Private Broken Glass

[The Fool]

Synopsis: NOITSAB, speculated by many as an agent of ORION - OPA's Intelligence Network - has utilized the shadiest channels to offer a hefty reward for those seeking to do some dirty work...in the name of democracy. As expected, the no-name, no-face, NOITSAB has given a simple task with direct-to-the-point instructions. The contractors are expected to purge a certain gathering of Pro-Imperial citizens on TERMINUS. Expect some armed opposition, but primarily the advantage of superior numbers.





--
Stash House,
Terminus

A rundown, former warehouse adjacent to a beer hall where the Pro-Imp gathering was to happen was where Noitsab had pinpointed as the preparatory location for the operation. The small warehouse's only source of light was the illuminations from the streets and the tall skyscrapers of Terminus. As always, thanks to the blue-orange clot of tibanna gas residuals in the busy atmo of the planet, it pretty hot. Roman anticipated positively the forecast of light precipitation, even if it was near acid. He kept himself busy from the heat by rummaging through the large armament box in the middle. There were some pretty illegal guns in there, including disruptors. Big dicks for a simple extermination.

"Way too easy to be true." a voice murmured through his comm.

"You set me up for this contract, Gunn. Now you're smelling fish?" Roman grumbled back.

"Hey, you were bitching you've been down out for so long." the infochant replied. "Just...piles of cash for something this easy...I don't know. Don't seem right."

"Yeah, well, I am kinda sick of McRodian. Feels like my stomach's gonna eat itself at this point- Gotta go, the other contractor's coming. Last thing - got any idea what chum they paired me up with on this shit?"

"Nada."

He cut the transmission as someone made their way inside the warehouse.

Ciara Ardellian

 

[Ciara Ardellian]

TERMINUS, SAFE HOUSE
Equipment: HG-88 Hand Cannon, Machete, Helmet​

--

Too much money, Ciara mused, for a job this easy. Maybe it was just her - she would've wiped out imps for free, after all. But, no, it wasn't just that. Something gnawed at the woman about this gig. Maybe it was the employer; intelligence agencies were mostly good for getting false intel, after all.

Still, the money was good. Ciara needed to kit out her ship if she was gonna be doing this kind of stuff more often. Better defenses, better engines. Quarters that were actually comfortable to live in, workstations so she could stay sharp - yeah, the rust bucket needed a lot of work, and that meant a lot of money. So yeah, maybe the job was weird.

But I'll take it.

--

The woman Roman watched step into the warehouse was tall, dressed in black fatigues, and confident - at least, based on her body language. Her face was obscured by the darkened visor of a helmet, and she carried a short, wide blade on one hip, along with a large handgun on the other.

The woman raised a gloved hand in greeting, but maintained a respectable distance - people got twitchy pretty easily in this line of work, and she didn't really blame them.

"Ciara Ardellian. Pantoran Volunteer Forces, Fenwolf Company. You here for the job, or did I make a wrong turn somewhere?" Her voice was casual, friendly, tinged with humor - but also with an unconscious, vaguely aggressive edge, aimed at nothing in particular.

The Fool

 

[The Fool]

"You're at the right place. Roman Hayato." the problem-solver introduced himself. He kept sitting on the cache while loading a mag with slugs for a primitive, but does-the-job-too-well slugthrower. Roman sized her up, head to toes, quickly summing up her looks and words into a nostalgic conclusion of a whack job of a rebel. Much like he was. Once. "Volunteer, huh? So I get a bigger cut." he half-meant that. Some neon billboard ad on a subway station read "Words are power. The secret success story of Kel Radin.", he recalled.

In some odd way, the woman reminded him of his former wife. Back then, during the Nebula Front days, when they fought for something they believed in. Perhaps it was her choice of weapons, perhaps it was her posture or perhaps it was a mix of all that, along with her affiliation that made that erroneous match in his mind.

He finished loading the mag, slammed it within the confines of the rifle and slung it on his back, opting for the close-quarter sawed-off. Taking one final drag of his cigarette before stomping it on the damp floor, Roman asked. "That's a real personal steel on a handle you've got on your hip. Sure you ain't going to need something...less close-up, rebel rebel?" the cache of weapons beside him had everything inside it. Noitsab had provided well.

Too well, too easy. The words rang in his head but crumbled under the weight of financial reward.

Ciara Ardellian