[hr][center][color=808B96][color=00BFFF][h2][b]T a f f y[/b][/h2][/color]Southeastern Mir [b]-[/b] The Fall[/color][/center]
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Taffy was in the middle of getting her own flashlight out of her backpack, and putting the plane's medkit in, when Max tossed the other torch to her.  She dropped her pack, and her flashlight and the kit with it, to the grassy ground of the forest, and caught the strange flashlight after it danced along her hands for a moment.  She reached down and picked up her own flashlight with a huff, showed them both to Max with an arched eyebrow, then tossed her flashlight toward Xell - she had heard him introduce himself earlier, so now she could attach a proper name to him - and kept the otter boy's peculiar flashlight for herself.

"As I was [i]going[/i] to say before I was interrupted by flying flashlights and rude comments about my age, which is TWENTY," she said the number pointedly as she glared at Max before looking back at Xell, who she had started to talk to, "yes, us Lotori have [i]excellent[/i] night vision.  Until someone starts pointing flashlights into their faces, at which point we're about as good as anyone else who's just been stabbed in the eyeballs."  The sardonic tone fairly dripped from her voice; even Max hadn't had the poor sense to aim the flashlight at her face when he turned his device on, and both he and the otter boy aimed their lights at the ground like they should so it wouldn't get into the eyes of their traveling compatriots, but she did feel put-upon enough that she didn't feel like apologizing or cutting the tone.

Then Taffy fumbled with the unusual flashlight until she found a switch and turned it on.  It surprised her at how bright it seemed judging by the relative shape and size of it compared to hers or Max's, but it looked like it could be some newfangled model that must be cutting-edge technology.  She'd been in larger cities for most of her life, where new devices filtered their way into public use all the time as inventors worked tirelessly to produce new wonders to pay their bills, so the idea wasn't too foreign to her, though she still felt it odd at how foreign this actual device felt despite its similarities.

"Anyway," she said, changing the subject toward Nikki's question as she put away the extra medkit away into her backpack before buckling it closed and hoisting it onto her shoulders, "my uncle actually lives in the Fall, on the edge closest to Woodsedge and Merecc.  He's kind of an eccentric nut who likes his privacy enough where he built a cabin in the Fall just to get away from it all.  My family used to go there for vacations when I was younger, and it wasn't until I was older when I appreciated how dangerous it was for him to live out here all by himself.  Still, lots of good memories, and more importantly, it'll be a safe place to stay for the night."

She spoke of her uncle with a very small but real smile on her muzzle even as she called him an eccentric nut.  The fact that they were only a few miles away from there helped warm her heart and kept her from worrying about being caught in the forest after dark.  If she hadn't known about the comfort awaiting them not long distant...well, she was glad it was there, and she would just leave it at that.

"So if we're done playing Hot Potato with our lights, then let's carry on.  We should try not to stop unless we need to."

She turned back toward the trail with a flip of her tail, and started to lead the way again, picking an easy, grassy trail that led through the trees.

[hr][center][color=808B96][color=red][h2][b]? ? ?[/b][/h2][/color]Southeastern Mir [b]-[/b] Office Building, Downtown Merecc[/color][/center]
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"Status report."

The office window let in light from the street at an angle cast against the corner of the room where the window sat, providing enough light to give shape to that corner, without revealing any of the shadowy figures that sat around the office's long table.  The command for information had come from the reedy figure at the head of the table, who, like the others, was cast into silhouette by the lack of any other lights in the room, but seemed comfortable in it all the same, like a spider seated in his dark web.

"The Red Star Pirates have reported that they ambushed the courier carrying the >Package<," came a reedy voice from one of the other seats.  As it said the word "package" the voice, like the others in the room, became strangely monotone and metallic, as if spoken through a metal pipe.  "The courier chose to fly into the Fall rather than be shot down.  One of the pirates also got too close; both planes have crash-landed into the Fall, and the remaining pirates fled, due no doubt to their illogical and superstitious fears of the Fall."

A gruff voice barked out the next response in a manner that made it sound more like a telegraph machine than an organic being.  "Analysis of the courier's history including his military background indicate that he is difficult to kill/stop/cease functioning and combined with a strong work ethic leads to the conclusion that he will attempt to maintain the reputation of his company and persist in delivering the >Package< even in the face of mounting peril/adversity/danger and is likely armed but only with one handgun."

The figure at the head of the room let out a breath - not as much a sigh as a slow, steady exhalation, like a steam valve being left open too long.  "We cannot afford to let the Syndicate beat us to the >Package<, gentlemen, not after it has been deemed >Priority One< by the Maker."  The leader's voice seemed more smooth and natural than those of his compatriots, though the sinister undertone of his words showed that he was as much a deviation from the norm as they.  "I anticipated that Red Star would fail us after consulting with our hyper-statistical machine prophets.  Therefore, I've already called in an outside agent to intercede on our behalf to retrieve the >Package<."

"Why do you not engage this >Priority One< incident with our full might to fulfill the Maker's objectives rather than rely on a single outside agent not of true allegiance to our objectives?"

"Oh, he is not one of our number, yet," said the head of the table as he steepled his fingers in front of him on the table.  "I chose this mercenary because of his professed - and confirmed - success rate of ninety-five percent completed missions, which is more than adequate for our calculations of how to respond to this ex-military courier.  He also has many strings we can pull that he is not aware of.  We cannot afford to tip our hands by activating so many of our own people at once, even in such an important task as this, nor can we allow this to be tied back to us.  Hence, an outside agent, a Miran who has a knack for magical combat enhancement and wields a scythe - an unusual choice of weapon, but his success rate speaks for itself."

"And if he should fail?  Five percent of a failure rate is still five percent," questioned the reedy voice moodily.

"A tracking device, planted upon his person, will enable us to tell when he has failed, and more importantly, where.  Calculations can be made as to where the >Package< will be at that point, and we can activate needed agents closest to the target site without alerting the authorities or the Syndicate.  The courier can only go one direction if he wants to escape the Fall and complete his objective, and that's to go towards Merecc.  And once here, gentlemen, as long as we keep the home advantage, we will succeed in acquiring the >Package<."

"Calculated risks assert high probability of success/victory/glorious outcome even if target should escape outside mercenary/agent/interceptor."

"What is this agent's name?"

At the head of the table, a single glowing red light tilted up as the figure there raised his head.  "His name?  He goes by a moniker, like many of his sort do.  For this operation, we will refer to him by it.

"The name is [i]Carrion.[/i]"