[center][b][h1][color=#44F03E]𝔽[/color][color=#42E93C]𝕦[/color][color=#40E33A]𝕥[/color][color=#3EDD39]𝕚[/color][color=#3DD737]𝕝[/color][color=#3BD136]𝕚[/color][color=#39CB34]𝕥[/color][color=#38C532]𝕪[/color][color=#36BF31]:[/color] [color=#32B32E]𝕋[/color][color=#31AD2C]𝕙[/color][color=#2FA62A]𝕖[/color] [color=#2C9A27]𝔾[/color][color=#2A9426]𝕣[/color][color=#288E24]𝕖[/color][color=#268823]𝕒[/color][color=#258221]t[/color] [color=#21761E]𝔾[/color][color=#20701C]𝕒[/color][color=#1E6A1B]𝕞[/color][color=#1C6419]𝕖[/color][/h1][/b][/center]

[center][hider=Shiver Me Timbers, The Boombox Plays][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyB4Ss2IdD4[/youtube][/hider][/center]

[color=orchid][b] “Come on…”
“Come on!”
“We all knew it was going to be this way…”
“Tricked as kids…”
“You grow and you see the light…”
[indent][indent][indent] “Or the dark…”[/indent][/indent][/indent]
“You realize that’s all there is…”
“She called it [s][color=green]𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪[/color][/s] Entropy…”
“No.”
“No. I call it disorder...”
“You harness it or it destroys you...”
“Nowadays, I’m always watching it happen. Can’t escape it…”
“I’m like its harbinger…”[/b][/color]

[h3][color=black][s]𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖[/s]"𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕"[/color][/h3][color=008000][b]ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕡𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕝[/b]
[b]𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟚𝕟𝕕, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝 :: 𝕆𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕖[/b]
[b] [𝟜𝔻 ℂℍ𝔼𝕊𝕊] 𝕀𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘...[/b][/color]

Quiet… Classically too quiet. Was it always that way? The GCZ had to be a bustling place of back-breaking labor and profit margins as dangerous as a razor. It didn’t seem like it though. The place was the sort inhabited by ghosts—a playground for spectres and dead factory inspectors. The Pirate Queen wouldn’t be surprised if she found the remains entombed in the rubble. That was the sort of booty that pirates would go digging for here. Memories. Fragmented dreams.

But maybe there was more to the fate of the Pirate. She thought so. This sort of bounty was different. Those around her didn’t think so. She knew that much. But they didn’t know her.

[right][b]“ Is there anything I should be worried about during this deal, maám? Just curious. I'm being hired to know when I need to drive you away and when I don't.”[/b][/right]

[color=black][b] “Y-yeah.”[/b][/color] They caught her stumble. Or maybe they didn’t.[color=black][b] “It’s uh— It’s going to be dangerous.”[/b][/color] The inward cowardice was replaced by homebrewed courage, or apathy, or facade, or [i][color=orchid]disorder[/color][/i].

[color=black][b] “Stay strapped...”[/b][/color] Petrukov showed a classic smirk, and bannerlord reacted with a grand cheer in his deep, resounding voice while pumping his fists into the air. 

[color=peachpuff][b] “We’re with you to the end, Serena.”[/b][/color] Bannerlord flexed to show that he was, in fact, strapped. A thick riot shield was velcroed to his arm. Only he ever called her Serena. She turned back towards Keah as he was joined by Kay and the omega-strapped Johnathan. Bannerlord started to curl the bags of rather suspiciously labeled “Pirate Gear”, admiring Johnny’s exosuit in a totally respectful way. 

[right][color=00a651]"𝙷𝚎𝚢 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎?”[/color][/right]

Petrukov slapped her hands together and rubbed them up and down like some sort of evil genius. [color=black][b] “Friends, romans, privateers, today is our greatest election prep yet. We’ve got a meeting with some of our dear friends in Portland. I’ve made a deal with them. A quick exchange of resources.”[/b][/color] She nodded to Bannerlord. He unzipped the duffel and dropped it on the ground. A few golden coins clinked against the ground. [i]Gold. Pure, physical, untraceable Bitcoins.[/i][color=black][b] “Then we’ll be out of here.”[/b][/color]

[color=black][b] “Prepare accordingly.”[/b][/color]

[color=00a651]"Sounds legal to me.”[/color] The Scrap-God (Law Goon status = OFF) huffed as he picked up one of those big boy coins looking them over before giving them back. 

Kay raised an eyebrow at the sight of real physical money, gold at that.
[color=92278f]”Is this gonna be a thing with you? The gold, the flag, et cetera. Should I be on the lookout for a sailboat?”[/color] she asked sarcastically.

[color=00a651]"But, we’re pirates.”[/color] Johnny simply mused.

[color=black][b] “Bannerlord,”[/b][/color] Petrukov interjected,[color=black][b] “take that down. We’ll be needing a sailboat for future… Escapades.”[/b][/color]

Even Keah couldn’t help but take a closer look. Physical currency was a rarity in this era, mere curios for curators and hagglers in the black market. The money didn’t worry him. [color=B22222] “ Hmmmm….,”  [/color] Keah tapped the side of his helmet, taking note of where the Jury Rigg was on his GPS display before sending a signal for it to move slightly closer to the compound. It wouldn’t help to be cautious. [color=B22222] “ And who would be willing to accept [b]that[/b][/color]” he pointed towards the pile of coins, [color=B22222]“ as payment?” [/color]

At first, Petrukov just smiled. She went to speak, but the resounding sound of metal grating against metal from the opposite side of the warehouse drew her attention. Somewhere in the bowels of The Playhouse’s opposite end, something had arrived. Petrukov turned back to the pirates.[color=black][b] “They will,”[/b][/color] she said.[color=black][b] “The Lords...”[/b][/color]

[color=black][b] “Take your positions, my friends.”[/b][/color]

As the final door grinded open, they came in tight formation. First, two-by-two, four men emerged and found their places along the sides of the room, each with their own heavy body armor and light machine gun combo on display. A spearhead formation followed with another heavily armed trio at its point. They, and their further colleagues surrounded those tasked with guiding a mechanized cart stacked high with the sort of ominous crates that could only hold ominous goods. When each of the gangers—which appeared more like military men than gangers—had taken their position, one exosuited-up individual pushed forward and loomed over his subordinates. 

He held his helmet in his hand, his weathered face and ragged white beard exposed from the edge of his power armor. He looked to Johnny first, then settled his gaze on Petrukov.

Johnny went to take a cool-guy position nearby, his hands on his Screamer in case he had to make any of these big fat idiots scream. He was close to the Pirate Babe/Queen in case he had to make a mad dash and take her crazy ass out of the derelict warehouse of the ever-hell. He eyed the man who was wearing the exosuit, some vet of many wars fought perhaps? Lovecraft wouldn’t let his guard down, not even near a hot babe or an old man.

Today was just getting more and more interesting.  Keah didn’t like interesting unless it involved watching an under-race in Detroit. Interesting meant complications and complications meant potential obstacles. Whatever pool Petrukov had dipped her hand into, it had big fish, bigger than the ones he saw in the aquaponic tanks of Suraiboshen. He stood a little while back, keeping an eye on the location of the Jury Rigg, whilst his helmeted face projected no emotion towards the newcomers. 

[i][color=orchid]And perhaps it was a glitch…[/color][/i]

For the briefest moment the Jury Rigg’s positioning system vanished from the Iconoclast. But it came back. Unmoved. Whatever waves rolled and crashed in the digital fabric were never quite monitored— never quite understood.

“  Hmmmmm…..” Keah murmured, the Iconoclast electronically distorting his voice before whispering quietly as he could to Kay.  “ You know these guys by any chance, since you’re, you know, a black hat?”

Kay swallowed hard at the sound of heavy, booted feet and tried not to think about just how many firearms were within literal spitting distance from her. Keah proved a welcome distraction. As she leaned over to whisper back.
[color=92278f]“Why would I know mercenaries? I fuck around with computers, not whatever they get up to. Even if I did, I wouldn’t know their faces or their real names.”[/color]
Such was the nature of her work. It was infinitely safer for everyone involved if they couldn’t identify their co-conspirators to law enforcement or worse even if they wanted to. 

[i][color=orchid]Not quite nothing…[/color][/i]

Did Kay notice it too? Even away from her array, her Rosetta Stone Receiver received a single ping from the Labyrinth’s changing landscape. One glance, though, and nothing was different. In terms of presence in the cyberscape, things were quiet. Blank?

[i][color=orchid]Dead static.[/color][/i]

[b]“Miss Petrukov,”[/b] the veteran started as he performed marginal stretches in his thick steel carapace.[b] “You followed my advice… Came armed…”[/b] He looked to Johnny Lovecraft at the Pirate Queen’s side.[b] “Brought a real weapon this time even, so long as its operator doesn’t trip in that suit.”[/b] The servos of his own exo whirred to stabilize the extra weight as he shifted from one foot to the other. Undoubtedly the speaker of the “Lords” was weighing in somewhere above refrigerator but below old-world automobile.

[color=black][b] “And Herald, youuuuuuuuu—”[/b][/color] Petrukov dragged out the syllable to give her eyes time to trace over each of her adversary’s armed reinforcements.[color=black][b] “You came paranoid. As usual.”[/b][/color]

[b]“Any esteemed political piece in this Twin City game must understand the nature of the business. When a new client suddenly requires our services...”[/b] Herald didn’t look back, simply bringing a hand up to eye level and closing his fist.[b] “Our product,”[/b] he interjected, and on queue a pair of coffin-sized sealed crates emerged from his rear guard firing line in the hands of two pairs of men.[b] “You can’t help but wonder what changed their approach to ‘problems’ and ‘solutions’.”[/b]

[color=black][b] “Turns out the Lords had things figured out.”[/b][/color] Petrukov gestured with her gun still in her hand, finger coincidentally still on the trigger.[color=black][b] “These things are far more useful in a debate than[i] ‘evidence’[/i].”[/b][/color]

[color=black][b] “So what have you got for me?”[/b][/color]

[b] “Quite the deal,”[/b] he said.[b] “If you brought something for me.”[/b]

Petrukov smiled. She shifted her sunglasses as though adjusting them for some ethereal movie camera—always one to play the part. [color=black][b] “Bannerlord, unleash the coin!”[/b][/color]

Bannerlord’s shield didn’t hinder his hoisting in the slightest. Hoisting was one of his many specialties. Really, he was the chief-hoister for the Pirate Party. One of the bags of ‘Pirate Gear’ smacked the ground with a jingle in front of Herald. Even just kneeling down, the Warlord caused the concrete to jitter with vibrations. He unzipped the bag, met Serena’s smile, and brought himself back to his feet. The Pirate Queen had taken to helping Bannerlord in the meantime. While he threw his bag, Serena soon found that hers must have been heavier. She dragged the gold forward until the bag was sort of in between her and Herald.

Again, the Lords seemed to fill in any gap Herald took with exactly what he required. Before he even finished turning and taking those few sluggish steps to the crates, one of the gunmen placed a crowbar into his hand. He leveraged the crate’s nailed-down lid off with one hand in one swift stroke.

[b] “AK-12s. Quantity: ‘a fuck-load’, just as specified.”[/b]

[color=black][b] “Just like the movies.”[/b][/color] Petrukov paused, adjusted her sunglasses, and looked towards Bannerlord.[color=black][b] “Just what we needed.”[/b][/color]

A sound. Metal against metal. Rising.

Herald’s lieutenant got his hands around one of the rifles and swung back towards his clients. He kept his finger on the trigger by default—warlord habit—but it didn’t matter. The laser was only visible as it glinted against the kicked up dust from ‘The Playhouse’s’ new inhabitants. You might have thought it was a harmless trick to the eyes until it melted a perfect cylinder straight through the lieutenant’s brain.

The Lords of War had a habit—for better or worse—of ‘clearing the room’ before bothering too much with assessing the situation. The warehouse resounded with a dozen overpowered guns rocketing off streams of lead in succession. Herald assessed only after he dove back and threw the crate upright in front of himself. He caught only a glimpse of the beady electronic eyes behind the shaky hand that held the weapon— concentric circles surrounded a metallic rod that still glowed green in the aftermath of its ray. He helmeted up. The close quarters of the warehouse provided no room for mistakes. 

Another of the warlord lieutenants skidded across the ground straight for Serena as though on wheels with a blade that telescoped from his hand. Perhaps the cruel spike would have connected, but the lumbering Bannerlord had a quicker reaction time than he appeared. He clotheslined the lieutenant with enough force to bounce the goon’s skull off the ground. Five more panels on the wall opened up on a catwalk above, and an array of shadows with the same beady, glowing eyes began to take shots.

[color=black][b] "Somebody save the boombox!"[/b][/color] Serena had no fear. She couldn't see bullets, but what she could see was the prized, oversized musical console in harm's way.

[color=peachpuff][b] “Get her to cover!”[/b][/color] the Bannerlord yelled before stabilizing his shield against a shotgun blast that sent him back a few inches. The order itself was a bit futile, considering how few standing pieces of cover existed in the empty space save for a few heavy machines and columns that held up the crumbling ruin just barely. 

She hadn’t been ready. She wasn’t a fighter. Petrukov drew up her weapon to unload her mag again, prepared to jam the trigger into oblivion. She didn’t see it coming—a shotgun blast from the Lords’ back rank. How could she detect its shrapnel? Its spread? No invincibility, no heroes, no black flag. Just the shrapnel headed straight for her. Damn near 2000 feet per second.