Scene #8501: The Siege of Borealis Pt. 1

Owner	Pose
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Mantis Caves Borealis City Planet Rubi-Ka 23:00 The choice of time for the meeting is twofold. One, because the already seldom-trafficked area of the Borealis outskirts is even less likely to attract attention at this hour of the night. Two, because your contact, the squirrely Bureaucrat Atticus Morgan, knows nothing about insects and assumed the mantises would be asleep at night. Borealis is so named because the city sits in the center of a miles-wide crater which is heavily forested. The meeting point is a perfect example of this, in a grove a short walk (five, ten minutes at most) from the city, off the beaten path. The birds, rollerrats and other fauna are mostly silent, and the night air is instead a symphony of insects taking refuge in the alien trees, over a backdrop of a roaring waterfall nearby. The misty wash from that waterfall clings low to the ground for a few feet around its base. The water here is part of a large body that forms a semicircle around the region (Borealis is like New York where it's both a region and a city) and likely feeds into the massive, multiregional river Stret, many miles to the east of here. Here, you're not far from one of the edges of the crater that makes up the Borealis region. The windward side of the steep crater wall, carpeted over with wild grasses and hardy trees, sports a curtain of thick vines which, indicated by Atticus, conceals the entrance to a cavern. With every chirrup from inside the cavern, the pasty, gangly Bureaucrat looks more apologetic. At the very least, he won't be a liability. This man, still dressed in neatly pressed, tucked in office clothes, has a rather incongruous leather holster fastened around his hip, and the butt of a prohibitively large pistol sits forward for a twist draw. It looks like it'd break this beanpole's wrist just to fire, but the grip shows clear signs of past use. More to the point, he is accompanied by what is clearly a bodyguard droid, a sleek black thing with thickly corded synthetic muscle in a tightly bound exaggeration of human physique, and a cyclopic blue optic sensor that seems a more hostile imitation of Atticus' cybernetic visor. "Uh, hi," says the Bureaucrat on arrival, trying to ignore the meanmugging Phreak is giving him, probably due to the mantis fuck-up. The two men couldn't look more different--Phreak wears a red tank top, black track pants, white sneakers and a keyboard-print hoodie, tied around the waist. One of his outsized SMGs is slung over a shoulder, the other hangs at his right side. Atticus isn't used to this sort of thing, and greets everyone like it's a meeting at work, which seems to annoy Phreak more. "So, this is just a quick touch-base, before we go in, to let everyone know how everything will shake out. We're going to cut a route through the caverns that will take us underneath the city, hitting every Reclaim terminal, the Grid terminal, and the Whom-Pahs. Phreak will handle those. There was a slight..." He clears his throat, "Miscalculation on my part, about the habits of mantises, so, I'll be here to keep the brunt of the den from swarming us. The rest of you will keep us covered in the event that any slip my net." "Try not to hit any that fucknuts here does his woo-woo stuff to. It wears off." "Um, yeah. Any questions? Or... are we good to go?"
Remee Halcyon	Remee hasn't had an easy week. She looks tired. Initially she starts nodding along, as if it were a meeting at work, before remembering that it's a Watch mission and adjusting her posture back to something more action-ready. "I think... I've got it. Hit the ones that slip through, don't hit the ones that are controlled. Makes sense." She pulls her rifle out, and makes sure it's clean and loaded. "You said you've got the terminals, Phreak? I can help a bit, if there's just stuff you need knocked down."
Nephra Tangent	The two socketing halves of Nephra's spear make for useable hiking poles, at least, for the journey out to the cave's entrance, and similarly convinient props to lean on when walls or chairs are out of the question. Even more useful, her hands being full is the perfect excuse to ignore the Bureaucrat's formal greetings, when a handshake is far from desireable, even with her thick canvas gloves. Despite how much support her suit could give to travelling while injured, it sits, undeployed, in its folded-up line, hooked in to where her vertebrae ought to stretch at the skin of her back, and neatly beneath her jacket. Painkillers are pulling the weight it isn't, in dulling the ambient screaming aches of having run her reactor so high, for even as short as she did, at Aegis Astray. Transparent red vinyl can only do so much to hide still-fresh bruises and fractalized electrical burns stemming out from her arm-lining electrodes, but a late-night mission and the washed-out desaturated light it comes with helps fill in where her coat can't quite. Still- she's bound her whole upper torso in wrapped layers of gauze tape as a top, where nasty dried bloodstains still broadcast the presence of a stab wound. It looks like she'd been on bedrest just as much as it looks like she ought to still be. Don't wanna! "What's the miscalculation?" Her tone is jumpy, quicker to rise than stay dead-flat. Instead of looking to the Bureaucrat as she speaks, Nephra's eye goes to the bodyguard robot, less out of interest than needing her head pointed in a different direction. "We there favorite meal, or something? You call their mothers a nasty word by accident? I- Haha. Fighting them. Right. Yeah. Hope many don't slip past." The sigh that follows is hoarse and ragged. Nephra absentmindedly starts to screw the threads of her spear halves back together, the pole's length awkward to hold right at the midpoint until it's a cohesive unit once more. Ugh, is it bent? I'll have to straighten it sometime, or... She squints. Depth perception isn't her strong suit, as she looks up at the head of the 10-foot stick of metal, and ultimately decides that if beaning Ishirou with the side of it could bend it, maybe whatever she'll have to do to giant terrifying bugs can undo it. "Woo-woo stuff. Right. There some sort of tell, for it all, more than not getting munched up like candy? Or do we just get to guess with whack-a-mole? Haha. Uh. Cuz I'd really like to not whack more than we've got to, Misters." She looks between Phreak and the contact, instead of at either of them. A gloved hand fishes in a sidepocket of her shouldered duffel, and pulls out a handful of lollipops. She offers them out, akin to a cigarette, towards the Bureaucrat and Phreak, before peeling one's wrapper off with her teeth and sticking it in her cheek. "Ain't got nothin' I need to prepare yet. I'm Peachy-Summer-Keen." Artificially flavored. Haha. A quiet giggle to herself, on a joke that'd make utterly no sense exceptto anyone reading the wrapper discarded by her boots who'd recognize it as the branded term for the flavor she herself has selected. Even being just a teensy bit pleased with herself on that joke is far more than is deserved.
Dysnomia	Dysnomia didn't look too out of place, considering, compared to on Earth, but that was a matter of degrees. The way her hair and eyes glowed lit her up, radiant, in the night, and she hated it. Her senses lit up the night in the dark, but she could still perceive the visible spectrum just fine. "Typical that some suit would find some way to throw a wrench into things." She decided that her bad mood was Atticus' fault, scowling at him. "Fine. Whatever. We'll get it done anyway." Dysnomia couldn't help but glance toward Remee and Nephra. Neither of them seemed like they'd gotten through the Aegis Astray ordeal unscathed. And it will just get worse from here. As much as it annoyed her, she tried to put it out of her mind, for tonight. "So, we cut through some bugs, make room for Phreak to do his thing." She cracked her knuckles. "That all we're out here for? Pest control? Or is there any people down there, guarding them?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	[Vicinity] Remee: You said you've got the terminals, Phreak? I can help a bit, if there's just stuff you need knocked down. "I'll keep it in mind," Phreak answers Remee. He taps a finger to his temple. "But I oughta be able to do it with what I got on me. Spent a few days workin' on it. Now," he says, holding that same index up, "Tomorrow, you oughta post up by the Grid terminal. I got something for that, too, but it's not a sure shot. Grid has a lot more cooks in the kitchen than the Reclaim terminals do, and I'll have my hands too full to worry about some good Samaritan undoing my shit. For now, save it for the bugs." Nephra catches Phreak's attention. "Holler if any of that opens back up," he says simply. [Vicinity] Nephra: There some sort of tell, for it all, more than not getting munched up like candy? "The nanites give off light, as part of the instructions I send them," says Atticus to Nephra. "Both during and after execution." Like Phreak's. "In my case," he clarifies, "Anything I suppress will have, um... a sort of caramel-colored glow around it. Hard to miss--oh, thank you! That's very kind." He accepts his more eagerly than Phreak does, though they both take a lollipop. [Vicinity] Dysnomia: That all we're out here for? Pest control? Or is there any people down there, guarding them? "God, I hope not," says Atticus, dropping his workplace politesse for a moment. "I mean--they're, uh, hostile to human life, generally. I didn't hear anyone the last time I was here, at least." Granted, the last time he was here, it was on a smoke break. "Alright. Let's get to work," Phreak says, crunching on his lollipop. BGM: https://youtu.be/2jTg-q6Drt0
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	It's easy to see how this cave might've gone unnoticed. The entryway hooks a jacknifing, sharp left-right that would let little light escape. It's humid. It's dark. The floor isn't as treacherous as might be implied--rather, your feet find purchase easily, as if the earth had been packed meticulously. The only illumination comes from the programs Phreak runs, those of Atticus, and the visors of the Bureaucrat and his bodyguard droid. There's a smell of something bitter and almost medicinal on the air--probably the mantises or their eggs. Remee, in particular, can smell something mingling with it. Rather, several somethings that oughtn't be down here, hard to pick out beneath the smell of the bugs, but assuredly man-made. If she takes a moment to concentrate, she can pick out a few things--lubricant, metal shavings, ozone. The sound of gently flowing water is heard after that jacknifing pair of turns. That narrow passage opens up into a massive chamber. Glowing blue crystals line the walls and ceiling, casting everything in a gentle light. Everything: including the narrow walkway, the stomach-pit-inducing drop to stalagmite-lined cavern floor, the two sizeable pools of water breaking up the field of spikes, and the man-sized four-legged mantises at work burrowing the cavern ever wider with lethally sharp, raptorial appendages. One pauses, and then several. A shrill, warbling chirrup sounds, and all of them move to look directly at you. Atticus' bodyguard droid tenses up, Phreak puts both hefty SMGs forward. Atticus himself brings up some kind of hardlight menu. Unlike Phreak's, his is visible to others. Two forms, pre-filled, await signatures. A press of his thumb against a seal at the bottom of each sees them both wink out. Light travels; a twinkling thread connecting the Bureaucrat's gaze with a mantis burrower midflight. The cavern is briefly illuminated in full, as a brilliant corona spreads from that mantis to each one of its fellows. The gangly office worker, free hand on the butt of his pistol, sidesteps the flying mantis with uncharacteristic grace, as it lands harmlessly a few feet from him. Bathed in amber light, is pays you barely any attention. The vast majority of the mantises in the cavern have borne this same reaction--yet a few, as predicted, have slipped the net. Phreak drops prone on his back just in time to avoid being speared from above. The mantis' sharp claws embed into the narrow walkway. As the initial light from Atticus' program fades, the cavern is lit up in several bursts by the report of the Fixer's guns, blasting fist-sized holes in the insect from below. A swiftly placed elbow sends its corpse hurtling to the ground. Meanwhile, four more still need dealing with--and display precisely why these bugs are dangerous, besides the immediately obvious. Two, poised on the ceiling, seem to me making a run for a barely visible hole towards the opposite end of the cavern, running for reinforcements. Another two, meanwhile, leap down and weave nimbly through the stalagmites lining the floor. Moments later, cracks begin to spread through the walkway. They're trying to destroy it from below!
Remee Halcyon	Dysnomia gets a glance back, when Remee thinks she's not looking. What's her deal? Is she one of the ones upset by the Aegis Astray? Remee was expecting more active confrontation from most the Watch, really. Only a few people have said anything to her, and most of that was about the affereffects of her actions, not the actions themselves. Something to worry about later. At some point, Remee's shifted to her four-legged form, taking advantage of four points of contact and a better set of non-visual senses in the dark. She pauses as her senses pick up the metal scent, and lifts her nose up to the air, trying to catch a better whiff of it. "Something mechanical's down here... maybe someone sent some drones down here to explore before, or some wreckage ended up in the cracks..." "... Also, definitely lots of bugs, but we expected those." Remee drifts closer towards the front of the group after that, keeping her nose peeled, and looking increasingly alert as the group gets closer to the first encounter spot. When it becomes clear that there's runners, Remee shifts again - going seamlessly from four-legged and standing to kneeling and human, with her rifle already in her hands, and sighting down the scope. "Right, just the ones that aren't light tagged..." She breathes out, takes aim at one of the ones running away, and fires.
Dysnomia	"Mechanical, huh?" Lights flashed from the screen on Dysnomia's arm, leaving her frown at a holographic display. "Maybe I can get a bead on just what it is, if I can get eyes on it. If it's even still active. You think they'd slip by the bugs with guard bots?" Dysnomia's wings open on her back, her eyes trained on the one climbing the ceiling, and then she's gone, propeled upward in a sudden burst of motion. With an easy turn of her wings, she took an almost gentle spin in the air. Violet plasma gathered in her hands, condensing into small, fiery instruments in her hands. Extending a knee as she threw herself toward one of the mantises attempting escape with enough force to pulverize bone, just to shock it. Just to keep it on its toes. Her plasma blades flashed, carving through the air with wide, powerful motions, trying to carve this insect to ribbons.
Nephra Tangent	'Holler if any of that opens back up.' "Haha. If it opens back up, It won't be up to me whether I holler or not." No 'thanks' or 'how kind of you' given, barely a nod as he takes one of the lollipops. To Atticus, though, she does offer a faint smile. "Pretty lights. Got it. I'll keep my eye peeled. Haha. Caramel. You could have picked better, y'know." Her own lollipop crunches. A moment later, her gaze turns to Mia, a near-tangible 'Tch' to her eyebrow raise. "Don't tell me you're hoping the caves are occupied, ma'am. Haha. We're already here to help with kickin' out the support beam for an army's get-better switch. That's the pest control." The go-ahead is given, and she's off into the caves with the others, quietly very thankful for even the limited light. Her pupil adjusts as best it can, but she figures a flashlight will do more harm than good, as her fingers clutch around her spear. Her boots scuff on the dirt, close to stumbling with every step despite the firm-packed soil, and she leans on her polearm for support, as her opposite hand trails along the wall for as long as she can keep contact with it. "...Hear they call it getting kissed by a cave if stalactites drip on you. Haha. Think they ever really fall down themselves, and not just little drops of water?" Her whispered tone hides a hint of possible genuine worry. At the entrance to the wide chamber, she freezes in her tracks, when the bridge gets illuminated. "...This the right way, Phreak?" Asking him, instead of his contact, is maybe the closest she'll utilize his offer for aid. Don't look down. Don't do it. She stays just on the safe side of the bridge, and- The crick-crackling of the two mantises trying to collapse it causes her heart to skip a beat. Reflexively, the click-hiss of her own, ever so slightly insectoid, armor starts to worm and flow its way down her limbs, neuroelectric shockwaves crashing up and down her limbs from the sudden electrode contacts. She shivers- no, trembles- as her heartbeat pounds through the cavern. Remee's gunshot, and Mia's sudden, plasma-trailing pounce towards the fleeing mantises, elicit a flinch from Nephra, reactive gravity alteration temporarily spiking downwards accelerometers to ten times Normal, as she crams a claw-tipped hand into the closest wall, for stability. Her heartbeat races, pounds, and pulls at bridge and the mantises beneath it alike, urging them to fall and splatter to the floor far, far, far below.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	These bugs are smart, but they're neither bulletproof nor plasma-proof. Remee and Dysnomia will both be keenly aware that the mantises are trying to minimize their chances of being hit, zigzagging, weaving in and out of the glowing crystals on the ceiling. They're also fast. Concerningly so--one wonders, given that Rubi-Ka is a terraformed planet, who thought these things were a good idea. Remee's bullet pierces the carapace of one, painting a crystal with its innards and dimming the glow thereof. Over an agonizing second, it creeps closer to the entrance, before its legs lose their grip on the ceiling and it plummets to the unyielding earth below. Mia's bolt stops the other in its tracks, the insect recoiling as would a punch-drunk boxer, before its rallying, keening cry is cut short amid myriad lacerating arcs of plasma. Nephra's reaction--pressure-cooked fear of heights made worse by the urgent need for immediate action--sees the first few feet of the bridge crumble. The would-be saboteurs are crushed between heavy stone and impaling stalagmite, and the impact sends two heavy blue crystals crashing to the cavern floor, shattering on impact. In the tenuous peace that follows, the first thing Phreak does is offer Nephra a way across. "It's the right way," he says, from his spot midway down the bridge. He doesn't elaborate on how he knows. Instead: "I'm gonna hit you with a program, capisce? Two, actually. One helps you across, the other keeps you ticking. Comin' up." The corner of her vision shows two little program windows. If she focuses on them, they become larger, and more legible. They both have the particular energy of software cracked by some tight-knit group, as if both ought to be playing obnoxiously loud music. Neither is. One shows a cheerful duck with a head mirror, washing up at a kitchen sink--DR. HACK n' QUACK. The other shows a runner at some kind of sporting event easily leaving her competition behind, trailing a blue contrail as she nimbly clears a hurdle: GRIDSPACE FREEDOM. Neither does anything about her fear of heights. Atticus is probably the only guy that could help with something like that. "That oughta be more than enough to clear the bridge. And you'll be okay if you beef it." [Vicinity] Remee: Something mechanical's down here... maybe someone sent some drones down here to explore before, or some wreckage ended up in the cracks... [Vicinity] Dysnomia: Maybe I can get a bead on just what it is, if I can get eyes on it. If it's even still active. You think they'd slip by the bugs with guard bots? "Smart money says something to do with that," says Phreak, getting back to his feet and gesturing up at the crystal-lined ceiling. "Notum. Rubi-Ka's biggest export." "Wow," says Atticus. "There must be enough here for a Jobe luxury suite, or... gosh, you could keep a frontier city running for months with this." Across the bridge, there is a hook left, and a gradual descent through another narrow passageway. Phreak clips one gun to his thigh, and slips on his hardlight visor. Gradually, his casual clothes give way to the rugged wasteland leathers he brings to combat ops, with sophisticated, gently humming machinery present beneath the sleek armored plates. The rapid crawl of command prompts across his visor eventually halts. "First point's comin' up here. It should just take a--what the fuck?" This next chamber is lit, too. But not by notum crystals. By overhead lights. They shine on a corten steel facade, down below. Three sets of pneumatic doors are closed. A guard--a very human guard--stands alert at the post, eyeballing you warily. Two heavy-duty turrets slowly swivel towards you, but don't fire.
Remee Halcyon	"... Hey there," calls Remee, calmly, after a few seconds of internal radio chatter. "Thought we were going to be alone down here. Alone, but with the bugs, I mean." She points her gun downward, at an angle towards the floor - not pointing it at the guard, but also clearly keeping it ready. "I'm pretty sure you were expecting to be alone down here too, I mean? I mean, aside from the bugs, ah ha ha. Say. I have a thought." Remee carefully reaches into a vest pocket, making no sudden movements, and pulls out a giant wad of cash. "That thought is... how about we both keep on thinking we're alone down here? You didn't see us, we didn't see you, and we let our bosses know the same. Nobody down here but the bugs and the crystals." Remee holds the giant wad of cash held up, and the rifle pointed down, and starts advancing slowly towards the guard. "Not any skin off my team's back that these caves aren't abandoned, we're gonna be offworld before they find out, and I'm thinking a first class seat in a fast ship might mean you are as well."
Dysnomia	<J-IC-Scene> Remee Halcyon says, "Thought you said it was just caves and bugs down here..." <J-IC-Scene> (NPC) Atticus W. Morgan says, "Believe me, I thought it was." <J-IC-Scene> (NPC) Atticus W. Morgan says, "They're... not shooting at us, at least?" <J-IC-Scene> Remee Halcyon says, "... Soft approach?" <J-IC-Scene> Remee Halcyon says, "I'm gonna try soft approach. If it fails at least I'll be in closer." <J-IC-Scene> (NPC) Atticus W. Morgan says, "Oh, awesome! I'm pretty handy at that, too. Mind if I come with?" <J-IC-Scene> Remee Halcyon says, "I don't see why not." <J-IC-Scene> Dysnomia says, "I'll try try my hand at it, too." Her psychic pressure was limited to fear, but there were more kinds of fear than the primal panic reaction of the prey looking up to the predator's slathering jaws. There was another side of it, of looking upon something magnificent and terrible, the beauty of its power. The resonance of awe, deep and wide and untouchable, like the ocean. Like the sky. It was a surreal twining of perspectives. She whispered into his subconcious that she was all of these things...Her footfalls made grand not in actuality but in perspective. Her eyes met his. "You should take it. Put your guns away," she commanded, striding up to the guard with a dismissive glance at the turrets. "let us through, and we can forget we ever saw each other. Copy?" She smiled, her teeth black, backlit by violet light. "Help us help you, and this will be the end of it." She reached out to comb through his surface thoughts. Her suit hummed, quietly, as she reached out into the psychic interface. Computer. What am I looking at here. It purred, running through her reference databases, comparing and contrasting. Even if they got through all this, she didn't much like not knowing what this was even HERE For.
Nephra Tangent	When the mantises fall, Nephra's already spooling back the pull of her heart, having barely even noticed it'd been beating as it was. It won't stop them falling, won't slow their impact, but- Oh, well. Phreak's answer is, surprisingly, for how guarded Nephra keeps herself, enough to elicit visible lessening to her worry. She nods, faintly, click-snapping shoulders rolling as she tries to assume a more casual facade. 'That oughta be more than enough to clear the bridge. And you'll be okay if you beef it.' "Haha. Yeah. Won't be a pancake today." She still doesn't look down. With her flesh eye closed, the HUD readout of the programs is still visible to the beady black sensor peeking out of her eyepatch, and she selects them both, even as her exosuit's jets begin to spin into life with a dull, piercing whine. "..Haha. Thanks, Phreak." Just don't look down. It's like the ground's right there, no matter what. Haha. Pistons hiss and click and scream, the jets suck air in and force it behind her, and the assistance from the programs, all are tools to use in tandem to try cross safely, even if her armor-clad limbs are trembling beneath the metal. Once it's all behind her, her heart slows, matching back with the thrum of her heart. She, comically, lets out a small whistle when Phreak's outfit changes in the crystal-lit light- but there's not a lot of time to relax. <J-IC-Scene> Nephra Tangent says, "Don't- don't like the look of this one bit." <J-IC-Scene> Phreak says, "That armor's not cop stuff. Neither are the guns. This is a private thing." Again, Phreak's comments have a small wave of hesitant relief chase out some of Nephra's awkward off-balance worry. Two turrets, downwards angle of fire, If they're kinetics, I can do something if they- Her glances around the room are still defensive and high-strung, as knuckles click-snap tight around the haft of her spear. Still. She's muscle, for if it is a fight, not conflict de-escalation. She sticks back, and preps for action, if the cards fall wrong. Just be the big stick, for their soft talking. Haha.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	The guard is clad in a mishmash of armor. The greaves, breastplate, and helmet appear to have been sourced from three different manufacturers. Their choice of weapon is the source of that ozone smell that Remee picked up earlier--some sort of assault rifle configuration energy weapon, in drab green. A transparent casing shows a bolt of plasma writhing against its constraints, and the business end is a three-pronged emitter reminiscent of an insect's pincers. They do seem a little wary of Nephra. "You're talking my language," says the guard, keeping an eye on her despite addressing Remee. But they don't take the cash. Not yet. "Problem is I can't spend it. Those bugs fucked us. Even if they hadn't pinned us in..." They lower their weapon and extend a hand, palm-out. A personal palm computer materializes in their gauntlet, open on a news article about the occupation of Borealis. "Word from topside is the fuckin' Omnis are crawling all over the place." Atticus clears his throat. "That is true, but you're in luck! I happen to have it on good authority that little roadbump will be smoothed out very soon." That seems to give the guard pause, their mental wheels turning, occupied. Vulnerable to Mia's compulsion. "Sure," says the guard. "Hold on a second, I'll let you through." They put their computer away, and tap an index to the side of their helmet. The segmented plates on the faceplate, mixed with the speaker over the mouth and the featureless eyeports, give it a skeletal appearance. "Party of six, coming through," says the guard, taking Remee's wad of cash. "They're cool." The turrets swivel away from everyone, now pointed back towards the entrance. "Two more terminals," whispers Phreak to Nephra, who'd been dutifully tapping away in the background. "Plus the Grid and the Whom-Pahs. Just gotta make it through there," he says, nodding towards the steel facade of the mysterious facility they've come across. Past the doors, there awaits the first room of an apparently sprawling complex. It speaks to the truth of what Atticus had said over the radio. The corrugated metal floors are ingrained with dirt, the likewise utilitarian panel walls bear the marks of several years' detritus. More of those heavy-duty turrets make the occasional appearance, and though none of them point your way, the fact that they are each as tall as Atticus with barrels inviting comparison to Bercilak's axe or Nephra's spear likely does little to assuage concerns.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	There are any number of guards like the one you saw, in similar peacemeal armor. Guided by Phreak searching for points of strongest signal, or otherwise closest priority, you are led through a series of rooms (beset with confused stares) that give context to the scope of this operation: a hangar, full of cargo droids, busy technicians and shipping containers, hallways where one must edge past busy... employees (?), guard dogs both robotic and biological and even a fair share of mutants. "That must be why they haven't just bit the bullet," murmurs Atticus, as Phreak leads everyone into a commons area. "Even if the rest of these people could just die and make it back to a Reclaim terminal, mutants can't." News plays from a muted monitor hanging from the ceiling, as guards, technicians, and a few mutants indulge variably in food, drink, and recreational substances, seated at a mismatched hodgepodge of chairs and booths lifted from any number of businesses and restaurants, as an overworked ceiling fan creaks, doing its very best. A jukebox in the corner seems to be working, but unused. No one seems much in the mood to put it to use. "I'm hurt," says a woman with shock-red hair and features given just as easily to coy smiles as severe frowns. The former is on display, which softens somewhat the scar over her right eye. She sits with her back to a bar, wearing by far both the most complete and expensive-looking set of armor. The helmet, as iridescent midnight blue as the rest of it, lies on the counter beside her. She holds a kiseru in one hand, softly smoking. "You fought your way through mantises, sweet talked my doorman, and all you've done so far is wander around like tourists." She pouts. "I thought when someone finally managed to do it, it'd be more... dramatic, you know?" She uncrosses her legs, and drums her fingers across the countertop. "Especially since you're running with Mr. 'Gargle my Balls' over there." "Everyone's seen that video, huh." says Phreak, without missing a beat. "Not the fun part, I'm afraid," she replies. "I heard what you said to Sam, out front," she says. "And I'm willing to leave it at that. But I don't suppose I'd be able to bend your ears about a... mutually beneficial arrangement?"
Remee Halcyon	Remee takes a look around, and shies away a little when the woman says the word 'tourist', for some reason. "Depends what sort of mutually beneficial agreement... I've got more cash, but cash isn't gonna do you much good down here, is it? I can bring in some more guns but unless you've got a clear unmonitored vent from topside to here, or some other way for my people to deliver them, not much that'll do for you either." "... Which leaves something our crew here can do that your people can't, or won't. I definitely want to know what before we agree to anything."
Nephra Tangent	'That is true, but you're in luck! I happen to have it on good authority that little roadbump will be smoothed out very soon.' Nephra giggles, despite everything. It maybe spoils any tough girl cred, at least that which was preserved by her hanging back and further from close scrutiny that'd reveal her trepidation. Especially at the plasma rifles. Energetics. It's always energetics. Just shoot me with a god-damned bullet. Being led through the facility, Nephra's eyes wander with a short whistle, taking in the surroundings and cautiously giving a wide, skirting margin to the defensive measures. The dogs, especially. At Phreak's comment, and short explanation on the Reclaim system, Nephra's eyebrow raises a hair. "That something about it on purpose? Or just bad luck, lack of care. Haha. Ah, maybe don't answer." As they pass by it, Nephra, with a single clawed finger, punches something into the jukebox- anything, she doesn't really look, and wouldn't know the music in the first place. It's just something fun to touch. Irridescent armor catches attention before its wearer does, but her fingers do reflexively tighten around her spear, a faint spike in her blood pressure at the sight of her pipe. Talking like she's in charge, ain't she? Haha. "Noise, fireworks, and spotlights are slotted in the docket for another time, I think. Haha." 'Not the fun part, I'm afraid,' Nephra snorts, and elbows Phreak-- a little too rough, with her suit. She opens her mouth, about to say something, hesitates, and does it anyways, with only a fraction of the surety and impact not having hesitated would have. Still, her voice is its usual flat. "What is the best part? Haha. You've- you've gotta say."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"Smugglers' Den" City of Borealis Rubi-Ka The Watch has found itself in an unusual predicament, if one that's thankfully not hostile. A supposedly empty cave network was decidedly not empty--'shared,' instead, between deadly genegineered insects and a bedraggled smuggling operation very eager to be rid of the former. Welcomed into the Smugglers' Den with a bit of rizz from your unlikely compatriot Atticus, a bit of mindwhammy from Dysnomia, and a bit of old fashioned, cold hard cash from Remee, Phreak was able to install backdoors into the city's Reclaim terminals and its public teleportation networks. He is less confident about his work with one of those networks, the Grid (imagine if the internet was a physical* place you went to, and that being good enough with computer-touching meant you could teleport to libraries, internet cafes, etc). Apparently, the high traffic plus the tendency of its users to be good at computer-touching means that someone might stumble into his work sooner or later. But, that concern can wait, for the moment. And that's because for the moment, you're guests. This is clearly the relaxation area for the smugglers. It's like someone made a dive bar out of parts that should've ended up on some factory floor somewhere. Corrugated metal panels make up the floor, while gently buzzing rectangular overheads provide light. A ceiling fan cobbled together from weatherized steel scrap lazily turns. A 'bar' appears to be a skeletonized and scrap-repurposed conveyor belt, while heavy lockers behind hold rows of spirits where there once might have sat heavy power tools, wherever these lockers came from originally. What is the best part? Haha. You've- you've gotta say. "Mhm," purrs the most well-equipped, in-charge-coded smuggler thus far. She hasn't once reached for or even acknowledged the large pistol holstered at the thigh of her iridescent, midnight blue armor. She hops off her barstool, green eyes flicking up and down, before she touches her kiseru to Phreak's jawline. "You've gotta." Phreak crosses his arms and looks away, angrily pouting. The looking away doesn't hide the dark grey blush on his cheeks. "Are we here to talk about my private life or do some goddamn business?" he grumbles. The smuggler pulls her pipe back with an airy sigh. "I guess we can talk business," she says, resting the elbow of one arm on the forearm of the other. "But you really ought to play along. Your friend here knows how to have a good time--don't you, sweetie?" She wrinkles her nose playfully at Nephra, then continues. "You can call me Ruby. I run this place--or I have since Ash left us, anyway." Atticus takes the liberty of putting a credit into the jukebox. Suitably greasy dive bar rock filters in, just loud enough to appreciably set a vibe without needing to be talked over too much. "We used to have a good thing going here, before the bugs butted in. Money's dried up to a trickle, and getting back in after a run is..." She purses her lips. "Prohibitively difficult, between the occupation and the bugs. Things used to be a lot more lively around here," she laments. "But you can only ask somebody to risk getting pinched or eat a Reclaim so many times before they fuck off," Phreak intuits, turning his gaze back to Ruby. "Mhm," she nods. "We're good enough at defending what we have, but, the idea of being a smuggler is to... well, smuggle. We're not cut out for getting rid of an infestation. If you'd be willing to do that for us, though... I could make it worth your while."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Atticus, hands in his pockets, looks up from the selection of tracks on the jukebox. His thin lips are pulled into a polite frown, his visor's glow dimming slightly. "If my friends here will forgive a little initiative on my part... what could you offer us right now? Operational costs haven't gone away for you, so your capital is limited at the moment. You're also short-staffed." Ruby laughs musically, free hand over her breastplate in a gesture of mock surprise. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" She settles into an easy smile. "I heard you were trying to get rid of the Omni-Tek presence in the city, is that right?" She pauses--a nod from Phreak elicits a soft 'mm' of understanding from her. "I still have product I can't move. Not to mention contacts. Can I get any of you something to drink, and we can go over the fine details?" She turns, taking a pull on her pipe, before vaulting the bar nimbly, landing gracefully and turning to observe the gathered Elites from behind it. Despite the acrobatic display, her kiseru hasn't lost a single cinder of whatever's packed in it.
Remee Halcyon	Remee glances over at Phreak, but she doesn't say anything or give off any other hint of body language towards him. Remee's in a very glass house situation as far as exes, and shouldn't be throwing any stones. > "Operational costs haven't gone away for you, so your capital is limited at the moment." Ha ha, your side doesn't have a billionaire werewolf paying for all of your expenses, sucks to be you. Remee's making a point to contribute more than just money, especially since the money wasn't earned by her and came mostly from ill-gotten gains, but... well, it's nice to have reminders that the money's doing some good. And speaking of money: "Well, let's talk product. Good stuff, I hope? By which I mean I don't hope - I've been warned about the sort of 'quality' I can expect on the black market here, so I want to get eyes on anything it is you're putting up for offer." "You might not have to pass inspections at customs, but I expect you to pass mine." This isn't entirely an original line, she's paraphrasing a joke she heard elsewhere. "That said - yes, if the product passes muster, I might be able to find a use for it." "... Far as drinks, I'll take whatever you've got."
Liza Grier	'Can I get any of you something to drink' "Yeah okay. Try to impress me." Those are the magic words when speaking to Liza. Though she claims to have been an 'EVA tech' in her original, honest line of work, her extensive knowledge of, and quiet enthusiasm for, bartending, is suspiciously well-established. The offer of drink alone is what gets her to actually remove her helmet here, so commonly worn that the leader of the Watch often forgets she is actually human; something Liza usually takes to with vaguely confused positivity. "And don't be a bitch." she says to Phreak, shortly after the pop-hiss of the neck seal gives way and her barely sorted shoulder-length hair falls out. "How did you even get involved with this at all? You're aiming real low for once." Taking a seat at the shitty bar stool (she's had worse), Liza clunks her armoured elbows on the equally shitty counter (arguable) and strikes up the obvious. "It's always bugs and monsters here. Not exactly hard to take care of, but always feels like a waste of materiel." She puts her cheeks in her glove. "I could just gas them all. Hunt down the dregs by hand. No way they could slip by me. Or is there some kind of nest we gotta hit?"
Nephra Tangent	A short nervous giggle rings out at Phreak's continual grumblings, followed up by only a lightly-chiding comment. It doesn't take much for Ruby to turn her more against his privacy. "C'mon, Phreak, that all's enough to embarrass you? Roll with the punches 'fore you tumble. More fun than taking it on the jaw." Nephra barely catches the nose-wrinkle, her gaze habitually just off-center from aimed at people's heads, and takes a pause after, looking further away. "..Haha. Don't know nothing about knowing nothing." Unconsciously, a hand comes up to scratch at the side of her face. "Is Ash supposed to be some sort of recognizable name, or somethin'? Haha. I mean. That's a stupid question, actually, won't change that it don't ring bells. Not from 'round here, and all. So never-you-mind!~" A hummed trill finishes her statement as her lips zip back shut, masking over worried thoughtlines. Former head, till they left, that ain't good omens, right? Reason to jump ship or cut anchors, for up-tops to skip town. Nephra's eyebrows furrow, pupil flitting to and fro around the chamber. Infestation and money troubles is one reason why, and Nephra hopes that's it- it'd be a clean explanation, at least. She nods along every now and then, rocking on her boots from heel to toe, as gauntlet-clad hands twist in her jacket's deep pockets. Details needed, still. As the jukebox comes on, she fishes a lollipop out of her pocket to chew on, before stowing her hands once more. Slightly obnoxiously, on purpose, she does her best to quietly hum along to whatever the tune is that comes on. "Haha. Um. Drinks. Ain't we on the job..." Two of her compatriots already showing interest in them shuts Nephra up, and she shrugs. "...Haha. Well. I'm not hard to impress, long as it's at least close to flammable." Her head follows Ruby's motion in vaulting over the bar, jaw setting slightly, and chipping off fragments of hard candy to slowly dissolve into nothing. "Haha. Showoff." With a small little grin, and a short exhale out her nose, the flat way Nephra says it doesn't imply insult or malice in the term.
Dysnomia	"Friend of yours, Phreak?" Dysnomia offered the mechanic a obsidian-teethed smirk. "Good luck to run an old flame of yours here, isn't it?" She teased, burying a spark of something she wouldn't acknowledge behind playfulness. Her attention turned to Ruby, assessing her again. "Alright, show us what you've got, I guess." She said, stepping forward awkwardly as she assessed the bar, out of her element, phasing through the bar stool rather than around it as she lowered herself into a seat, propping her elbow on the counter. "These bugs aren't that impressive." Mia said, bluntly. "Why are you having so much trouble trying to rout them in the first place?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	I've been warned about the sort of 'quality' I can expect on the black market here, so I want to get eyes on anything it is you're putting up for offer. "Most of the real dogshit stuff is on the open market," Phreak says. "If you want something good, you got a one in ten chance of finding it in a market terminal." Ruby smiles at this, but as if driven by some sort of brat instinct, Phreak hastily adds, "That doesn't mean she's the only option. Just an option. Mission boards, DIY... 'adventuring.'" The quotation marks imply something, probably. Ruby sizes Remee up, her lips curling into a smile. Grumbo, could you send a haulerbot to the lounge with one or two containers? Your choice, she says, tapping her free hand to her temple. She then turns around, opens one of the industrial lockers and gets a bottle of dark amber fluid down. The label reads 'Hit the Floor Jack' and displays the grinning, inebriated face of an Atrox--the huge form of human native to Rubi-Ka. This is poured into a shotglass, set to the side while she heats up some water on a hotplate. Once it comes to a boil, she mixes the shot of Jack with the water, a spoonful of sugar, and zests a dried, fist-sized, colorful alien plant into the mix. Give it a minute to cool, sweetheart, says Ruby, taking the tin off of the hotplate and sliding it down the bar to Remee. Remee Halcyon received Superheated Thaddeus. How did you even get involved with this at all? You're aiming real low for once. "Don't have a choice," answers Phreak, taking a seat next to Liza at the bar. "Borealis is one of the biggest cities on the planet. 'Neutral,' too. The longer OT sits here, 'peacekeeping,' the more people get the idea it's an Omni city. Besides--they're here to fix the relay for the Battlestations We let them do that, then people start fighting over them again and fucking the planet full of holes." The business with Ruby here is probably incidental to that, then--an unexpected surprise along the way. For Liza, Ruby seems to have taken her invitation as a challenge, setting her pipe down under the counter and retrieving several spirits. 'New Giovanni Ten Year Rye,' 'Twister Sweet Vermouth,' 'Old Fashioned Smudge Cognac,' 'Turbotine (some kind of herbal liqeur),' plus 'Zugzug bitters,' and introduces all of them into an old-fashioned glass, followed by a generously sized icecube that sets the mixture to fogging quite photogenically. She stirs with a mixing spoon, then adds twist of the same alien fruit she'd zested into Remee's Superheated Thaddeus.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Liza Grier received Old Rhombus. Or is there some kind of nest we gotta hit? "Afraid so," says Ruby to Liza. "You'll have to kill the queen, the breeders and by necessity the hive guardians. Gas would take care of the drones, for sure. But past a certain part, they're as smart as we are. They can even manipulate Notum." "You sure know a lot about those things," says Phreak suspiciously. "I'm an Adventurer," Ruby says with a shrug, before glancing to Atticus. The capital A is implied. "Oh, uh.... I'll take an Old Fashioned." "Of course you will." Ruby rolls her eyes, but nevertheless makes one. Some things survive even twenty five thousand years of culture and an apocalypse, it seems. "Anyway... I'm sure you were going to ask why I don't help more... directly. Right? The answer is that I have an obligation to the people here not to get myself locked out. Some of us aren't insured. And they depend on me." "The mutants," says Phreak. Ruby nods, working on something more than close to flammable for Nephra, starting with, of all things, a pot of coffee set to brewing. As the little machine works, she procures 'Home Cognac,' 'Wooha!' and 'Camelot Pumpkin Eau de Vie.' These are mixed with some supply from her apparently dwindling spice cabinet. It's all combined, save the coffee, then put into some sort of machine that looks like a blend between a centrifuge and an incubator. From there, it's strained, set aside, and mixed with a dark syrup. From there, a measure of 'Blimp and Sons 411 Rum' is poured into a shiny metal cup, set atop the hotplate from before, followed by the mixture from the odd machine. Flames rise up from the cup, and she holds more skin from that alien fruit over them, while patiently ladling the mixture from before over the skin using the mixing spoon, cooking the oil out of the fruit's skin and infusing it with the mixture. The coffee is used to extinguish the flames in the cup, which is then given a brisk stir and slid expertly to Nephra--with a word of warning about the heat, of course. Nephra Tangent received Cafe Inferno. Ruby is definitely a showoff. She doesn't mind being called out on it. Maybe she even likes it. She is also pretty good at spotting when someone is out of their element, and makes something simple but hard to dislike for Dysnomia. Every planet has something like a rum and coke, even if the names change. It's sweet and a little spicy and a little acidic, in the best way.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	THE MERCHANDISE, as it happens, is two things, brought in by a rust-colored robot with pronged claws. Its silhouette is decidedly purpose-oriented and inhuman, having a lanky, lumbering sort of gait bad for imitating a person and good for not dropping cargo. Those claws are equally suited to hurting, or to loading beneath cargo crates as would a forklift. Two bulky cylindrical engines rattle away on either shoulder, and its pill-shaped head twitches left and right, silently surveying everyone before gently laying the crates on the floor. The upturned tips of the claws pop open both crates in order. Guns, in one. Lots of them. Enough to arm a village of the same size as the shantytown some of you had originally met with Atticus in. Mostly they're submachine guns and assault rifles. Phreak gives them a silent thumbs-up in terms of quality. They're of SOL Banking Corporation's make, highly illegal on Rubi-Ka (because Omni-Tek frequently feuds with them and they're large enough to meaningfully threaten the company without relying on political pressure from the Interstellar Council of Corporations). The other crate is the liquid form of the glowing blue crystals from elsewhere in the cave. Processed notum. Phreak utters a low whistle at the sight of it. It's either worth a lot of money, or has some other kind of use that isn't immediately obvious due to Phreak not really speaking up about it.
Remee Halcyon	"Ah ha ha..." says Remee to herslef as she watches the drink be mixed and heated. She's entirely unconcerned that she can't recognize all the ingredients - after all, what's the worst it could do? Kill her? Sip. Then chug! "Ah ha ha. Right." Remee feels it go to her head. For her bravado, she's not actually a heavy drinker. Then there are GUNS. Remee sets aside her drink and goes to examine them. "Ah ha HA." "Yeah, now you're talking my language," she says as she picks one up, checks the chamber, and then sights down it. She glances over to see Phreak's thumbs up, then examines another model. "Anything above semi-auto's not my preference, but we can find uses for these, I suppose. Yeah. Let's see. Slice us off... forty percent off the top, and handle delivery Earthside with your smuggler buddies, and I think I'm in."
Dysnomia	Not many dive bars, back where she was from. She nursed her drink, listening, discomfort bleeding away inch by inch as moments slipped by. "Intelligent bugs." She muttered. "I thought these kind of things were 'intelligent' as a collective." Even so, she didn't seem particularly concerned about it. Dysnomia didn't know what 'mutants' meant, here. But, scanning over the patrons of the bar, she could guess, and the answer softened her attitude to Ruby, somewhat. "No matter where you go, there'll be people trying to decide what do and don't count as 'people.'" She said, sympathetically. "Fine. Maybe we'll handle your pest problem." Remee's got the guns, but it's the Notum that caught Mia's eyes. She uplinked to her Holo, and raised her wrist, a hologram rising out of her screen. List the utility of substance: Notum. She commanded through its neural interface, her suit's computer flicking through its inner database, searching. Display results on holo-screen.
Liza Grier	Liza raises an eyebrow at the specific combination. "Cognac and Vermouth? Sweets and bitters? That's hard to balance. I see the sweet and spice, but . . ." She eyes the fruit, but seems to have no particular concern about foreign chemical substances. "Whatever. Sure, let's give it a try." she says, taking one whiff of the drink, falling silent for a second, then slamming back a good portion of the glass in one go, letting out a raspy, satisfied gasp as she puts it back down. "Well fuck. Someone can mix a drink in a smuggler's ring; I'll fucking be." she says. The coarse language fails to mar her uptilt tone. 'Afraid so.' "Yeah, that's about what I figured." Liza says to Ruby. "We don't get called unless it's something like that. And besides. My luck is only good in the field; whenever it comes to this shit, I always get the worst news." More drink. Immediately. More than she should technically have, but it seems to not have the effect it should. "Okay. But it's going to cost me to solve your problem. I expect you to make up what I put out." Oddly, not 'pay me for my labour and the hazard too'. "Bomb the hive, take the queen with it. Breeders; target elimination is in my wheelhouse, sure. The hell does 'manipulate notum' mean? This'd be a cut and dry job if they just swung claws around and spat acid." She only looks over the cargo from the bar counter. The blue liquid fails to disrupt a neutral expression until Phreak whistles; a sure sign that it actually matters. Guns, arming people, revolutions, insurgency, she knows all about. "So that's what we're moving." she says, blandly, immediately accepting that it is a 'we' thing. "Okay. Agreed. Can't let some bugs get in the way of arming the workers."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Let's see. Slice us off... forty percent off the top, and handle delivery Earthside with your smuggler buddies, and I think I'm in. "Actually, Ms. Halcyon," says Atticus, continuing his professional-speak despite the fact that Phreak, Remee, Liza, Nephra and Mia have all seen him at his most casual and flummoxed scarcely two hours ago, "I wonder if I could convince you to take Ms. Grier's position. Maybe... distribute them to a few friends of mine in the city's correctional center, once the fighting starts?" There is one patron here who would fit the definition, immediately, upon Mia's scan of the bar. A being of humanoid shape, wearing armor as much of the other smugglers here are. Their skin is something halfway between human and the carapace of a crab, with a few callused-over boils at the elbows. One hand is human enough, if swollen and veiny in places. The other is not a hand at all, but a crushing claw. They have no hair, and in place of eyebrows there are spiky protrusions. They are occupied at the moment with a datapad, in the way that people peer at their phones or particularly engaging books. Her search into what notum is displays the utility--it is absolutely vital for making nanotechnology viable. The human civilization that Unified with Rubi-Ka had known this technology for thousands of years beforehand, but it required carefully controlled climates, had little applications outside of medical treatment and lifespan, and was very short-lived. Things like what Phreak does with his digitization of physical matter, like Bercilak's absolutely ridiculous regeneration factor, or Atticus' mass psychic manipulation would be immeasurably more difficult, if not impossible, without notum's effects on the longevity of nanites. Further, the substantial amount of metaphysicists on Rubi-Ka, many among them stationed in the alternate dimension overlaid atop the planet (known as the Shadowlands) postulate that notum may be more than just the physical element it appears to be, but instead the essence of creation itself. Debate on this particular topic rages constantly. Since Mia is displaying this for the group, Liza can see it too. Which means, that, unfortunately, 'manipulate notum' means the goddamn bugs can basically cast spells. Not in the same way as Bercilak, Phreak, Atticus or presumably anyone else with a nanodeck, but in a way (microbes, maybe, Ruby posits, if Liza deigns to ask) that's threatening enough for Ruby to bother mentioning.
Nephra Tangent	When Nephra sits at the bar, she almost forgets to take specific caution not for the metallic mass of her entire suit to come down on the stool's structure instead of its own framing. Luckily, half-leaning on a barstool is a... sort-of acceptable way to exist at a bar, even if it leaves her standing awkwardly tall above it. She doesn't bother with any sort of move to catch the sliding mug- it comes to a halt on its own, and her armor-covered hands need to be careful with picking the drink up. Warmth makes it easier, even if the notes in it do not blend particularly well with the saccharine candy she's still chewing on. It's alcohol. That's what she's drinking it for. She coughs, half-clearing her throat, the cup still up to her face. "Penny for your whistle-thoughts, Phreaky boy?" A nervous glance follows a head tilt towards the blue liquid. "What about that cought your fancy?" Phrased like a jab, Nephra's just fishing for context and explanation to ease worries. "Hey, Mister Atticus, how long's the stuff you whipped up to handle the bugs out front even last? It the kind of thing that'd be useful for, y'know." A shoulder gesture Liza's way, and a quietly-mouthed out 'Kaboom'. "It, ah. Worked alright, after all, and... the li'l guys didn't seem like they play nice with chew toys that wander in. Haha."
Remee Halcyon	> "I wonder if I could convince you to take Ms. Grier's position. Maybe... distribute them to a few friends of mine in the city's correctional center, once the fighting starts?" "Hmm? Mmmf. Ah ha ha." Remee makes all sorts of idlepose noises, it seems. "Yeah, I guess," she says, frowning a bit. "You just heard all that stuff we'd been talking about materiel being hard to reliably come by, thought we'd finally solved that..." She drops the gun she's holding (carefully). I guess it makes more sense to use these here where extra firepower might be needed, since we can get by on earthside wetwork operations with just small arms..." "... Alright, fine, but I want those contacts they mentioned." She goes to grab her cooling drink, finish it, and then glance over at Liza. "All business and confidence, huh? Making me jealous that I'm not there yet."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	What about that cought your fancy? "This is pure potential, and a lot of it. You're looking at a crate of programs, of engine blocks, of generators, of armor, whatever." He jerks a thumb towards Atticus. "It's baby nanomages. It's fuel for nanites. If you believe the kooks in Jobe, maybe it's even fuel for you guys, after a little diluting so's you don't die. And it's money. Lots of it." Hey, Mister Atticus, how long's the stuff you whipped up to handle the bugs out front even last? It the kind of thing that'd be useful for, y'know. "Ten minutes, give or take," answers Atticus. "They'll go back to what they were doing like we weren't there, once it wears off--so long as we're not in front of them when it does. If Ms. Grier can..." he imitates Nephra's 'boom,' before taking a sip of his cocktail. "...in that kind of timeframe, without hurting them prematurely, then yes, pretty useful." Alright, fine, but I want those contacts they mentioned. Ruby lets out another musical laugh, reaching under the bar and retrieving her kiseru. She has to relight it with a length of wick and some kind of fancy electrical, no-fluid lighter. After a puff to get it cherried again, "Sure, sweetheart. I can set up an introduction. How's a week after your little performance sound? Gives things a little time to cool down. But not too much."
Liza Grier	"She's fucking rich." Liza says, over another slam of mixed sauce. "Don't cut her anything. She can afford anything she wants." 'If Ms. Grier can...' "Ten minutes is plenty." she says. "Most of the time, the entire job barely take that long." She pauses for a moment. "In this case, it depends on how far we have to travel. Fighting our way there, planting the payload, then using it to get out to minimum safe distance, or maybe even a little before, is probably the best option. Teleporter reception too far underground is shit, but I can lay down a daisy chain of beacons as we go." She scans around to Nephra and Dysnomia. "It only depends on if the rookies can keep up."
Dysnomia	"Nanotech, huh..." her eyes slide over to Phreak, as the holgram expands in front of her. She makes a slight flick of her wrist, expanding the screen to properly size it for everyone to read, a shimmer pale-blue transparent depiction of scrolling text and disagrams. "So THAT'S how you do your thing? I'd wondered." She beckoned Liza with a wave of her hand. "I think you might find some of your answers here. Might be more of an obstacle than they look." "But, if they can use it for all that, imagine what we could do this THIS." Her eyes swam with the possibilities. "If Phreak's right, and this can be made into just about anything..." "It only depends on if the rookies can keep up." Dysnomia stands up straight at the challenge, then, having left the screen up long enough for everyone to have a lot, she allowed it it to wink out as she turned around to face Liza. "I'm fast enough." She crossed her arms. "I can't teleport, but I can move through rock easy."
Remee Halcyon	"Ah ha ha - Liza's just upset that I'm the one rich person she can't shoot," says Remee, after finishing her drink. "If anything, you should cut me more of a deal because I'm rich, the best deal, since I can buy more from you after I'm done with the first order." > "Sure, sweetheart. I can set up an introduction. How's a week after your little performance sound? Gives things a little time to cool down. But not too much." "Not too much. It's pretty good marketing that we're active and not all talk. We aren't all gonna... wave picket signs or complain on social media, we're the kinda people that get stuff done, and we want the kinda quality that'll let us get stuff done. And we've got the resources to match."
Nephra Tangent	Nephra can parse about a third of the words Phreak says in response, and a handful more after the explanation Mia shows off, and it's enough to make her let out a low whistle, too, even if she doesn't fully get it. "Haha. Yeah. No wonder, Phreak. No wonder. Hope it, uh, ain't volatile, with that much in one spot. But I guess you'd be scared if it was. Haha." It's hard to chug her drink, but Nephra keeps sipping at it to keep her focus busy, and to avoid nervously eyeing the blue goo more than is absolutely necessary. "So don't touch 'em once it's up, don't fall behind, and we should be good? Haha. Peachy. Do my best." To punctuate this, she makes the kind of slurping noise into her mug fit more for frothy milk than spiced acidic-sweet coffee booze, and a subsequent giggle. "C'mon, Miss Halcyon. Market on your own time. It's- you're not looking for gear for yourself, right? Windowshopping?" A small snort. "Thought the big new robotic toy you put all that work into stealin' would stave that itch. Haha."
Liza Grier	'Ah ha ha - Liza's just upset that I'm the one rich person she can't shoot.' Liza puts down her glass with a quiet thunk. Turning her attention to her wrist PDA, she busies herself for a few seconds as the conversation continues, then slides out of her bar stool and walks away. In five paces, she turns around, unlimbers her C20r from her lower back in uncanny silence, flicks the safety in the same motion, and opens fire on Remee at point blank in the middle of the bar. Conversation is drowned out for one and a half seconds by the high-pitched roar of her gun, strobing firelight flickering against her utterly bland expression. The magazine is poured in a line down her head, throat, and spine, stopping at her stomach where the action clicks and the barrel goes cold, trailing smoke. The quiet click of a release and the rattle of the empty mag follows. Liza sighs, and in doing so, lets slip that her breathing hadn't changed at all. She waits for exactly as long as it takes Remee to regenerate from three dozen gunshots, as if the act were equivalent to horseplay, and then says, "Am I a joke to you, Remee? Do you think I stay up at night seething about you? Maybe you've gotten too comfortable here. It's not like I haven't noticed you're the Watch's worst performer; even when Petra was here." "Keep up the bougie fuck act and I tell Rita that you quit over dinner."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	So THAT'S how you do your thing? I'd wondered. "Yup. Every time I talk about a 'program,' that's a set of instructions for nanites to execute. How you give those instructions; the interface, and what instructions you can give, that's different depending on what kind of nanodeck you got. Some nanodecks are for specific things. CAD. Industrial shit. Some are for people who go out and Do. 'Profession nanodecks,' we call 'em. When twiggy over there says he's a capital B Bureaucrat, when Ruby says she's a capital A adventurer, that's what we mean." "You won't have to go far, 'Ms. Grier.'" Ruby says. "The main issue would be density, but your boy there can help with that." Atticus tugs at his collar. "I can -help- yes. I don't know about 'obviate completely.' Especially with the... smarter ones." Ruby shrugs, and turns her attention to Remee, resting her chin on one hand and taking a long pull on her kiseru. "Oh, honey," she says sympathetically, glancing from Remee to Liza, before exhaling. A curtain of blue-grey smoke is courteously directed to the side, so as not to blow in Remee's face. "I wouldn't use words like 'can't' with a girl like that." After cautioning Remee, she waves a hand over the countertop. A little bit of legerdemain sees a scrap of paper there. A flick of the wrist offers a pen. "Contact info, if you don't mind," she says. "So I can let you know when the meeting happens." She glances, briefly, at Liza, and smiles impishly at her. But I guess you'd be scared if it was. Haha. "I mean," says Phreak, reaching up a hand and mussing the back of his short black hair. "I wouldn't light up next to it or shoot it or nothing. Or..." he cracks a smile, thinking fondly of a previous mission with Liza. "Blow it up. But it's not gonna go off just from being--FUCK ME!" He is jolted from his seat by the C20r. Once he has a chance to cool down, he exhales sharply. "Thanks for not hitting the notum, I guess. Christ on the cross." A few steadying breaths, a turn to face the counter, palms flat to give him something to hold onto. It was so sudden. The only reason he isn't flipping his lid is because this is the exact type of 'horseplay' Bercilak encourages. "In -any- case," says Atticus, finishing his drink and desperately attempting to seem in control of the situation by pretending that didn't just happen, "Yes, Ms. Tangent, that seems like a very apt summary." Glancing between Liza and Remee, his next question is just as deliberate. "If that's -everything,- then I suggest we finish up here and get ready for the mantises."
Remee Halcyon	= > "You're not looking for gear for yourself, right? Windowshopping?" "Hardly, I've got my gear taken care of, I'm just trying to source for-" Remee is cut off by the sudden burst of gunfire. She barely moves during all of it, aside from shuddering a bit just from the sheer impact force of each bullet. Once the final bullet lands and the barrage stops, it's still another second before gravity finishes asserting itself and she topples over sideways off of the bar stool and onto the floor, where she lies splayed out in a pool of her own blood and some blown-out internal bits. It doesn't take too long, knitting together the remnants from bullet holes is easier than generating entirely new organs, but there's still an awkward length of time between the execution and Remee being able to hear Liza's words again. And there's another few seconds of silence, wherein Remee weighs the seriousness of Liza's threat, and is reminded by herself for the second time in a month that she needs the Watch a lot more than the Watch needs her. "Consider your message received and your feedback taken to heart, Miss Grier," she says as she pulls herself back up to her feet. "I believe that will be everything, Atticus, unless there's time for a shower and a change of clothes. I seem to have gotten blood and bullet holes in mine."
Dysnomia	Dysnomia catches a flicker of intent from Liza, but in the instant, she doesn't quite process what it means. What to DO with it. At least, not until her hand is already reaching for the gun and-- There's a sudden shattering of glass, immediately drowned out by gunfire, her body seizing in shock at the display of sudden violence, the swift turn from discussion death-dealing, as casual and easy in thought as one might in shifting one's foot, in swatting a fly. She pushed her her feet and--And it was already over. She forced her breathing to calm, staring at the bloody ruin of Remee's corpse. The remnants of her drink splatters over the table, and glass dust fell from her knuckles. "Did you just--" She started to stay To Liza, then, trailed off, a thought tinkling at the back of her mind. It took her moment to process that Remee wouldn't even die from something like this. "Stars." She exhaled, as Remee's body began to knit back together. "I..." Dysnomia cleared her throat. "Sure. Right. Mantises." She said, dumbly, still processing.
Nephra Tangent	'Especially with the... smarter ones.' "...The smarter ones, that's like the few before, yeah? The ones that slip through your net? Haha." A cough, after sipping down more of her drink. "Smarter kinda sounds like they're the ones capable of using that sorta nanosludge, yeah? Dangerous ones? Or, y'know, lucky if there's no correlation. Haha." A side-eyed glance follows Liza getting up, before turning back to look across the bar and down at her drink. It's really nothing of note, and slips from her mind entirely by the time gunshots ring out. At the first popping shot, just sliver-like fractions of a second after, the faint heartbeat-like thud of Nephra's suit-housed reactor pulses, acutely skyrocketing the pull of gravity in the space around where she's standing- it wouldn't have helped much had she been the target, and the math loses its grip as far away as a stool over, let alone where Remee had been sitting. In effect, all it does is force pistons and joints to click-snap Nephra into a half-turned standing posture- and wick bloodsplatter down and away from Nephra's face. It's a glorified flinch response. The din may be over in just over a second, but the echoing ring in Nephra's ears and the spine-tingling weight of nerves screaming out for percieved imminent danger lasts far longer. Hands tremble from slow-firing adrenaline, barely keeping the cup she's holding steady- twitchy relays reflexively try and vice-grip her suit's clawlike fingers around it, even as most of its contents were gone already. "..Oh. Is..." Dead. Head and spinal injuries, bloodloss, who even gets up from that... Nephra lets out a small cough, and once more, this time as if to wipe splatter off, reflexively reaches up to scratch at the side of her face with the segmented claw-like fingers of her gauntlets. Cold metal touching skin instead of the work gloves underneath it is a slight unease-undoing reminder she's still covered neck-down in dense bullet-resistant cladding, even if she wasn't the target in the slightest. Quiet once again, the thud-thud of her reactor still proceeds faster than it had been prior. "...Need help with, um. Cleanup..?" She offers, in the dead air before it's clear Remee takes more than dying to be killed. When that is clear, Nephra stares with a slow, surprised blink. "...Oh. Nevermind. Haha." 'Yes, Ms. Tangent, that seems like a very apt summary.' Nephra jerks her head around at the sound of her name, blinking again, confused, having not processed the words much at all. "...Huh?" It's a full few seconds before her voice fades flatter and quieter, and she responds. "Oh. Haha. Yeah. Thanks, mister." Her other hand helps push her off from where she'd been standing by the bar, trembling, over-tight grip leaving faint marks in the countertop. "Can't- can't imagine there's much more. Moving sounds... Nice. Sounds nice."
Liza Grier	Liza diligently reloads her weapon while Remee speaks; she doesn't intend to use it on her again (well, maybe she was considering it) but her fastidious attitude towards preparedness has deeply ingrained the habit to keep everything loaded and ready at all times. "We'll see." she says, voice back to neutral instead of lightly unhinged. "Good answer." That taken care of, she steps through the fresh blood on the floor and picks up the paper, glancing at it once then, stowing it away in a hardpouch. "Understood." she says. The glance gets a deadpan return for a second, and then the slightest of knowing smiles. Oh no. 'Thanks for not hitting the notum, I guess.' "What do you take me for exactly?" says Liza. "I wouldn't even hit it with a ricochet. You have any idea how much I shoot in close quarters with metal walls?" she says. 'Did you just--' "You can see, right?" she says. "What's complicated about it? Even these people who've never met me know what the score is." Liza barely pauses, just because Nephra is talking. "You're the kind that likes rebelling but can't keep boundaries, huh? The kind that forces themselves to be angry, but it costs so much energy you just wilt when someone pushes you hard enough." She finally puts the gun away, though only at her back again. "Well, you don't have to understand why. Only what. And it goes that I don't take shit from anyone, because I don't have to put up with anyone; and I especially don't respect fucking class or caste. If you're not above a bomb, you're not above me." She looks to Atticus. "Yeah. We're done here. I've been ready to go since we got here. Hurry up."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Ruby frowns. That she is the least startled of anyone here probably says a lot about what she's seen. The look in her eyes, the way they flick towards the bullet holes and the splatter, it's more like the way someone looks at unexpected last-minute work than what actually just happened. The smuggler sighs. "I sent your Fixer there a map. Should take you right to the queen's den." "Okay, great," says Atticus breathlessly. "Phreak, if you'd be so kind..." "Yeah yeah," the space elf dismisses. "Don't get your necktie in a knot, there, fucko." He pushes off of the bar, and leaves. As he walks, the Fixer refreshes several programs--the speed, reflex and mobility boosting 'Gridspace Freedom,' a few on himself, and finally, the cracked triage software 'Dr. Hack n' Quack.' That'll have to do, for what's coming up.