12-01-2016, 04:32 AM
Only four of the five soda-thieves were present: the two stout men, who turned out to be bald, pug-faced, and practically identical, the average-looking fellow, who was even more average looking without a mask on, and the woman, who was red-haired with quite delicate features. All four wore heavy leather coats, and boots almost as intimidating as Kelly's.
They're almost certainly armed under those coats...
Fortunately, after a frantic few moments of shouting and confused explanation, they were positively thrilled to hear that Kelly was a potential buyer, and even more thrilled to hear he was interested in hiring them. The thieves hardly even hesitated before agreeing to let him inspect the merchandise. Bubbles made noises about his commission as they left, but nobody was paying attention to him anymore. The four, plus Kelly, went back down the stairs, the traveler retrieving his jacket and briefcase on the way out.
This development made him very nervous - and maybe just a little disappointed. It was all going far too smoothly.
As the four led him back into the maze of the Tier-Four underground, they braced him for details about the purchase.
"Twenty million, you say?" said the redhead, after Kelly named his bid. Hers was the voice he'd heard on the intercom, surprisingly rough for a woman. "Not bad. We'll have to discuss it of course. Who'd you say you was representing again?"
"I didn't," said Kelly. "My employers prefer to remain anonymous. As professionals, I'm sure you understand."
The woman nodded, giving him a fierce smile. "Of course."
The traveler kept his face carefully blank, standing in the middle of the group as they pressed through the crowd. Neon flickered from store-fronts and billboards, lighting all of them in koleidoscope colors.
The extremely average one spoke up next.
"What I'm wondering about," he said, "is the job. What's involved? Who's the target? And what does it pay?"
All four thieves nodded their agreement, and the two pug-faced men made encouraging sounds, the first words they'd spoken since Kelly had seen them.
The traveler talked them in circles for the next twenty minutes. Yes, twenty-million. No, the price wasn't negotiable. No, he couldn't tell them about the job until he knew for certain he was going to hire them. No, not yet - he'd know when he'd seen their entire team, and confirmed they had the merchandise.
They were impressed that he knew there were more of them. It seemed to make them stand a little straighter, thinking that they'd been noticed. Having spent a little bit of time around them, Kelly couldn't help but notice that in spite of their swagger, and the easy grace of their movements, there was a certain lack of confidence in all four.
They've never done this before. Ex-soldiers, not used to running a business? Or maybe just some Prime's enforcers, dreamed up out of nothing and left to rot?
When they reached their destination, Kelly felt a little bit stupid. It was an abandoned block of ground-level storage-lockers, nestled at the end of a short tunnel underneath a ground-level traffic exchange. Its marquee had gone dark, neon tubing stripped away, leaving only a plastic backboard with metal fittings in the vague shape of words. Kelly had walked right past it on his way to Bubbles' Arcade.
"This way," said the redhead, having to yell to be heard over the roar of traffic, leading Kelly past rows of rusted roll-away garage doors set into low, concrete buildings with numbers spray-painted on them in green, florescent paint. The only light down here was reflected off the towers in the distance, spots of glowing rainbow in puddles of oil and filthy water, but the sheer volume of light pollution meant that vision posed no problem. In comparison to the rest of the fourth tier, it was remarkably subdued.
Kelly adjusted his tie and frowned. It seemed like the kind of thing Alan Mayhew would do. He noticed that the other three had spread out behind him as they walked.
Habit? Or are they boxing me in?
It didn't take long before they stopped in front of one of the lockers - number 036-6. The redhead pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door, rolling it back easily with one hand.
She's strong. Presumably they all are.
Inside was a make-shift living-quarters with three bunk-beds, a work-bench covered in guns and tactical gear, and a computer-setup that looked like it was cobbled together from nine or ten different machines. In one corner there was a sofa with a broken spine, facing and a single gray plastic shipping crate about a meter square - the kind with a pressure-seal and handles on each side. A dehumidifier hummed beside it. The place smelled of cheap coffee, axel-grease and burnt electronics.
There was a tall man in black fatigues on the sofa. He had a shotgun, scraggly hair, and three-day-stubble, and his eyes were watery and wild, moving about the room slightly too fast.
That's five. I've got to do this fast.
The redhead put a hand on his shoulder, leading him towards the couch. The other three filed past them, the two stout ones on Kelly's left and the average one beside the woman on his right.
Except for the one on the couch, none of them were looking at Kelly. This was the moment - talk or fight. Since taking the contract he'd been assuming this would have to be a violent takedown, but now he had a suspicion it didn't have to be.
Only there was the twitchy one on the couch with the shotgun...
Pausing only a moment to form a plan, the traveler made his move.
They're almost certainly armed under those coats...
Fortunately, after a frantic few moments of shouting and confused explanation, they were positively thrilled to hear that Kelly was a potential buyer, and even more thrilled to hear he was interested in hiring them. The thieves hardly even hesitated before agreeing to let him inspect the merchandise. Bubbles made noises about his commission as they left, but nobody was paying attention to him anymore. The four, plus Kelly, went back down the stairs, the traveler retrieving his jacket and briefcase on the way out.
This development made him very nervous - and maybe just a little disappointed. It was all going far too smoothly.
As the four led him back into the maze of the Tier-Four underground, they braced him for details about the purchase.
"Twenty million, you say?" said the redhead, after Kelly named his bid. Hers was the voice he'd heard on the intercom, surprisingly rough for a woman. "Not bad. We'll have to discuss it of course. Who'd you say you was representing again?"
"I didn't," said Kelly. "My employers prefer to remain anonymous. As professionals, I'm sure you understand."
The woman nodded, giving him a fierce smile. "Of course."
The traveler kept his face carefully blank, standing in the middle of the group as they pressed through the crowd. Neon flickered from store-fronts and billboards, lighting all of them in koleidoscope colors.
The extremely average one spoke up next.
"What I'm wondering about," he said, "is the job. What's involved? Who's the target? And what does it pay?"
All four thieves nodded their agreement, and the two pug-faced men made encouraging sounds, the first words they'd spoken since Kelly had seen them.
The traveler talked them in circles for the next twenty minutes. Yes, twenty-million. No, the price wasn't negotiable. No, he couldn't tell them about the job until he knew for certain he was going to hire them. No, not yet - he'd know when he'd seen their entire team, and confirmed they had the merchandise.
They were impressed that he knew there were more of them. It seemed to make them stand a little straighter, thinking that they'd been noticed. Having spent a little bit of time around them, Kelly couldn't help but notice that in spite of their swagger, and the easy grace of their movements, there was a certain lack of confidence in all four.
They've never done this before. Ex-soldiers, not used to running a business? Or maybe just some Prime's enforcers, dreamed up out of nothing and left to rot?
When they reached their destination, Kelly felt a little bit stupid. It was an abandoned block of ground-level storage-lockers, nestled at the end of a short tunnel underneath a ground-level traffic exchange. Its marquee had gone dark, neon tubing stripped away, leaving only a plastic backboard with metal fittings in the vague shape of words. Kelly had walked right past it on his way to Bubbles' Arcade.
"This way," said the redhead, having to yell to be heard over the roar of traffic, leading Kelly past rows of rusted roll-away garage doors set into low, concrete buildings with numbers spray-painted on them in green, florescent paint. The only light down here was reflected off the towers in the distance, spots of glowing rainbow in puddles of oil and filthy water, but the sheer volume of light pollution meant that vision posed no problem. In comparison to the rest of the fourth tier, it was remarkably subdued.
Kelly adjusted his tie and frowned. It seemed like the kind of thing Alan Mayhew would do. He noticed that the other three had spread out behind him as they walked.
Habit? Or are they boxing me in?
It didn't take long before they stopped in front of one of the lockers - number 036-6. The redhead pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door, rolling it back easily with one hand.
She's strong. Presumably they all are.
Inside was a make-shift living-quarters with three bunk-beds, a work-bench covered in guns and tactical gear, and a computer-setup that looked like it was cobbled together from nine or ten different machines. In one corner there was a sofa with a broken spine, facing and a single gray plastic shipping crate about a meter square - the kind with a pressure-seal and handles on each side. A dehumidifier hummed beside it. The place smelled of cheap coffee, axel-grease and burnt electronics.
There was a tall man in black fatigues on the sofa. He had a shotgun, scraggly hair, and three-day-stubble, and his eyes were watery and wild, moving about the room slightly too fast.
That's five. I've got to do this fast.
The redhead put a hand on his shoulder, leading him towards the couch. The other three filed past them, the two stout ones on Kelly's left and the average one beside the woman on his right.
Except for the one on the couch, none of them were looking at Kelly. This was the moment - talk or fight. Since taking the contract he'd been assuming this would have to be a violent takedown, but now he had a suspicion it didn't have to be.
Only there was the twitchy one on the couch with the shotgun...
Pausing only a moment to form a plan, the traveler made his move.
Quote:Post 7: 947 words according to wordcounter.net
7962 words total.
Meet with Pepsiman at PepsiCo HQ on Tier-2 (accomplished)
Travel to Tier 4 (Accomplished)
Find the thieves (accomplished)
Deal with the thieves - FIGHT BEGIN!