Fields of Fire (IC), A war is brewing Options

[Dumori]

Off the northern African coast 26th December 2070

A gaunt lieutenant walks towards a heavily cybered man wearing a batted General uniform "Sir we've just got word that we have government support for strikes against the Trans-Saharan Trading Alliance."
"Excellent lieutenant with control of their outposts we'll be able to control all Saharan trade. Tell the men to assemble out side my tent at once!"
"Yes, Sir!" comes an enthusiastic reply.

The Warlord steps out of his tent and sees his small army hurrying to the tent.
"My solders just the last moment I received word that we are permitted to assault the Trans-Saharan Trading Alliance. We shall take Fachi this remote oasis will not only give us a base of operations in the area but give us control of a vital caravan route. We will set off in two weeks time and set up an out post near by. Light Scout division you are to take a sky train ASAP and begin preparations for the full force when at the location Lieutenant Frederic will be your commanding officer." Looking at the gaunt lieutenant "That�€™s right your are to lead this attack my friend. Make me proud." There is a cheer from his men and a small section of the groups quickly head to wards a tent.

Matrix news feed 29th December 2070
The self proclaimed general and warlord General Yassem is on the move again. Part of his forces has been seen moving from his operation on the northern African coast south to ward the central Sarah. The purpose of this is yet unknown but seams likely that an Invasion or a defense contracts has come up. A probable target for invasion is a Trans-Saharan Trading Alliance outpost. The Trans-Saharan Trading Alliance is a group of towns and a few cities as well as key trading stations that have formed their own government after spiting from their home countries although at first action was considered by the affected governments the strength this alliance gave old trading routes and the economy of the Sarah was so much more improved that violence was seen as unnecessary. The Alliance protects caravans and supplies trades and travels with safe place to stay as well as basic amenities. As these benefits are only given to Alliance registered travlers who for a small monthly fee get access to this large network the Alliances power quickly grew. Although the Alliance has a small military force that guards the major cities the number of outpost and the distance form each other means that the Alliance could quickly fall to a well planed strike.

Dubai 30th December 2070
You receive a voice com from Dust also know as the Marksman your teams Sniper.
<<Hey guys you seen the news lately? It looks like we could have a few jobs coming up soon. I'll see you all at the ware house for new years then we'll talk this over. Looks like next year will be a big one.

Dust>>

[DWC]

Dubai 30th December 2070

Trolls love hammocks. Perhaps it is the unique sense of weightlessness that is so relaxing to creatures so burdened with their own bulk

Few in the 6th world have come to be aware of this fact, but that does not make it any less true. This fact remains obscured largely due to the immense feats of engineering and machining necessary to fabricate a hammock suitable for a humanoid creature commonly weighing over 800lbs.

DC is well over 900lbs, and, to facilitate his favored method of relaxation, built his hammock frame from the chassis of a Saudi knockoff of a Russian armored personnel carrier. The netting of the hammock is woven Kevlar, wrapped in nylon.

The hammock frame has no treads, less than half of its’ wheels, and the desert sand has robbed it of much of the original paint. A lone 16cm diameter hole in the hull, between the 2nd and 3rd gun ports, is the only clue to the nature of its’ demise. The interior is littered with scarring from ricocheting shrapnel, slag from the armor piercing warhead that originally crippled the vehicle, and tiny charred bits of the equipment and bodies of the men unfortunate enough to be sitting inside it when the anti-tank missile struck it.

The deck and turret are gone, cut away with a welding torch. Both lie discarded, half buried in the sand, ten feet away.

DangerClose is asleep in his hammock, an IV drip of glucose keeping his preposterous body from dehydrating in the midday heat. Occasionally, he snorts or stirs, and the entire chassis shifts in response.

[JoelHalpern]

Dubai, team warehouse, December 30
Tam is looking over his gear when the message comes in from Marksman.
Well, this is not where I expected to be. Last month I was doing simple jobs in London. Then a surprise attack, and now I have agreed to work for this crew. I sure hope the armor is up to the challenge. I owe them enough for it.

<<Marksman, what time you want us to meet you? --AK97>>

Tam then heads out to look around town. While he has some leads on a Krav Maga training facility, now does not seem the time to find it. So instead he just wanders the town. Suspecting that we will be in and out of this place frequently, it seems sensible to get a feel for it.

[Tarantula]

Dubai, team warehouse, December 30

AD-80 is in the garage doing routine maintenance to his body when the message comes in. <<Flat Tire responding. Message Received Marksman. Rendezvous at base for briefing on January 1 2071.>>

[crizh]

30th December 2070, Deep in the Desert, Dubai, Dawn.

As the sun started to warm the sand an updraft slowly started to build. The Eagle circling over the dunes floated gently upwards with it until it was a mere speck against the featureless blue sky.

The wind ruffled the feathers of its wings but flowed smoothly over the neoprene-kevlar sheath that streamlined the rest of it's body. Eventually it was able to gaze west and see the curvature of the great orb it hovered above and watch as the shadow of night slipped from first Qatar, then Saudi and finally the rosy light of dawn glistened from the waters of the Red Sea. At this height the air was cold and thin yet exhilarating and the Mana was sparser than at ground level but purer, more rarefied.

There was something in the air, a pregnancy in the Mana flows. The hunting would be good this year.

Almost as if the thought had caused it the comm-link flashed an AR icon in his field of view.

<<Hey guys you seen the news lately? It looks like we could have a few jobs coming up soon. I'll see you all at the ware house for new years then we'll talk this over. Looks like next year will be a big one.

Dust>>

With this interruption Abaddon started to circle back down towards the shining glass and steel of the Ziggurat. A million loyal wage-slaves lived within it's glittering air-conditioned walls but he was one of the select few that had space in the Pinnacle. The Eerie was actually a huge and expensive space, not that he cared for extravagance but he liked the closeness of the sky.

He had work to do today. Pacts with creatures of Mana and shadow bound to his service came to an end with the turning of the year. Today he must offer up part of himself to renew those pacts. No power came without sacrifice and the price they would exact from him would be great but more than fair.

His head cleared by his morning flight he was ready for the stress of the Rituals to come. Alighting gently on the balcony of the Eerie his body morphed and elongated as the final beat of his strong wings brought him to a halt. After a confusing moment the Eagle was replaced by a short toned human male clad in skin-tight body armour. His piercing blue eyes blazed out from above an aquiline nose, he rubbed his soft pale hand over his short dark crew-cut while he padded on bare feet off the balcony and into the shadowed depths of the labs.

The Ritual began.

[DWC]

Dubai, 30th December 2070, later in the afternoon.

The incessant beeping of his commlink finally rouses DangerClose. After shutting off the glucose drip and disconnecting it, he climbs from the hammock with almost unnerving grace.

He stretches, then hurdles the gunwhale of the hastily converted APC, landing in the sand with an impact that startles small mammals for hundreds of yards in every direction. After a quick read of the message, he pulls up the BBC World Service, and begins studying up on the brewing crisis.

The troll composes a quick reply.

"I'm already out here, and will be for the next few days anyway. My right leg hydraulics haven't felt right since I stomped that ATV in Uganda, and this mess in the Sahara doesn't look like something I want to go into with questionable equipment. -Big Slick"

After sending it out, he heads back into the warehouse in search of a snack before going to work on the armor.

[Dumori]

Dust looks at his link its beeping interrupting his strip clean of his rifle.

<<Danger where likely to get a job for one side at least. If your right leg playing up try and get to a doc or fix it up yourself. We might have to be combat ready by the turn of the year.>>

Dust puts his rifle and run diagnostics with the smartlink. Looking smugly at the diagnostic readouts. Dust then head to his room in the warehouse his normally port of call when in Dubai and his only fixed address. On the way to his room he begins to plan a bit of a party for tomorrow night. Might as well have some fun after they've got the plans out the way.

[Muspellsheimr]

Dubai, December 30 2070, Early Evening

<<Received the notice. I will be at the Warehouse in an hour. Inform me if anything occurs before the scheduled meet.
Muspelheim>>

After restoring his Life Essence from a pair of squatters, Muspel looks over the corpses.
Disgusting, but convenient...
After disposing of the bodies, leaving the stench of burned flesh behind he exits the city boundaries, heading towards an abandoned warehouse.

[crizh]

30th December 2070, Ritual Circle, The Eerie, Ziggurat Arcology, Dubai, Dusk.

Abaddon stood exhausted in the centre of the chalk circle inscribed on the floor. The Astral form of the Spirit he had bound swirled around him. His firm body was drenched with sweat, the upper half of his bodysuit lay dangling loose from his waste, letting his firm, lean torso gleam in the light from the flame dancing in the shallow bowl that stood before him atop a wrought iron stand.

The Binding was complete, the pain had been appalling but Abaddon revelled in such things and with this Spirits power already coursing through his mind he had no trouble shrugging it off. The changes in his Aura were extensive and would greatly ease the stress of manipulating Mana for as long as this creature was bound to his service.

And now the end.

Once again he started to chant, in a language so ancient only the spirits really understood it's meaning. He reached down towards the flame and pulled the Atheme from the bowl where it had been resting, it's blade glowed a dull, menacing red from the heat. The chant quickened, he threw his head back and raised his arms skyward before grasping the naked blade with his left hand and swiftly jerking his right arm down.

The blood flowed copiously from his clenched fist and down his forearm. In the dim light it looked as if it were black, like a stream of tar. Lowering his left arm slightly he allowed first one, then two and three drops of blood to fall into the flame.

The pact was sealed.

A year of service for a sliver of his soul. A small price to pay.

Bending he blew out the flame and walked from the room onto the balcony. The sun was just dipping below the horizon and the moon had already risen.

He raised his hand and watched with interest, in the strange silvery light, as the deep slash in his palm slowly knitted itself back together.

[DWC]

Dubai, 30th December 2070, later in the afternoon

Three hours after DC last checked in, the entire warehouse shakes.

The troll, wearing his armor (sans helmet), jumped off a ten meter high section of the roof and landed gracefully on the asphalt outside. As he rises from his landing crouch, he checks the diagnostic reading from the hydraulic jacks imbedded in the powered suit. Chuckling at the cracks in the pavement and pleased at the results of both the diagnostic and the field test, he rises walks back inside to his workbench and begins removing the armor.

"Good as new. Stupid bubble. Stupid ATV."

[ Spoiler ]

10 meters is reduced to 6 meters by the hydraulic jacks, which is 4P damage. He soaks with Body (10) + plus half impact (15 from armor, + 2 from dermal plating + 1 from being a troll) + 1 for bone lacing + 4 gymnastics, for 24 dice. Taking 4, gives 6 hits, enough to soak the 4P with room to spare. Well within safe range, but enough to be sure the jacks are working right.

[crizh]

31st December 2070, The Eerie, Ziggurat Arcology, Dubai, Dawn

Abaddon woke with the first rays of the morning sun. He disentangled himself from the various limbs that were wrapped around him and padded, naked, into the apartments kitchen and poured himself a large glass of fresh orange.

As he sipped it and leaned against the side of the archway that led from the main living area to the kitchen he tried to remember the details of the previous evening.

Drunk with power he had left the apartment and headed to the nightclubs, that much he remembered. He needed the thrill of the chase, the heady rush of the kill. Which club he had picked these girls up in he could not remember. Perhaps it had been several clubs. They were like moths to a flame and the details of what happened once they returned here were hazy at best. He recalled Sabrina, the husky sounding Italian brunette telling him he was a Stallion in her deep breathy Mediterranean voice.

He also recalled giving her exactly what she had asked for...

He grinned, what had come after that was the plot of a cheap and unconvincing BTL. Except for the unconvincing part.

Hmmm, some of them might be a bit tender this morning. A little kindness before they depart, perhaps.

The Drone that was to be the focus of today's ritual caught his eye. It was a medical exo-skeleton, designed to evacuate a wounded officer, or extractee, from the battlefield. It's shining white cera-metal form stood over nine feet tall and had a number of tentacle like arms reaching around from behind it's back.

Placing one hand on the counter and sensing the Mana flow through it and the processors of the food prep unit he concentrated his excellent sight on the flows in the exo-skeleton. Drawing the two together he drew out a small Task Spirit and bound it temporarily into the Drone.

Cook them breakfast and tend to any injuries they have suffered. I shall return in 90 minutes, ensure they have left by the time I do.

He found his armour draped over the balcony. He simply grabbed it and forced it's form to conform to his as he slid into the Eagle form he was born in.

With a single beat of his powerful wings he was airborne and gliding away from the shining crystal pyramid that erupted so incongruously from the desert sands.

[Scope_47]

A burned out church near Dubai

Kiara kneeled before the altar, praying in Latin as she always did. As she finished the prayer, she quoted John 6:53 aloud I tell you the truth, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. and removed a metahuman heart from a cooler.

In latin, she continues As commanded by our Lord Jesus Christ who is in Heaven, I partake of the flesh that I may rejoice in what was suffered for you, and I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ's afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the church.

As she finished, she bestially tears into the heart with her fanged maw and quickly devouring it entirely. As the blood runs down her chin, she completes the prayer I am the servant of God and the messenger of his justice. I am but an instrument of his divine wrath on earth, called upon to cleanse his kingdom, bringing ash from the flesh of thine enemies. Amen.

She wipes the blood from her mouth with the back of her camouflage sleeve before it reaches her white collar. As she stands, she looks about the ruins of the church - an old wooden structure that long ago had been abandoned after taking artillery fire during one of the many struggles of this continent. Even in its decay, it was still a house of the Lord - and still consecrated ground. It was also her home, her parish as it were, though she had no flock to tend save for the seven graves on the grounds... graves she had dug herself to give proper burial rights to the human trash sacrificed that God's messenger might live... she only could hope that their final prayers for forgiveness were made in earnest rather than falsely, for only then would they be free of the fate that awaits those like them in the lake of fire.

Suddenly, her commlink beeps with the message from Dust. She reads it quickly, and sends a reply Jackal checking in, en route to HQ, ETA 25 mikes..

She quickly dons her armor and collects her gear before heading out to her ATV. From the exterior, the old church looked like some forlorn place, hanging open like a festering wound... as if sad commentary upon the nature of the sixth world - a festering wound in the souls of humanity waiting for the healing touch of the church... She chambered a round in her assault cannon - the 'Hand of God' - just in case that touch needed to be delivered to a sinner before her arrival at HQ.

[crizh]

31st December 2070, The Deep Desert, Dubai, 08:00

He lay on the Sand, grinning up at the sun and bled from a massive hole in his shoulder.

The bullet had torn through his ribcage just below his left wing at a slight forward angle. It had torn through both lungs, narrowly missing his Aorta and exited through his right shoulder. It had been slowed considerably by the layers of kevlar he wore but still caused massive damage.

Poachers!

In this day and age, he was shocked and surprised that such people still existed. Well in shock at any rate.

He could hear the engine of some sort of 4x4 rising and falling as it crossed the dunes to where their quarry had fallen, they were only about a minute away he guessed.

The wait was agonizing. Eventually, however, the ATV crested the last dune and he was able to see his tormentors.

And they were able to see their death.

The first bolt ripped through the vehicle like it were tissue paper, popping off the gas tank and flinging the four young men to the desert floor.

The next bolt was a different more subdued colour, as were the three that followed in rapid succession.

The bodies lay still.

Smiling, Abaddon stood up and set to work on the unconscious young men.

He found most of what he needed in the ruined ATV along with stiffened resolve, when he found the other bodies.

They were well prepared for the desert, more than 20 Gallons of water in various cans and several spades.

The Task spirit he had summoned earlier had returned to the Metaplanes some time ago which left him free to call another. It entered the weakest of the four and used it's Psychokinesis to stand the other three in a rough circle and used it's magic to destabilize an adjacent dune.

It let the sand flow around them until they were all buried to the waste and let Abaddon soak the area with half the water. Carefully it let the sand build until it was only inches below their necks when again Abaddon soaked the sand with the remaining water.

A few more inches of dry sand and they were buried to their necks in wet sand in the baking south facing slope.

Abaddon left the shovels just out of reach.

As he circled back into the sky on the morning thermals he marked the GPS co-ordinates in his comm-link.

Perhaps Jackal would have a use for them...

31st December 2070, The Eerie, Dubai, 09:00

He was an hour late returning but decided that he still had plenty of time to shower before starting the ritual. He was caked in his own blood and was starting to smell.

The drone was standing alone in the kitchen, a chef's hat at a jaunty angle on it's head and a number of lipstick prints on what passed for it's face.

Hmm, and the CHN seemed to contain several new comm-codes.

As he peeled of his sticky bodysuit he made a mental note to ask his room-mate about the Makeover formula he had mentioned recently.

31st December 2070, The Eerie, Dubai, 19:00

Encased in the Drone's cera-metal plates and with it's medical systems monitoring every aspect of his health this second ritual had been a much more comfortable and less painful affair.

He wasn't sweating but nicely air-conditioned, his muscles didn't ache, the drones myomer sheath did all the hard work and he wasn't hungry because it had fed him with an IV.

It had even drawn the necessary blood, painlessly, and delivered it to him in a little vial.

It was all a bit of a let down, after yesterdays histrionics.

Never mind, he knew exactly how to cheer himself up.

Mentally he called up the CHN and had it send out invites to a 'Fancy Dress Party' to the new numbers it had in it's memory banks, with a note saying 'bring a friend if you like.'

This should be a New Year to remember.

[Intro]

19:42, 30 December, 2070. Deira Dubai.

Zé smiled to himself as he left the covered souk and joined the crowd moving along Old Baladiya Street. Maybe it wasn't the wisest to be operating so close to the company's HQ, but the rewards were worth it. Not the cash - he hadn't had the opportunity to examine it but it looked to be only a few hundred nuyen - but the sheer satisfaction of getting the better of someone... who thought they were getting the better of you. Plus, he had to do something to keep himself occupied, and his tastes ran in different directios than some of the others in the team.

Of course, the two he'd conned were just a couple of street punks. No great challenge to relieving them of their money, really. Zé wondered if they'd even noticed yet that he'd switched the bags. But them being small time meant that they shouldn't prove any threat, whether he was operating close to home or no.

He'd just turned left and was heading along the docks and stalls along Dubai Creek when his commlink let him know he had a voice signal, sent under the company's encryption.

<<Hey guys you seen the news lately? It looks like we could have a few jobs coming up soon. I'll see you all at the ware house for new years then we'll talk this over. Looks like next year will be a big one.

Dust>>

Zé wasn't quite sure what news dust was talking about, as he summoned up some news feeds. Sure there was instability all over the place. But there was always instability all over the place. Maybe the thing in Africa with the trading rights? Didn't seem like some nowhere trading post was a rich enough target to get them involved. But the STA was pretty wealthy - maybe they thought it was worth it? As he was thinking, he composed a quick text and sent it back.

<<Hey cumpadi,

Great. I'm starting to get tired of the scenery. Let's go someplace where there's a whole new set of scenery for me to get tired of.

Tchau,

Hooks>>

After sending it off, Zé looked around to see what other sort of misconduct he could get into, and jauntily continued his walk through Deira.

[crizh]

1st January 2071, The Deep Desert, Dubai, 07:32

The AR HUD was peaking at 500kph and the GPS insert showed a bold red line 60 klicks long spearing into the desert from the Ziggurat. The line passed just 3 klicks south of the blue dot that marked the scene of yesterday's exertions. His keen eyes had been pleased to see the empty eye-sockets staring southwards towards him as his shining white steed swept past. One of the Auras still pulsed with tormented life and he took pity upon it and with a brief surge of Mana mercifully snuffed it out.

The Spirit Possessed drone never even broke stride. The dome of fiber-optics atop its armoured head worked perfectly, giving him an amazing 'birds eye' view of his environment without blocking out the Astral component. They were cruising on an elliptical path through the desert that would bring them to the Units compound at about first light.

He'd told the Spirit to answer to Mr Scot or Scottie. He feared the attempt at mirth would not be appreciated by the other members of the Unit. He was certain, however that a skilled mechanic and medic would be.

As the lights of the city approached in the pre-dawn half-light he summoned his Will and gently coaxed the Mana flowing around the speeding drone into a cloak that would make it invisible to the senses whether living or electronic. Best not draw too much attention.

[BlackHat]

Dubai, December 30 2070, Early Evening

Overkill was flying low and fast. The virtual environment he was immersed in was wildly active with sensor reports, control readings, and other flight information that the pilot was only paying nominal attention to. Virtual music was playing and drowning out most of the audio information. He was on a pretty standard recon mission, and wasn't expecting any trouble - it was mostly an excuse to get out in the air and burn up some fuel, under the pretense of maintaining operational awareness. His trigger finger was getting pretty itchy lately, and his most recent sweep of the area didn't give him any excuse to scratch it. He was on his way back into Dubai when he started picking up network traffic from the team.

<<@Team:: "AA checking in. Refueled, reloaded, and ready to rock. I hope you boys didn't start the party without me.">>

[Mickle5125]

High security housing area in Dubai, December 30.

Adrian Farenheights Tepes, as he calls himself, closes the text on spirits with a sigh. Another useless meatbag with useless and inaccurate ideas... Perhaps the next one will be less useless...

Before he is able to move on to the next possible source of answers, he is interrupted by the message signal on his home's commlink. Grumbling at the interruption, Adrian stalks over to the comm unit and stabs at the play button. A childish voice comes out of the speaker. <" Uh uh, Mr. Spookyblur! you didn't say the magic word...">

Adrian begins summoning up his magic and aims his hand at the comm unit. "Play the message, or I shall destroy your home, AI."

<" Hmpf. Well, if you're going to be like that, meanyhead..."> For a few moments, Adrian suspects that the AI has cut all power from the comm unit again, when suddenly a familiar voice drifts out of the speaker at a rapidly-changing volume.

<<Hey guys you seen the news lately? It looks like we could have a few jobs coming up soon. I'll see you all at the ware house for new years then we'll talk this over. Looks like next year will be a big one.

Dust>>

So, a new chance to slaughter mortals... how exhilarating... Adrian thinks for a moment, then says out loud "AI! The house is yours for the forseeable future. Play as you wish. Do not destroy anything, do not bring security down on the house, and do not erase any messages that come in for Paladin or myself. Beyond that, entertain yourself. Farewell."

Adrian closes his eyes and concentrates, slowly fading from the physical realm to the sound of an AI's excited <"Yipee!">

After a relatively short trip in the Astral Plane, Adrian arrives at the warehouse and begins searching for the familiar aura of Dusty. Spotting it, he carefully positions himself roughly behind Dusty and materializes on the Physical Realm as quietly as he can in his most unnerving form. "A beautiful evening, is it not, Marksman?" He asks as he bares sharp teeth in a toothy grin.

Dusty jumps slightly and whirls on Adrian. "Damnit," he shouts. "I told you not to do that! Now get out of my room. I'm busy."

"Very well," Adrian replies calmly, still grinning. "I shall return with Paladin when she arrives. Until then, Marksman..." His voice echoes slightly as he fades back into the shadows.

[crizh]

1st January 2071, Dubai, Outskirts, 07:52

Abaddon's Astral form floated unseen 100m above the speeding drone. Satisfied that there were no other Astral eyes watching it's progress he returned to his meat-body. Carefully he instructed the Possessed Exo-skeleton to skirt the Unit's compound and approach it from the rear.

At this speed the compounds wall of concrete and razor-wire was a minor obstacle. He was careful to Mask his Aura as another of the creators of the compounds Wards, it would be no test of his skill if they let him through automatically.

The Spirit Possessing the drone was showing off now, it performed a series of cartwheels before launching itself skywards from both feet a mere 10m from the compound wall. For several heartbeats they were flying, Abaddon rapidly identifying and marking potential targets within the compound on his AR display as they crested the wall. At the apex of their trajectory the drone performed a perfect forward roll to adjust it's attitude before spotting the landing perfectly behind the largest of the vehicle sheds.

The small cloud of dust that the impact kicked up was the only perceptible evidence that anything had happened, so long as none of the sensors spotted that tiny anomaly he was in.

Adrian and Kiara would spot him in a heartbeat but he wanted to know if the rest of the Unit would be able to catch him before they arrived.

[DWC]

1st January 2071, Dubai, Outskirts, 07:55

A scorpion scuttled for cover, struggling to avoid the giant glob of mucus and sand. It failed. DangerClose chuckled and continued his lumbering walk across the tarmac. Spitting on bugs would probably never cease to amuse the troll, especially when he woke up dehydrated with a mouth full of the annoyingly fine Arabian Desert sand.

He resumed reading the latest from the BBC World Service as he stopped at the end of the runway to relieve himself.

[JoelHalpern]

Seeing motion outside, Tam starts to open the window to aim the his Alpha. As he does so, he realizes it is just a friendly arrival, in a typical overstated fashion. With a sigh he closes the window, pulls the blinds, and walks down stairs. It seems we may learn something soon.

[Dumori]

1st January 2071, Dubai, Outskirts, 07:59

Dust after watching the arrivals climbed down for the roof top where he was homing is rifle getting every measurement as accurate and precise as possible. His keen eye sight had even picked out even abandons arrival.
Storing his equipment in his room Dust walked in to the warehouse floor now an impromptu conference room and checked all the hardware was ready. Although the meeting was a about half an hour off it looked like most of the group was here and waiting. He checking the comm-channels making sure that if needed an employer could join the conference.
He looked up transport and fuel for the group to the expected arena with in the budget but the job would have to pay well. Dust walked over to the soy-coff machine to the side of the room grabs a cup and grabbed some soy based food form the fridge that should last him the day well that and may be a pint or two of water.
Wolfing down his daily meal Dust went back to his room a spruced him self up a bit shaving for the first time in a month and taking off his armor. “Not long now� he thought “Soon we’ll hit the big time and then people will know the ‘Wild Cards’ �

[Intro]

1 January 2071, 8:04. Approaching Wild Cards HQ.

Ze could only imagine the manner of arrival of the rest of the squad. He'd seen some pretty outlandish maneuvers in his years of service, but this group was so over-the-top as to confound even him sometimes. They not only had no respect for proper tradecraft, but seemingly desired to take what had been painstakingly drilled into his head, and do exactly the opposite - preferably with overwhelming firepower. He shook his head over it once again as he unstrapped himself, swapped in the appropriate activesoft for the situation, and flung himself out of the small airplane's port hatch.

It continued its flight to the south, wireless capability cut off and internal computer directing it to the airfield and hanger used by someone who had tried to physically intimidate the smaller Ze a day earlier in Dubai - one might think it odd to give such a gift to a person in that situation, but only if they didn't know who the plane's actual owner was. Ze expected his would-be-threatener's explanations when said owner found out where his plane had go to to be quite entertaining; too bad he wouldn't have the chance to see them.

Ze sent a quick burst from his transponder as he deployed his elliptical 'chute, in case any activated AA hadn't recognized him, and swooped towards the compound. Sure it was a ridiculous way to travel, but one had to show this lot that even a small, perfectly average-looking old man still knew a few tricks. Plus, he had to admit to himself, it was starting to be fun...

[Dumori]

With every one sat down a ready Dust began. "Well lets begin as you all know this year looks to be full of opportunity. The expected situation with TSTA looks like we might be needed. Also there are still there could old fashioned jobs and even 'running' if need be." Dust pronounces the word 'running' with some venom but continues speaking "I think our best bet as a team is to head to north Africa then take a side in this brewing conflict. TSTA looks like the best bet as its basically an low-end AA corp and this Warlord doesn’t have the best rep. He known to kill off teams that he thinks could contest his power even those loyal to him." After pausing to let this last point sink in he continues. "Transport for the team and gear can be cover by our budget but I would expect our employer to cover this cost. So team who should we contact?"

[Muspellsheimr]

1 January 2071, 8:05

Muspelheim looks from a distance at the individual diving towards the base, & shakes his head.

Why does anyone give a shit what others think? Makes no fucking sense.

He then continues towards the warehouse on his bike, in a notably unimpressive manner.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

With the warlords reputation, is there any reason we should work with him? If he's so distrusting, we would be unable to set up a meeting for assassination. If we are to take part, I would suggest working with the corp. Either way, we will probably get the best price if they come to us.

[JoelHalpern]

Tam looks around the room.
"What you say makes sense. Having worked for folks who consider their employees risks to be disposed of, I would prefer not to do that again. Do we have any idea what sort of equipment the Warlord is rolling with? Can the Trade Alliance provide us with a supply line and replacement parts, or will we need to arrange that ourselves?"