07-25-2017, 11:13 AM
Seventeen scowled as he rooted through the equipment Trixie had given him from the cargo boxes on the transport. A lot of it was stuff he’d rather not use, but the woman had stressed the importance of being prepared in the worst-case scenario. With the equipment stashed on his person, the cyborg had made his leave of the rustic barracks and spent some time at a nearby pub. There were a few off-duty stormtroopers, as well as some unarmored members of the EPD. Mixed in among them were some of the normal denizens of Tier 5, who seemed to be—for all intents and purposes—normal people. A few of them weren’t human, but for the most part, there didn’t seem to be anything extraordinary. Just a few people trying to grab some drinks during a lunch break.
“Hey,” Seventeen said as he sat down across from the bartender. The man glimpse over at the skinny, raven-haired warrior and was about to ignore him until he noticed the armor worn beneath the heavy overcoat.
“Can I help you?” The bartender inquired as he set down a cup he was polishing to make eye contact with his new guest.
“Beer,” the cyborg asked as he fished out some credit chips—the lower tiers apparently preferred to run on hard cash when possible. Credit scamming was too easy down here.
The bartender came back a few moments later with a frosty tankard and set it down in front of his guest. Before the man could leave, the cyborg cleared his throat, prompting the owner of the establishment to glance at him.
“I’m looking for this guy,” Seventeen asked as he retrieved the sketch of ‘All Might’ and slid it across the counter. “Apparently, he was interfering with some law enforcement in the area?”
“I’ve never seen him, but yea, I know the guy. Big muscles. Big hair. Not a bad guy, though. Just ran afoul of some investigation.”
“You know where he lives?”
At that, the bartender balked. He was willing to humor the imperial agent with enough information to not appear like he was obstructing the investigation, but he wasn’t willing to give up the street hero. “No clue. I think he’s a drifter.”
Seventeen scowled. He’d been around enough people to know that he was being dodged. Reaching into his pocket, the cyborg scrawled a quick note on the napkin resting in front of him and slid it across the counter to the bartender. “I’m new here, but I’m not an idiot. You probably don’t know this guy personally, but you probably know people who know people. Get that to him.”
With that, the cyborg pushed away from the bar and moved to a booth in the corner to drink his beer.
The bartender glanced down at the note. It was simple and evocative of something from a western dime novel. ‘Meet me at 4 am tomorrow morning at the intersection of Wabash and Randolph. I’m here to settle your accounts with the Empire. Let’s settle this like grownups.’
As he sipped on the awful beer, Seventeen cleared his thoughts. He didn’t feel wonderful in this situation—he knew this guy wasn’t a serial killer or something. Unfortunately, the Empire was pulling the cyborgs strings, and the last think he wanted was to wind up on their shit list.
It was nearly that time. Seventeen sighed as he checked his watch to make sure.
He rested his head back against the beaten down bench and waited to see if the man would show.
“Hey,” Seventeen said as he sat down across from the bartender. The man glimpse over at the skinny, raven-haired warrior and was about to ignore him until he noticed the armor worn beneath the heavy overcoat.
“Can I help you?” The bartender inquired as he set down a cup he was polishing to make eye contact with his new guest.
“Beer,” the cyborg asked as he fished out some credit chips—the lower tiers apparently preferred to run on hard cash when possible. Credit scamming was too easy down here.
The bartender came back a few moments later with a frosty tankard and set it down in front of his guest. Before the man could leave, the cyborg cleared his throat, prompting the owner of the establishment to glance at him.
“I’m looking for this guy,” Seventeen asked as he retrieved the sketch of ‘All Might’ and slid it across the counter. “Apparently, he was interfering with some law enforcement in the area?”
“I’ve never seen him, but yea, I know the guy. Big muscles. Big hair. Not a bad guy, though. Just ran afoul of some investigation.”
“You know where he lives?”
At that, the bartender balked. He was willing to humor the imperial agent with enough information to not appear like he was obstructing the investigation, but he wasn’t willing to give up the street hero. “No clue. I think he’s a drifter.”
Seventeen scowled. He’d been around enough people to know that he was being dodged. Reaching into his pocket, the cyborg scrawled a quick note on the napkin resting in front of him and slid it across the counter to the bartender. “I’m new here, but I’m not an idiot. You probably don’t know this guy personally, but you probably know people who know people. Get that to him.”
With that, the cyborg pushed away from the bar and moved to a booth in the corner to drink his beer.
The bartender glanced down at the note. It was simple and evocative of something from a western dime novel. ‘Meet me at 4 am tomorrow morning at the intersection of Wabash and Randolph. I’m here to settle your accounts with the Empire. Let’s settle this like grownups.’
As he sipped on the awful beer, Seventeen cleared his thoughts. He didn’t feel wonderful in this situation—he knew this guy wasn’t a serial killer or something. Unfortunately, the Empire was pulling the cyborgs strings, and the last think he wanted was to wind up on their shit list.
***
It was nearly that time. Seventeen sighed as he checked his watch to make sure.
He rested his head back against the beaten down bench and waited to see if the man would show.
![[Image: 17.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/17.jpg)