Episode 3: Rouge Tower [ON HOLD]

[Bleak Wood Storyteller]

Episode 3: Rouge Tower

Approaching Rouge Tower
The party had been traveling for over a day, their VTOL hovercraft floating at several thousand meters altitude.

Riv and Kiph had, tired of the cloudy vista, discovered the liquid treasures of a densely packed liquor cabinet, and was sleeping off the hangover when suddenly Helena and Cormac burst half naked into the OP center salon.

Embarrassedly covering up a partially revealed nipple,  Helena was gasping for air. Not because she had run very far, they had been in the room next door, but Cormac and Helena had been practicing paired athletics vigorously, and loudly, for several hours.

“We are closing in on Rouge Tower! Before you hide, I have to show you something!”, Helena was gasping, an exhausted blush in her cheeks, her hair in ruffles down her face. And with that she ran out of the room, leading Cormac by the hand, Kiph and Riv stumbling in a daze behind.

The cockpit was freezing cold, the glass having been penetrated by a projectile and frost spreading from the hole in an icy web pattern.
“Defrost”, she said, and in seconds the ice on the glass had melted and revealed a stunning vista.

Cloaked in the twilight of dusk a mountain rose, on whose slopes was built an impressive city. Clusters of futuristic buildings encircled by concrete and steel walls speckled the mountainside, high tech pueblos with tapering towers. It was a beacon of electric light in the desert wasteland.

Cormac marveled at how the small pueblo clusters clung to the face of the mountain, all the way to the spire, where a single, crimson tower stood. Its walls were covered in tinted glass panels, mirroring and enhancing the crimson glow of dusk.

“It is the red tower itself, the seat of the Scientist”, Helena whispered, as if she was afraid someone would hear them.

“You see, the city is named after the tower as it appears at dusk and dawn. Older legends tell another tale: that the city was named after the legends of old. You see, this was an important city of a mighty faction of the ancients, and against our walls unbelievers died in thousands, soaking the defensive walls in permanent crimson”, Helena pointed at the lower clusters, those not too high up the face of the mountain. "When you stand at the foot of the mountain, you need only dig for a short time before you start finding human bones"

As she spoke, the shuttle circled the mountain, approaching one of the uppermost sectors from the opposite side*.

“Military One, you are cleared for automated landing”, a male voice said. A second later a button lamp began to flash, and Helena approached it.

“When I press this button we will dock at the airport”

She glanced out the window, and outside the landscape had changed notably. They were on the opposite side of the mountain, and on the slopes stood charred ruins of metal wire frames and tumbled concrete walls. Here and there small bonfires could be seen.

“Blastside. It is where the nuke hit, the mountain shielding the rest of the town”, her voice was cold, not emotional, for she told it like she had heard it a thousand times before. “They say the Scientist stood in his tower, 150 years ago, despairing as divine fire scorched the majority of Rouge Tower. The nuclear blast could not destroy the tower of the Scientist, and it is the only building not shielded by the mountain that still stand”.

But that is just legend, right? His age I mean. No one can be that old, can they? 150 years ago and he was in charge, eldest of the council. No..."

Then she pressed the button, and the party went into hiding in the cargo.



* The shuttle will land at the airport, which is inside the mountain. The sector itself is on the side of the mountain that was shielded, while the airport entrance is in the face of the mountain, blastside - a circular opening ringed by blue navigational lights.

[Bleak Wood Storyteller]

They hid inside each their wooden crate, “BW SALVAGE” being printed in large letters across each. From the darkness within they glimpsed the world through the cracks of the crates. Minute amounts of light combined with the hissing sound of hydraulics followed by the clanking of chains and mechanical whirring of machinery.  Then movement, as the crates were transported, before being put down.

Then the alarm sounded, and Kiph heard Riv swear. Then gunfire.

When Cormac and Kiph escaped their crates, into the dark realm of a warehouse, Riv was gone. Blood was on the floor, empty casings everywhere. They had heard voices, male, rough. They had heard Riv scream and curse. They were pretty sure he had killed someone. Judging by the amount of blood, more than one man had died here tonight.

Alone and scared, Kiph and Cormac made their way out of the warehouse, they stole some brushed steel suitcases on their way out, then followed hours of stalking down alleys, peeking around corners to make sure no one was there.

In the end they saw Helena. She looked pretty messed up and was followed by a couple of Gambit officers in their black commando uniforms.
 
Following at safe distance,  the unlikely duo saw them guide her into one of the steel and glass towers of the Gambit enclave.
 
Kiph froze. He was studying Helena and her captors when suddenly his brain seemed to meld into one with that of one of the guards. It was a nauseating experience, the world turning, a churning feeling in his stomach. Then he felt how aroused the Gambit Officer was. He wanted someone. Kiph sensed the man squeeze his left palm, meeting fleshy resistance… He was fondling Helena’s buttocks. Then he saw what the man saw, his right hand punching some kind of code into a panel on the wall. 1-4-9-4-9-1.

Cormac cursed as he noticed that the door was locked, and a passcode was needed. Then he jumped as Kiph walked right up to it and punched a six digit code, the door instantly opening.

They were outside her door. Kiph heard her cry inside, and he saw Cormac reach for his rifle. But the connection had not ceased, and Kiph as much felt as saw the man unbutton his pants. Sensing disaster, envisioning another crisis as Cormac would murder both men, he probed deep into the subconscious of the needy officer, and he found vivid childhood images of an abuse, drunken mother. Pulling and prodding, he pushed the images to the surface of the officer’s conscious mind. He felt his manhood wither and fade, felt everything as the man folded over and regurgitated on the floor.

Cormac had been ready to kill them both, when suddenly the doors burst open and a man half ran out, another in tow.

“Aros, what the @!#$ happened in there? I thought we were gonna do her good, and then you freak out on me? d**n… AROS! Wait”.
The confused shouting of the other officer, and the rancid smell of vomit was the last they saw of those two.

Cormac’s reunion with Helena was a sugar glaced one, but the woman had been placed in house arrest for three years for her dubious role in the incident at Bleak Wood and the discovery of a renowned murderer and madman in the salvaged cargo.

They later learnt that Riv had been sentenced to lifetime in a maximum security prison facility within the mountain. Helena simply called it “The Cyst of Hell” or “Hellcyst” for short, as was the name the denizens of Rouge Tower had given it. Officially it was called “Penance”, but the name wasn’t even used by those who worked there.

****************************************

Riv was alone in his cell. He had killed his two former cellmates, and the guards had roughed him up pretty good each time, putting him in the pit a month each time. But now he was alone, at least for now.

The days went by, one by one, until, in the end he lost count. He woke up, ate a grueling breakfast then was herded down into the mines where he navigated crawl space tunnels and dug through stone. It was all an exercise in futility, for the minerals they found where few, barely enough to finance their miniscule meals. In the end he had convinced himself the whole operation was focused solely on punishment and deterring the citizens, more than any financial value in itself.

Then, after a long, long time, there was an explosion in the mines, killing his fellow inmates, leaving only him behind. The tunnel had collapsed, burying some poor souls alive, killing even more, but the guards merely shrugged their shoulders and left those caught in the tunnel screaming behind. The mines were not part of the prison complex, but in a separate section of the mountain, and when they believed all the prisoner of their tunnel were dead, they simply left. No one thought to look for a sole survivor hidden in a crevice in the ceiling. No one saw the shadowy figure as he made his way outside, raiding the prisoner gear storage as he went along.

****************************************

Kiph met Curie in an alley. He liked to sneak through the enclave's alleys at night, listening in to people's thoughts, planting suggestions or diving into their subconscious. It was hard, but he was getting better.

Then one night he met Curie.

There was a particularly beautiful woman who lived alone in a one story building with lots of windows. Kiph knew her kind, woman for hire, a peddler of the flesh. But she was beautiful, and she had so many windows.

It was in one of these windows he found Curie. Not inside, but in the reflection of the glass he saw a ghastly figure as it studied him from behind, myriad eyes glittering strangely in the night.

There was confusion, and nearly a fight, but Curie removed her mask and in the end they bonded in some peculiar fashion, for Kiph discovered their shared origins: experimented upon by the Gambit, then escape into freedom.

But Curie, or 13 as she sometimes called herself venomously in her alien thoughts, was even more broke than him, her brilliant mind sometimes reminding him of a prodigious child. It felt so confusing when he melded with her mind. Her thoughts like bullets in the dark, fast and elusive, nearly impossible to follow. But there was an unmistakable kindness to her, and a vulnerability he had not felt in anyone. Not since his rite of manhood under his master Fatebringer, Abak Loett.

He brought Curie home a week before Riv re-entered their lives. Helena was less than pleased, and somewhat freaked out by the strange creature.

That happened last week.

[Murometz]

[ooc]Riv in Bleak Max Security prison, reminds me of a quote from the Watchers movie. Specifically, Rorshach. When jailed, and faced with adveristy from fellow inmates, before kicking all of their respective asses, he explains to all present, "None of you seem to understand! I am not stuck in here with YOU. You are stuck in here with ME!". Sorry, had to share that.  [/ooc]

[Bleak Wood Storyteller]

”Who the @!#$ do you think you are? Filling MY house with those smelling, rancid losers? This used to be a LUXURY apartment once, NOT a pigsty!”, Helena’s voice cut through the thin walls between the kitchen and the living room, and Riv poured himself another glass of whisky, rubbing his stubble growth with the other hand.  A second later he heard Helena scream, and the sound of breaking glass.

Again.
 
And again.

Cormac rushed out of the kitchen, his cheeks red, muttering under his breath. Helena rushed after him, grabbing his sleeve. “You no good son of a dog! However did I get pregnant with YOU? You worthless ball of slime, wastelander mongrel dog!”.

Cormac tore loose and ran into the bathroom, quickly locking the door. Helena curled into a ball, screaming at the top of her lungs. “I hate you, I HATE YOU!”

Riv shifted uncomfortably, pulling the crystal glass protectively closer, guarding the content, sipping carefully. Helena had changed, no doubt of that. She was fat with child, five months pregnant. He could not miss the cookie crumbles in the cleavage of her night gown, nor the plush of her cheeks. Where she five months ago was the embodiment of man’s desire, she was now a fat, angry cow.
 
Helena turned to walk when she noticed Riv looking disdainfully at her. She glared at him, her eyes dark and foreboding. Riv felt the urge to enter the bathroom as well. A short sprint was followed by rapid knocking. Cormac was quick to let him in, shutting the door with considerable strength, multiple times, to truly demonstrate his frustration.

****************************************

LaForge sat unseen in a corner of the corridor outside. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Focus was important.

The argument within the apartment did not escape her attention, but it mattered little. In the time she had lived here, the last of her neighbors had moved out. They were respectable citizens, and tolerating the pleasure slave in the luxury apartment was bad enough. Having rabble of questionable origin stalk the hallways and scream like madmen was intolerable. When continuous raids by security forces failed to unveil any illegal activities in the woman’s apartment, they could do nothing. Unfortunately for them, Colonel Anderson, Helena’s former owner and sponsor, had built a secret room in his favorite concubine’s room. It came in handy, she had to confess that. The other tenants had tried to remove her once, but then it turned out she was pregnant, and with an important member of the Compound council as the father apparent. Their request was quickly disregarded, and champagne and chocolate had been bountiful since that. Helena was price breeding material, or so it seemed.

She listened in to the song of the ether, the voices on the wind. There were so many, their messages seemingly important by the sound of their voices. Slavers, merchants, prostitutes, families and friends talking merged into one with encrypted messages and streams of data being exchanged. But there was a continuous discord, an undercurrent she could not quite place. It made the hair on her semi-translucent skin stand up.
[ooc]13 can sense wireless / radio traffic with her sensory organs. She views them differently, for it seems like a song to her. The voices of the ether, singing in harmony (and sometimes in a chaotic cacophony)[/ooc]

Then she heard footsteps, and, like a quiet whisper, Experiment 13 melded into the shadows; faded from view.

****************************************

Kiph sat on the sill, dangling his feet. Thirty floors below him, he saw the ground, people moving about like little ants. He touched their minds with his, then he froze. Someone down there was studying him. Through the eyes of the spectator he saw a crossbow being raised, steadily aiming at him.

He rolled back, bounced over the bed and landed on his feet in a crouch. There was a heavy thud, chalk dust falling like snow. Looking up, Kiph saw the bolt in the ceiling. It had crushed through a plasterboard ceiling tile and was stuck in an air duct.

The fatebringer inhaled sharply. On the bolt someone had written tiny letters. Fatescript. An assassination target. He put an armchair on the bed, climbed atop the wobbling chair and yanked at the bolt until it came loose.

Client withheld by order of Master Loett
Target Information:
Ardakaus Serosh
Male
Spymaster of Rouge Tower
Resides in the Tower of the Scientist
Note: Wears Armashield Corp. Personal Shield Mark IV
Note: Hidden miniature flamethrowers in his sleeves

“I hate you! I hate you!”, Helena was screaming down below.

****************************************

Wesknife was in character. He wore a Cantonese rich red robe, in the style currently in fashion among the rich of Rouge Tower. Down his left side was golden embroidery of the scorching of Blastside, the Scientist in his tower, his hands up, shielding the rest of town. In his left hand was a single long stemmed rose, in his right a bottle of exclusive champagne. His taken identity liked pregnant women. Liked to have them, liked to slap them around. But that was not his objective here. No, he was here to get help. The visit to the expensive prostitute was just a cover up. He was here to recruit allies.

Three rapid knocks on the door. Feverish activity inside. Seconds of waiting, then he was led inside by the pregnant prostitute. He smiled at her, she held his hands, accepted the rose and the bottle. He sat down in the sofa. There were something wet next to him. He touched it, sniffed it. Whisky. Someone had just spilled a few drops of whisky in the sofa. Not the prostitute, she was sober and her breath fresh. There were more people here.
Then Helena came out of the kitchen again, quickly closing the door behind her. She had objected heavily at first, said she was pregnant, but the credits he offered were too good to pass up, and so she had accepted in the end.

He looked at the woman. She was pretty in spite of her weight, though she looked somewhat ashamed of her condition.

[ooc]Dark_dragon, valadaar, Murometz and EchoMirage. You are all present. Kiph is upstairs, but he knows someone is with Helena downstairs. 13 is in the corridor outside, or he could have snuck in after Wesknife. Riv, you are with Cormac in the bathroom, but he door is thin and you can easily listen in on the conversation.[/ooc]

[dark_dragon]

Helena walked towards the sofa on which he was sat. The warmth, happiness, and sexual attraction emanating from him as she approached could be felt in the same way as the summer sun on your skin. He seemed to visibly relax as she sat down.

His voice filled with tenderness as he spoke. "My dearest Helena, business has kept me away from your beauty for far too long." Edging closer to her, he gently caressed her swollen belly while placing his other hand on the nape of her neck. He gently massaged the tense muscles he found there until he felt the tension vanish.

Bending down, he kissed her belly. "You are more beautiful than ever." he said softly as he rose back.

He edged closer, caressing her hair out of the way so that his lips approached her ear. His was hand now holding her head, and pulling her closer.

Ice had drenched his tone as he whispered: "Now, dearest Helena. Please invite the men who are currently hiding in your apartment to reveal themselves."

He felt the woman recoil, but his arm was now holding her still. She felt trapped, alone and afraid.

He moved back slowly, the motion now predatory, and void of any tenderness, until he faced her and their noses were almost touching.

"Now."

The imperative was given in the voice of a murderer, chilling Helena to her bones. His tone alone enough to suggest the unspeakable horrors that would occur to her and her unborn child should he be disobeyed.

And then, as if nothing had happened, he released her and relaxed back into the sofa, the picture of contented power, a beaming smile on his lips radiating warmth.

Helena, however, was still shivering.

[Bleak Wood Storyteller]

"C...C...Cormac?", Helena half whispered, half cried. Then, "Kiph? Riv? Can you all p... please come out?"

They could all hear the fear in her voice, and when they emerged they noticed her in the sofa, sitting with her legs drawn close, arms wrapped around her knees. She wore an evening gown that didn't quite fit anymore and her body was leaning heavily away from the fancily clad man beside her.

[ooc]She didn't call for 13 as 13 left the apartment a few hours ago. She doesn't know she was in the corridor just outside[/ooc]

[EchoMirage]

The air was rich, with streams of data passing through every cubic inch. The true challenge was not intercepting and decrypting a signal, but in judging the relevance of the information.

Peripherally, Curie registered Helena's call, emotionally laden, though wrote it off as a constant; everything Helena had said so far contained a hastily and thoughtlessly chosen affective charge. Certainly, the unfamiliarity of disrupted hormonal homeostasis would cause a loss of balance in anyone, yet if one was to be steered exclusively by the endocrine glands, why bother with the evolution of increased cranial volume? Sharks thought with their limbic cortex: 'I feel it, therefore it must be true.'

The word 'please' though did not figure in Helena's vocabulary with statistical significance, and had to be reserved for situations far out of the norm.

While the laden atmosphere in the apartment was one of the reasons Curie was outside (the other being a certain degree of emission shielding that impoverished the data flow through it) and Helena was of no importance whatsoever, the alien had grown ... accustomed to the presence of colossal Cormac, roguish Riv and last but not least, Kiph, who seemed harder to characterize, yet the enigma added to his charm. Likewise, 13 was no fool: acceptance of the rather outlandish appearance she boasted was unlikely, and the nonchalant manner with which the band had waved a hand over her aberrant exterior was close to an anomaly - the alternative to being a part of their team - surviving alone - was far less tempting. Thus, it seemed wise to investigate.

Many would not think much of it, but the cleaning robot that usually hid under the bed, little more than a vacuum cleaner with a camera and software to avoid obstacles, would be an ideal tool. Near the door frame, where the interference of the walls was least, Curie reached out to its tiny electronic brain and let it peek out from under the bed, its camera focused upon the happening.

[valadaar]

"As we have been introduced by the lady," said Riv, " could you return the favor? Who are you and what do you want?"

Riv did not bare any of his weapons, though his hunting knife was only a moment away from being in his hand.  He would see how this played out, mentally planning the route to his shotgun.  Shotgun? Yes, shotgun. Didn't see any obvious armor, not that it mattered, at this range he could just stuff the barrel up this fellow's nose and..

All the while, Riv tried to look outwardly uninterested.

[Bleak Wood Storyteller]

Meanwhile, in a dark alley
The woman with the curled hazel nut hair pulled the dark fabric of her hood down over her face, as if to hide as much of her features as possible. She moved silently, trying to hide the sway of her lips. It was strange, for half her life she had practiced her charms, now she struggled not to use them. As she turned around a a corner she heard steps from behind, and quick as a mountain cat she entered the metal doorway on her left.

The life of a Fatebringer Concubine was not like that of most concubines. True, there was the inevitable duties, but a woman of her background was taught that the body was but another weapon, one that disarmed most men. Tiana had found that to be the case, for when men felt that irresistible urge in their nether regions, it seemed all of their cognitive processes came to a full stop. So she had been trained in the art of pleasure, a technique the ancients called Kama Sutra, but also about the places in which a stiletto could be inserted for maximum effect. She always struck before a man emptied himself of the seed in his loins, for at that time he was but a brute animal, unable to think of anything else but releasing the pressure. So it had been earlier this very morning, when the man she had called love for the last two weeks was garroted in bed.

She had made contact as instructed. It was a dangerous operation, but when the master had learned of master Kiph's presence he had passed on the alpha target to him. It was just as well, for her charms had not worked, and in the end she had learned that the Spymaster's preferences was rather... exotic.

Tiana squatted beneath the stairwell inside the doorway, her crossbow trimmed at the point any follower would have to come. No one had come yet, but she had to wait longer. If they were on her trail, this would be a waiting game.

*************************
Penthouse Suite, Dawn Tower - Inside Majestic Compound

In the penthouse suite of Dawn Tower two men stood, their palms against each other, their foreheads gently pressed together. If anyone was looking into their apartment from the outside, it looked like the men took farewell or expressed love in some fashion. Of course, they would be too far away to see their faces without expression and the slow trickle of blood from their ears. It took time for a host to adjust after it had been possessed, and the Gohrkhal Worms knew all too well the dangers of detection. If this mission was to be successful the timing had to be perfect and their hosts beyond any suspicion.

So they stood there in the dark room, as the wind picked up and gray clouds floated in over the city. They stood alone, exchanging data, calibrating their finely tuned senses to those of their hosts.

Soon they would be ready.

[Murometz]

Client withheld by order of Master Loett
Target Information:
Ardakaus Serosh
Male
Spymaster of Rouge Tower
Resides in the Tower of the Scientist
Note: Wears Armashield Corp. Personal Shield Mark IV
Note: Hidden miniature flamethrowers in his sleeves

Kiph sat on the bed upstairs and stared at the note, his failing heart beating as fast at it could without exploding. Alive master is the! Sends Kiph for he--- Kiph stopped himself from thinking.

Ever since his new abilities manifested, the lunatic fatebringer had been spending almost all of his time poking and penetrating minds. He noticed that after such activity (strenuous as it was), his mind would temporarily shut down, and he would become unable to focus his own thoughts, or speak properly. This was one such time. Straining his brain, he worked to regain control of his thought process...

I--will-----not fail, Loett Master! Thank you! I Thank! This is good!

Downing his third whiskey, Kiph rose and stretched like some plastic lizard, still shaking cobwebs form his ravaged mind.

Hearing Helena call from downstairs, he silently and quickly descended. As he entered the room, he heard Riv. The pyromaniac seemed bored on the outside, and raging on the inside, just the way Kiph liked him. Staring at the figure beside the obviously shaken Helena, Kiph immediately began to send out "his feelers". He would know what this man was thinking.

"The woman doesn't seem to like you, whoever you are" he announced casually, and smiled a fishy grin. Kiph was ectstatic his words came out correctly and in proper order.


[ooc]ESP on Mr. New PC [blockquote]Rolled 1d100 : 97, total 97[/blockquote][/ooc]

[Ancient Gamer]

Cormac hoisted Helena by her arm, carefully lest her massive bulk pull her arm out of its shoulder socket. With a fluid motion he gracefully embraced her, sheltering her from the stranger with his back.

"Who are you to come here and threathen us?", he growled menacingly.

The newcomer however simply leaned back, smiling, his arms opening in a welcoming gesture, palms outward. He smelt of sweet perfume and the light reflected the shine of his hair. He smelled and looked like money, the fabric of his clothes probably worth more than one of their assault rifles.

"Allow me to introduce myself", he started, his eyes warm and caring as he met the gaze of everyone in the room. "I am Fergus Carnegie, dilettante and investor. I sponsor a number of charities in town, I also happen to own four of the floors of this skyscraper. Not this floor though."

He lifted his right hand, palm outward as if to stop them from asking any questions.

"I find myself in need of capable hands. Experts if you will, with skills such as yours. That only beautiful Helena here is the only one with citizenship is... How shall I put it? It is excellent. I need skilled men with nothing to lose by opposing the authorities of this city, and I pay handsomely."

***************************

Kiph tried to meld his brain with that of the stranger. It was not that he couldn't, but the images he got were... confusing. A series of expensive suits, white ties and blue-white striped ties. Several images went by in a blur. A high end tailor's shop. A date with a brunette at a fancy restaurant. Staring in the mirror, but no face looked back. The visions made no sense, and Kiph was unable to direct the images, to dig deeper into his subconscious.

***************************

Squatting in the corridor, her large right ear to the apartment door, 13 directed the small vacuum cleaner under the sofa. She nudged it gently forward, but its miniature wheels were stuck on the edge of the carpet. She reared up, then sped forward, skidding to a halt by the newcomers left shoe.

The sensors of the small robotic device were stretched, extended until she saw the stranger from the shoes and up. Then he leaned backwards and she dared not move the device further, not at the moment. It could give her away, then, on the other hand, the device often began vacuuming on its own volition. Why not now?

[Murometz]

The man's mind seemed scrambled and incomprehensible. Not forthcoming his head, Kiph thought, like so many of the other heads he had been practicing on. I'll get his secrets out, he thought, I'll squeeze them out yet. And I may yet need information on these four floors of his------Kiph's internal dialogue was interrupted by the man's words. The man's words seemed enticing.

"What kind of men do you take us for?" Kiph asked grinning in mock dismay, then, "Go on then, we will listen to your words. But no funny business, or Riv here, will---" Kiph left the threat unsaid, attempting to sound ominous.

[Ancient Gamer]

"There is a man in this city, one mr. Steel, that I want. And therein is the problem. He is rich, and powerful, and he rarely goes out of his private compound.", Fergus Carnegie sighed dramatically.

"But twice a year he hosts a magnificent party, the Carnivale Veneziane & Carnivale Atlanteane, in which the rich and powerful comes in their steel venetian masks. Now, the masks were masks of the ancients, worn by the citizens of the cities in the sea. And as you may all well know, there were two such cities; Atlantis and Venice. He hosts one party for each, this one for Venice", reaching slowly into the pocket of his crimson Cantonese robe he withdrew some colorful invitations. "Luckily I am invited, with friends, and I kinda thought those friends would be you!"

"I will provide your masks and some clothing. You bring guns small enough to be smuggled through security."

The red robed man pressed the terminal on the table, and put an eye to the scanner. "Initiate transfer of funds marked 'hirelings' from Carnegie Bank to newly created bank account also marked as 'hirelings'".

An automated female voice replied from the terminal. "Mister Carnegie, credit movement authorized. Let the owner of the new account perform an iris scan and the transfer of credit ownership will be complete".

Mr. Carnegie smiled warmly and held his hands as if to guide one of them to take seat and scan his eye. "What are you waiting for? 10.000 credits now, 90.000 credits when the mission is complete"

[EchoMirage]

Urged by Curie's will, the small robot turned into full gear and attempted to swallow the intruder's posh robe - or at least the lower rim of it, with suction and its brushes, much like a furious lapdog.

The man reeked of self-importance and deceit, of egocentricity and ruthlessness - very much like the leading personages of the Gambit. Very familiar was the experiment with them, holding big incentive speeches, promising the whole world and then half more, but whatever they said, it was just wind. All that mattered to them were they themselves.

In the distraction provided by the rogue bot, Curie slipped into the room to hide behind a curtain, the door's click drowned out by the vacuum's roar. Then, abruptly, the appliance ceased its assault, and 13's unearthly voice cut into the ensuing silence:

"We are not mercenaries, mister most-likely-not-Carnegie, to be used and discarded at your whim. History teaches us that the only one bound to profit from this is you. Literature further states that you will first use the lure of promised coin, then threaten, and if rejected take vengeance. At no point and with no degree of certainty will our cooperation or the best possible performance lead to us being rewarded - rather, being disposed of seems likely. This pattern your kind takes allows but for one avenue to our victory; guess which one."

[Bleak Wood Storyteller]

[ooc]Hahahahaha, excellent! Great fun! Ahem, one minor matter though: Wesknife is in disguise. Your calling him out might be considered meta-gaming. [/ooc]

The stranger's calm, confident pose was turned to comedy as the vacuum cleaner began to devour his robe. Cursing softly he pulled it loose and jumped to safety in the sofa. Squatting in his castle of pillows he addressed the strange voice.

"So, you suggest to kill me when I am the only one armed? Before me I see four persons, in everyday clothing, their guns placed scattered around the apartment, like that rifle against the wall over there.", he pointed in the direction of Riv's assault rifle.

"I do not know who you are, or how you presume to know so much about me. You have me at a disadvantage, and your threats ring hollow. Here I come bearing gifts, and you presume to shove a shotgun in my face?", Carnegie sounded calm and confident enough, though he was squatting amidst colorful pillows. A comical sight if ever Riv had seen one.

"I owe the Gambit no allegiance. Quite to the contrary, but I hope you understand my need for caution. Any one of you may be a spy, reporting to the authorities regularly.", as he spoke he looked at Cormac and Helena first, then at all those he could see inside the room.

"If credits hold no value to you, what then does? How may I convince you to join my service and fight for my cause?"

[EchoMirage]

[ooc]Hahahahaha, excellent! Great fun! Ahem, one minor matter though: Wesknife is in disguise. Your calling him out might be considered meta-gaming. [/ooc]

[ooc]The bugger introduced himself as Fergus Carnegie; I just don't believe it's his real name. One does not have to be familiar with Wesknife to be sceptical of 'Mr. Johnson'. Also, when did anyone speak of the Gambit?[/ooc]

[Bleak Wood Storyteller]

[ooc]Ah, I was too fast. I thought 13 had said it out loud. My bad. I corrected the post to fit her not saying it out loud. Wesknife (having studied your group) does know you have reasons to fear the authorities though[/ooc]

[valadaar]

"Not happening," said Riv.

"Even if we gave a fig for your cause - not that we have any idea of it, but the plan sounds like folly, and you couldn't pay enough for that. Seriously - we go into a room full of people, many of which will be armed at least as well as us, and to get out of the room means dealing with folks better armed then us?  No, not a chance sir."

"In fact, I think you want us to be a diversion only.  You want help, you better start talking with a lot more sense."

Riv got up and began casually walking towards the large overstuffed chair that concealed his shotgun.

[dark_dragon]

Carnegie, as he was known, warily eyes the robotic vacuum cleaner before regaining some of his composure and sitting back down. Placing his hands on the robot, he flipped it upside down on the coffee table, paralysing it with a look of embarrassed disdain. Once done, a good natured smile returned to his features.

"Quite right, Mr Scarlette. The plan you mention does sound like folly. I have failed to explain myself. I apologise."

"In fact, If all goes to plan, your weapons will never be fired."

"Let me be frank and explain what I want. I want Steel. Specifically, his eyes and fingers, for purposes that are my own. Secondly, I do not want anyone to know of his demise. This is to be a quiet assassination. You job is to divert the bodyguards for long enough for me to kill Steel and then aid me in disposing of his body. Quietly. Irretrievably."

"This should be familiar territory, should it not, Fatebringer Kiph."

"As for my cause" Carnegie laughed good naturedly "I dare say you would hardly be interested in it. No, I am talking about rewards no other man can give you Mr Scarlette. Technology for your enclave which would strengthen your people. The long awaited disposal of a certain pastor. A stallion and mare that would breed true, strong horses, free from the defects of the wastes for generations to come. A chance for a cleared name. Things that money cannot conventionally buy, Mr Scarlette."

"And you, Fatebringer, perhaps I can offer the rarest commodity of all: answers. I am privileged to possess... interesting channels of communications. You seem restless to me, Fatebringer. And while I will not pretend to know everything, I can direct you on a path to the answers you seek."

"As for you Mr Jefferson, I can offer you either legitimacy here for yourself, your woman, and the child growing in her womb, or a ticket out of this place. With a nest egg to tidy you and your growing family over." Carnegie watched the face of both Cormac and Helena fill with both dread and poison, but interrupted their inevitable replies with a wave of his hand. "Please, do not waste my time in denials, Mr Jefferson. You and I both know the truth, do we not?"

"Incidentally, Miss Sandstern. You killed a very dear friend of mine when you murdered Colonel Anderson. Retribution is owed."

Friend. The man calling himself Carnegie had never truly understood the meaning of this word. Target. The little trick you pulled cost me three month of my time on this insufferable planet. I'd have murdered the bastard myself just days after his return.

Carnegie's eyes shifted momentarily to a far away look of remembrance, and chuckled to a private joke "Even if the old pig most likely deserved his fate."

"But I do not hold grudges Miss Sandstern. Help, and your debt is paid."

"If the owner of the most wonderfully harmonic voice would care to reveal themselves, I would be most pleased to make your acquaintance. I have not had the pleasure of meeting you. Of course, The name I wear is borrowed, its owner dead at my hands. But a borrowed name is a usable label nonetheless, and will do for now. As for profit, certainly, my... employer will profit. I simply act as I am tasked."

"Of course, if you do not feel competent enough for the challenge I propose, then none here besides Miss Sandstern are indebted to me. I will not be alerting the authorities, and will not mention the hidden room in which you cower when they come knocking. In such case I would, however, be disappointed. A man who survived a stay in 'Penance'? And escaped? A Nomad Fatebringer? A man who escaped the clutches of the last gambit, and then rubbed it in their face? Disappointed indeed."

[Murometz]

"Familiar territory for me, would be if I was the one plucking the man's eyes and severing his sausage fingers, not distracting guards, while you have all the fun..." He began, but then continued listening to Carnegie.

As he listened he found himself rankled once more, yet intrigued. Stop calling me Fatebringer. You have no business---he thought.

At the words of Curie, Kiph smiled. What melodic logic. He wished he was capable of such. She was really undressing this pig.  My dear Curie, my new muse

A part of Kiph was hoping Riv would indeed reach for his chair-hidden shotgun and blow a head-sized hole into Carnegie's chest. That would be a pretty site. Him sitting there, that arrogant grin still on his face, smoke rising from where his heart once beat.

"Answers you offer. Answers i need. I will agree to this caper, if Riv, Cormac, and the lovely Madame Curie here are likewise willing. In fact the task sounds too easy. I am a master assassin, Fergie..." Kiph  wiped some flaky skin from his forehead.

"My first question is this. What kind of personal defense does a Armashield Corp. Personal Shield Mark IV offer, mmmmm?" Kiph stared directly into Carnegie's shady eyes. "See Carnegie, you aint the only one dispensing marks our way. I have a score to settle as well. My second question is how the hell will we get by security with our hand-guns? My third question is, can you get me into the Tower of the Scientist? A particular floor, where resides a particular person..."

Kiph paused, guaging Carnegie's reaction.

[EchoMirage]

Curie reached out with senses unknown to man; an observer might see the ears undulating and whisker-tentacles performing a complex dance. Curiosity drove the yound refugee to examine what electronical toys the cold stranger bore - and was greeted by something akin to a night-sky of circuitry flaring up all over his possessions - even his eyes were covered with slim cybernetic lenses.

Extending towards an information network line nearby, Curie sought to learn who this Carnegie was supposed to be - apparently a decadent merchant, caught up in his greed and vices; also, there was a suspicious absence of any activity from the otherwise apparently sleepless scrooge, who posted on merchant channels and auctions with pauses no greater than two hours before. Certainly, the 'cold killer' facet they were able to witness was either an act, or this was not Carnegie at all.

Towards the concealed stereo player that Helena used to play soothing music for her clients, she reached: "My comrades seem eager to spill blood for you, mister Fake-Name" it called out from behind a decorative tapestry, "but a little honesty would go a long way, wouldn't it? We hate working with low-significance data. For example - who are you, really?"

Into his ear-buds the alien's voice flowed, whispering right into Wesknife's ear. "As for me showing myself, I am already present as much as I can be. There is more between the earth and stars than meets the eye."

The stereo took over once more: "So, speak your mind about why we should believe you, but be aware - you are not as half as awesome as you  think, and your doings not as impenetrable as they might seem."

[dark_dragon]

Looking straight back at Kiph, Carnegie replied "Well, Of course, If you wish to do the actual murder yourself, By all means. I care little about the way Steel is killed, or about who holds the knife."

"One thing, however. It is vitally important that no one outside this room finds out that our dear friend Steel was murdered. The difficulty comes not from the act of murder itself. What will make this difficult, is that the murder has to be carried out covertly in a room full of high level Last Gambit operatives. The cream and crop of Rouge city will be in the room sipping cocktails. Steel will be surrounded by several bodyguard, but even they must be ignorant of what has happened. Surely, this should titillate your delicate skills."

"As for an Armashield mark five... Well, you surprise me with your knowledge of such. These are highly effective personal shields. Fast moving objects will be stopped, but slow moving ones will not. The wearer can breath, and move, but shrapnel and missiles will be stopped. Anything that moves slower than the speed of sound will get through though. In my opinion, they make you overconfident. Poison and a sharp blade will kill a wearer well enough. I can get you specific technical details, if you'd like. But I have not memorised them."

"It is possible that Steel will be wearing such. It is interesting to consider. But this question is suspiciously specific. You must have someone in mind. Would you care to share your thoughts."

[ooc]
Friendly persuade attempt: I wish to make kiph comfortable enough to tell me about this.
[blockquote]Rolled 1d100 : 19, total 19[/blockquote] against 100
I wish to make a covert attempt to ask about how kiph would have gotten this information on my comms rig. The message is
INQUIRY: RE: Nomad fatebringer "Kiph" LOCATION: Rouge city. REQUIRE: Next target
[/ooc]


 

[Murometz]

"This Steel will be sipping cock-tails as well I presume? That'll work."

Cream of the crop. The Last Gambit. What a massacre Riv and I could rain down upon them....

Cocktails. The word made Kiph twitch and jitter in place. What a strange word for a drink. As for the Armashield, he had heard what he needed to hear. This job would be doable.

"Share my thoughts? That would be the last thing you want I promise you. But I'm sure you can piece it together. I am a Fatebringer. You know my work. Steel may not be the only target worth killing around here." Kiph hoped he sounded intimidating and ominous again, though he doubted it, and that doubt made him edgy.

[ooc]did your persuade work, d_d? I'm not sure how to proceed  [/ooc]

[Bleak Wood Storyteller]

[ooc]Wesknife Persuasion      15  (+85) = 100
Charm           00  (+75) =  75

A PC can choose to override the result of another PCs persuasion, but he should really take it into consideration. It is a pinpoint of how effective the other PC is, and as you can see Wesknife got "special success", meaning he was very convincing indeed.
[/ooc]

[ooc]Both Wesknife and 13 will get this AI refined encyclopedic message:[/ooc]

Armashield equipment very likely to be present within Rouge Tower, the city itself as well as the tower by that name. Only high profile personel will likely have access to it. The Scientist, the personal guard of the scientist and Armand Steel.

The Rouge Tower elite guard regiment, The Rouge Terror, does not have Armashield shielding equipment. Rather they wear Steelcorp Mechanized Suits, which are far more dangerous. Exercise extreme caution when dealing with operatives wearing either of the armor types.

Footnote:
Records indicate that Carnivale bouncers will be wearing Minotaurus steel masks. These are equipped with minor Armashield shields, protecting them somewhat from all kinds of missiles. A powerful handgun would probably push through, but light machine-guns like the ancient MP5 would not.

[Murometz]

"Secrets we can keep, Carnegie. No worries there." Kiph felt himself relaxing. Perhaps this Carnegie was not as bad as he first thought. Perhaps he can help me....

"Aye, I seek another mark. Tower of the Scientist. Does the name Serosh mean anything to you? I'll kill your Steel for you, just get us in there, and after, you can help me kill another man, long overdue for death." Kiph tensed, not sure why he had just blurted out his mark's name. That was a Fatebringer taboo.

"Riv, what say you? Death to Carnegie, or death to Steel? He grinned, changing the subject.

"And you would be wise to address our new friend Curie's concerns as well", he added back in Carnegie's direction. "Isn't she lovely though? You'll agree, i'm sure, whenyou see her."