06-16-2017, 12:28 AM
Guided by the eternal wisdom of dubious global positioning software, I soon reached my target. I approached the fortified building cautiously, Walther leveled on the open doorway. It would be all too easy for a foe to simply camp the safehouse and take a potshot at anyone who happened by. Effective, but kind of a dick move. I couldn’t doubt the effectiveness, though.
“If anyone’s there, I promise not to blow your brains out the back of your head and teabag your corpse if you come out. I totally promise.” Little would they know, the verbal promise of a spy was worth the nonexistent paper it was printed on.
After a few tense moments and a quick peek through a window, I slowly stepped over the threshold. A satisfying chime from my pseudo ankle monitor informed me that my check-in was valid. I made a quick mental note before tossing the tablet back into my sack.
“And now to steal anything not bolted down,” I decided, examining the furnishings. “PLEASE tell me there’s some booze here. It’s been like...six hours since that sad excuse for a martini back at the facility and I can feel the beginning of what I’m terrified to consider might be a hangover.”
To my chagrin there was little of value to take, aside from a few folding chairs and a ratty oak dining table. A few cans of rations stood stacked on a set of shelves near the back of the room, but I’d sooner eat my own foot than resort to Spam. The tiniest glimmer of hope stirred within my chest at the sight of a dusty green bottle, empty save what amounted to maybe a few swigs. A quick whiff told me it was indeed some variety of red wine. “Any Port in a storm,” I mused, wincing as I swirled the contents. “Thank god no one heard that.”
As I tipped the discarded bottle to my lips, I froze. Though quite faint, from out the open window I could hear indistinct sounds of what could be a struggle. I quickly tossed back the last vestiges of the vinegary vintage before jamming the empty bottle into the side pocket of my backpack. Having scavenged everything I could find useful, I headed out the door toward the scuffle.
“If anyone’s there, I promise not to blow your brains out the back of your head and teabag your corpse if you come out. I totally promise.” Little would they know, the verbal promise of a spy was worth the nonexistent paper it was printed on.
After a few tense moments and a quick peek through a window, I slowly stepped over the threshold. A satisfying chime from my pseudo ankle monitor informed me that my check-in was valid. I made a quick mental note before tossing the tablet back into my sack.
“And now to steal anything not bolted down,” I decided, examining the furnishings. “PLEASE tell me there’s some booze here. It’s been like...six hours since that sad excuse for a martini back at the facility and I can feel the beginning of what I’m terrified to consider might be a hangover.”
To my chagrin there was little of value to take, aside from a few folding chairs and a ratty oak dining table. A few cans of rations stood stacked on a set of shelves near the back of the room, but I’d sooner eat my own foot than resort to Spam. The tiniest glimmer of hope stirred within my chest at the sight of a dusty green bottle, empty save what amounted to maybe a few swigs. A quick whiff told me it was indeed some variety of red wine. “Any Port in a storm,” I mused, wincing as I swirled the contents. “Thank god no one heard that.”
As I tipped the discarded bottle to my lips, I froze. Though quite faint, from out the open window I could hear indistinct sounds of what could be a struggle. I quickly tossed back the last vestiges of the vinegary vintage before jamming the empty bottle into the side pocket of my backpack. Having scavenged everything I could find useful, I headed out the door toward the scuffle.
Quote:Safehouse A -> A9 (just passing through)
![[Image: sterling-archer.jpg]](https://hollywoodhatesme.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/sterling-archer.jpg)