Hellis

①⑨⑥⑧

@Gowi

SOunds fair to me

Illuminati: Becouse the world won't run itself. [Light Hearted, Conspiracy, Urban Magic, Dark Humour]

New post coming up monday, to get us moving along :D

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

GRAB AND RUN

Location: Krispy Kreme
Time: Evening (Midnight-1 am)

---

A wolfed out Ben hung over Barron’s shoulder slept off his beating as he effortlessly carried the boy towards his home, rather than driving there and ruining his lush interior seats he opted to walk the way if one counted bounding from building to building walking. Upon landing on a roof destroying shingles as his feet came to a halt Barron took the time to pull his phone out. ”Good news.”

The Agency girl on the end sighed and looked at the caller ID. “Mr. Vanderbilt, what prey tell is good news tonight?”

”I found your Teen Wolf. Had to knock him around a bit, that Alpha tried to put him under his sway with all that entails. Human wasn’t on the menu for this one.”

“You found, our lost wolf? And how do you know it is ours?”

”There’s four wolves in New York, it’s a boy and being hunted by it’s Alpha. How many more wolves can there be?”

With another deep sigh the woman responded. “Fine, we’ll send an Agent your way, where are you?”

Taking stock of his surroundings he noted that there was a giant Doughnut right to the side of him. Something he did see but hadn’t yet associated with any landmarks. ”Over a Krispy Kreme. And the street is..”

“Understood, an Agent has been dispatched, please don’t cause any more trouble.”

Ben drifted in and out of consciously. Each jar of Barron’s bouncing figure from building to building jarred the aching fire in his very muscles, reaching to the broken bones causing him to wake. His muzzle crunched up and lifted his head upright. Gradually his vision started to unblur as he gained a sense of surroundings, the air reached his nose and immediately pulled his awareness into focus. The wolf growled with the sound rumbled deeply against his throat.

His arms, only half healed, started to reach about and pressed against Barron’s back. Ben’s hind legs dig into Barron’s navel, blunt claws intending to grip, push up and hop over the elder vampire’s shoulder. He was intending to make it onto the roof’s solid foundation.

The wolf pup struggled in vain as he tried to escape. ”Hey now, who said you could go anywhere. I’m helping here.” With a quick flick of his wrist which to be honest was only for flair than an actual purpose blood wrapped itself around Ben and slammed him to the ground. ”I’m taking you back home, or well to the nearest Agent even if they tend to be useless wastes of bodies. A Ghoul has a better chance of keeping track of you than those slack jawed dimwits.” Levitating Ben in his new restraints Barron smiled and continued on. ”Trust me, you aren’t fully in control and as much as you hate me, I have nothing against you.”

Ben yelped when he hit the ground, his head turned to avoid colliding with the roof, as his arms were jerked and wrapped about him. The blood pressed into his fur and began to form a jacket about his torso, his fur bristled in irritation. His shoulders shifted back and forth, his back paws trying to tear at the ‘fabric’ in order to get loose. Each move shifted him from where he made contact with the roof until Barron lifted him upright, holding him there in mid air. His back legs continued to scratch at the restraints as he growled. His lips curled and fangs revealed, ready to lash out and bit when Barron got closer.

‘You...hurt me. Threat and danger, I can’t trust you,’ Ben’s words pooled into Barron’s head, less disjointed than when he first transformed. However he still needed more time before his mind harmonized with his primal instincts. It was clear the pup associated Barron with pain and danger, bring only animosity toward the elder vampire.

Rune had been driving around for a while. That was the thing about pretty much all tracking magic. It was unreliable and unclear. But damned if you do, damned if you didn’t. He had to try and find the young werewolf who Otto’s Agency contact claimed could sniff out magic.

Make a right here! Rune yelled to Otto who swerved almost off the road in their haste. Runes head bounced against the ceiling and he swore.

Ben was exactly what he needed however, so this was but a small sacrifice, his head that is. In fact, this was exactly what the world needed, if his hunch about Brokers plans was right.. Well, saying otto had a contact within the Agency was a bit misleading. The two men had nicked the radio of one by confused agent and was now listening into the conversation between one agent and a creature known as Barron. What they hadn’t counted on was the report of Barron, the malevolent and violent vampire.

They came to halt just a few meters away from Barron and Ben, storming out of the car. Before Rune could speak, and possibly get them both killed with his usual bluntness, Otto spoke. “What do you think you are doing to the poor thing?” He affixed the kind of stern voice any child recoiled from. That of an authoritarian organisations absolute confidence. In this case, it was perfect for someone impersonating an Agent.

“You put him down, right this minute Barron.” Otto continued, and Rune idly thought to himself that Otto was in the wrong business. He had some acting chops.

”And just who are you? This poor thing is a young Pup not in control of his own thoughts let alone his body. Say I wasn’t here and instead a pretty blonde walked by there’d be a different tale to tell. But.” Unwrapping his bloody grip on the young wolf with a toss in the air. ”If you insist.”

The moment Ben felt himself tossed, he tried to catch himself. His arms reached out and touched the ground, the pads gripped the concrete. However, the moment weight was applied… they crumbled. They collapsed on themselves as his snout connected with the roof with a loud smack. Blood stained the rough gravel and a small, painful yelp escaped his chest into the air while his body skidded to a halt. Bone was sticking out of flesh, but that didn’t seem to register in the young pup as he tried to stand up again.

His ears flickered and twitched, his nose scenting his own blood in his attempt to crawl away. He was already starting to heal again but with all the damage, it was slow going. And the young pup wasn’t helping himself much in his attempts to stand on all fours and run away.

“No need to be a dick.” Rune said as he slowly approached the hurt werewolf. Acutely aware that he could tear Runes head off. “Easy there kiddo. You are in no shape of running” He helped Ben up. "Lets just lead you to the car, I think I got some lyco-suppressant herbs somewhere on me, we can deal with your problem.” He whispered so only Ben could hear “We are friends, but we gotta get you out of here.”

Ben sniffed, his nose flickered and caught the scent of magical that Rune produced. It was something new and interesting causing the werewolf to pause in his attempts to haul himself up. His tail flicked back and forth, eagerness in his posture as he leaned a bit against the older, drunken champion. The young pup let the man get him upright, through the pain threatened to distract him, and carefully navigate him toward the car.

Otto stared Barron down as he spoke. “Alright. Thank you for your service Barron. The agency will keep an eye on Ben…” He began to back towards the car. By now, the fact that Otto had yet to produce a badge might ring some alarm bells in Barrons head.

”Hey. Wait a minute here,” Barron said pondering. ”I knew I forgot something.” Barron said following an intimidating stride over towards Otto.

“Otto! Hulk time!” Rune yelled and just like that, they switched gears. Otto snarled as he went from human to massive wolf form much faster than a normal werewolf. With the intention of not letting Barron mount any sort of defense, the hexenwolf formed ball of lightning between his palms and rained down spears heaven's own light show around Barron. Forming a cage.

”Well. I was not expecting this.” Barron said briefly recoiling as the mere touch burned his fingers. ”Can I say not cool. While I must admit lack of credentials were a thought I had, I merely assumed you were busy. But this overreacting, I was only getting some healing salve. I’m not an ass and I wouldn’t bang up the kid unless I had something to treat him with.”

“...Toss it to me” Otto stared. A bit dumbfounded.

Pulling the jar out of his pocket, Barron gave it some airtime as it flew towards Otto.”It’s good stuff, I should know I had a talented Alchemist make it. Not a panacea but it’ll heal a wolf up right quick. Next time we meet though I’m kicking your ass.”

“Next time we meet, Vampire, Rune and I will bring ashwood and have us a stakeout. And how about you just try NOT to beat up people. Period?” Then he began running towards the car. “Go. Before the actual agents come.” He yelled to Rune who helped Ben into the car. By the time the car pulled away, the light cage had flickered out existence. Rune leaned out the window. “Thanks for the werewolf, sucker!”

Pointing angrily at the car that pulled out of sight. ”See. Double standards right there! First you call me a dick then you call me a sucker what a dick move.” Walking away from where the cage was Barron held up his hand forming a compass of blood. ”And yet I can track that Pup anywhere in this city. Who’s the sucker now! Let’s hope you leave quickly before I finish changing, who knows maybe I’ll make up my mind to follow you. For now.” Barron said pulling at his suit. I think I’ll wear the black one.”

Illuminati: Becouse the world won't run itself. [Light Hearted, Conspiracy, Urban Magic, Dark Humour]

For the record. I am expecting some modicum of seriousness to shine trough later posts. @ClocktowerEchos has been informed of this. AS much as this RP is about finding humour in dark places, we gotta have some decorum. Enforced or otherwise.

Illuminati: Becouse the world won't run itself. [Light Hearted, Conspiracy, Urban Magic, Dark Humour]

@ClocktowerEchos Fairly certein you needto be put in an asylum after that post.

Illuminati: Becouse the world won't run itself. [Light Hearted, Conspiracy, Urban Magic, Dark Humour]

@Sophrus@aviendha@ClocktowerEchos@Utrax@Utrax@JamesMuddy@Noxious

Annnnd we are off and running. Sorry for the delay. I will have update posts every other weak at least. LETS GET WRITING FOLKS <3

Illuminati: Becouse the world won't run itself. [Light Hearted, Conspiracy, Urban Magic, Dark Humour]

Director of Archives and Unusual Acquisitions office:

Alundra Cho looked at the screen infront of her while her fingers slid across the single silver claw she adorned her left index finger with. Her eyes scanned the information in front of her with scepticism. Or rather, with the pitch black, angry cousin of scepticism; Cynicism. Pure, angry, unfiltered cynicism. She flicked through the screens again and again, feeling her temper flare more and more violently. To her this was some sick joke from the higher ups, punishing her for botching something so obscure she wasn’t aware of it yet.

“This is the team we can put together?!” She exclaimed, making a young man to her left almost jump out of his shoes. Jonas Hendersen-Smith, Age 32 and Senior Adviser to Alundra was an up and coming star in the organization's RND branch, a down right master of blackmail and insider trading, he had all the makings of a future hot shot if not for his insistence to act snarky and rub his position in others faces.

“Under the time and financial restraints, YOU and financial put on it, yes. That is the team...”He said, adjusting his glasses.

“I mean. The girl from HR is… ok I guess”

“The Hipster witch? Dime a bloody dozen. The instagram models of magic.” Johan said, taking glee in shooting down his boss with what they both perceived to be the truth. Truth was, that while new age witches with a little power weren’t exactly uncommon, a Hecate sworn blood witch was a pretty good asset. Especially compared to the

“And well… They have a veteran asset.” Alundra tried, deadpanning as he looked up on the numerous complaints from Finance in regards to Old Man Henderson. A man who had been with them for so long, yet remained just an asset.

“They have a senile old man with a shotgun…” John paused. “A shotgun tied to several other shotguns.” He corrected. “He has a knack for surviving, I’ll give him that.”

“A chosen one” The exasperation all but rolled off the Director of Archives and Unusual Acquisitions. Even as she said the words, she was closing her eyes and rubbing her temples for the rebuttal sure to come. Jerimiah Tomb, the redneck prince of Sumeria. One of the few remaining links to Gilgamesh, the king of prechristian legends.

“Inbred. 0.005 percent lineage. ” John said with a shit eating grin.

“:...I am trying to be positive with the shit I am afforded here.” Alundra mumbled under her breath. “You are making it mighty difficult John”

“Again. YOUR budget proposal.”

“...Why did I promote you again.”

“Because I got dirt on you from last christmas.”

“Right…” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, in which Jacobs idly figured if he had pushed the envelope a bit too far. His boss steely gaze refused to let him go, and the tall asian woman was rumored to be part gorgon. He was seriously starting to see where those rumors came from now.

“Well fine. We’ll send this raggedy ass team out. They are only low tier assets. If they die. They die. Who gives a shit.” She said.

“HR and Financial….” He began, only to see her entire being tense up. He felt the malice rise off of her. In that moment, he knew he had committed a terrible sin. Never piss on the boss parade. Especially not Alundra Choos.

“FUCK YOU, FUCK FINANCIAL AND FUCK HUMAN RESOURCES!” She whipped around at him, her hair writhing and coming alive like a myriad of angry snakes. Jonas Hendersen-Smith, age 32, senior advisor to Alundra Cho, turned into stone. There was a long silence before Alundra sighed.

“God fucking damnit.” She hit a button on her intercom. “Get me RND, I need someone to unpetrify my fucking assistant. “ There was a mangled. angry screech from the other side.

--------

American Midwest; Requisition Filial; Alabama.

Inside a dusty room sit several, if not extraordinary, then certainly unusual individuals. They are Illuminati Assets, tapped when needed for jobs that aren’t rewarding in enough compared to the risks for real agents to be fielded. In this case, they were sitting in steel chairs likely taken from an old world war 1 storage. The stainless steel chairs were likely amazing during wartime, but they were uncomfortable enough to make Tombs back feel like he had been kicked by a mule. Standing before them was their handler. Mr Talbot. A severe looking, thin lipped, big eared eastern european man, with small, beady little eyes that reminded Jerimiah of a disney villain. His soul patch did not help him. He wore a suit that, unlike Jerimiah’s, fit him. Like all handlers, he took pride in showing the lesser people how much better he was. It ticked Jerimiah off somewhat, but he stared at his shoes, having already been beaten handily in a staredown before.

“That looks to be all of ya’ll”

Mr Talbot leaned casually against the stainless steel desk behind him. “Ok chucklefucks. Here is the deal. Deep in the Alabama forests lies this little town of Billsville. Charming name, I know. nestled against the mountain side, there used to be a iron mine there, started in 1935. But as things generally go, something happened that made the mine shut down in the early 70’s. The town was kind of dying after that, but in the 90’s it was kind of revived due to a coal baron by the name of Charlie Ledmark opened the mines up again.

Only Charlie Ledmark is no ordinary coal baron.” He hit a button, showing the pudgy man in a cowboy hat standing in front of a very strange skeleton. It was vaguely human, but its was too tall, and it had massive skeletal wings.

Ol’ Carlie collects occult memorabilia. The real, dangerous kind. He is too rich and influential to ice, he has had dealings with us in the past, hell, we buy and sell to his fatcat breed all the time. But, Ol’ Carlie dug up something bad. I mean, nobody here is really suprised.

But the nature of the beast wasn’t revealed until a few months ago. The past two months 22 people in the sleepy town of roughly 1200 have killed themselves in spectacular ways. By trying to gouge or otherwise remove their eyes.”

“Now hol’ on. Why would you let 22 people kill themselves before you send people in. That just sitting by and let shit hit the fan.”

“I am inclined to agree Mr Tomb. We did let this one hit shit creek a bit too quickly. What shit creek contains, I am about to show you.” He picked up a pair of earmuffs and put them over his ears. Then, with a voice that demonstrated he had hard time hearing himself, he proclaimed loudly. “Our RnD asset in the area recorded this before he too killed himself.” He clicked a button on the tape recorder and some folky sounding music began to play. At first, it was nothing.

But then the music began to fade into a voice. A strange, warped voice. One language became several, in different discordant tones. Jerimiah felt suddenly strange, as if his head was not his own. Everything around him seemed to be turning yellow.

“H-H-H-A-A-S” He tried to form the word but his tongue felt swollen. And then the tape recorder ended and the yellow resided.

“What you just heard was a recording of the Yellow King. IN it its original state.” Mr Talbot said as he removed the earmuffs. “That has been playing every second sunday for the past two weeks on their local radio station. And well, You know what they say. Once you see the Big Yellow, you cannot unsee the Big Yellow.” He gave them each a thick folder.

“Damage control. There is a trailer park just outside of town, you should fit in just fine there. The rest of you are Miss entourage. She is officially there to kick start her Musical Career, starting her radio show tour in Billsville. You’ll be housed at Taylors Inn, which is what passes for fancy lodgings over there.”


“HR. Tag along with PR. But ask around for a woman called Louise Tessmacher. She is a potential Asset, having manifested light ether kinetic abilities. Also she is really into that whole goth shit. So I am sure she will love talking to a real witch.”

“Damage Control, I don’t think whoever is capable of reading that language continuesly is strictly human anymore. When PR gains access to the station, find and neutralize the reader. Finance, I am going to need you to sit down with our resident fat cat in the burg, and deal the ever living hell out of him. Whatever he dug up, we are either getting or destroying. Oh. And RnD are to assess what the extent of the Yellow Kings influence is on the town.”

There was silence as Mr Talbot left them with their huge folders of information.

“Aint he… like a Old One? The Yellow Fellah I mean...”

----

>File Directory: 041 to 202
>File Name: H4STUR
>Subject: Hastur, The Yellow King, Lord of the Unspeakable Realm, The Big Yellow, Mustard Lord of the Churning Legion.

Dr Mordou at REAL (Research Association of Eldritch Lore)

“What do you do when madness spreads like a insidious disease trough written words and alien ideas? How do you stop the corrosion of reality itself as The Great Ones claw on unseen walls. These are question we at the Research Association of Eldritch Lore (REAL for short) keep asking ourselves, even as we lose colleagues to madness and worse. We have established a few things in regard to one player in the cosmic horror games: Hastur does not fuck around.”

“Most people treat the King in Yellow a myth. That Lovecraft's writing are just great fictional accounts of some disturbed mind. But the threat of the Eldritch horror is very much real, and Hastur is one of the most terrifying things we ever encountered. What It exactly is impossible to gauge, as best as we can tell is that he is a parasitic being, a malignant presence that infects our reality like a plague. Or a cancer, so malignant it might just regrow mid removal. Like all Eldritch beings, our reality appears to not be to its liking and entrance is not permitted on a whim. Like demons of Hell, it needs to be brought forth. Unlike Lucifers brood however, he only need one thing. For someone to speak its name three time. Hastur Hastur Has- You get the point.”

“By calling a name three times, you work the witches rule of three, the holy trinity, the celtic knot of spells. Why do you think urban myths tell you to call upon Bloody Mary three times. Same deal. Only Hastur is so malignant, so corrupting that his brief appearance will forever stay with you as you waste away into Yellow Madness. “

“While it is not known how or where, The Great Unspeakable Lord has help in the mortal realm from agents that write down his maddening whispers onto paper and distribute these trough the darker, unseen paths of the world. Plays that induce madness on the audience, books that speak to your mind, dragging everyone around you down with you.”

“Infact, let me show you. “

The screen shows the pasty skinned doctor lift up a book with a blank, yellow cover. His eyes seem to shine of gold as he opens it towards the screen.

---Data Corrupted--

---

The Taylors Inn - HR, RND, PR and Finance

“Welcome to Taylors Inn Miss!” The woman who greeted them had the practicied smiled of a terrified grand daughter who was forced into the family buisness. Which, to be fair, she was. Amanda .P. White had never seen a celebrity before, even someone a B-level one. First some extremely rich guy had reopened the mine, and now they had a model visiting. She would have been starstruck, but she found herself eyeing the door nervously. Strange things were happening in town as of late after all.

“Your rooms are on the second floor, all the east corridor rooms are yours. The one furthest away is yours Miss.” She said, trying to keep her calm. The other visitors would likely notice how pretty much everything in the little rustic in was shiny new or at the very least, very rarely used. This town didn’t see many visitors. However, there was a key missing behind her, the one for the Attic they renovated into a large “penthouse” suite. Charlie Ledmark was supposed to have hired it according to some snooping Finance had done while researching the Inn.

There was something not quite with the Inn, as if something lingered in the forest all around them. All the flowers appeared to be yellowing, dying slowly as if was late autumn, not early summer. Not to mention the thick layer of yellow pollen lying across seemingly every surface outside.

----

Bevel Hill Trailer Park. Damage Control

The ride up towards the small, alabama mining town was a bumpy one. The more glamorous cover up entourage had been afforded two big, roomy SUV’s with shock absorbers. Even so, they would find the ill repaired road jarring no doubt. Far worse off, the two oddball damage controllers would have found it. Their car may have been a pickup, but it was a beaten old thing that jumped and scrambled to the point Jerimiah Tomb was afraid his fillings would dislodge. The wheels of the thing they drove were likely worth as much as the run down car by the point, being the only new things on it.

“ow. Ow. OW. GAWD DAMMNIT” He yelled as he his head hit the roof repeatedly. His head was starting to feel like that time he had tumbled down a slope while chasing some gods forsaken goblin critter. The thing had damn near taken his head off when he finally stopped rolling. As they drove up onto the last stretch towards the Trailer park and temporary miner lodgings, he noted how all the trees were shedding leaves, like it was mid fall. Yellow leaves lying in droves along the way. He could feel his sword hum, the way it always did when something was wrong. Had he been a more astute person, a more intelligent one at that, he would have turned the car around then and there. Instead he rolled on into the Trailer park.

“Allright Henderson.” He said as he got out. “Our Trailers is number 21, right next to the Miners Lodgings.” He said as he looked around. Noticing that the entire place seemed rather empty. “Boy. Sure is a ghost town here.” He began heading for what seem to be a overlook area. “Where is the superintendent..” As he walked, he saw some folks peek out through curtains at him, eyes wide. He wondered what had them all so scared.

----

Of Blood And Steel: A Savage Earth Roleplay

Yoo

Mass Effect: Borealis

feelsz are realz

Mass Effect: Borealis

Clinical Precision and Messy Memories

Drono Loyalty Mission Prologue

There is a certain something about staring death in the face. A sort of creeping fear that you will lose everything. It keeps you from making connections. It severs ties you did not know you had. It stifles any hope of normalcy. For the past years, he had been doing nothing but surviving. Forced himself through increasingly painful cramps with the sole purpose of paying Yestin back for his betrayal. That and his own in its own right crippling fear of dying without anyone who know or care for him. A drell by nature was not a solitary being, his father had once told him.

Drono had begun to identify that little prickling of absolute, ice cold terror. He felt it now. Staring at the text before him. Going back to LaFayette for the first time since he joined with the crew. And it wasn’t going to be the same old procedure. No. He had a chance. A possibility of finally getting rid of the pain and the crippling fear of paralyzation. It came with a gamble, like all things Drono. The chance of the procedure leading to a fatal end was only 0.5 percent. Partial rejection of the synth spine however, was 30 percent. Those were pretty bad odds when it came to betting your future on something wholesale. But there was nothing else to it. Bringing up the vid message again, he stared at the elderly woman.

“Hello Drono. I have some bad news and some good news. The good news is that I finally found a specialist in drell physiology and a spinal surgeon who specifies in synthetics. “ She smiled, but the smile was strained. “Its just that two men wearing eclipse armor arrived to the station just a while ago, and they’ve been turning the place upside down looking for you. Going so far as to hire some of the local riff raff. I think whoever you didn’t want to find out about your visits here, has been alerted.”

Drono killed the message and ran his hands across his scalp, groaning audibly. “Fucking perfect.” He muttered under his breath. “Yestin...” He got up and began walking towards the Bridge. He was on auto pilot, feet steering him past everyone while snapping his fingers like he was trying to get the attention of waiter at a restaurant. He strolled right up the the ship intercom, all but smashing his finger on the button. “Everyone. Get you asses to the Bridge..” He stood there, cross armed, leaning on their charming, slavic pilots seat. Drono look surprisingly somber as they arrived, one by one. He waited for them all to be gathered before he spoke. There was none of the jovial, snarky tone he usually had. For once, you could hear the calm, very drell like finality all his species seemed to possess.

“I know I am usually the first to crack jokes and be inappropriate at times like this.” He said. “But I can’t now. If you read my earlier message, you know I am in a bad shape. It seems to be progressing at a more rapid pace, and soon, the deterioration of my nerves and spine will reach a critical point. “ He shrugged, clearly trying his damndest not to show the pain he was feeling. He was fidgeting with some of the gifts he gotten from Serena before. Assembling a detonator. Something to keep his fingers dexterous.

“The Salarian who did this to me, Is named Yestin. He was my partner in crime, back during my smuggling days. He left me to die.” He put away the now finished detonator away and started with a second one. “After putting bullet in my spine. And when I asked him why, he dumped a nerve toxin into the wound.” He waited, letting them digest what he was saying. He was stating everything with the most calm, deadpan expression he likely ever shown around them.

“One day. I will kill him. With my own two hands. I will smash his skull like and watch as his frail neck snap.” He said, in the same serene voice of Drell everywhere. The juxtaposition between his tone and his violent words was quite jarring. “But to do that, I have to live that long. And to do that, I need to get lafayette. Dr Sheeva was the one who saved me, however, lafayette is 90 percent humans, and he had never operated on anything alien before. There were..” His left hand spasmed slightly, almost making him drop the detonator. “Complications. The nerve toxin poured into my wound caused rapid necrosis." He let it hang there. He realized he was stalling for some reason.

"They managed to stem it. But they needed a expert in Drell physiology, as well as Synthetic Prosthetic spine, arm and shoulder. None of these are cheap on their own and my involvement in a particularly high stake heist at the time was… problematic for one seeking out public healthcare.”

He sighed. “I squirreled money away. Every job, all my money funneled into that clinic, into helping them set it up for me. And happy days, they found someone who, thanks to you guys, I can now afford.” He made a grimace. “But. Apparently, some people came looking for my records. Armed people.The kind with a black and yellow sun on their crest.”

He put down the second detonator. “I need your guys help. Usually, I can handle a few thugs. But I have a feeling these guys aren’t just here as a case of bad timing. I used Yestins name to get in close during the last job. I think he knows, and that he is looking for whoever helped me survive. If we don’t clear them out quick, I am not gonna make it. Their appear to be only two heavy hitters, Eclipse guys. They have some local muscle with them though. It makes sense, Yestin always liked doing business with they yellow bastards. ” He didn’t mention that the operation was far from a sure thing either. They didn’t need to know that. “I don’t wanna die guys.” He said simply. “Not like this.”
He sighed and and stood straight, palms out and open towards them. “Questions?” A hesitant, weak smile found its way past the grim, deadpanned mask.