[b] Earlier that morning... [/b]

It seemed that Grak was destined to move up in the world. No one thought that some small time arms dealer from the tower towns would go anywhere. They were wrong, though. All of Grak Kla’chyu Ruo’s hard work was finally starting to pay off. A large militia group (it seemed more like a barbaric tribe of primitives to Grak) had contacted one of Grak’s brothers, and wanted to make a bulk purchase from Grak’s Guns. At first, Grak thought this deal would be what brought him into the big time. The militia worked out of the Projects, acting as a sort of quasi-police force and rebel group. Never before had anyone from Babylon itself wanted to buy from Grak, and these people wanted to buy hundreds of weapons. It was too good to be true, yet Grak didn’t doubt his luck too much. That is until he actually met the leaders of this ‘rebellion.’ Of the five men he met, Grak found that only one of them seemed to have any sense of civilization. They were all loud, mentally disturbed, and frightening people. Grak steeled himself to these traits, however, and went on with selling the weapons. He’d do anything to get his business in with the other criminal organizations that ran Babylon’s underbelly.

Grak and five of his Chirix bodyguards/advisors sat within one of the towers in the Projects. The room they were in was rather spacious, however most of that space was filled with either bodies jockeying for a better view or piles of boxes and crates. The walls were a drab gray, as well as the ceiling and the floor. In the middle of the room sat a round table, surrounded by chairs. Grak and his gang sat opposite a man in civilian clothing, whose face was covered in tribal markings and tattoos. Grak adjusted a small metal device attached to his cheek. The translator’s light flicked on, causing it to begin to glow a dim green.”Let us begin.” Grak spoke, and everyone who heard his words heard them in their native tongues. The white-headed Chirix motioned with his hand towards one of his men, and they retrieved a [url= http://ts4.mm.bing.net/th?id=HN.608044142291782093&pid=1.7] sniper rifle [/url] from one of the many crates in the room. Grak took the weapon, and held it up.”This is a particle beam sniper rifle. Its maximum effective range is five thousand meters, and can burn through a BESC standard issue helmet and a skull with a single shot, and come out the other side.” Grak gave the weapon back, and another was handed to him. 

For the next hour or so, Grak showed off a number of different weapons to the militiamen. Negotiations were going poorly, though. The leaders didn’t seem all that impressed with the guns (Grak believed they merely couldn’t comprehend the power these devices held.) In an effort to salvage the situation, Grak brought in his trump card. The largest crate the Chirix had brought into the room opened, and out came a [url= http://digital-art-gallery.com/oid/109/1520x884_18934_Diesel_Punk_US_Subterrarean_Suit_MKI_2d_sci_fi_mech_robot_soldier_dieselpunk_picture_image_digital_art.jpg] mech [/url].”You’ll like this. I guarantee it.” Grak nodded, gesturing towards the machine.”This is an old navy-style assault mech, which was originally used by the first men who colonized Outermer. It has been repurposed, and I personally outfitted it with quad-linked heavy machine guns. Its systems include internal targeting, interior and exterior heating and cooling, and a power supply that can operate for twenty four hours straight. The battle suit’s shoulder panels can be flipped and used to absorb solar power.” Grak smiled smugly as the warlords whispered to each other. Eventually, one stood and spoke.”You have a deal.” The two men shook hands, and their subordinates made the exchange of equipment for money.”Come, my new Tindrel friend. Let us show you how we party here in the Projects.” The tribal man smiled, and led Grak out of the room. Minutes after being brought into a ramshackle dining hall, Grak found himself drinking an oddly colored liquid and forgetting where he was and what he was doing. 

Later, one of Grak’s brothers tapped him on the shoulder while he was in the middle of pulling himself together.”Brother.” The Chirix began in their native tongue,”Something has happened in one of the nearby towers.” Grak looked to his brother and nodded.”Show me.” The two Tindrels left the room, moving to a large section of glass on the side of the tower that overlooked a number of the other towers. Grak was handed a pair of binoculars, and his brother pointed him towards a large hole in one of the other towers. There was some kind of gunship hovering outside the hole. On the inside, Grak could barely make out a number of BESC troops being attacked by local forces.”Interesting…” From his vantage point, Grak could make out some of the militia in the tower he currently occupied moving out onto balconies with guns. The guns he had sold them.”Sir, if we stay here any longer we might be dragged into the fighting…” Grak’s brother began.”I know, Raz, I know. But this is too good an opportunity to pass on. We get to see our weapons in use against BESC! We’ll leave if the fighting gets too hot.” With that, Grak went back to observing the conflict.