07-12-2018, 05:28 PM
The woman weaved as subtly as she could through the corridors of Site 18, trying to avoid the group that she had brought along with her. She clenched and released her organic fist as she swept from corridor to room into backroom, each step another opportunity to be latched onto by somebody important. She couldn’t avoid being noticed, but she could at least avoid getting waylaid by a friend of over-eager camera crew.
She tried the handle to the small custodial closet, and it turned, just as she had been told. She slipped inside, hoping that the promise that it was a camera dead zone was true. In the darkness, beside the brooms and buckets and shelves, a shape loomed.
“You must have a fan,” a voice eked out, too soft to recognize.
The bandit squinted in the bleakness of that place, straining to identify whatever robed figure had lured her into the clandestine meeting. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?” she demanded.
The figure simply gestured to the shelves. On them, barely visible, were two items: a sheaf of paper attached to a kunai and the remains of a paper-white sword, broken mid-blade. “I went to great lengths to secure these from the battlefield after Karl shut it down. Several individuals could be fired, perhaps even killed, for this breach of contract.” The figures robes shifted, and the glint of a grin could be seen beneath. “You should take them. Don’t allow your supporter’s efforts to be in vain.”
Furrowing her brow, she retrieved the items, and attempted to tuck them away somewhere that they would escape immediate notice. “I guess I’m thankful,” she growled, “but that doesn’t really answer my questions.”
A low, throaty chuckle could be heard, the figure’s shoulder shrugging with each laugh. “For now you need only know that you have a supporter who knows how attached you are to your trophies.”
“And what do you want from me?” she reiterated.
“Only that you remember our generosity.” With that, a hand waved, and the creature vanished.
She tried the handle to the small custodial closet, and it turned, just as she had been told. She slipped inside, hoping that the promise that it was a camera dead zone was true. In the darkness, beside the brooms and buckets and shelves, a shape loomed.
“You must have a fan,” a voice eked out, too soft to recognize.
The bandit squinted in the bleakness of that place, straining to identify whatever robed figure had lured her into the clandestine meeting. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?” she demanded.
The figure simply gestured to the shelves. On them, barely visible, were two items: a sheaf of paper attached to a kunai and the remains of a paper-white sword, broken mid-blade. “I went to great lengths to secure these from the battlefield after Karl shut it down. Several individuals could be fired, perhaps even killed, for this breach of contract.” The figures robes shifted, and the glint of a grin could be seen beneath. “You should take them. Don’t allow your supporter’s efforts to be in vain.”
Furrowing her brow, she retrieved the items, and attempted to tuck them away somewhere that they would escape immediate notice. “I guess I’m thankful,” she growled, “but that doesn’t really answer my questions.”
A low, throaty chuckle could be heard, the figure’s shoulder shrugging with each laugh. “For now you need only know that you have a supporter who knows how attached you are to your trophies.”
“And what do you want from me?” she reiterated.
“Only that you remember our generosity.” With that, a hand waved, and the creature vanished.