MATERIAL 1.0: "BROKEN/HEIR" [RUNNING DRAFT]

“Dredge Falsepalm”

[Scene starts part-way through, a NOVARON™ Asset in combination Green A-VELD Powered armour (small-visored helmet, arm and leg supports, no chestplate) with a standard tactical webbing rig and JOSEPH (in his dark grey helmet, cuirass and leg/boot plating) are standing opposite each other in a ruined office, looking about 20 years out of use, North-eastern Sycronis, lots of tainted white décor and cracked plaster. The floor is strewn on the Asset’s side with empty casings and magazines, both the Assets's assault rifle and Joseph's freebarrel (just think a Revolver but different, boxy) have smoking barrels, 6 bullet holes on the asset’s side, 4 on the walls behind him and 2 on a flipped desk infront, the Asset’s rifle clicks, empty, both parties are panting under their breath.

ASSET: [lowering gun] So… I counted 6 shots from your freebarrel, we’re both empty.

JOSEPH: I’m surprised you had that many mags. ASSET: I’m surprised you only had one case. JOSEPH:[shrugs with freebarrel loosely in left hand] It’s all I need. ASSET: Apparently not.

JOSEPH: [feigning nervousness, stiff delivery] Uheh…

ASSET: Look. I think we can work this out. you managed to take out everyone else in this building, so I can only assume you’re capable, those 6 were uh, flukes? Let’s just give eachother some amnesty and walk away from this, take different routes, deal?

[JOSEPH does not respond initially, glaring right through his opaque-tinted visors]

ASSET: Uh… We cool?

[a long beat]

JOSEPH: [triumphant] A-HAH! ^{[JOSEPH flings into an aiming stance, If the camera could see his face it would’ve lit up with a manic smile]}

ASSET: THE FUCK? [JOSEPH changes to the next chamber, locks]

JOSEPH: DID YOU NOT EVEN CHECK THE CASE PROPERLY? THIS ISN’T A 6-HOLD.

ASSET:[stammering] WH-WHAT? YOU MEAN-?

JOSEPH: THAT’S RIGHT. ONE IN THE CHAMBER.

ASSET: GODS [the asset raises his rifle above his head] FUCKING [throws rifle down with excessive force, the stock and the sight both snap off and bounce back up as it hits the ground] DAMNIT.

[The Asset recomposes himself, sighing, hands up]

ASSET: Okay… What do you want?

JOSEPH: I WANT YOU TO TALK. WHERE IS THE TOMB OF THE LAST HEIR?

ASSET: [Disbelief] THE LAST HEIR? H-HE’S BURIED OUT IN THE LINDAL CAVES, SOUTH OF MALBERK

[a pause]

JOSEPH: Thank you, was that so hard?

[The Asset shakes his head slowly]

JOSEPH: Bonus round: Who’s contracting you for this? ASSET: [a pause, the Asset takes on a dire tone] NOVARON, I’M JUST A FIRST RECON CONSULTANT.

JOSEPH: Okay then, that’s… All I needed to know. I will leave you to go free, but I suggest you hang tight for a while. [JOSEPH lowers his gun]

ASSET: Whatever you say, man [The Asset lowers his hands, sighs in relief]

JOSEPH: [as he is walking away, back to the Asset, leisurely spinning the freebarrel in his left hand, projecting his voice] I hope for your sake we never meet again.

[JOSEPH leaves the way he came in, via the stairs, doors close behind him]

End of scene

[The sun is not far off the horizon, giving the exterior a warm orange tinting; JOSEPH is seen exiting the derelict complex through the front door, taking a depleted case out of his freebarrel, shaking 6 casings out of it, the 7th chamber was empty the whole time. A shiny pickup truck is waiting for him; RYLE is at the wheel, in casual wear, a pair of wide sunglasses and a freshly gelled hairdo. The unnamed sniper rifle is in the passenger seat, leaning upwards with a seatbelt around it. Low-footprint ambience is playing, starting shortly after he closes the office building door]

JOSEPH: [coldly] Start to pull away, pop the back window

RYLE: Sure thing, wait the back window panel?.

JOSEPH: Just do it. [JOSEPH gets in, grabbing the sniper and sliding through the unlocked flap into the back, the truck starts moving] Drive steady.

[JOSEPH climbs onto the roof while it’s in motion; he steadies his aim, upwards, towards the office]

RYLE: Uh, Joe what the FUCK are you doing on the roof? Do you know how heavy that armour we-

[A trigger is pulled, music halts. RYLE stops mid-query. A shadow could possibly be seen falling down in the windowed room he was last seen in in the distance]

RYLE: Uh…

[JOSEPH slides back in the truck from the open window, positions himself in the passenger seat, clears his throat]

JOSEPH: He spilt NOVARON info, they would’ve done far worse had he come back alive, what with all the bugs on his mags.

RYLE: Oh! O-kay then Boss. [a pause] So… What was it that you needed to know?

JOSEPH: Don’t worry about it. And don’t call me “Joe”

[Camera behind truck, end of scene]

Next Instance: The Roofs

Scene opens on Joseph (fed up, Mediterranean tan, scar down left eye, slicked back hair, dark, you know the deal) , Blake (first appearance in core series, the deep blue adorned operator with a scarf draped around his armoured collar, short black hair, rectangular half-frame glasses), and Null (first appearance in core series, the mysterious red, black and silver adorned demolitions expert, shining gold visor), all entering the heavy, stone exterior bar, all in full armour (apart from Joseph and Blakes helmets, which are hanging off their hips), a common sight in this part of Dermil

The chrome-lined darkwood furnishings of the bar within shined against the varying kinds of diode, gas tube and filament lights occupying the establishment, booths all walled off from eachother to provide privacy to each group. a sharp dressed, aged man in the corner booth is smoking a thin cigarette against a vent port on his neck, his inhaling lights up his worn subcutaneous throat implant with a dash of yellow light, Joseph taps the table with the side of his hand to get his attention

J: We’re here on the “recovery” job you need help on, Joseph Bayrahn.

He extends a gauntlet, it is not met with an open hand, The smoker scratches through his reply in a mechanically assisted tone after adjusting his hat

?:I know who you are, you weren’t required to touch in before the op

J:We just needed a little more information, you said you know whos moving it,and what IT is, but we don’t.

The slightly fed up man. entrenched in his corner, sighs, before unloading this veritable dossier of memorised intel

?: You’ll know what it is when you see it, it’s about as a big as a breadbox, and your courier? The Steelback appears to be handling your cargo, he’s running topside from the station to the docks for pickup by a Silent Wave which departs at about... 1530

as the smoker rattles through this rather extensive information josephs face begins to look puzzled, his shoulder is grabbed by Blake

B: It’s almost 3, Bayrahn we need to MOVE

J, B and N turn and hurry outside, their collective bulk in the enclosed space causing quite a racket of motors and suspension

J: Fuck it! we’ll plan outside

He shouts back to the smoker

J: AND WE’LL BE BACK HERE WITH THAT THING

-Dermil Streets, 3pm-

B: So, we got a time that the gear’s being run, half an hour from now… his direct routes about a few hun metres away, slashing right from the station to the dock, across the rooftops

J: we need to intercept from a secure roof with good visibility, we need to shoot the courier down

Null raises their grenade launcher, Joseph pushes it back down, they are all still walking

J: With the piece intact

Null stows the launcher, before slapping the back of Joseph’s shoulder, then holding the other hand open in an expectant manner. Joseph unclasps a comparatively small pistol from his hip and dunks it into the beggar’s palm, Null sulks their heavily adorned shoulders down.

J: Beggars can’t be choosers

Hard cut to the team walking up the last ramp in a tall multi-storey carpark, but shiny and fancylike, white walls, pure black flooring, fresh road markings, a fire escape is seen across from the ledge, going higher

B: get ready to jump, folks. Bunch those motors.

J:You sure up there’s good vantage? It might get obscured by the roof-slums

B: those are still a thing?

J: of course, they're just a bit more legitimate now.

B: Shit, do you think someone theres selling point 5 frame adjusts?

J: Maybe after we get paid for this.

Null is the first to leap towards the ladder, then Blake, then Joseph, cut to the rooftop, big, sweeping skyline. everyone is clacking guns out in anticipation

suddenly, a burst of red over a rooftop below

He is running, in a rather exaggerated manner, elbows at right angles, flat hands going straight up with each stride, The Steelback darts under a pole-propped tarp

Bayrahn fires a shot just as the steelback is halfway between the edge of the roof and the next enveloping tarp, a miss

J: TRACK HIM! TRACK!

Null haphazardly lets off a bunch of pistol rounds, jamming it in the process, before punching the knee-high wall they’re against, clearly out of practice with small arms

B:He's gone!

The steelback fwips under a piece of tarp, the roofslums nestled between the looming corp monoliths

Null disappears, hopping down into the concrete and glass abyss, running after him

J: Why do they always run…

Joseph, stowing his rifle, runs parallel across the higher-up roof before jumping down, right into the markets, Blake continuing across higher ground, presumably as a spotter

with a running land he attempts to re-orientate, shoving past an endangered meats stall, shouting the name he was told

J: STEELBAAACK! STOP RIGHT THERE!

A barked reply from the distance, Joseph bumps past a clattering rack of plating

S: NO CHANCE, BIG GUY

Joseph snapfires his rifle, mainly upwards, since the markets somewhat packed, The Steelback ahead, with a wild, white-black mohawk bouncing up and down with his stride, his long, trailing red leather jacket scraping against the floor

S:HEY, WATCH THE CROWD!.

Blake touches in via comm

B:There's an opening in the tarps a few ye’ ahead, just keep him distracted while running

J: Keep shooting? Sure.

Joseph, still running, almost gets jumped by Null, who was lying in wait between 2 competing COMMlink vendors, at the wrong time

J:heyheyhey! Just keep running

A distorted scowl beams through the purposefully broken speaker, they are both picking up the pace

B:Im making a shot

J:NOT THE FRONT, his bag’s there

B:Fine, the back

A crossbow bolt is thrown, arcing downwards, it plinks off the courier’s jacket, strange

J:Did you… Understrap it?

B:No! That was more than enough pressure, fuck off!

The steelback belts out triumphantly

S: PAH! YOUR BULLETS CANNOT HARM M-

A round stings through his mohawk, leaving a hole, cut back to null running with the borrowed pistol, he flinches, causing his orange half-framed sunglasses to jump up

S: BASTARD!

J: Nice Shot, Suit

The Steelback shakes a fist up

S:I'M NOT GONNA DROP THE CORE THAT EASY

B:[Over comm] The What?

J: THE WHAT?

A beat, silence with clanging footsteps

S: YOU… DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M CARRYING?

The Steelback is distracted, he slips on a ledge, over his own trailing jacket, recovering with large, wild arm swinging

S:SHIIIT!

J: JUST STOP ALREADY

He Jumps onto the next stretch of the run, the metal beams of the gasworks S: NO WAY, GETHA

Blake scrambles to reposition, swinging off a pipe to cross a ledge in the process, he slaps the comm enable

B: So… Whats the plan? J:I’m going to SHOOT HIM with this HIGH-CIRC RIFLE, obviously

The Steelback is panting, his enthusiastic gait looking a bit ragged, turning his head slightly

S: I HEARD THAT!

J: YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO!

Null fires another unsolicited shot, missing the Steelback’s shoulder by a few inches, Joseph turns to them, disappoint glaring through his opaque visors, then looks ahead again

the complex winding of the somewhat antiquated gasworks is met with obstructions and detours, including pipes that are slid down by the steelback on his plating, Bayrahn and company are growing tired

B: HOW MUCH ARE THEY FUCKING PAYING YOU S: ENOUGH TO RISK A RUN WITH YOU RUSTERS ON MY TAIL!

The steelback rips an odd revolving hand shotgun from his chest holster,he has no shirt on, just the holster and the jacket, turning half around to fire while awkwardly strafing, a stray pellet flecks Null’s dense chestplate, They pick up the pace, Joseph retorts

J: WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO MISS? S: SHUT UP!

Steelback turns forwards once again, noticing construction work ahead, octaped cranes are crawling across the buildings ahead,

S: OHHH FUUUCK FUCK FUCK He improvises, slashing a dead electrical line with a knife fished out his boot, he swings onto the set of cranes

B: GET BACK HERE

the closest crane turns to the gasworks, giving Joseph and Null a route, Blake has to jump down to climb back up a higher up roof set

stomping across the moving machines, the main 3 are watching their footing, but a long, straight line is established as the cranes stop due to the disruptive run

joseph, readying himself again, goes right for the courier’s back

J: GOTCHA!

1

2

3

all connect, pinging off in wild directions, but still denting enough that he felt the punches, The Steelback lurches forwards in pain, still staggering forwards

S: OUSH!

Joseph darts forwards, aiming for a tackle at the edge of the crane, but the Steelback has enough left in him to dodge to the right, leaving joseph falling onto the cranebed, his arms dangling off the edge, the steelback flees back to open roof, Null grabs Joseph back up by the back of his cuirass

they are nearing the docks, but there is a lot of open roof between then and now, the steelback leaps down after regaining enough distance, jacket spread in a flag of red, disappearing down a fire escape, a silver, yellow polymer accented box is abandoned on the ledge with one word swiped onto it in grease “YOURS”

[End]

Ruegon House

-Early AM: Syk base-

Null (The always heavily armoured mute demolitionist who sleeps in a locked closet) is at a computer in the hub area, what they are typing is unknown, a green flash strikes their gold visor, mirrored

A direct job request

Null is taken aback, grabbing a paper pad and pen, they start writing while walking with great conviction towards Joseph Bayrahn’s quarters

3 sharp knocks, more accurate to describe them as punches against the door though.

A groggy, but still fully dressed commander presents himself at the opened door half a minute of crashing around later

The pad is shown

“You got a weird job req. Something about politics?”

JOSEPH: [somewhat grumbling] What?!

-cut hard back to the “function hub” (it’s a grey kitchen/dining room container with a computer), a web-packet phonecall between a man with a rather southern US adjacent drawl and Joseph

MAN: You have listed skills similar to this op on your own profile, have you not? JOSEPH: That profile was made 4 years ago, I was tacking on things I guessed I could do

MAN: So you can’t perform a successful plain clothes infiltration of an organisation? JOSEPH: NO no no. I Absolutely can! I just need some time, and preferably a man on the inside to help instigate my identity-

MAN: I’m awfully sorry but i'm a busy man, Bayrahn JOSEPH: So am I. Am I reading this correctly even? It says you’re setting me into the Sycronic Political campus

MAN: Yes, that is correct. You see, the political climate in the north has congealed. We need a shakeup, a scandal or two to loosen the barren roots.

JOSEPH: So I'm to be a troublemaker? MAN: Not… necessarily. We would just like you to drag something out of the lazy senators of the north.

JOSEPH: Can you pay me in advance? MAN: Nope. the agreed sum will be transferred once we make contact again after we can agree you’ve done your part.

JOSEPH: Alright, I tried. Can you atleast give me a name to take? MAN:...No. The Man hangs up

JOSEPH: (Ahh fuck.)

Joseph turns to Null, a heavy shrug back says enough.

-A Messy Law Office, The sun hanging down in a lazy Arkainian Peninsula desert morning-

JOSEPH:...And that’s why I need you again

The camera drags towards Garret Ironside, sleazy Central Junelite (just think blonde cornrows, african-ish) Lawyer, in his purple pinstripe suit, looking rather unimpressed, biting the corner of the inside of his lip.

GARRET: To forge documents? Hang on i’ll get your picture-

JOSEPH: Wait. I need to… make some changes to my looks if i’m going to be believed as a capital Sycronic deskrat

GARRET: What kinda changes? That scar down your eye is pretty drastic for a copier repair accident

JOSEPH:... Makeup Garret breaks into light laughter following a “Pfft”

JOSEPH: What?

GARRET: Nothing, just don’t get any shit on my upholstery, I get paying clients in here… sometimes

Garret digs a scratched, but ornate mirror out of his drawer, and hands it to Joseph

-Scene cut, Joseph walks back in through a curtain from a backroom, shaved, scar hidden, face lightened, Garret is furiously typing on a weird, blocky PDA type device throughout-

JOSEPH: Okay, Ready for a picture now Garret is taken aback

GARRET: Fucking shit you look… Different. JOSEPH: What? That’s literally the point.

GARRET: You seriously clean up well, you should consider this makeup shit for every day

JOSEPH: Don’t make me even out your teeth by taking that other canine.

Garret shrinks

GARRET: Sensitive topic

JOSEPH: Hah! I heard you whistling a tune through it the other month, why don’t you just get a stub? GARRET: My folks don’t work like that, you should know that by now.

JOSEPH: eh, suit yourself.

GARRET: (eyes locked on the pda) YUSH! (a half-mangled old Junelite word) ...Sorry. I got you an “in”. Your identity is to be Caleb Thorn and you will be running under the verdant party, The pass however just needs a smile

JOSEPH: What? A [SNAP] catches a puzzled expression

GARRET: That… Will have to do.

A metal card is expelled from the thick pda, Garret twangs it with his thumb before passing it to Joseph

JOSEPH: By the Shingle…

GARRET: It’s just for what, a few days tops?

JOSEPH: Yeah…

-FADE during that last word, to an establishing “walk-in” shot of a campus building, Joseph is wearing a rather fancy suit, with a green shirt and black tie. He is marching up the steps-

-Shiny Reception-

JOSEPH: Hi, I’m sort of… short of a card holder, Thorn, Verdant

He flashes his newly forged ID to the receptionist

RECEP: Oooh so you’re the new blood, here, i hope a pocket-mount it fine for you

JOSEPH: Wonderful. Anything on the schedule?

RECEP: Apart from the party meeting at 11? Not much

JOSEPH: Nice.

-HARD cut to hallway outside conf room, Joseph walks down and knocks his way in, its 10 to 11 but the meeting is already underway with a full table-

The greying ponytailed SIMONE CAVALIER is at the top of the table, he stops his hunched-over-table strategizing shortly after Bayrahn enters, the fierce eyes of the strained politician lock against his, a sharp native spur Bayrahn never learned is seen on Simone’s voice

SIMONE: Are you lost?

JOSEPH: No. but apparently I’m late, the sec said this started at 11

SIMONE: You must’ve misheard. Anyway, Whereabouts are you from, what social band? [Joseph thinks fast and blurts his mother’s home region]

JOSEPH: Upper-Aiten, Industrial, as you should know.

SIMONE: Wow, a Siltslinger

A voice to his right picks up in second-hand offense

!: Hey! UA does more for the country than your precious Bronzeleg

JOSEPH: Ah, You’re the Bronzeleg rep then.

SIMONE: I’m also the first-choice candidate, you do know that, right? He didn’t.

JOSEPH: Of course.

SIMONE: (quiet but not really a whisper) For the Mount’s sake could someone get this clown out of here?

A shrill objection from the left

!2: (actually more of a whisper shout) No!

JOSEPH: So anyway, What were we talking about? Simone rolls his eyes

SIMONE: There’s an impending crisis regarding Sycronic domestic defense funding since they’re revamping the high-speed rails down east and slashing def budgets all over to fill a moneyhole and if we don’t have our own solution in tow they’ll think we’re never fit for Guide.

JOSEPH: So, just take a favour from the RED, they’re great cops nowadays

SIMONE: WHAT? You do know which country we’re in right?

JOSEPH: The RED is Arkainian in name only nowadays, they take full battalion contract work all over, just hire them to supplement whatever native police you can still afford

SIMONE: That’d never work for a whole quarter, it's a strike solution at best!

JOSEPH: Veralure bunked them out for 2 years during the Stopgap deficit

The room lights up with chatter

SIMONE: You’re bullshitting me

!3: I-it might work!

SIMONE: Numbers, show me some numbers!

A tac-pad is furiously assaulted by a pair of thumb styluses next to Simone, Simone Slams the table in defeat

SIMONE: How the fuck did you even know that worked out?!

JOSEPH: The RED are cheap, they’re basically a boots on the ground charity.

SIMONE: Fuck you, Meeting Adjourned! I expect the minutes and a fat stack of details on this (he squints forward) Caleb guy to be on my desk in an hour!

Chairs squeak and bags are yanked upwards with several disappointed tones chattering within the emptying room

Simone is the last to get up, staring Joseph, who hadn’t even sat down yet, dead on as he marched out the room

-end-

-Later on, it is lunchtime in the breakroom, a few low-rankers are drawn to the newcomer, talking to Joseph about his views on things, Simone Cavalier, Party Lead, isn’t sitting down, he is drawing some coffee from the tank in the corner into a flimsy heatproof plastic cup

LOW1: ...So if you could change absolutely anything right now with a small budget, what’d it be? JOSEPH: hmmmmm, I’d have to go with bolstering local council forces to ensure refuse and recycling collections are never delayed, a messy street looks awful to everyone, especially as the sun gets hotter over this season

LOW2: Bins on time? JOSEPH: Bins on time.

LOW1: You’re a real visionary! It’s down to earth ideals like that that’d make a great 1st cand!

Simone, overhearing this, is seething

LOW2: You should tell Sir Cavalier about your great idea! He’s really needing the common man in his demographic and its shit like that that gets em

Simone crushes the cup in his hand, spilling scorching black all over his sleeve and hand

Shaking his burnt hand, he leaves the room in disgrace

JOSEPH: So uh… you guys know about any… potentially blossoming scandals? LOW2:Scandals? Not currently no

JOSEPH: How about Controversies?

LOW2: nope JOSEPH:...overall wrongdoings? LOW2: None whatsoever, (A beat) it was getting boring around here till you showed up

JOSEPH: has the climate here grown that stagnant? LOW2: Aye, it has, we while our days away in bloody think tanks, knowing we’ll never lead the country, always hoping for a coalition with the Trad’s

The Lowranker turns away, sighing

JOSEPH: maybe if someone other than the careful Mister Cavalier had a shot people would notice the Verdant creeping out of the Trad's shadow

LOW2: wait… are you saying you want to try 1st cand? JOSEPH: I mea-

The low-ranker bows his head slightly and forces his hands together, talking fast LOW2: I’ll support you. You got my vote, and from this morning’s meeting you got a fair few more

JOSEPH: (a beat) What’s your name, by the way? LOW2: Marco, its Marco

JOSEPH: I’m surprised you’re not wearing your name badge, what with all the security checks

MARCO: If i don’t wear my tag, Cavalier can’t shout my name

Marco smiles

JOSEPH: Smart. say, Marco, would you be willing to help me stage something later today? MARCO: Huh?

JOSEPH: I’ve got an idea BUT i need someone who knows the building

MARCO: What’s the plan? -hard cut hard fucking cut-

Simone Cavaliers office, the door is shut, a cleaning cart is blocking the door A simple setup, but the perfect one, now Bayrahn can soapbox hard

A somewhat busy office, there is a Gesture Interpretive Visualboard by Joseph

He clears his throat

JOSEPH: AHEM.

he thwacks the board to life with the back of his hand

JOSEPH: I HAVE AN IDEA, EVERYONE.

Silence floods the room, he has the floor

JOSEPH: When's the last time The Verdant actually came up with its own policy?

Rustling murmurs in the crowd, a positive response, his posture opens

JOSEPH: I know, right?, let's start brainstorming

The crowd starts chipping in, eager to shape their own party for once, nothings really audible as the focus turns to the corridor corner

Simone drags himself in, tie held loosely in hand, tied around a snapped table leg, shirt completely off “tidy”, he slowly makes his way towards the crowd, MARCO hurriedly intervenes

MARCO: Ah, Sir Cavalier! What happened?

Simone is seething, he snaps back at his peon

SIMONE: refit the locks on my office, now!

MARCO shrinks away MARCO: O-okay boss, i’ll get a contractor on that right on that!

-HARD CUT-

Simones office is empty, a maintenance man in green light armour over a white boiler suit is fixing the door outside, the phone is ringing, Joseph is walking by and picks it up after many rings, looking both ways before bracing one hand against the desk and doing so

A PHONE CALL

JOSEPH: Hello, J- JOSEPH: Thorn Speaking, Verdant, Ca-

?????: [unhearable] wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba

JOSEPH: A fastracked quarterly? When? ?????: wub wub wub JOSEPH: Now? But ?????: WUBWUBWUB

Joseph rubs his face with his hand and sighs JOSEPH: Alright, I guess I can go as a representative, what room?

cut Joseph runs past Simone in the break room, grabbing a boiled bread bun off the counter in his stride SIMONE: where are y- JOSEPH: Meeting! Important!

Exit Joseph, simones putting two and two together, he *remembers* the meeting he had planned

SIMONE {to himself}: wait, a meeting today? I had a

SLAM

Marco turns around from his desk, next to the open-plan break zone

MARCO: Hey uh, Cavalier Sir, did you just officially relinquish representative roles to Caleb? Because he is in the meeting

SLAM SLAM

CUT

-Simone's old office, now "Caleb"'s-

Bayrahn is lounging in his newly assigned luxury desk chair, as he has no real work to do

Door flings open, in marches Simone, trying to maintain composure against his ragged temperament, breathing heavily

JOSEPH: Ah, Simone! You're not a knocker i take it?

Simone doesn’t even look at Joseph

SIMONE: I dont need formalities to enter my own fucking office

The door locks behind him

His hair is a mess, his reading glasses are on, he hasn't tidied himself since breaking out of the office earlier in the day, his tie is on again though, albeit crumpled

Joseph expects him to stop in front of the desk, he doesn't

SIMONE: I’ve… left something of mine in the office in the hurried move-out

JOSEPH: And that is? SIMONE walks to a sizable brass-trimmed placard, with two swords displayed. He goes to reach either side of the frame, then quickly readjusts his hands to grab one of the swords out instead, slashing it through the air into aiming infront of Joseph’s neck

SIMONE: MY FUCKING RIGHT TO LEAD! JOSEPH has to feign ineptitude for a few seconds JOSEPH: !!!

Simone’s voice darkens with every word

SIMONE: GET. OUT. OF. MY. CHAIR. Joseph kicks his chair backwards with both feet against the desk, jumps out of it onto the desk and kicks the sword upwards in a few fluid movements, dropping the act TEXT SPLASH:

SIMONE CAVALIER

VERDANT PARTY EX-LEADER

[CIRCUMSTANCES:RASH]

JOSEPH lunges over to the wall to grab the accompanying sword off the plaque with his right hand Simone looks upwards, humoured by the change in stance, meeting his usurpers eyes while he’s busy inspecting the surprisingly more-than-decorative blade

SIMONE: YOU EVER HELD ONE OF THOSE BEFORE, CALEB? FENCING CLASSES?

Joseph bats Simone’s blade out of his general direction with a smooth flick, around his wrist, “Clang”

JOSEPH: At some point, yes.

Simone’s not happy, he pulls back for a lunge with a good “EEYAAH”

cLANG Joseph’s holding his sword upright, one fist braced against the blade, stopping the force

CLANG! cLANG!

An attempted slap left, a failed slash right, Joseph hasn’t actually done anything yet, he decides to hop off the desk, juggling his sword into his left hand, while doing so

JOSEPH: you know, i'm not actually right handed

simone comes through loud

SIMONE: FUCK YOU!

JOSEPH: I hope you soundproofed this office SIMONE: MY OFFICE IS JURIC RATING EFF DASH FIVE ON SOUND DAMPENING, NOBODY HEARS ANYTHING.

Simone slashes forwards, Joseph dodges, Simone’s sword slashing the blinds, leaving them exposed to the corridor outside

Joseph: Soundproofing isnt gonna matter now

Simone throws his arm behind him to prep an overhead slash, during the execution of this he cuts the ceiling, sparking overhead wiring, the enthusiastic move is met by Joseph's calm blade

people are watching the destructive silence in the office, Joseph catches a glimpse of a consultant staring at him. he decides its time to take the offensive as he makes 2 flat-sided strikes against Simones sides, a stifled but still obvious move: Joseph had Won.

Simone, defeated, drops his sword and falls to his knees

HEADLINE SHOT: WEB-REEL "GUARANA GAZETTE"

CAVALIER'S QUARREL IN THE CAMPUS

Picture shows the resigned Simone on the floor of his office, Joseph is luckily out of frame

cut to a phonecall between Joseph on an earpiece and his unknown contractor, he's undoing his tie as he is leaving the building

JOSEPH: Right, I've stirred the waters, left a gap in the party and taken an early leave from the political scene, that enough?

?:Good, Good, I will transfer the payment ASAP and refer you to my benefactors for further debriefing

JOSEPH: Benefactors?

the call screams through the mangled data lane, an illegal transfer to an encrypted line, nearly incompatible with Josephs plainclothes hardware, a new voice, low and strangely accented above a sea of hissing

?!:Ve have zeen every step ov your process, ve are impressed by yoor flexibility in… zese zituashons. exzpect us in zee future, Late Majuer Bayrahn

JOSEPH: wh-

the line is in agony, packets of screaming due to it cutting off before a full reencode was possible, Joseph pulls his earpiece out

JOSEPH: Ooagh

-Instance: The Lindal (Annexed Sepulchre)-

Late in the Veralurite evening, the shadowed form of a 1-trak (Old motorbike equivalent, really useful during isolated territory conflicts years back, hence their prevalence now in surplus) scrapes to a halt, heavy, armoured green boots touch the ground in front of it, it is Joseph, wearing his second set as his primary Barren-Endurance armour is due for repair before his next official deployment, this green set is heavier, has fully plated arms and bulky shoulders, and a decal burnt mark down the left visor instead of a physical scar, the helmet is identical to his usual set, just dark green instead of grey, Bayrahn’s gear includes the Freebarrel and a rare choice: a BELT blade (it's basically a chainsword), the slitted beams of light from the 1-trak illuminate the mossy rocks ahead, Bayrahn goes towards higher ground shortly after a quick glance around

Hard cut, Bayrahn is clambering up a rockface, once on top, the camera reveals a boulder blocking an otherwise clear mountainside

JOSEPH: Of course.

Joseph braces hard against the floor, locking ankle motors in the process at the side of the boulder, highclocking his arms, he tries to roll this rock out the way, after some straining from him and his equipment, it budges, he quickly holds the boulder before it rocks back, flitting into the cave within, he mutters to himself again

JOSEPH: So the curse wasn’t on the seal…

Sweep to interior of cave system, there are some things scattered by the entrance, including an oddity: a U4GB dedicated commheld, old tech, but makes sense considering it was used round about the time of the D-I conflicts, the cave went downwards immediately after the entrance, Joseph had to slide down a steep path to traverse further, the expansive system is easily summaried by a few walkpast shots of joseph looking around, waving his wristlight

The atmosphere takes a turn for the dire, a wind can be heard as joseph approaches the end of the pathways

One final room, piled with strange spoils, a modest throne made entirely of irdenshingle, shining sheer against his light

Cobwebbed, and dusty, but no spiders or other animals to be seen

Bayrahn’s light finally drifts to the seat of the throne

Dustcoated, heavy armour, Firewaltz mark 3-S (Survival grade, the densest of the last prestige platings made by Firewaltz, the long defunct manufacturer), the only piece not caked in grey was the visor, which shone silver and opaque, strangely, a fire can be heard burning, muffled, Joseph whispers to himself to break the odd calm

JOSEPH: This has to be him.

Joseph picks his voice up a bit

JOSEPH: The Armour of The Last Heir, fastener of Irden Clasp, is now mine.

Something rattles, the burning becomes louder

Dust puffs off of the antique armour, revealing a scuffed, dark purple hue underneath, the armour of Nirakren: The Last Heir to the Dredged keep, speaks. One word, amidst multiple, hazed voices:

NIRAKREN: W̵̸̡͝Ḩ҉O̴̡͡͠O̶͠O̢

Joseph panics, readying his sidearm, he puts on a bold voice

JOSEPH: I Am Commander Joseph Bayrahn, and you are supposed to be dead, aren’t you?

NIRAKREN: I…

I HAVE DIED, YES THEN I AWOKE ONCE MORE, LATER I FELT MY FLESH DECOMPOSE AND BURN AWAY, BURN MUCH LIKE THE CAPITAL DID (a second voice says instead “MUCH LIKE THE KEEP DID”)

JOSEPH:... Can you move? A rumble is felt within the cave, a pause, the sound of the waving flame gets louder for a moment

NIRAKREN: I CANNOT JOSEPH: hmm. Wait, are your motors locked out? NIRAKREN: ...Potentially

JOSEPH: Hang on, I can jump the kinetic stores with my set

Joseph pulls a cable from his wrist, and slaps it onto the undead’s elbow, a tiny spark is heard, he holds it there for a few seconds before detaching it. Nirakren moves his head slightly, to exercise his gained movement

NIRAKEN: I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO MOVE IN. A LOOONG TIME

JOSEPH: Wait. How do you remember dieing? An argument between himself, Nirakren is talking over himself until reaching a jibbering conclusion, his voices however are becoming more focused

NIRAKREN: I-I FELL TO… IT WAS HORRIFYING Note: NIRAKREN1 And NIRAKREN2 are simultaneous lines

NIRAKREN1:A PREEXISTING HEART CONDITION, ONCE I LEARNED I HAD NOT LONG LEFT I RETREATED TO THIS CAVE TO DIE

NIRAKREN2: N-NOOONONOMMMYGOODARMNOTNOWNOTWHILEIMSOCLOSELETMEGOOOOOOOO

The armour finally moves, clutching its left arm with its right, falling to the floor infront of the throne, the screaming of the second voice was almost guttural towards the end

JOSEPH:..You Are Nirakren, right? The armour raises its head

NIRAKREN1: YES, I AM THE LAST HEIR TO THE DREDGED KEEP, NONE MORE WORTHY.

NIRAKREN2: NO, I AM NO LONGER WORTHY OF A NAME, I AM THE BROKEN!

Nirakren readies himself, forcing both his hands down, before bringing them to his helmet, unclasping it Beneath, the only visible remains of the Last Heir, His cleaned skull and spine, which is lined with a black fire, emanating from the base of his neck, billowing out of the neckguard and resting below the skull and jaw

NIRAKREN2: WITNESS MY HORRIFYING VISAGE, DISFIGURED AND WRETCHED!

NIRAKREN1: BOO!

JOSEPH: Theres… not much left to look at

The voices unify

NIRAKREN: OH

JOSEPH: So, since I’m getting you out of this dank cave, can I trust you’ll help me? NIRAKREN: HELP? WHAT… KIND OF HELP JOSEPH: Oh, nothing you're a stranger to, mainly uh, tactical ballistics relocation and asset disposal

NIRAKREN: SURE, I JUST NEED SOMETHING ONCE WE GET THERE.

-HARD CUT HARD CUT-

-Sykratek Base, Exterior (West Capital Hangar Yards)-

Dr LUANN TRAVISS is walking towards the front door, she is wearing her old northern plating in white and medical corps red in a X pattern across the chest, starting at the shoulders (supposedly COMPLETELY DIFFERENT to TCA Agent red despite them both looking rather similar in many lights) (flat front, complicated backs) plus some heavier NAOS pauldrons, normal AJA forearm features, (nothing fancy, blocky arms,) no gloves, no helmet on this occasion, and ditched full leg plating in favour of grey jeans and the original detached NAOS armour kneepads paired with basic black canvas shoes, she has a red hairband keeping her modestly beige, thin hair in check, a scuffed, bloated black duffel bag is clinging to her via a strap around her chest, nestled tightly to the plating gaps in her backplate, a slightly wonky “MED” patch is affixed to the side. she knocks twice on the door and slaps a TACPAD on her right forearm, sighing, before starting in her rehearsed, pointed voice

LUANN: I’m here for the checkup, Joseph Joseph is mid argument, comm rattles with old dust and burnt shrillness JOSEPH: What do you mean BLOOD we can’’- OH! Hey, Lu, make your way to the Hub I actually need you for this dispute

-cut, door FWOOSH-

Joseph is out of his armour, in his normal garb, long green coat etc, arguing with the heavy, purple armour of Nirakren, which is in a metal/foam cushion armchair, Ryle is also in the room, his blonde hair flicked upwards, but still stagnant with old product, as evident in his bizarrely tufted sideburns, slouching around in his tactfully chosen loungewear, straight up khaki dressing gown etc, drinking a cup of tea at the raised shiny metal table, leaning firmly on it, he gives a quick wave to Luann and looks back to the spectacle between his commander and the warlord, Luann is somewhat awkwardly standing to the side, waiting for someone else to notice her

JOSEPH: I’m NOT supplying you with 5 quarts of human blood! Nirakren echoes through the room, Luann freezes slightly

NIRAKREN: I’M FEELING SOMEWHAT WEAK, I NEED A PICK ME UP

JOSEPH: YOU’RE NOT A-

LUANN: Hey, uh…

Joseph snaps to, thwacking his heels together

JOSEPH: Oh, there you are, can you tip the helmet and check this guy out? He thinks he needs blood

LUANN: What now? Why didn’t you just say this over the comm? JOSEPH: Easier to show rather than tell

Luann edges closer, towards the armour in the chair, Nirakren’s helm twitches to face her, she jumps a bit again

NIRAKREN: COME HERE OFTEN?

Luann panics, tipping the helmet quickly and stepping back, revealing the macabre form as the helm thunks onto the floor.

Ryle, in the back, spits some of his drink out back into his cup slowly, and leans further forward, interest found through a new, focused posture

Luann’s eyes widen,

NIRAKREN: WHATS WRONG? AM I THAT REVOLTING? LUANN: JOSEPH. EXPLAIN.

he looks away from Luann, rubbing his chin

JOSEPH: May or may not be the undead skeleton of the Last Heir

LUANN: You WHAT, Oh for fucks-

Luann flips the bag on her back round to her front and throws it open, rummaging, she shouts, muffled, with her head deep in the bag

LUANN: BLOODTYPE? JOSEPH: well, uhhh NIRAKREN: ANY

She emerges, hair flicked forward, with a small red polymer bag, and smashes it against his skull like a water balloon. It rests for a second but then it is all drawn into the bone, water seeping into soil, her hand, stained in red and resting just above his skull, trembles

LUANN: ...What the fuck?

NIRAKREN: THANK YOU… GOT ANY MORE?

LUANN: That wasn’t supposed to work, I was trying to prove you wrong

JOSEPH: Fucks sake, don’t tell me he actually

Luann flicks her hair back, tone of voice darkening

LUANN: Absorbed the stuff? Yeah.

They are both staring at Nirakren’s skull, slightly bent over, he forces his left hand into a fist and slams down on the armrest

NIRAKREN: STOP STARING YOU TWO! FETCH ME SOME RED Luann snaps back. Wiping her hand on her shoulderplate, red on white

LUANN: GET IT YOURSELF, I’M ONLY OBLIGATED TO TREAT LIVE PATIENTS!

Instance: The Agreement

-Syk Base, Slow Sevday Afternoon-

FADE IN

JOSEPH:... So did we actually get paid for the security consult job from Oza? It's been nearly a week

Null Shrugs, Ryle gives an open hand, he is wearing khaki shorts, grey/white slippers, a white on black MADRIGAL TRAGEDY shirt, with a dark brown dressing gown over it all.

RYLE: Well, if we got any spare time we could rock up and shoot some dud charges at their windows

JOSEPH: Bad plan, but I like the sentiment, we really do need to start chasing up outstanding payments before we get fucked over

A sharp bang is heard against the outer door, followed by a volley of knocks and a blunter kick

JOSEPH :Who the Fuck?

The knocking continues, harder, Joseph shouts

JOSEPH: WE HAVE A COMM

A voice pierces the speaker, accent adjacent to an Australian woman

B: OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR THEN

Joseph's voice darkens

JOSEPH:I recognise that voice

RYLE: who?

B: A Favor! Thats what I am!

Cut to open front bulk, the bounty hunter with heavy pack in tow walking in

JOSEPH: you could've called before, Barbara

She grabs his collar with a fast hand, his eyebrows raising a little towards Barbara Staubschlampe: Eccentric Bounty Hunter

Plated hat, opaque black goggles, blond hair, modified DIOS (read: illegal?) light security plating over shirt and under a fishing vest, shorts, you know the deal

BABS: dontyoufuckingbarbarame

She feels the intimidation was sufficient enough, and drops him rather abruptly, he lands on his feet and fixes his posture

JOSEPH: This is no way to greet your hosts

BABS: I don't have to suck up to anyone of ya, you owe me and I'm redeeming your (you)

She flicks up a set of brackets using her partially gloved fingers

JOSEPH: you're trading saving my life one time in a shit hole East of Liliske for a chance to cause a ruckus in my home? She frowns, her eyes hidden behind the deep tinted set of goggles

BABS: No, cunt. I've got you a job

She approaches the table and throws her backpack onto it with great force, then retrieves a rolled Lightmap out of it

Null is first to approach the table after Barbara, tapping the shiny black tarp, it flashes to life against Barbara's dark goggle and Null's gold visor, Barbara reacts with a toothy grin

BABS: glad to see someone's already on board

Null makes a move to a counter behind them, looking for something to write on, they find their paper pad

`where?`

BABS: I was going to get to that

Barbara performs a gesture on the tarp, two extended fingers, knuckles facing it, a map is teased out of the displayed void into a bowl of blue light

BABS: Vorx' Basin. Been a while since ive had to work here.

JOSEPH: And just what is here now?

BABS: Lab.

She flicks her arm out into a flamboyant point against the map, An azure, cuboid structure is highlighted in the display, under strained blue foliage

BABS: went dahk a month or two back, crazy scientist kind of ordeal, you know the drill JOSEPH: How many crazy scientists do you get hired to clean up?

RYLE: Wait, how many crazy scientists are we not- Barbara snaps her fingers in front of Ryle’s face, she is looking at the corridor BABS: zippit, i hear something weird

Bulked footsteps are heard nearby, enter Nirakren, helm pointing down

Barbara braces for her gun and aims the mangled two-set bastard rifle right at him with one hand, unaware of his existence prior, he stops but does not react any further BABS: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?

Joseph panics a little, shaking his hands in a dismissive manner, nirakren shakily cricks his neck up in surprise JOSEPH: Do NOT shoot him he’s… strategically valuable

BABS: You’re subhiring already?

she gestures with the gun

Nirakren rattles out a confirmation through the antiquated helmet, bringing a fist to his chest

NIRAKREN: SOMETHING LIKE. THAT BABS: Fuck me you’re sounding a little coarse! You know what, I ain't got time for lore, just wake your other Lance-tech up and get some armour on already

JOSEPH: I think he's down with something

ryle shouts vital intel into the fray

Ryle: a Cold!

BABS: EUGH! riught. everyone fit and well line up in gear in 5 minutes

Bayrahn flits off quickly, coat swiping the doorframe, Ryle rolls his neck and grumbles away in the opposite direction

she looks at niraken, then glances over at Null, null makes visor contact, an inquisitive helm tilt, replied by another shining grin from the bounty hunter

BABS: I like you two already

-Vorx' Basin- [train of thought draft]

crunching foliage and cycling armour motors, Barbara leading the team with Joseph next to her

BABS: So uh, why's Purple no got any gear?

Joseph: Long Story, he's new

BABS: Sounded pretty old, gear looks antique and high-spec

Joseph: new to us, he uh, lost some of his equipment prior to this placement

Niraken hears them down in the pack

NIRAKREN: I KNOW WHERE MY BLADE MIGHT BE, COMMANDER, I JUST NEED SOME FREE TIME TO ORGANISE A "REQUISITION OPERATION", AS FOR MY RIFLE: UHHHHHH…

BABS: We could've done with something sha’ap right now if i'm gonna be bare with you, reddy foliages' getting rough against my knees

JOSEPH: well maybe if you weren't wearing those shorts-

She takes immediate offence

BABS: WELL MAYBE IF CURRENT EXPONENTIAL TRENDS IN WEAPONRY AND REACTIONARY MERC PPE DIDN'T REQUIRE WALKING BABYTANKS JUST TO TAKE A FEW ROUNDS YOUD BE WEARIN-

Ryle yelps from the left, formation is visible as a front row of Ryle, Barbara and Joseph, ryle’s kitted in his somewhat motocross-like mix-matched armour, upper plating painted in green. Joseph fixed up from basically scraps he found at a specialist mechanist’s, as it was supposed to be a temporary set of armour he received upon employment, but it’s just been constantly maintained once Ryle learnt about motor tuning and deep-frame, other details include gold visor, large green shoulder plate on left shoulder and silver backplating on left arm, as opposed to the black underplating the rest of the armour employs underneath the green top layer, a sniper rifle, different to josephs rests on his back and a compact smg-like is strapped to his right thigh. a clamshell SMAC is mounted on the left forearm

RYLE: Eya! aren't we supposed to be quietly infiltrating this lab?

BABS: we ain't supposed to be doing anything besides knock Ol' Doc Roscoe off, it's my op, I decide the volume we go at

a pause, pursued by a bulky shuffle: Nirakren raises his hand

NIRAKREN: YOU KNOW, BAYRAHN, YOU DIDN'T ACTUALLY ASSIGN ME ANY G-

this completely slipped Josephs mind, he hadn't intended to bring nirakren out for a job for another week, this caught him off guard but nonetheless his coverup was swift and calm

JOSEPH: You have hands. you could've grabbed a backup sortie kit from the racks

NIRAKREN: …WHAT IS A "SAW-TEE"?

a sigh

JOSEPH: Nevermind, you've still got hands backed by heavily padded and plated gauntlets, anyone comes by just start busting heads

NIRAKREN: CRUSHING SKULLS.

JOSEPH: close enough

the foliage slowly reaches an unnatural wall, bound tidily in vines, ryle pauses at the obscured flat face of the lab

RYLE: so uh, what did this Roscoe guy do again?

BABS: Broke over a dozen international Research Pursuit treaties and Ethics Council pacts, at least thats what my lead said

RYLE: and for the layman?

JOSEPH: means his activities are beyond illegal

RYLE: cool.

Joseph starts a new conversation immediately

JOSEPH:Hey Ryle, open your SMAC up, try and see if the door's on the air

ryle throws his attention towards his wrist, flicking a clamshell display up in the process with a rigid jerk of his forearm, he starts bashing away at flecks of bright yellow on his screen to no avail, slamming his fist against his forearm

RYLE: There's no fuckin door here!

BABS: Fucking Painted Dogshit "theres no door here"! this is the entrance to the lab! how else is the cunt supposed to even get into this place-

Barbara smacks the wall angrily with the flat of her palm

BABS: if there's no door-

metal grinding from a muffled proximity, vines move and start to make way for the opening door ahead, into a Bulklock, Barbara tilts her head inquisitively

BABS: Hello!

JOSEPH: Do you actually need us, Barbie?

BABS: Dunno. It did just take, what, 5 of us to open the front door?

-Vorx’ Station Labs, opening corridors-

Second (or was it third?) right off of the main hallway after the lock, into a grey on white unspecified preplab, empty, disused, and not to mention: empty. Tidily ransacked, there are some scratches on the lower cupboard doors and floor, but otherwise it's somewhat clean. An old-style neodymium belt audio tack is on one of the worktops, barbara swoops in to inspect, checking first that someone has her back, its Ryle this time

The battered audio tack spills a monologue out into the empty auxiliary lab. A strained, deep voice

: COPPERSHELL ASPECT. MY LIFES WORK. FINALLY IM CLOSE TO UNDOING THE MISTAKES OF VEN-FORD'S BASTARD SIEGE DIRECTIVE 30 YEARS AGO, HE WAS FAR TOO… OVER AMBITIOUS, GIVEN HIS RESOURCES BUT THIS WILL BE DIFFERENT! FO-CUSED! RE-FINED! MINE!

The tack spools out to a stop, Niraken shuffles around to the now-silent countertop, listening to the silence closely, surprised it stopped without a beep or click

NIRAKEN: VEN-FORD? DID I KNOW THAT GUY?

Ryle taps his SMAC again, his subrifle tucked under his armpit

RYLE: 0 results, Rattler

JOSEPH: So what are we dealing with: a schizophrenic academic or a coverup big enough to blank the Scane?

BABS: Who gives a shit i'm just opening any fuckin tacks i find to see if he says what room he lives in, i int here for a bedtime sto-

metal on metal scratching is heard from a distance, it is muffled but it is loud

Barbara, stopped immediately, readies her gun as her goggles dart around the room, not looking for what made it but for what carried it: vents. She sidles up next to ryle to whisper a request

BABS: psst, Green, can you see where 'is vent goes?

a quick glance at a glaring yellow screen on his wrist, Ryle has obtained a more detailed internal layout

RYLE: Break room, next floor down

BABS: cheersman

JOSEPH: I suggest we find some stairs then

cut

Further down, into the compounds first lower floor, Null is tapping their crowbar against the metal wall they are walking beside, Joseph grabs near the end of the crowbar from behind

JOSEPH: tone down the playful motions, we're hearing out for noise

Null lets out a severely masked exhale, then stops and bats the wall full force in response, proceeds to catch up with the team, having stowed their crowbar for now

the team approaches a bulk at the end of a corridor, adjacent to the break room, dark grey compared to the facilities silver/white

RYLE: THIS ISN'T ON THE MAP

Joseph overlooks Ryles shoulder, checking the holo-embossed SMAC, even though he wouldn't be able to understand much of the modern UI

JOSEPH: Get us in

barbara pushes in, wedging herself between the two somehow

BABS: Now

Ryle descends to a crouch to focus on the hack, nirakren notices in a rather jolly exclamation

NIRAKREN: SECRET DOOR!

JOSEPH: unmarked on schematics must mean this is where his work starts

ryle mumbles angrily at his task

RYLE: who the fuck uses DASHA encryption nowadays what the shit

rustling and crashing is heard from break room

JOSEPH: cut me a sec.

Joseph goes to check, Null follows

Just outside the range of Joseph’s helmlights a messy, 4 legged form (1) scrambles across the room, back into a vent, joseph fires his freebarrel in panic, Null jumps, then proceeds to grab Joseph's arm harshly (note, very light plating on his arms, null almost crushed his arm)

bang, scared it off

same time, door's open

BABS: the fuck were you firin at?

joseph shouts from the breakroom

JOSEPH: Uh… This labs got rats, thats all!

RYLE: rats, huh?

JOSEPH (LOW) :(atleastihopeitwasarat)

-Vorx' Basin Heavy Lab-

large glass tubes of viscous, translucent liquids of various colours, backlit in a way so that they bloom against the surrounding metal, greens, yellows, reds, all glowing soft through the Heavy Lab

another Magspool tack is found on a terminal of unknown functionality , Null swipes it

second tack:

Protein recycling has been going… semi-successfully, the majority of stock have accepted the new method, but the invigilator… needs more time to adjust to the new diet. supplementary hydroponics have returned a mediocre yield this cycle, perhaps a more potent enrichment is required in the soil,

Click

Ryle, slowly wandering around, steps in a puddle of clear red liquid, he stops to examine the contaminated tread of his boots

RYLE: ahh shit. it's like someone was throwing glun-

rattling is heard from another room, his helmet flicks up in query, interrupting his vacant mentions of neoculture, Barbara moves to investigate, holding a finger to her mouth in hush as she splinters off into another room

machinery and racking line the walls, some form of small scale fabrication complex, a pressure forge hums in the background, Barbara's flashlight, currently mechtaped to her rifle, sweeps around, chasing dust in the air

Something (2) scrambles off the machinery overhead, and pounces onto Barbara

BABS: UAHSHITCUNTFUCK

Barbara takes the pounce back into a full, disorientating backwards roll, instinctively bashing away at the face until realising it actually kind of hurt to punch the metal form that was attacking her, repositioning ontop of it, she readies her rifle and lodges it into the jaw, firing a round off into its biting mouth. its body tenses, then goes limp

a pause

BABS: right

what the fuck am I looking at here

the group reconvenes around the corpse, there are large, ragged gaps in the metal where red raw flesh can be observed, lost scales, perhaps

JOSEPH: Steel-Alloy plating, but don't ask me whats under it

BABS: Thanks, Grand Inspector

she shoves her gun into Josephs arms to hold, then kneels down to poke the dead thing in the head

BABS: its only got a mouth, no nose or anything JOSEPH: How does it- BABS: probably through a partial sinus in the soft palate, still only see one opening on this things body though; and yeah-

she stops to sniff the air near the body, wincing after the fact

BABS: fuckin reeks!

she slaps the carapace and laughs while pushing herself back up from the crouch

JOSEPH: is that what the doctor was working on?

BABS: maybe? looks too raggedy to be showpiece

Nirakren gets antsy, shaking slightly, tapping one of his boots against the floor

NIRAKREN: I MUST KEEP MOVING, IT SMELLS… FAMILIAR. ITS DISTRACTING ME TOO MUCH

BABS: what?

JOSEPH: Just ignore him sometimes he's uh, a particular case

Joseph moves in to whisper to Nirakren, helm speaker off, muffled, raw speech

JOSEPH: You don't have a fucking nose how can you smell something

Nirakren jolts, feeling the front of his own helmet desperately

Ryle spots a more familiar piece of tech, a keyboard with all the letters on it under a thinpane screen

RYLE: I'll hop on this terminal, see if there's any "project overview" kinda things

Ryle spends a minute adjusting the chair to accommodate the bulk of his armour in silence after sitting down

[write hacking bit here]

A desk slam

RYLE:SHIT! the fuckin, you know, [moves his gloved right index finger in a circular motion, thinking] messy encryption ruined the files, all i can pull up are partial extractions, basically useless

BABS: tch, just show it anyway, nerd

[ROOM FILLS WITH RED: PARTIAL IMAGES OF COPPERSHELL ASPECT, CORRUPTED AND FRACTURED, PRIMARY IMAGE IS A CORRUPTED SKELETAL STRUCTURE]

NIRAKREN BARGES ONTO THE DESK, PUSHING RYLES CHAIR TO THE RIGHT, POINTING AT THE SCREEN AND LOOKING BACK AT THE REST OF THE TEAM

NIRAKREN: IS THAT A DOG?

Null flicks out their paper pad from their back and starts sketching, trying to fill the gaps in the image, gets frustrated and crumples the page, very tidily writing "no clue" on the next page and flipping it around

RYLE: it aint a big rat thats for sure

JOSEPH: ahem

BABS: How longs the waistwit Roscoe been working on that then?

a pause

she kicks the back of ryles chair

BABS: DATES!

RYLE: FUCK! um hang on- bout 8 months?

BABS: fuckin Gretchen and Deandra! he made those in 8 months?

RYLE: DRB plaintext logs say they aren't even done, something about a "Perfection Regime"

BABS: and that's it!?

RYLE: Yeup

Ryle gets up from the chair awkwardly, banging his kneepads against the desk on the way up

JOSEPH: there's gotta be something else in here, that terminal can't be everything on record

Joseph spots a tack near a fridge in the terminal lab while-

JOSEPH: Aha! Another tack, the doctor is fond of his memos

third spool:

The versatility of this genome is astounding.

I fear even I will be unable to take the Coppershell schematic to its final conclusion.

Running low on bronze alloy, next plating will have to be a heightened steel alloy, save remaining high-grade for exceptional specimens

… Flaying mechanism needs sharpening, lost one to a snag during the process yester- [grumbling] tw- [audible tapping of a metal surface]. Last Cycle

Click

RYLE: Flaying?

JOSEPH: Skinning.

the wide-visored green helmet tilts, a correction in tone.

RYLE:oh.

NIRAKREN1: I HEAR SOME MOVEMENT

NIRAKREN2: I HEAR IRON, NO, FLESH!

a long, indescribable scream is heard

3 (3,4,5) specimens of varying condition chase the group through the lab, with a 4th (6) waiting to ambush, all get rightfully disposed of. Barbara hurries back into the dead crowd to pick up the nicest looking metal carapace to drag home

the gang runs into the elevated catwalk level of a large, L shaped ready-room

from the far other side of the room, a gravelly, strained voice echoes, the clattering of various boots, metal and refined jackleather, against the catwalk, stops

ROSCOE: I HEARD YOU MAKE YOUR WAY IN HERE, IT WAS DEFINITELY LOUD ENOUGH, THERE’S NO USE SNEAKING AROUND

Barbara barks back, rattling the side of a catwalk with one of her hands, the other dragging the dead coppershell

BABS: YOU’RE BLACKLINED YOU KNOW THAT ROSCOE? THAT MEANS WANTED DEAD OR DEAD!!

Dr Roscoe: Crazed "Visionary" comes into view

leaning back on an ex-deskchair, now throne (stem snapped, stacked on repurposed shelving, swivel screens for working on pushed out of the way, some ash is present nearby)

tattered labcoat, scratched and slightly bloodstained (HAZARD SPEC: black/yellow diagonal striping) Security Plate

Roscoe jumps upon seeing them and throws his arm forwards, gesturing his gun towards the group, minimalist PDW, p90-like, his voice wavering.

ROSCOE: WHO ARE YOU, TO COME INTO MY PLACE OF WORK AN-

Barbara tosses the glittering carcass she was dragging behind her onto the walkway, it is met with two clangs

Roscoes voice shatters even further

DR ROSCOE: HOWWW?!

he contorts his incomplete set of fingers into an inward expression of rage, comparable to claws shaking near his exhausted and stained face

BABS: NEXT TIME DON'T MAKE THEIR MOUTHS SO BLOODY BIG

Roscoe throws his hands down, then points his mangled right hand towards Barbara

DR ROSCOE: WHO SENT THIS BITCH IN TO SABOTAGE MY WORK? IT WASN'T HEP HEAVY WAS IT?

Joseph steps in closer

JOSEPH: uehhhh, Research Ethics Consortium, right? anyway she's got a warrant that'll say who

Barbara is seen behind Joseph, posing with a crumpled piece of paperwork

ROSCOE: OH? WELL I WOULD LIKE TO SEE THE CONSORTIUM TRY IF THIS IS THE BEST THEY COULD SEND

Roscoe makes a loud, but still shaky call, roughly an "EYAH!", one coppershell (7), 4 toed, actually copper coloured this time, gets up from next to his chair, leaping straight at Ryle, he catches the maw in his plated left forearm

DR ROSCOE

HEAD RESEARCHER: VORX HEAVY LABS

[CIRCUMSTANCES:EXPECTED]

RYLE: UAH WHAT ARE THESE THINGS!? He starts to punch it with his other hand, loud clanging noises as metal hits metal

Joseph makes a huge conclusion jump after looking around hurriedly, tapping the side of his helmet before stamping his foot and pointing at Roscoe in accusation JOSEPH: HUMAN, THEY'RE HUMAN!

Barbara turns her head away from the situation between Ryle and the actually copper coppershell, looking at the dead steel coppershell before finally landing her gaze at Joseph

BABS: what?! ROSCOE: PAH! TO THE SMOOTH-BRAINED, SURE! THOSE GENES WERE MERELY A STARTING POINT FOR MANUAL RETRANSCRIPTION

JOSEPH: FOR WHAT?

Roscoe grumbles, shaking his head

Ryle manages to pry the coppershell(7) off his arm, now wet and scratched, and kicks it square in the metal set of extra teeth, landing on the floor, Roscoe is livid

ROSCOE: HEY YOULEAVETHATALONE

Roscoe growls, then makes more quick, nonverbal calls: "SKUA!" and "CHIAT"

two more coppershells appear (8/9), climbing up from beneath the walkway, one(8) charges for Nirakren, he catches both its jaws in each of his hands, and takes it offscreen near his legs, a loud snap is heard, followed by a clang, dropped. Niraken poses triumphantly, flexing one of his long-gone biceps under his armour

NIRAKREN: HAAAH!

Roscoe’s voice breaks under the stress of seeing his creations ruined one after the other

ROSCOE: WHAT the FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

NIRAKREN: I'LL SEND YOU THE LIST

Roscoe starts firing without warning, a wild spray, Barbara ducks and rolls forwards, being the only one immediately at risk of low-circ rounds, with this new closed distance she takes a shot at Roscoe, although not aimed

BABS: GRRRUAH!

ideally this lucky crack would've hit his face, but breaking the right shoulder clasp on his plating was good enough

punched back and weary, Roscoe fires again in answer, his reeling arm pointing the gun upwards only 5 rounds make it out before a loud click is heard

ROSCOE: FFFFFUCK!

Barbara, still kneeling, feels something grab her ankle, the previously kicked coppershell (7) is gnawing at her boot, she ends up screaming just a bit, her hat, loose from the roll, slips off

roscoe flings the empty mag onto the catwalk and grumbles, not noticing what’s happening

JOSEPH: BARBARA!

Joseph fires a shot at the coppershell, it glances off, ricocheting into the ceiling, the 3rd coppershell (9), currently being ignored, jumps for Joseph, he is panicked

JOSEPH: GWUAAH

in a twitchy reaction he shoots it twice, once on the keel plating and once in the mouth.

Null ends up being the one to save Barbara, bashing the coppershell’s(7) plated skull in with the crowbar Barbara is panting, leaning on one of her hands

BABS: and don’t you fucking call me that!

Null offers a gauntlet, Barbara grabs it firmly for a pull-up, after regaining her footing she faces Roscoe with gritted teeth and a middle finger, not breaking her stare while picking her hat back up. Ryle, taking advantage of the aggravation, tries to take a potshot with his rifle, but Roscoe ducks

ROSCOE: ENOUGH! I RAN OUT OF PATIENCE FOR THE LIKES OF YOU LONG AGO!

Roscoe flicks his coat open under his plate, and grabs something out of it, a flat charge, about the size of a young pizza, and tosses it towards the catwalk

ROSCOE: NOW-

an interruption, a Grenade is fired at the charge before it reaches its target, exploding in midair to catch the charge without the need of a direct hit, Null is getting cocky, seen moving slightly in place, an almost giddy kind of shuffle

the catwalk is torn into heavily, twisted alloy and red hot singe, Roscoe's face sustains part of the hit, a small piece of shrapnel hitting his forehead, crimson dripping down to his beard, he is dazed.

ROSCOE: DIIIIIIiiiie…

he drops to his knees, just in between the chair and the chasm in the catwalk, mangled rejects from his project are heard, restless, below

he softly cackles to himself

JOSEPH: It's over, Doctor.

RYLE: What is he laughing at?

the team is now bunched up at the new ledge, staring below

NIRAKREN: CAN WE KEEP ONE?

Joseph turns critically towards Nirakren. Null however, nods

Roscoe takes this pause. forcing himself onto his feet. making a desperate, swift movement, an attempt to leap the gap, he barely manages, and grabs Nirakren's chestplate and attempts to pull him into the Pit

NIRAKREN: BEGONE! OFF OF ME!

Nirakren is flailing and jostling, unable to shake the mad doctor off of his FW3-S

ROSCOE: REVENGE WILL MAKE GOOD ENRICHMENT FOR THEM

Nirakren's strange centre of gravity gives way, toppling down along with Roscoe.

although, due to Nirakren's condition, he's perfectly fine. Roscoe however, landed first, and is soon scavenged by the coppershells.

Nirakren can now be heard clearing out the pit at his own pace in the background

Ryle, watching Nirakren "work", gets fed up after a while, and backs away from the ledge

JOSEPH: Atleast they won't die too hungry

RYLE: So now what?

Barbara is loudly thinking

BARBARA: I wasn' satisfied by that. who's got the firecrackers?

Null raises a flat hand

BARBARA: How many

cut to a dark red room, lined with heavy cabling, large pillar in the centre of the cable mass, Ryle is solo down there

RYLE: This has to be the Isolated Core

he slaps a wireless sympathy charge onto it, one of the ones Null supplied, its flat, hexagonal with multiple aerials pointing up out of it

Ryle checks into the comm

RYLE: CORE SET!

JOSEPH: Keep it down! i'm trying to sync the one we put on the atmospheric subsystems up with the temporary chain, by the way: can you force that open to increase the oxygen concentration in here?

RYLE: uh, sure boss, on it. I'll meet everyone by that Anterior Preface wall

Barbara crackles in to the team's channel

BARBARA: ANTECEDENT PREFACE NOT FUCKIN ANTERIOR!

there is feedback due to her physical proximity to bayrahn mixed with her unofficial connection on an unsealed unit

Cut to the AP wall, Ryle has just hustled up to it in time, Barbara is in a broad, powerful stance, upon hearing Ryle she advises Null, who is doing some kind of warmup stretch:

BARBARA: GO!

Null stops preparing and gets into position. Hook kicking the wall, lined with 4 sympathy charges wired into a diamond formation, unflinching through the explosion timed to their boot. lights cut out. the wall gives, ground moves in the distance, the lab is collapsing internally below. Null leaps out, followed by the team, with Barbara last to leave, dragging the coppershell corpse through the breach, it snagging on the blast hole.

the lab is smouldering under the flora, it is now dusk in the basin, Barbara raises one arm, as her prize is too heavy to lift that high

BARBARA: WOO!

she then readjusts and lifts the carcass with both hands quick up to her face,

BARBARA: You're definitely the makings of a good luck charm

contemplating a kiss, then shakes her head and lowers the cold alloy-plated corpse again

JOSEPH: you done?

BARBARA: Just about. I should be getting paid once they see the smoke she faces Null and gets close, would've been questionably close if not for the thick plated helmet

BARBARA: Do you wanna ditch this broadcoat and do more sketchy work like this?

Null brings a hand to the chin of their helmet, stepping back, Joseph gets between them

JOSEPH: HEY! NO POACHING! THEY HAVE A CONTRACT YOU KNOW

BARBARA: I was joking! fuckin' Dee you get touchy dontcha

She jerks her head up at Null over Joseph's shoulder like she's aggressively winking, but her goggles obscure too much to tell, her sharp half-grin is obvious

JOSEPH: You're not very subtle you kn-

creaking and crumbling causes Joseph to turn, a heavy about-turn swivel. from the smoldering rubble-cragged breach, a form emerges, stained in Soot and Red

Nirakren, forcing himself through chunks of alloy and crete, he throws his voices through to the clearing

NIRAKEN: AHAHAHAHAAAA! MARVELLOUS!

RYLE: OH SHIT!

BARBARA: Oh yeah, I forgot about him, what is he, some kinda fuckin driveo?

JOSEPH: I didn't, i was just curious how long he'd take

NIRAKREN: SO WHOS UP FOR DRINKS? THOSE MODIFIED THINGS DIDN'T SEEM GOOD ENOUGH TO RISK TRYING!

BARBARA: absolutely a driveo. But YEAH IF YOURE BUYIN, CUNT

He gets closer

NIRAKREN: DO I LOOK LIKE I HAVE POCKETS? YOU SAID YOURE JUST GETTING PAID!

she takes Nirakren's default loud tone as escalation

BARBARA: I'LL HAVE YOU IN A MINUTE IF YOU KEEP THIS UP!

he meets escalation with escalation

NIRAKREN: YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY FACE ME, TOO SCRAWNY!

He poses

BARBARA: I'LL SHOW YOU WHO'S BOSS OF THIS BASIN, JUST TAKE THAT DUSTY OLD BUNKER RIG OF YOURS OFF AND WE'LL SETTLE THIS IN THE RING

NIRAKREN: FUCK YOU

(NIRAKREN 2: YEGJ PAE)

BARBARA: FUCK YOU

Null is watching this spat eagerly, shaking fists up and down in an encouraging manner, the arguing continues from an inaudible distance (I'll write the rest of the argument out later i swear)

RYLE: Should we tell her?

JOSEPH: Lets wait till we get somewhere comfortable first

RYLE: He can't even drink booze, can he?

Joseph adjusts himself to call something out

JOSEPH: BREAK IT UP YOU TWO, I'M CALLING US A FLIGHT!

Barbara and Nirakren, both hunched in aggressive stances, jolt up in attention

END

PREVIEWS/BRIEFINGS/HALF DRAFTS

UP NEXT:

THE DIAMOND

IN WHICH EXPENSIVE ITEMS CHANGE HANDS (FEATURING THE ORDER OF THE SEIZED GATE)

The Ochre Casque has been a testament to the glory of Veralure for centuries, but it is nothing without The Diamond it cradles. Originally a simple soldier's helm during the war of New Volition, it is sullied by small arms fire and burn marks, but The Diamond has been mounted where its quartz lamp would've been normally. The story of its discovery is unreliable, but the size of the gemstone means that it's worth, combined with its traditionally cheap vessel, has been seen as a symbol of prosperity and perseverance for the nation. Tonight: it will be a symbol of ours.

-Scholar Trent, Order of the Seized Gate

fade in

~Paztesh Museum of the Reliquaries, Roof~

Pitch dark night soaks the Liliske skyline, Joseph (armourless) and Null are seen on the rooftop of a museum, modernised historic architecture, green and purple spotlighting flecking the area. Null is dragging a glove across a tac screen, drawing over a synced copy of a layout map, a GEOSCHEM system

Ryle can be heard through a comm, whispershouting

RYLE: SUIT! stop doodling amphibians over my schematics like that!

Null changes to the on-screen keyboard vox, typing in "NO WAY" which is perceived by the multi-vocal render in a chilling, digital output over the comm

Their host checks in over a wider comm, affluent and efficient, under the crackly line:

TRENT: Gentlemen, I do hope your setup is complete. careful treading makes for a stable climb, but we may not be able to afford the entire night.

JOSEPH: We were just about to move in on a security access

Ryle comms in an objection

RYLE: But Boss there's like 7 cameras i have to manually br-

BLAKE: We're on it.

cuts to inside the museum, two contrasting nerds hiding around ornate corners: Ryle and Blake are both in semi-professional soft wear, with plating vests in respective dark green and dark blue, Ryle in a khaki anorak with an independent hood, and Blake in a high collar black rosehide jacket; furthermore, reduced gear has been assigned, only small arms from both of their usual loadouts have been brought.

RYLE: We?

BLAKE: well if you're just gonna complain I'll deal with some of the cameras

Blake sweeps underneath a camera, brandishing an engraved screwdriver flicked out of his sleeve, Ryle objects, clutching at the bulky keyboard cassette mounted to his left hip with his left hand

RYLE:IT'S NOT THAT EASY YOU KN-

he unlocks the swivel and points the camera straight up

RYLE: Fucker.

BLAKE: Think easy, not smart.

RYLE: I hope they don't pay the security here too much

Blake is already on the next camera

BLAKE: I hope Joseph doesn't pay YOU too much, c'mon! hack something!

RYLE: It's already hacked! almost! I just need to gain Operational Leverage onsite before I get to execute anything

BLAKE: What now?

RYLE: I need the big boy desk for something

GAP

RYLE: Wait, how does that Seized Gate guy know where we are?

Crackle in

TRENT: Just a simple OL procedure set in the daytime on the camera system, no manipulation however, only remote viewing, until you sabotaged most of the cameras, that is.

RYLE:Operatio-

whisperscream

RYLE: YOU HAD OPERATIONAL LEVERAGE ALREADY?!

TRENT: We must be savvy to all our available tools if we are to remain relevant

Ryle is grumbling, Joseph shushes him over the comm

JOSEPH: Your mics hot, by the way

RYLE: And why ain't you down here yet?

JOSEPH: You didn't listen earlier, I'm making my way in once the security is clear, doesn't make sense having six boots tapping around those loud marble floors yet

BLAKE: Four boots and a pair of loafers…

GAP

JOSEPH: Guard ahead, can see him through the skylight.

Ryle pats Blake on his abrasive shoulder

RYLE: Go, go! get his ass!

Blake runs up behind and slams the guard into the polished marble, tripping him over an arm held in front of him. his white cap crumpling on the floor

RYLE: What the fuck

BLAKE: You said take him out!

RYLE: Not fucking end him! Careful with their necks! they're practically civilians!

BLAKE: I recalled that procedure perfectly!

RYLE: From what? a Collodome match?!

Blake scowls

Joseph comms in again

JOSEPH: Less Shouting!

GAP

BLAKE: Wait, why are we sneaking around? We could've brought the nigh invulnerable bone guy

Joseph comms in

JOSEPH: He declined my offer, compared this job description to an unsavoury term and stayed in what's apparently now his chair

RYLE: I don't blame him!

BLAKE: You know, thinking about it,

Blake tilts down to hide a chuckle in his collar

BLAKE: If a guard saw him they'd think he was just part of some DI exhibit

Ryle laughs a little too

JOSEPH: Keep it down you two! find that backroom access!

Blake slides a tiny display out of his pocket and glances, head tilting at the numerous doodles of amphibians

BLAKE: Where was that? nobody pre-annotated this map besides Null

JOSEPH: Giftshop.

RYLE: Giftshop!

GAP

the door via the internal giftshop lead to a staff area: the expensive facade gave way to basic white paint corridors

The kitchen was deserted, save for a few stale muffins on the table

a security spike left plugged into a staff vending machine?

GAP

GAP

Beenp

the misplaced security spike worked

The security room was remarkably small for such a large building, basically a broom cupboard lined with screens and racks and a surprised guard, bald, standing up

GUARD: STOP RIGHT THER-

the guard is right hooked in the face by Ryle and then slammed headfirst against a server cabinet with his other hand, KO.

Ryle is still prepped in a boxing-like stance

Blake mocks his technique

BLAKE: Bit over the top, that rack corner could've cut his head open!

RYLE: now THAT is how you're supposed to do it! you're just nitpicking my impetuous style

Ryle is shaking his right hand loosely, slightly hurt

BLAKE: You know what that word means, right?

RYLE: Shut up! Yeah; it means I'm fucking good, just like how I'm fucking good at finding the workstation I'm getting Leverage from

Ryle looks to the end of the cupboard, and his expression drops from triumph to disappointment

BLAKE: ... You said a big boy desk?

RYLE: It'll give me OL just the same, just gotta-

oh fuck how did this guy work like this its so CRAMPED!

there are strange playing cards set up ontop of the keyboard, a nonstandard solitaire game, one of the cards has a handgun on it? Ryle sweeps them off the desk

HACKING, Blake has no idea what's going on but he is watching the screen intently all the same

RYLE: Good news, package executed, this place is cut off from everything, including itself (sorry, Trent, no more systems access)

crackle

TRENT: ... Understandable. You must accept the incoming GEOSCHEM patronage request.

a notification "Be-loop" is heard

JOSEPH: Bad News?

RYLE: I'm stuck in this fucking sec desk!

Focus on Joseph, hand to ear. Blake and Ryle straining, followed by wood snapping is heard through the comm, Joseph's face pulls some concern, looking to Null for something: a shaken helm and a shrug is all they could afford.

SIZABLE GAP

Joseph clears his throat down the comm channel

JOSEPH: Moving to Infiltrate

Joseph finally breaches the interior of the museum, rappelling down the skylight into the main hall using a tearline setup, ripping it off its hold right before he lands, causing a freefall in front of the two technicians, he gets up and dusts his knees off, coated in green light.

BLAKE: Show-off

JOSEPH: So, which way's that helm?

TRENT: CASQUE! Do not undermine the importance of your task at hand, Dealer.

JOSEPH: I have half a mind to just rip the Diamond from it and place it back on display, your pre-brief didn't say anything about the whole kit

Trent shows some desperation down the line, sighing

TRENT: I'll provide an extra incentive for the Casque intact

Joseph's eyes go wide for a moment

GAP

[more guard takedowns]

GAP

this is the only cutaway i swear

Null is getting bored on the roof, sitting on a ledge and kicking alloy heels against the old stone aggressively, decides to open a text channel to Scholar Trent via a tag-along protocol:

>So what do you people worship again?

We don't Worship anything exactly, we are merely dedicated to stemming the Void. ~Negatea Entropo~

>OK?

I assume you have read of cursebearers? we Retire those. ~Evicti Falsifa~

>Understood. but why The Diamond?

Our goals need Financing. ~Lucran Vitalis~

>Fair.

Blake comms through directly to Null

BLAKE: Psst, Null! I think we got the last Renta', time to cut glass!

GAP

Enter Null, via the walled statue garden, following a slide down the roof & wall, then carving a small hole in a glass door, using a sharpened gauntlet attachment of some description, to grab the inner latch, but smashes the pane anyway while taking their arm back out of it

The heavy HOPHETKAS boots of the mute can be heard slowly clacking towards the Glory suite

RYLE: How nice of you to join us, bored of spectating?

Null's stride seems to be aiming to brush past Ryle

a swift gut punch against Ryles vest, his hood jumps during his reaction

RYLE: Fucker!

Null's stride continues, before stopping at proper Halt infront of Joseph

Null takes a tiny paper pad out and writes a note to Joseph, placing it very gently in his hand, forcibly closing Joseph’s hand around it. surprised, he brings it up and reads:

don't Make me

run Tactical again

Joseph exhales through his teeth

JOSEPH: I'll try not to.

GAP

BLAKE: Wait, I've just realised we're just standing around right next to this priceless relic

(JOSEPH: it's not too priceless if we already got a buyer)

RYLE: There used to be an activity grid running through this hall, it’s gone now.

BLAKE: Oh. well I didn't know that

RYLE: You watched me turn it off!

Null hints towards simply blasting the casing open, pointing a finger directly at their treasured grenade launcher

Joseph stamps

JOSEPH: NO!

GAP

The awkward, dodecahedral glass case around the Casque isn't even independently pressure alarmed, Null and Ryle lift the glass silently from either side, Ryle gritting his teeth in brace. Joseph passively supervises, rubbing a clenched fist into his other palm in a covetous fashion, Blake taking the reins:

BLAKE: eeeeasy now, easy! Ryleslowdown!

Joseph ducks under the glass to grab the casque before its lifted fully and flits back out with the artifact in hand

JOSEPH: Ok. that's enough, drop the glass.

Null turns their helmet to Joseph and lets go without hesitation, leaving Ryle to stumble on the full weight, dropping the casing askew against its frame and careening into the hard floor. glass breaks. during this incident, Ryle tips back trying to balance the weight of the casing before the drop and his hood falls down, it stays down for the remainder of the operation

He doesn't say anything after it drops

JOSEPH: Careful now.

Ryle faces Null

RYLE: You could've warned m- Oh, wait nevermind. Fuck.

Null shrugs before looking down and picking a shard of glass up out of a wedge gap in their kneeplate, throwing it behind them

Joseph is staring at the Ochre Casque in his hand, holding it by the brim

JOSEPH: This was smooth. I mean it.

BLAKE: I grew up hearing legends about that thing in history class y'know

JOSEPH: I think its safe to say we all did Ryle flicks a thumb back to point at Null

RYLE: That suit went to school?

a raised, clenched fist from Null, visor locked onto Ryle

GAP

Ryle is in the background of the shot, fucking around with various "do not touch" displays, instigates a sparring session with Null using an antique sword, against their crowbar

Blake is getting nervous as the silence creeps in

BLAKE: Now we just wait for our ride, right?

Ryle slashes downwards onto Null's crowbar in the background

clang.

a purple light pulses through the foyer

A siren blares, off-beat to the newfound action, an awkward, but attention-grabbing tone

the sword falls

JOSEPH: RYLE!

RYLE: I DEACTIVATED EVERYTHING

JOSEPH: ON WHICH END?!

RYLE: BOTH! ALL! FUCK!

BLAKE: Let's just get outta here!

cut to hallway

Trent comms in

TRENT: THIS IS NOT THE IDEAL...

heavy typing is heard, metallic clacking, pneumatic door opening, loud wind whistling

TRENT: REARRANGING EXFILTRATION: ROOF!

JOSEPH: We'll make our way up when it arrives, it's too exposed to just wait up there

Trent's voice is obscured by engines firing up

TRENT: UNDER-STOOD!

BLAKE: Is he catching a fucking wing?

GAP

a private security supplement arrives out front via a pack of 4 6-wheelers: Novaron™ StationHOLD branded pads, about 25 strong, some in white and black SM1E spec armor: Sleek, if a bit plasticy.

quick-draw barricade walls are set outside the door, a firebase is practically established outside the museum

GAP

[MVOX AMPLIFIER SYSTEM: UNIDENTIFIED FREEHIRE ORGANISATION! DROP THE OCHRE CASQUE AND SURRENDER! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED, AND ALL APPROPRIATED ASSETS WILL BE RECLAIMED]

JOSEPH: WHY DO they know we're freehires?

RYLE: (Ambient frequency grading, duh)

GAP

Joseph lets out a strained yell across the corridor from his pillar

JOSEPH: I'M NOT EQUIPPED TO DEAL WITH THIS KIND OF FIRE RIGHT NOW!

the opposing pillar yells back

BLAKE: JOIN THE CLUB!

JOSEPH: WASN'T DIRECTED AT YOU.

Null slides out into the oncoming fire, bullets sparking against their armour, grenade launcher readied

thoomp

down the corridor, hitting the ground in front of 4(5?) Novaron™ mooks

Null, still on the floor, gives a thumbs up in the air so that Joseph and Blake can see it from behind

JOSEPH: Thanks

GAP

[Joseph gets a mild injury in a fistfight with a hilariously over-equipped Novaron™ contractor, a black eye]

GAP

Ryle, furiously typing against his leg while jogging and looking behind him, manages to close a shutter down behind him, blocking the current security force's chase

Joseph is wearing the Casque, but only so he has two hands to aim with

GAP

A Dark, swooping mass of alloy is making lines across the roof, there is a white insignia stencilled onto the flank: resembling a portcullis

the lead rattling across the rooftop stops as the last Stationhold Contractor falls, the heavily armoured VTOL ceases its strafe manoeuvre and proceeds to stop its engines, all 8 of them

Trent chimes one last line down the comm

TRENT: Quickly! before any more of those Products show up.

As the VTOL door slides up, a turquoise cybernetic claw (left) emerges, reaching for the Casque

it belongs to their mission handler, Trent: tall, gaunt, etc, adorned in black, collared jumpsuit and dark purple hooded cloak, hiding a set of small, round sunspectacles in the shadow. Various pieces of plating and (presumably "anti-void") equipment integrated onto a white left shoulderplate and freely hanging across his torso, haphazard wiring in places

Joseph completes the pass

Trent examines it quickly, before nodding and beckoning the team aboard

he moves the relic to his flesh-ier hand and grasps his empty claw tightly, scraping can be heard as sharpened talons cross into a twisted fist

TRENT: Excellent…

JOSEPH: Having second thoughts on selling?

TRENT: Certainly not! we need the money, news has reached us of the Foiltongue being taught in the central isles, an operation must be financed.

JOSEPH: Well we aren't available next week, before you ask

TRENT: No concerns, we already have a team lined up, any slab word on Arkine?

Joseph frowns, and decides to remain quiet. He knows exactly who they are.

[Joseph winces and brings a hand to his cheek, just below his recently smacked eye], Trent drops his tone

TRENT: Shit, you okay?

Joseph: Fuck fuck fuck! Yeah, altercation with armoured Sec

UNFINISHED

THE STAKEOUT

IN WHICH WE LEARN OF VERALURIC/ARKAINIAN CRIME SYNDICATE FRANCHISING

Production Scored DIOS plates from the DI conflicts are being moved out in the wild, they're supposed to all be in government holding and display, seems like they're being sold to the Fratellis this Sevday, you have to make sure those big guys dont get access to such high-grade government ordnance.

-TCA Aspect Wilson

Mixed equipment operation, full armour observed for the most part but normal wardrobes have also been packed for some team members for some scenes on-op (Ryle, for instance, wouldn't sleep in his armour, Blake doesn't care, etc)

~Abandoned Medrise, Downtown Dermil~

Dusty, broken apartment overlooking the Smoothworks, a couple tables, impacted sofa, etc

NIRAKREN: SO THIS IS WHAT THE CONSOLIDATED TRINATIONAL AGENCIES CAN AFFORD? I WISH I STILL HAD THE CAPACITY TO SCOFF!

RYLE: Wouldn't it be cheaper to rent out some REDs for a slumber party?

JOSEPH: Dermil regiment is a bit scattered right now apparently, Scane reads too many of them are on "WildClear" this season

GAP

Ryle is looking through production notes on DIOS plating on his pad, and spots something familiar

RYLE: Wait, didn't that bounty hunter have a DIOS?

JOSEPH: Don't think too hard about it, you might hurt yourself.

LARGE GAP

BLAKE: TCA did say Sevday right?

a pause

Niraken erupts in a derogatory manner

NIRAKREN: LAZY FUCKING SCYTHES!

GAP

The night is growing long and boring, ideally a time lapse shot showing stuff like:

Blake staying up when everyone else is sleeping (note:even Nirakren is resting with a tilted helm for a few hours. Eternal souls need sleep too)

Ryle and Null playing a card game (show Ryle losing his helmet to Null in background visual afterwards)

Blake attempting to cook something (a piece of meat skewered on a blade) on Nirakren's exposed neck flame,

Joseph trying to quickly disassemble and reassemble his equipment with varying degrees of success, including armour work (only time he's in plainclothes, hes sleeping in armour for readiness' sake)

Null slowly covering a wall with drawings

HUGE GAP

BLAKE:shit, SHIT!

EVERYONE!

MOVEMENT!

two parties are seen converging in the Smoothworks, black-suited "cybernetic enthusiasts" and casual mobsters, one of the ware-heads is holding a large, silver case in front of his waist, legs in a wide stance, hiding how heavy it is

GAP

[FUCK I NEED TO ACTUALLY WRITE A 3 (4) WAY SHOOTOUT]

LARGE GAP

the dust and smoke settle, wareheads lie either scrapped or resigned, the active detachment of the Fratelli Family: retreated

JOSEPH: WHEEEERE?!

BLAKE: it looked like someone… ran between the firefight and

well,

snagged the plates

JOSEPH: WERE THEY MOB?

BLAKE: couldn't tell! looked all raggedy but i could see a Pride plate on that jacket

RYLE: Everyone has Pride's nowadays!

NIRAKREN: DO WE STILL GET PAID?

Joseph hurriedly rips his own helmet off and fiddles with the side of it, fetching the charge/sync wire from his wrist and plugging it into the helm's now found port, tapping a finger frantically

JOSEPH: THAT'S WHAT I'M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT! JUST NEED VISAGE TO DECOMPRESS

FUCK!

he strikes his helmet against the windowsill, chipping away some plaster and wood

RYLE: Boss, calm do-

JOSEPH: TWO FUCKING DAYS IN HERE!

he punches the adjacent wall, more crumbling, moving to throw his helmet-carrying fist through the wavering structure, Null makes a surprising move, an intervention: grabbing Joseph under the shoulders

RYLE: Woah!

BLAKE: Fucking yegj…

Joseph relaxes, resigned, still held up in the air by an inch or so

JOSEPH: Alright, alright. Enough

thud

NIRAKREN: YOUR MUTE IS A KILLJOY

JOSEPH: "My" Mute has worked with me for nearly four years now. Thanks, Null.

BLAKE: What now?

Joseph sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose

JOSEPH: I'll call it in… just praying that "third party" wasn't a Fratelli workaround

NIRAKREN: WHAT?

JOSEPH: If they staged a theft they wouldn't have to pay

NIRAKREN: OOOOHH

RYLE: Say, who wants some 'breads after this? or is that a touch insensitive?

END

THE PATRIOT

IN WHICH VIGILANTISM IS FROWNED UPON FOR SOME REASON

Former Sergeant George Steiker, once high up in the Reugon RED, Now formally retired, but still an active presence in the city, using consigned RED gear with modifications, is causing a lot of confusion in the already messy grey op climate; I'm not even going to go into details on his reckless disregard for derelict property. find him, confront him. should be easy enough considering his bright pink armour.

-RED Field Chief Grast

Scenic Reugon, state of the art industrial sites (a few score ago they were, at least), yet old shingle still lines the murky, rainsplattered rooftops. itd be impossible to tell it was morning if not for the SMALL BETHA Tower and the chiming of various mag-bells across the yards

~Guild's Quarter, Reugon~

Blake is hiding from the rain under the para of a quinoa-filled pastry stall, Arkainian street cuisine. he has bought one, but has kept his helmet on while it cools

he is berated from a distance

JOSEPH: Your armour is hydroproofed you know that right?!

a bark back

BLAKE: My scarf ain't!

Blake uncouples his helmet with one hand, a twist left then right, then lifts it up just enough to take a bite, it’s far too hot

shocked, he jolts and his helmet falls down into place again, the dropping, beaklike helm smacking the snack out of his hand

dejected, he makes his way to the team for briefing

Joseph, Ryle and Null are waiting on a turgid, overladen table bench, several yards away from the stall near the outer wall of some multi-business stack, signs for a bar, oral mechanic, finance firm and a haberdashers are seen in the background, three sets of full armour aren't exactly lightweight as the bench can be heard creaking

drops of water slip off of the brow of Joseph's helm, it tilts up

JOSEPH: You're usually more professional than this.

BLAKE: I usually eat before a job, a 5am pickup cut my plans short.

Ryle is warming his gauntlets against a takeout coffee, previously obscured

BLAKE: And he went to get coffee! How is that any different!?

Null is also seen sheltering a cup

JOSEPH: He got a round.

RYLE: I got a round.

BLAKE: Cmon! they're not even gonna drink that, right? unless they got a barrier straw fitting for that filter

Null hands the cup to Joseph, rubbing their gloves together to cherish the fleeting residual warmth

JOSEPH: I will, however.

Blake grumbles

JOSEPH: Anyway, we got a delicate situation courtesy of the RED's crossvolve, presume Soft parameters. we have to get this guy alive

mumbling between Blake and Ryle

BLAKE: heybudgeupgetha

RYLE: idonttakethatmuchspace!

Joseph clears his throat loudly, continuing

JOSEPH: this Steiker, ex-enforcer, sees himself as a Bulwark for Arkainia, he's been killing medium-name criminals almost daily now, damn near destroying this town in the process-

Null pulls out the paper pad, now in a clear plastic bag, and shoves a hand into it to start writing out of the rain

Why?

REVENGE?

JOSEPH: Entirely possible, I didn't ask for access to his personal data.

BLAKE: So we have no direct leads? we just have to rely on reactionary procedure? what are we, beatc-?!

^{[INTERRUPT BRIEFING CONVERSATION WITH FAR OFF EXPLOSION]}

Joseph throws his lukewarm coffee down, splashing against his shinplates as he stands up

JOSEPH: THAT'S OUR MAN! WE GOTTA GET TO THAT SITE WHILE ITS FRESH!

Ryle is immediately checking his SMAC, typing furiously, tensing his other hand rapidly

RYLE: UHH EXPLOSION. SUBTEXT LOCAL, FL-UHHnowaitits EAST TELL DISTRICT! EAST TELL!

He points a finger frantically in a direction, then a slight correction by about 10 degrees

BIG GAP

broken staircase

GAP

[Glimpse of the searing pink (cheapest infra-violet scatter paint) Steiker, paint a mixture of sprayed and brushed onto an originally black combination AJA kitbash, rifling through the ruins to confirm his kill, a trafficker, before he bolts]

Ryle makes chase, Blake moves in to inspect the stiff, Null shakes their helm at the pursuit

JOSEPH: Remember: alive!

Ryle switches his speaker to Proclamation mode, lower bitrate, but louder.

RYLE: HEY! OLD MAN!

Ryle catches up after jumping up a ledge, Steiker stops abruptly, turns around and activates the flashplate mounted onto his torso, temporarily blinding Ryle due to his helmet's low light setting it adopted in the smoldering wreck

RYLE: FAAA!

Ryle tumbles off the deck, falling into the rubble

GAPGAP

some hours pass, the second site was informed to them via a RAN/MAG anomaly readout, a School.

GAP

Steiker finally speaks, righteous and ragged, echoed out of view, peaking through an unkempt AJA loudhailer set

STEIKER: THIS DOES NOT CONCERN YOU, MARKHANDS

he emerges, leaping onto the collapsed dominos that were once library shelves

STEIKER: OUT OF MY SIGHT! YOU'LL SCARE THE VERMIN, TOOK A LONG TIME TO LURE TODAY'S QUARRY

GAP

JOSEPH: GET THE FUCK DOWN FROM THERE! WE'RE SUPPOSED TO TAKE YOU IN! GRAST'S ORDERS!

The bright vigilante mumbles to himself

STEIKER: Subterfuge and treachery…

Steiker's equipment jangles

STEIKER: So it's like this…

He leaps from his literary perch, boot poised right at Joseph, sharp and straight

STEIKER: HRRAA!

SPLASH (CRACKED RED INSIGNIA INLAY BEHIND TEXT)

GEORGE STEIKER

FORMER R.E.D. SERGEANT

CURRENT REUGON SECURITY THREAT

[CIRCUMSTANCES: RASH]

Joseph ducks, Null, behind him, grabs the flying boot and swings steiker into a wall

GAPFIGHTHEREGAP

RYLE: FUCK!!

GAP

STEIKER: SHA! ENOUGH OF THIS!

Steiker crashes through a window, shortly later he is seen silhouetted through the skylight, on that same old megaphone spec

STEIKER: I DON'T CARE WHO SENT YOU TO KILL ME BUT I'M SENDING YOU ALL OUT OF HERE

IN BODYBAGS

BLAST

GAP

Third site:

an abandoned TaloMart in the Flat Grass District

GAP

JOSEPH: Something's clicking, I got an idea

HUGE FUCKING GAP LIKE ACTUAL SCENARIO SPOILERS

Joseph belts out a statement, almost pre-rehearsed on the burning stage of the warehouse, with two technicians and a demolitions engineer as audience

JOSEPH: DOING ALL OF THIS WON'T BRING HER BACK, GEORGE!

Steiker freezes against the dancing flames

STEIKER: Wh-what?

Joseph continues, clearing his throat. careful and with a nonspecific precision his hunch could barely support if his face wasn't obscured

JOSEPH: YOU HEARD ME! ALL THIS DESTRUCTION, ITS JUST MINDLESS. ONE MAN CAN'T CLEAR OUT THE CITY QUICKER THAN IT CLOGS UP. IF IT WERE THAT WAY THERE WOULDN'T EVEN BE AN R.E.D.

STEIKER: SHUT UP! SHUT UP!! EVERYTHING I'VE DONE, IT WAS ALL FOR THE INNOCENT! IT WAS ALL FOR BIANCA!

a snappy response, strike!

JOSEPH: Well, would she have liked you more as a killer?

A crushing blow, Steiker's tense structure of anguish and plate falls

STEIKER: I ONLY FOUGHT AGAINST EVIL!

JOSEPH: Past Tense. Interesting.

STEIKER: S-SOCIETY IS ALWAYS KEPT BACK FROM THE THIN LINE BY THE OUTLYING VANGUARD! RECALL THE PARABLE OF THE EXILED FALSE PRINCE!

JOSEPH: Public defenders don’t blow up schools!

STEIKER: OUTCOMES OVERSHADOW ACTIONS!

JOSEPH: YOU'RE JUST KILLING RANDOM CROOKS! NOT TO MENTION THE COLLATERAL

Joseph folds a new falsehood, roughout:

STEIKER: COLLATERAL?

JOSEPH: THAT SCHOOL. SOMEONE WAS NEARBY WHEN YOU DEMOLISHED IT. A GIRL

STEIKER: WHWHAT!?

JOSEPH: ITS TRUE

STEIKER: I TOOK EVERY PRECAUTION! AN EMPTY SCHOOL ON A SEVDAY NIGHT!

JOSEPH: PERHAPS YOU’RE NOT AS SHARP AS YOU THOUGHT

STEIKER: FUCK!

I CAN'T DO THIS BUT-

JOSEPH: BUT WHAT?

STEIKER: SOMEONE HAS TO-

He is helm-down against the ground, sidefist slamming the crete, resigned

STEIKER: It just can't be me anymore…

thud

FOLLOWED BY:

THE PLATES/THE WALK

IN WHICH SOME NEW PERSPECTIVES ARE INTRODUCED

a chance to sell DIOS Plates back to the government for a fuckton of money? sure

a chance to piss off those goons ruining all the flatbread places in town? absolutely

a chance to run a job sober? no thanks, bro

-Alex Reynolds

~Downtown Dermil~

NOTE: STRANGE PERSPECTIVE "FPV"

A Gunshot, muffled running

Yellow text on a black screen

BOWL SYSTEM FAULT ADVISED: REMOVE HELM.

CLUNK

CLUNK

A deep breath is dug out from the muffle, gunfire rains behind it

a view breaks through. the smoothworks, rolling by rather fast, and full of crooks.

a jagged run, lopsided from cargo

A shout pierces the usual wannabe-tactical chatter amidst most gangfights, heavy and Scythey

: TACK THAT MUTHAFUCKA!!

a quick glance behind, something long and brown thrashing the view during the look: hair.

Can't a professional haul their ex-military gear to a frameshop in peace?

-Luann Traviss

~WALKS, DOWNTOWN DERMIL~

EVEN FURTHER AHEAD:

THE GRUDGE

IN WHICH A TOWN IS DEEMED NOT LARGE ENOUGH TO HOUSE TWO OPPOSING GROUPS

~NEAR SILICA, SOUTHERN ARKAINIAN PENINSULA~

Enter the Faux-Frontiersman: Rainard Markovic, atop an alloy steed

THE DRIVE

IN WHICH DRUGS ARE BAD

~HALREID ARCOLOGY, CAPITAL CLUSTER~

The loom is ablaze.

The welder muffles, turning around to reveal a tie poking out of his red boiler suit, a nametag sewn to the breast titles this figure "Winch"

: Whut?

The welding mask splits and shuffles back to the sides of his ears

Richard Crain

HEAD MECHANIST OF CAPITAL 'WERKS

[/KINGPIN OF THE HALREID DRIVE OPERATION]

THE CLEANUP

IN WHICH A BROKEN EXPERIMENTAL WEAPONS SYSTEM MUST BE "SABOTAGED" FOR TAX REASONS

THE LEADUP

IN WHICH SOME HEAT IS FELT

~CASSA DRYDOCK~

view of the docked VRF RIGHTEOUS PROVOCATION, an Orca-class air carrier, is visible, affiliation unknown, no discernable logos, crew across the deck seen in various drab colours and blank pads, varying specs of armour ranging from SABV to refurbished/knockoff FW2

JOSEPH: What, never seen a carrier up close?

BLAKE: Haven't heard of one going landside in my lifetime…

RYLE: Gotta be a reason, you think they're patching it up?

Joseph flicks his helm up

JOSEPH: Or arming it.

the aimed mic picks something up, a drawl soaked in eastern mire

: COME ON QUASI-,

A Wide, Black/blue set of NAOS/SABV amalgamate comes into view, it has a neatly hemmed grey cape, enter:

SLOVAK PRONIN

BACKWATER BRIGADIER

COMMANDER OF MNZA,

AN EX-NOVARON SUBSIDIARY

SLOVAK: THESE RACKS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE UNLOADED 3 HOURS AGO! SO WHY PRAY TELL, ARE THEY STILL ON MY CARRIER?!

he is gesturing emphasis on keywords wildly on the foredeck of the carrier, clanking with every step

QUASI BLANKPAD: SORRYBOSSILLGETRIGHTONITBOSS

A jagged engine is heard pulsing, closer and closer

BLAKE: Is the carrier powering something up?

The 2-trak barrels towards the oblivious team-

JOSEPH: No, probably a nearby puri-FUCK!!

-it's swerving against the ledge. Joseph and Ryle jump, Blake rolls out the way, amidst a spray of sparks, gravel and 3 SYK freehires midair, a NOVARON™ sigil burns into view:

A. LASONNE

NOVARON™ INTERSECT ASPECT

[INTERNAL SURVEYANCE/EXAMINATION/CONDEMNATION TASKFORCE]

[CIRCUMSTANCES: RASH]

The recently-bleached Grey/yellowpad operative sparks a cuboid, tungsten bat against the ground with his left arm, a modest rectangular riotslab strapped against his right, bracing the 2-trak to a halt

BLAKE: WHO THE FUCK?

ASPECT: MINETZZA IS MINE!

The Aspect: Lasonne, gets off the 2-TRAK traversal system and steps back while dusting himself off rather patiently

Blake looks around, not expecting to be addressed so directly, Joseph jumps back up the bank

The aspect turns away after a dramatic helmroll, palming a comm

ASPECT: BARREN PRIOR, MOVE UP! I'VE BEEN DELAYE-

Joseph fires a quick shot from his freebarrel, to get the Aspect's attention, it glances off his right pauldron, tearing the pad

ASPECT: HEY!

JOSEPH: YOU'RE DELAYED ALL RIGHT. WHAT BUSINESS DO YOU HAVE WITH MINEZZA, DIDN'T THEY SPLIT FROM NOVARON™ LAST YEAR?!

ASPECT: YOU NEVER CHECK YOUR FEED TO SEE WHAT YOUR EX IS UP TO?

JOSEPH: What?

The Aspect stamps against the silt-laden floor

ASPECT: C'mon?!

Blake steps in, getting up from a crouch

BLAKE: THIS SOUNDS MORE LIKE A HOSTILE INTERVENTION

ASPECT: AND THAT SOUNDS LIKE MY CUE TO GET HOSTILE!

the Aspect flicks the bat upwards, dashing Joseph in gravel, Blake stands, drawing his neglected sword in front of Joseph

BLAKE: I got this handled, Boss.

Joseph nods, then turns around to the scramble of tumbling rubble behind him

RYLE: UAK!

Blake gestures towards the Aspect

BLAKE: Bring it.

ASPECT: Gladly.

Bat swings, in for a scrape-ridden clash with the sword

FIGHT GOES HERE IM LAZY

Blake swipes wide at the Aspect's face, snapping one of the yellow points off of his helm's V-shaped accent

STILL FIGHTING STILL LAZY

FIGHT DONE

Joseph is grabbing the Aspect's helm by its intact point, butting the brow of his against it

JOSEPH: ANYTHING TO SAY?

ASPECT: THIS WASN'T A CUTDOWN, WE HAD A MESSAGE FOR THE BRIGADIER! YOU JUST GOT IN THE WAY

JOSEPH: WHAT WAS THE MESSAGE THEN?!

The interSECT Aspect splutters, Joseph lowers his grasp nearer the floor

ASPECT: THE WESTBANK DEGRA GOES DOWN IN 6! Joseph shakes the operative by his remaining horn

JOSEPH: SIX WHAT?! The Aspect managed to fiddle a switch into actuating, he gags under his helmet, it's a cop-out taze

IRDEN TABLE: THE DEGRA LIGHTUP

OPERATION "MARKET REGULANT"

ARC CONCLUDED

CONSULT MATERIAL 2.0 "TARNISHED VALOUR"

ALTERNATIVELY

CONSULT MATERIAL 1.0-A "RAN TURNABOUT"