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GM of DOOM! ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 3,893 Joined: 20-March 03 From: San Diego Member No.: 4,296 ![]() |
21:15
The kitchen is expansive, to say the least. Stainless steel countertops and appliances range off into the distance, reflected fluorescent creating sort of a harsh white glow that radiates from everywhere. The table is long, other counters and appliances pushed aside to make space for it. The man gathered around the table appear to range from all walks of life, some dressed in the latest Zoe fashions to stroll off the line, others in little more then cheap Securetech running suits. They are all, however, smiling. "Vinnie," one of the men says, "You have done a great thing. This is a blow those Chinks will not forget soon." Sitting at the head of the table, the man steeples his fingers and looks at each of the others for a long moment, finally focusing on a shorter man, dressed in what used to be an Armani suit. The jacket is gone, though, and the tie is loosened, shirt hanging open. The shorter man grins as the man speaks again. "But we must do more. We must strike at the very head of this multi-headed...snake. I want Yamikaza dead. This will leave them in disarray for weeks or months, reorganizing, while limiting the attacks against us. The perfect time to consolidate our holdings." ___________________________________________________________ Iblis "Miss Iblis?" The speaker is tall for a human, standing almost seven feet. A pronounced brow ridge hangs over dark sunglasses, framed by a face almost Simian-like, with swathes of dark, course hair and protruding nose and lips. Broad shoulders stretch the straight black suit and white shirt beneath. The much smaller, much slimmer, but equally furry, although in a pale white, elf turns from shouting something at a lighting crew. "Yeah?" "Passive security's in place, and we're installing the automatic guns outside and on the dance floor." He indicates a far distant corner of the open warehouse space, where a work crew was hoisting a concealable turret into place. He hands her a stack of mag cards. "These will function to open the front door on the first floor, the cargo elevator, and the guest area." A second and third stack, much smaller, follow. "These will open all those plus the staff quarters, and this final group is everything, including your and Miss OK's residence on the top floor." The conversation is cut short as a call comes in, marked priority. "You're quarter." she picks it up quickly, identifying the source. "You sweet little furry thing," End-Run's voice is almost as familiar to her as her own. "You raising rates on me?" The meaningless chatter continued for a few more minutes as the file downloads, two casual friends making vague plans about a dinner that would never happen. _______________________________________________________ Jake Another of Carvaggio's boys taps on the doorframe and saunters into a bedroom, obviously at comfort here in the private quarters. He brushes hair away from Jake's eyes, flashing a grin that could have made millions on a runway, and sets a business card down on the nightstand. "Another request from Stephan and Mr. Carvaggio," he says, strolling back out of the door with all the inborn grace of a natural dancer. _______________________________________________________ Nameless Styx's monotone voice blares out of the vidscreen. The day he'd stopped actually placing calls and started routing messages directly to the telecom unit had been a horrible one indeed. "I don't know if you're there or not, because of course, as usual, you don't answer the 'com. On the bright side, you're fairly reliable, so you're either listening or psychic." The words themselves might indicate frustrated or amused, but the voice maintained it's constant monotone drawl. It rattles off a location, one now familiar on the Tacoma docks, and the message ends, dropping the room into darkness once more. ________________________________________________________ Howling Wolf A soft, sultry voice purred over the comms. Knozone always sounded like she was inviting you to do all sorts of potentially wonderful things, even when she was reciting equipment lists. "2 centimeter gaskets, and 2 square feet of duraplast. Got it. You've really got to start dodging those bullets better, sweety." A throaty chuckle. "Oh, and I've got info for you, if you're up for it. New Johnson, but he's hiring a couple of 'runners you've worked with before. Turns out it's pretty much the opposite objective this time though. His name's Vinnie." She rattles off an address down by the Tacoma docks, and blows you a kiss as she signs off. Drop dead gorgeous, Knozone always made sure to use what nature gave her to further her work as a fixer. ________________________________________________________ |
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Lo-Fi Version | Time is now: 14th June 2025 - 07:40 AM |
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