, only to have her pin it against his chest roughly.
You want me and mine to die because of you, you stubborn bastard? The next time you decide to skip an injection, I'll stick it somewhere you won't like it.
She jabbed him in the shoulder, depressed the plunger, and stood, leaving the hypodermic sticking out of what little meat there was on his bones. He moved to sit up, but settled for closing his eyes, allowing his heart to cease pounding and his stomach to stop eating itself from within.
Presently, he pulled the needle out of his arm, looked at it for a moment, then dropped it on the floor, where it clattered for a few seconds.
Ow. He rubbed at the sore, bony shoulder. That's not the usual needle Mel. Think you coulda found a bigger one?
The merc narrowed her eyes at him, but then her features softened slightly. The words were hard, but there was no sting in her voice.
It's the first of the higher dosages. Tolerance. Congratulations.
Oh.
He sat up, coughed, shivered and looked around the massive warehouse. He was out of his armor, the helmet staring at him from a few feet away. Ronin sat on the upturned bucket that had previously been Bandages' perch. Not much left to do but the leaving, it would seem. He got a little unsteadily to his feet, and started putting the armor back on before realizing that he was still soaked with sweat, and putting the ripe, heavy armor back on just made him feel cold and tired. Instead, he bundled it under his arm and nodded to the two close by. It had been a long time since he had chosen to walk around unmasked, and though he still didn't want to be recognized, or draw any attention to the Unfair Advantage, he had the distinct impression that aside from a few birds, there wasn't a soul around for miles.
Let's go.
Mel threw up a gloved hand in exasperation. She had been in full tac kit for close to twelve hours, and was no doubt as close to exhaustion as Fel. They had no orders, no mission, no direction, no communication with their superiors. It was as close to 'freedom' as Melia had experienced in months, and yet she was uneasy. Good soldier.
Need a ship, Mel. Town's that-away. Long hike.
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DrRoninMatango
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Post by DrRoninMatango on Aug 14, 2015 12:57:11 GMT -8
In the time that had passed Ronin cleaned his gun, inspected it, and cleaned it again. He didn't drink often and this wouldn't be one of those times. His attention was on those around him, possible scenarios running through his head, who'd die first and chances of success. Scenario after scenario was chewed on, some savored with victory, others quickly swallowed as a mass failure. This lasted for only 4 or 5 hrs before his mind began to gently wander like an unanchored boat on a slow moving river. The recent years, the good and bad. Face after face popped into his minds eye like a slide show, each a different story, a different memory. Brakes caught Ronin before he delved too deep into his feels, kriff that. It was around this time bandages and his boys left, and ol bucket head dropped to the ground.
Ronin quickly moved to his side using the force to help soften the drop. Taking vitals and removing the helmet he slipped into his medical training. Skin looked unhealthy, actually everything looked like an addict hadn't had a fix in days, but it was not drugs, but disease.
The sound of an approaching person caught Ronin's attention, pistol drawn and aimed before he even got a visual. Though he had no attachment to bucket head, this was his patient and he'd be damned if this meat bag died on his watch.
The woman talked into a mic which resounded in the helmet signaling friendly. Ronin lowered the gun and called for help. The female seemed to know what was going on and pushing Ronin aside withdrew a large syringe and stabbed bucket head with it. Stepping back he waited to see what happened.
As the two talk he realized the syringe acted as a supressor to something. Hefting his bag over his shoulder he followed.
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