[centre][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220323/5c24b30693224cc8dc46e0bd1a769334.png[/img][/centre][indent][indent][indent][sub][i][color=B7CC5E]Watson[/color] [b]|[/b] [color=silver]A return to the Afterlife...[/color][/i][/sub][/indent][/indent][/indent]
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[color=Silver]	It'd been several days - maybe more - since he'd talked to Eddie. How that conversation ended was almost a wisp in the winds to Conrad. He thought for a while before he was out of it, staring at the ceiling for thirty or so minutes before regaining a bit of himself. Then, nothing else. He went to the streets, and spent the night in the nearest motel that cost the least. And from there, he went back to how things were - laying low. He hadn't much money to his name as he held his tongue for the bigger job to start. He knew it wouldn't have been too far off into the future, the planning was already in motion behind the curtains. The local gigs were also snatched up far quicker than he could roster them. That was the main downside to the new age of the merc - everyone had their finger in the pie before he could take out his fork. But of course, those who rushed came out with burnt fingers.

	Of course, something came up on the holo at the turn of the morn. It had the basics of a legitimate message: light but decent enough encryption, addressing Conrad by detail and keeping most of the actual details of the event on the low. He couldn't remember who sent the message, but they called him to the Afterlife. At first, Conrad was a little less enthusiastic about the day. It wasn't because of the job beginning, in fact it got him out of bed earlier than ever. But he was sceptical about a few things: namely those he'd work with. Mercs weren't like professional soldiers or private detective agencies, where many were similar by design but differed in the small steps they took on great journeys. No - this was [i]Merc[/i] life. In a way, each merc was their own brand. They were the service they provided, barely ever part of a grander cohesive force. Each person had their own unique flair that made them stand out compared to the merc beside them, and barely any were alike. At least with gangs, he knew that two tyger claw henchmen were at least identifiable. But any merc, they didn't just look different, they acted all in their own manners.

	Eddie must've already handpicked her own dossier with incredible scrutiny. Most Fixers didn't, if the job were as highly-profiled as the one in question. Yet he still had his hand in his pockets, not wanting to clean them until he felt a little less on edge in a large team. He told himself that they'd never earn his trust. No such thing existed anymore. But, mercs don't choose they teams in situations like those. He was there to make money, but a small part of him sparked a little intrigue in the people he was working with.

	Later that day, Conrad arrived at the Afterlife, almost as unceremoniously as he'd always had. The door frisk was as it always had. He felt as if he were walking into another job, where after the payment was set and the objectives were met, he'd be forgotten once more. He wasn't the next legendary merc, and he knew that he'd never be, because to do so meant to care. He arrived at a stool almost as aimlessly as he felt, but at least he had the mild security that it was one 'Eddie' that had her hands on the steering wheel. He didn't order a drink. Claire gave him a friendly nod, but she was already too busy to attend straight to him. He half-smiled to her and lifted up his flask for her to see, and she accepted to call to focus on others. Eventually, Claire returned and pointed toward 'The Crypt', the drone of music speaking for them. He nodded, took his coat and flask, and wandered deep into the Crypt.[/color]