Reply To: Hunting Trouble

  • pistolgrip

    Member
    August 20, 2017 at 12:40 pm

    Achilles was glad to see the satlink station–just a truck with a dish in the back and a stall to the side–was still open for business. A few other customers stood around with hardlines to their devices, talking with friends or associates, browsing or downloading things from the matrix at large, and so on. He handed off an unsecured credstick he’d found on one of the dead mercs and a few moments later his ‘link was online. He bundled the data and sent it with a simple note: “Found on abandoned system. Analyze and reply with further direction.”

    After the transfer was successful, Achilles noted the location Al had pinged him and began his trek. Naturally it was on the opposite end of the conglomerate city, but with some good food and vodka in his stomach he was up for the walk. A number of people were still active and engines rumbled through the night, burning fossil fuels for energy like it was the turn of the century. Some people were loud and raucous, presumably drunk, while others spoke in hushed tones, conducting whatever manner of business they didn’t care to make public. It reminded him a bit of the markets that cropped up in bombed-out cities during the Euro Wars. In a way, that made it feel almost like home. Then something else made it feel a little more like home.

    “Hey, Trog!” A man with a bottle of liquid courage in his hand called out, his friends looking on approvingly. “Shouldn’t you be cleaning a gutter somewhere?” He yelled with a twisted smirk. The man and his friends all appeared to be western European and wore expressions ranging from amusement to disgust. One spat on the ground. Achilles walked past the group without turning his head. His jaw tightened but he didn’t break his stride. “You are very far from home, gentlemen. These grounds are dangerous.” It wasn’t quite the threat he’d hoped to communicate, but his English wasn’t perfect. All the same, he patted a synthleather bag on his leg to insinuate a weapon and let that carry the message for him. He could hear a hushed debate erupt among the European men, but it carried on long enough for him to get clear. “Go to hell, meta!” was the last he heard before he lost the men behind some trailers.

    Achilles entered the House of Favors and checked in at the front, shaking his head. “Humanis.” he thought, rolling the word around inside his head. Suddenly he snapped back to reality as he found he was being offered some companionship-for-hire. The juxtaposition of the two thoughts left him in a bit of shock for a moment, but finally he waved away the offer. “No, no, that is not–“ He stammered, “Perhaps another time.” He looked tired, flustered, charred, and partially melted. His shirt was in shreds and his chrome was looking jagged. He was all too eager to get some rest and see a doctor and a cyber-mechanic in the morning.