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[@Sol Grim] 


“Geeze, buy a lady a drink, first.” The man called Reeve said with a laugh, as the newcomer eyes him from across the table. 


“Neither I, nor my employers, are known for our patience, Mister Reeve.” The other man scowled. 


“Alright, alright,” Reeve raised his arms above his head defensively “I’ll tell you what I know.” 


The older man took a sip from his glass. 


“Its out east, in what used to be the Four States Commonwealth. This big crack in the ground, right? Like God hacked away at the Earth with a fucking knife. Some tribals settled there in bygone days, and it's become a place of worship to some of the more...sadistic natives.” 


“A place of worship?” The other man asked. 


“I dunno how much stock you wanna put in this, but I heard some stories from caravans coming out of Utah. The merchants say the place is cursed, and that you can hear the screams of of those unlucky fucks that get thrown down into the chasm echoing for days and days after they should’ve hit the bottom. All sounds like superstitious bullshit, to me.” 


A slight smile crept across the other man’s face. 


“That sounds exactly like what I’m after.” He said. 


“Heh, never took you as one to put stock in tribal voodoo mumbo jumbo, Breckinridge.” 


[hr] 


[@Andreyich] 


“Oh fuck, I dunno!” The woman hissed, jumpy skittish, and shaking like crazy “I dunno if she leaves there, but she sure as shit owns the place. I think she’s there most days.” 


The junkie paused, scratching at her exposed arm. 


“Say...you don’t have any jet on you, do you?” she asked, fixing Fred with crazy eyes.