Post or Die ...More Options

[pbangarth]

The view from the penthouse overlooks the Sound. He imagines the rain outside a perfect companion to the peaty scotch in his glass. "Well?"

"Not good, Sir." The respondent takes a deep breath. "It seems a team working for the Spaniard interfered with the Vipers. Seriously damaged the team and took the shipment."

"And?" The scotch pauses halfway to his lips.

"Uhhh... we are investigating them now."

"Then perhaps you should return when you have information to offer, rather than annoyance."

"Yes, Sir." With a bow, the man leaves, tugging at his collar. He shuts the door behind him.

"Hermano. I knew you would come, despite my warnings. Like all the rest, you are so transparent." He sips the scotch, the peaty fire burning its way down to meet his rising excitement. "I'll deal with you after I swat your insects."

[pbangarth]

[shortly thereafter...]

"Sir, your mole in the Spaniard's organization failed to intercept the shipment. The Spaniard's crew is now approaching his location with the goods."

"Not like her to fail." He chuckles at the double entendre of that statement were it to come from the mouth of a stereotypical barbarian. "Very well. Clean up at the meeting."

"Yes sir."

[pbangarth]

"Oh, sir, the interceptors got a video feed of one of the drivers of the trucks. I think you might know him."

"Show me." A smile comes across his face. "Dr. Jones! How delightful. Quick, something must get to our agent in the Spaniard's organization. It must be present at the meeting, visible, and far from the Spaniard." He takes an object from bookshelf behind his desk and hands it to his employee.

++++++++++++


What is that ringing? I didn't set the alarm? And why am I shaking? Is there an earthquake?

Blackness blends slowly into a flickering red haze. Professor coughs once, twice, and it hurts like hell. That, and the damn shaking make him open his eyes. The ringing is in his ears.

This guy... oh, the Spaniard's medic ... is shaking him. Behind the medic ... smoke, fire crumbling walls. "Whu?"

"We've been ambushed, here at the rendezvous. We must go. The other two on your team are outside already. I had to search to find you. The Boss ... is dead."

"Other two? Who? There were five of us."

"The two orks came here with you. Remember? You lost at least one on the way. Clear your head as we get out of here. I don't know how long the structure will last." The man helps Professor rise. Professor looks around at the devastation. The Spaniard and three of his crew are up against one wall... some of each still sticking to it. None is the woman.

An explosion did this. Why didn't I die? The cylinder!

"Wait!" Professor struggles from the medic's grasp and staggers to the wall opposite the carnage. There it is, on the workbench, the cylinder that looks like the one he dug up in India. It drew his attention and him away from the others. " I have to take this!" As he grasps it, an ARO is generated, of a smooth, humanoid shape, gray, but with black holes for eyes. It speaks.

"Dr. Jones, I presume. No need to search further. You have found me... or rather ... I have found you again. Much more disturbing for you, I am sure. Let the end game begin."

Professor hurls the cylinder into the fire across the room, left by the explosion meant to kill all, except him. More building crumbles. The medic grabs him again and together they exit the building. Sirens sound in the distance. Zo and Void wait there by a black limousine. Ours, now, I guess. Memories return as he sees his teammates. A quick flick to the astral, and Jovan is there too. Glad you're still with us. There's a problem worse than even you could imagine. I'll fill you in back at Oswald's hangar.

"We need to regroup. I know something about what just happened. Let's go to Oswald's place." Oswald....

++++++++++

The drive from the troll's hideout began as planned. Zo and Professor each drove a truck, Void rode shotgun with Zo. Oswald covered from the air, and Jovan did the same in the astral. A klick out, and Oswald's voice thundered through their commlinks, "Son of a ... how did they get those into Seattle? Three Eurocopter Tigers closing rapidly. We're fucked."

Data streamed into the drivers' AR display indicating the rapidly approaching attack helicopters. No suitable cover could be reached in time.

Oswald's voice returned. "Ground control, this is Major Tom. Last transmission, kids, it's been good to know you. Hit the brakes, now!" Professor and Zo complied, 'cause, well, it was Oz saying so. A second later the trucks shut down and whatever lights were on in a kilometer radius went out. The commlinks were dead air. Cyber implants flicked off, and started a reboot cycle after a few seconds. The trucks screeched to a stop with the brakes locked on. The ensuing silence was punctuated by explosions off to the left. One. Two. Three. Four. Flames lit up rising plumes of smoke.

"Zo, what the fuck?" Professor shouted out his window.

"I dunno for sure. I think it was some kind of electromagnetic pulse, but where it came from. I dunno. Damn powerful. The trucks should come back online in a minute or so, but anything flying would fall like a rock. I think Oz took out the helicopters, and went down with them."

++++++++++

[pbangarth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:00 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

It's a pretty quiet bunch. Professor puts the coffee pot in the centre of the table in the kitchenette. His mug is already steaming with fresh coffee. He draws up his chair to sit with the rest of them. Well, Jovan is hiding in the medic van, tuned in with his commlink, but fuck him if he wants to play that game. Zo and Void pour themselves a cup. The ringing in Professor's ears has settled down, and his aches are mostly gone too. Orlando, the Spaniard's medic, filled him in on a few details of the Spaniard's workings. It all makes more sense now.

"Seems weird to be sittting here with Oz gone. We've lost quite a few people in the last few days, and I'm the only one left from the original hire on the Spaniard's boat. It's good to get paid, and to live to spend it. Here's a toast to old Oz." He lifts his coffee mug in salute, and takes a long draught. "The old man had taste, anyway. This is pretty good.

"I had a chance to talk with Orlando, here, on the way back, and to think about what happened at the delivery. Some things seem clear to me, and I'd like to fill you in. The job is done, and going our separate ways is the usual way of these things, and frankly it would be a good career move for each of you if you dumped me like last week's leftovers. I'd like to make you an offer, first, though.

"There is a man, a cunning... no, genius... evil man who is one of the world's biggest criminals. He runs guns, drugs, people, whatever. Uses anybody and makes them like it. He has politicians in his pocket. He has connections everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if he had some big corporations under his control. He is a master planner, and has managed to evade law enforcement for over a decade. He never gets his hands dirty, but he has many who will for him. Nobody knows who he really is, but he is known in the underworld as The Blind Man. It's probably his own little joke, because this guy is the farthest you can imagine from being blind. He's always a step or three ahead of anyone competing with or hunting him.

"So, 'What's this got to do with us?' you say. Well, it has a lot to do with me, and I'm pretty sure he's the one who blew up the Spaniard. I'm also thinking that Ms. Johnson is, was, his mole in the Spaniard's organization. Orlando told me that the two men had conflict before, and it looks like Seattle wasn't big enough for the both of them.

"As for me, I'm here, running the shadows looking for this guy. Yeah. I know. I know. But a few years ago, in another life, he destroyed my life, and I want to get it back. Or, lately, at least to clear my name. Some of you may have noticed that I haven't been doing this gig for all that long." He chuckles at that admission of the obvious.

"I was an archaeologist, and a damn fine one at that, with a promising career ahead of me. I was working in India, excavating a Harrapan site farther east than any other known before. The Harrapans were a culture ... sorry. Old habits. In any case, we had just found a scroll case, bone and wood, intricately carved with geometric designs. Inside was a scroll, vellum, with Sanskrit writing. Which was odd in itself because we didn't think the Harrapans used Sanskrit. My two graduate students and I had started to examine the scroll, and tried to decipher the writing. Very old, very hard to follow. But we got some tantalizing clues that, if they turned out to be factual, would be world shaking.

"See, we thought that it was telling us about another time of magic, an earlier one, ages ago. You can imagine what such a revelation would mean. Our imaginations were running wild, even as we tried to be dispassionate and methodical. I reported the preliminary observations to my faculty back home in Toronto. I guess, looking back now, that that was where I made my mistake. A couple of days after that report, the scroll was stolen, and my two graduate students murdered. Poor kids, just starting out. Compounding it all was that evidence appeared implicating me in the murder. The Indian authorities were quick to latch onto that evidence and arrest me. I was brought to trial. I sold most of the possessions at my disposal and hired the best lawyer I could afford. The reality is, he got me off on a technicality, not by destroying the prosecution's arguments. Nevertheless, I thought I was free of it all.

"Not so. I got home and found my colleagues and faculty were suspicious of me, and didn't believe my protestations of innocence. 'Errors and omissions' were said to be found in some of my research, and my tenure was terminated. No one anywhere would hire me even to teach a first year introductory summer course . I had been railroaded out of academia. I didn't know what to do at first, but the only thing that made sense was to find the thief, and get the truth out. So, with what money I had left then, I trained my magic, not for academic pursuits as I had always done before, but towards a life in the underworld. With the likes of you." He smiles, and lifts his mug.

"I picked up the trail in India, and it led to Washington. I followed the thief there and uncovered an antiquities smuggling ring feeding the UCAS and overseas. I don't know how I managed to do it, to be honest, but I broke the ring open to the authorities. But I did get a glimpse of the mastermind behind it. The Blind Man. And he let me know what he would do if he ever got his hands on me. I ducked out, he ducked out, and I got as far out of sight as I could, while still tracking him. A clue led me here to Seattle, where I have been working the shadows trying to get a hint of where he might be. I didn't find him, but he found me.

"See, Orlando tells me that the Vipers have worked for The Blind Man before. I would bet big money they got my picture to him, and he figured me out. At the delivery last night, the only reason I wasn't standing beside the Spaniard and blown to bits along with him is that there was a cylinder off to the side, just like the scroll case I dug up. I went to look at it, and then it all blew to hell. When I woke, I picked up the tube, and it gave me a message. Basically he's telling me he's toying with me until he tires of it, and then he will kill me. I suspect anyone associated with me will be considered acceptable collateral damage.

"So, what's all this about an offer? Well, another development is that an inheritance that had been contested for years has been cleared. I'm a rich man. I could probably buy my disappearance and live in luxury for the rest of my life.

"That's not going to happen. I don't know whether I want to get back into archaeology as a life, but I want to nail the bastard that did my life in, and I want to see the looks on the faces of those bastards who fired me when I wave my innocence under their noses. I've worked with you, and you've seen me. We all could do worse, no? And I offer each person who wants to help me track this guy down a hundred thousand nuyen, up front, to start. More to come later as tasks becomes available. If it's alright with the rest of you, Orlando here has tossed his hat into the ring. He offers to be a medical backup, no charge, in exchange for getting to keep the medical equipment here that Oz left behind.

"I want to get that scroll back, and I want to do as much damage to the Blind Man's operations as I can. I have no illusions that I can take him down, but he is known to be over-the-top proud of his ability to out-think anyone, and come out on top no matter what. Getting evidence to clear me, and getting the scroll back will put a mark on his reputation he will never live down. That's what I want to do. And with your skills, I know my chances would go way up.

"I have the first run lined up already. Orlando has access codes to the Spaniard's files, and can get us info about The Blind Man if we can retrieve those files from the Spaniard's HQ on land. Problem is, I would be surprised if that HQ isn't being watched. Furthermore, as long as we act quickly, we could turn some of that money into whiz gear through the Spaniard's connections. Those will dry up once his demise becomes known, but we have a window of a day or two.

"What do you think? Wanna do some... archaeology?"

[Warlordtheft]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:00 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett


"Um 100K to do some grave diggn? Not a problem for me. As ta the drek in the past, I seem ta recall some one try'n ta tellin me dat checkin da cred of ya...team is unprofessional. Me, I like ta think of it as knowin all da parties involved. Enemies of people ya work with might not care who I am, just dat I'm workin wit ya.

Take me for example, member of the da crush and all the things dat that brings. Da only other thing ta be after my hide is the local humanis chapter in redmond, dey didn't take it to well to me shooting up one of der breeders only joints. Wasn't my fault dat they ran there after pickin a fight with da crush...Frag all if care that ya know dat, any one of ya could find dat info out if ya wanted--I'm just savn ya da cred and trouble."

An if der really smart, deyd check out what I wuz sayin. But dats on them.

[Sephiroth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:03 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Jovan glanced at the blinking "RECORDING" text on the holo-projector display of his commlink. The details of this conversation were no doubt going to warrant further analysis later on - he could feel it in his gut.

He started paying more attention at the mention of this man, this criminal genius. But his eyes widened noticeably in the dark seclusion of the medic van at the implication of an earlier age of magic. Wait a minute. An ancient time of magic in the world... That goes against a great deal of the current assumptions of hermetic magical theory. It would certainly explain where spirits came from... and the paranimals that seem to match so closely with descriptions of animals from ancient myth... and the Infected... and the dragons. But why would a man interested in masterminding criminal plots, spreading corruption, and getting pride from staying several steps ahead of everyone else be interested in something as obscure and academic as an ancient scroll in a backwater archeological site in the middle of India? He would have to be an avid collector of ancient art or of similar predilections... He thought for a long moment, his fingers steepled together as he stared into space. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. ...Or a creature that already knew where to look and was waiting for someone to uncover such an item so that it could steal said item out from under them. A creature that would want to keep such information suppressed and hidden from metahumanity at large. Which means that we are walking into a conspiracy led by something very old and intellectually formidable. Likely a dragon, which would certainly explain why this 'man' has been able to evade and outsmart his pursuers and competition for so long. By Ghost, these people don't have the intellectual faculties to match wits against a dragon by themselves. That ganger can barely even speak proper English, for goodness sake.

There was a long silence after Professor and ZO spoke before Jovan took his turn. <<There is something about your story, if it is true, that feels amiss. This scroll you discovered, you said that it hinted at the existence of magic in a previous age. The implications of such a claim are indeed tremendous, but talk of such a discovery should have stayed predominantly within academic circles for the first several days after your preliminary report. Why would a man as criminal, deceptive, and evil as this Blind Man take such an immediate interest in something so academic? And why would he have been so ruthless in acquiring your scroll, unless he had something to hide in doing so?>>

[pbangarth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:03 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor nods. "Jovan's questions are all ones I've asked many times myself. One hypothesis I have builds on the fact that Blind Man is a purveyor of goods to anyone with the money. He may not be the end receiver of the stolen scroll, merely the one paid to acquire it. As for ruthlessness, well, that is his nature. And, witnesses were eliminated and a fall guy set up to stop further investigation. Very clean, except for my good luck in dodging the rap for murder."

[Glyph]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett


Void looks thoughtful at Professor's offer, seeming to be considering it but not leaping to accept it. He frowns minutely when Jovan chimes in, interrupting his contemplations. He has made up his mind, though, for the most part.

"It doesn't surprise me as much... perhaps I live in a darker world. But even with my limited knowledge of archaeology, I know that outfits like the Atlantean Foundation use strongarm tactics such as that as a matter of course. I suppose when old tombs can contain lost magical secrets rather than merely antique urns and moldering bones, it brings out the ruthlessness in people."

Void strokes his chin thoughtfully, his usual small facial tics stilled by his concentration, although he has once again forgotten to blink for an inordinately long time.

"I like your approach to the problem. As Sun Tzu says, 'Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate.' But when subtle fails, it is nice to have some muscle at your back. That is where Mr. Zo and I come in, yes? The proposed compensation is acceptable... provided that reasonable expenses, especially travel, will also be handled by you. A hundred thousand is a lot, but going going on an international expedition can burn though it in a hurry."

Yes... that's about right. Must not sound too eager, no no. Reasonable request, certainly. This could be the big break, what I need to break out of the small time, be a player again. Upscale, yes, yes.

[pbangarth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor nods in agreement. "His reach is global, indeed. But right now he is in Seattle. Somewhere. Whether we will have to go outside of this city is beyond me, but if we do I will make sure we can handle the travel expenses. And if we can liberate some valuables from his grasp along the way, we can all profit from those as well. The more we hurt his bottom line, the angrier he will get. Enraged, I would say from what I have learned. And rage is the fastest road to error."

[Warlordtheft]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

" I got some contacts in the Nan dat would be intereseted in Grade-A Bang Bang da Spaniard delt in. Dey's not gonna pay full market, but they'll give us a decent price. I'z got one other question, wit da valuables we librate, I think we go even splits afta expenditures."

[pbangarth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor nods again. "Yeah, splitting evenly works for me. I'd be happy to minimize my costs, because even a stake like my inheritance can run out."

[Glyph]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void nods curtly as well. He is following the conversation, but he is a bit distracted, thinking about what he might do with his sudden monetary windfall.

[Sephiroth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Jovan considers the offer again and its chances of success. <<If we assume that the Blind Man is merely an acquirer of goods whose services were bought by an unknown third party in this case, it is completely within the realm of possibility that going after the Blind Man and your Harrapan scroll will cause us to make acquaintances with this unknown party, and under less than ideal circumstances. On the other hand, if your Blind Man is truly as masterful at outmaneuvering and outdoing his opponents, then your chances of success against him by yourselves are so minute as to be ridiculous. None of you other two would be able to match wits against such a man, that much is clear to me. As for you, Professor, your analytical and perceptive skills are good, very good. But even your skills would not be enough to outplan this nemesis of yours, this intellectual criminal boogeyman. In order to match wits against a master planner, you must have the ability to plan at a similar level. Which means that you will need me. I will be your messiah in this endeavor, no doubt.>> A careful listener could almost hear the slight smirk on Jovan's completely hairless face <<Provided, of course, that you are willing to help facilitate the necessary components of our own plans. Are you willing to do whatever it takes to bring down this mastermind and free yourself from life-and-death struggle into which he forced you? Whatever it takes? If you are willing to follow me down this dark path, then I will be all too happy to lend my skills to this intellectual puzzle of yours.>>

In the meantime, best to begin preparations immediately. Jovan brings up the commcode for his contact and acquaintance, Zayne, the "cleaner."

<<@Zayne: That woman you put me in touch with a few nights ago turned out to be less pleasant to deal with than I was hoping. We should discuss it sometime. I also have some small projects which I would like to get rolling immediately for the purposes of an important job, and on which I would like to hear your advice. Would you care to go out for dinner tonight?>> The ease with which Jovan poses the question would bother no small amount of people, but alas, there is no one around to pick up on the psychopathy in such a question.

[pbangarth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor chuckles at the looks that come across the faces of the other two present as they hear Jovan's diatribe. "Without a doubt, Jovan, your planning skills are needed. So are the various skills of the rest of the team. As for what I am willing to do, well short of selling my soul, I want this man to suffer.

"You should understand this, one and all of you. This is my purpose, my money. I take the lead on objectives. If this is unsatisfactory, then I appreciate the work you have done so far, and we must part ways. In the course of our communal efforts the opportunity may arise for me to help you in your own personal goals. I will do what I can in that regard."

[Glyph]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void shrugs fatalistically. He has no real goals at the moment, and few illusions left, either about the state of the world, or the things that he does to survive in it.

"You have the money, Jovan has the brains. Myself, I bring necessary violence to the table. Judgments, value judgments concerning life, for or against, can in the last resort never be true: they possess value only as symptoms, they come into consideration only as symptoms - in themselves such judgments are stupidities."

He smiles slightly, as if anticipating when he will be able to unleash such violence. Actually, though, he is just happy that he got to use one of his Nietzsche quotes. And a relevant one, even! At least, it sounded relevant. His quick smile fades to a thoughtful look, also a misleading expression, since his mental processes at the moment are more like a spinning hamster wheel, as he tries in vain to decipher the meaning of the quote he just uttered.

[pbangarth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor perks up at Void's opinion. "Ah! You've read 'Twilight of the Idols', I see. Nietzsche is a difficult read. A little full of himself sometimes, but he gets one thinking, if only to find the cleverest way to refute him."

[Warlordtheft]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

What the frag did the ork in fronta of me just say? An what does does Nitch character hafta do with the job? One of Prof's contacts?

"In additiion to bein da other gun-bunny, I'll bring da street smarts for when Jovie's plan gets slotted more ways dan a meat puppet at a bunraku parlor. I've got connections too, if we need dem."

[Sephiroth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:06 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Jovan bares his teeth ever so slightly. He does not like being controlled and lectured in such a (to him) pedagogical fashion. There is a brief thought that flashes through his mind, originating from the darker, Infected facets of his personality. I do not have to bow down in the face of this drivel. I am a nosferatu. I shall be the messiah of this planet! I do not require the direction of anyone, and I certainly do not require being directed and lectured by my own food! Dark images start to flit through his mind's eye, images that to Jovan feel perfectly normal, filled with blood and cutting and screams and begging and...

Stop. The images start to fade. Professor Jones is not Our target. He is not The Enemy. Our Enemy is out there: Archer, and the bugs, and this Blind Man, and all the rest of those who aim to spread corruption through society like a filth-ridden tumor. Their throats can be the ones I rip out. The world is better off with Jones' throat and life intact. Jovan sighs in resigned irritation, taking a deep breath. In any case, this employment is useful for my purposes. Bah.

<<Very well, Professor. I will follow your direction on this job. I am curious about what you have to offer in addition to or perhaps instead of your one hundred thousand nuyen payment, or at least a portion of it. It is clear to me that you are well-read and possess great skill at discerning patterns in your environment, and you have the background of an excellent academic, as I myself did as a student not too long ago. What can you offer me in the realm of goods, knowledge, and skills in payment for these tasks? Depending on the quality of items and services in question, I would be willing to receive a deduction of the one hundred thousand nuyen to funnel directly into such an excha->> He stops midsentence, as if his conscious mind has only now noticed something that has been puzzling his subconscious for some time. His speech returns uncharacteristically slowly and in stumbles. <<How...do you know... of that aggravatingly nihilist of a philosopher?>> He pauses in confused thought again, which is practically unheard of for him. <<And what.. does that... have to do with...>>

[pbangarth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:06 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor smiles, knowing full well what occupied Jovan's mind during those seconds of silence before he responded to Professor's challenge of nosferatu superiority. The smile doesn't last long, though, as he realizes how close he probably came to realizing those thoughts.

Interesting times.

"Well, from your question I suspect you might be interested in getting access to arcana with special topics. I have contacts who can connect you with private libraries and collections. Maybe we can work that angle for you. Let me know what you are interested in and I can make some inquiries."

"I think we may have snippets of philosophies popping up from time to time, Jovan." He nods to Void. "Get used to it."

Interesting indeed. Is this a way Jovan can be flummoxed temporarily. Watch for it.

[Glyph]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void freezes for a second at Professor's reply, although his stoic face doesn't betray his emotions. He is good at quoting Nietzsche and Sun Tzu, but he can often barely understand them, much less do any critical analysis of them. Unless it is someone else's critical analysis of them, quoted just as pedantically. Void's brain may have been overclocked from its natural state with bioware, but he still relies on other sources to do the the intellectual heavy lifting for him.

Gets one thinking? But, but he does that for you, that's the whole point of philosophy, isn't it? And why would one ever want to refute Nietzsche?

When Professor nods to him, he returns it, having regained a slight bit of internal equilibrium.

"Indeed..."

Should he make another appropriate quote? He strangely feels like he barely dodged some kind of mental bullet last time; he hates when anything makes him look foolish. Uncharacteristically, he gives a bit of a mental shrug and decides to go for it.

"...Is life not a thousand times too short for us to bore ourselves?"

Yes, yes, was a good quote. Hrrmmm. Perhaps some Sun Tzu next time, mix it up a bit, yes, yes.

[Warlordtheft]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Zo in a Neil the ork Barbarian voice responds to Void's quote "What iz best in life? Ta crush your foes, an see dem driven before you, and ta hear da lamentation of der women."

[pbangarth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor smiles and stands up. "All right, then. We are agreed. I'll whip up an info package for the three of you to work on the first objective, collecting data from the Spaniard's beachhead here in Seattle. I have lined up a new base of operations for us. As much as I trusted Oz when he was with us, I don't feel safe in this booby-trapped warehouse. Let's go home and get a good night's sleep. I'll send info to you in the morning.

"Here is a communications channel we five can use that no one else should know about." An ARO appears with the link. "You can contact Orlando or me regarding material requests for the hundred K, but that should happen soon if you are looking for hardware from the Spaniard's connections, as those will dry up once news of his demise gets around."

He pulls his fedora forward from where it hung on his back, and heads to the door.

[Glyph]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void looks thoughtful at Zo's quote.

Hrrm. Where is that one from? I don't recognize it. Buddhist, perhaps? It would seem to fit into Buddhism's primary credo of "Kill or be killed."

When Professor gives the group their marching orders, he mumbles something unintelligible in the affirmative, preoccupied both with comming a taxi to pick him up a few blocks away, and with compiling his mental wish list of gear to get while the Spaniard's connections are still viable.

[Warlordtheft]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Zo looks at everyone physically present. "I see ya later den. Ya all know where ta find me. I'll get dat list in ta ya tomorrow. I think if ya gots it APDS might be in order if da vipers iz worken for da other team. Nothing says merc like mil-spec armor. At least enough EX-EX. Either that, or if any of ya spell slingers can melt der brains inside out, that would work too."

[pbangarth]

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor shoots a glance at Orlando. "Ammunition should be no problem. A hundred thousand worth of APDS might be tricky, though."