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AtomicEmperor
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I don't really see what's wrong with the word 'black', TBH.
Oh shit, sorry Derv - didn't check my PMs until just now.
Post's up, anyways.
With Tanya's rapid co-ordination of their hijacking job, things quickly fell into place for the team - Iosif among them. Throwing the remaining crew members off their own vessel had given him a certain level of satisfaction that would only be met when he claimed one of their cabins for his own use. It'd be like another one of his own personal 'fuck you' gestures he was getting into the habit of offering to Siame Industries, and it wouldn't have been the last of them either. After that, running the salarian vessel's navigation systems had taken a little getting used to, but by the time they'd given Cartagena a farewell kiss he'd gotten the hang of it, for the most part. Now came the part where they could take a few and enjoy the brief fanfare they'd earned.
This was one for the records. Well, at least for his own records anyways - Iosif hadn't pulled off a successful job like this since his last info heist. Still, it wasn't anything that would've made the front pages on any of the Citadel Headlines, maybe a fluffer article to keep some tabloid afloat between its next half-naked asari pinup. At any rate, it made a good comeback and as far as Iosif was concerned, that was reason enough to give himself some kind of credit. Him, and this motlet crew he'd joined up with. Who knew, maybe things with these guys would turn out alright after all. Then again, Jedrah was always going to remain at the pit of his mind as a permanent reminder of how much trust could be worth.
It didn't exactly hurt, however, that the two batarians wouldn't be joining them on the vessel. As much as it put a dent in their whole operation against Siame and as much as they'd stuck their necks out and been burned for it, Iosif found a slight sense of relief in their absence, even if he wasn't going to advertise that particular detail to everyone else. One of the batarians had definitely struck him as the slaver type and even after they'd supposedly proven themselves with their last job, Iosif remained unsure as to whether or not he would've had to put the bastard or his would-be 'fellow brother' down at some point or another. All the better they were gone, he supposed.
Having quietly sat through Tanya's little speech, he figured it was time to grab a decent bunk before the others staked their claims. Conveniently, quite a few of the sleeping quarters were closer to the hangar - where he planned on spending quite a bit of time, if that salarian dropship was anything to go by - and so he wound up claiming the next compartment after Tanya's. Luckily for him, he'd not exactly been carrying a great deal of personal effects or equipment. Most of what he owned he was wearing, armour and weapons included. Anything else he'd need could probably be taken from the contents of whatever the ship's previous occupants left behind, or otherwise earned over the course of this endeavour.
Stepping inside the cabin, he found an appropriately compact space; a bed, desk and a chair all crammed together, accompanied by a storage locker against the wall. Hardly a luxurious space, but one to call his own - more than what could've been said for anyone who'd experienced life in a batarian slave mine. A few minutes of searching through the locker revealed the previous occupant to be one of the human crew members and amusingly enough, one who particularly enjoyed reading the exotic pleasures of Fornax Magazine. Unfortunately for him, that's where the amusement ended as whoever the man had been also happened to be a few sizes larger than him when it came to clothing. A little annoying for Iosif, as he'd come aboard without any extra baggage, but he figured that one of the other cabins would turn up with a few sets of clothing that matched his size close enough.
Before he planned on slipping out of his armour, Iosif went to check the sliding door that guarded entry to the cabin for any kind of security measures or locking device. Troubling enough, it lacked either - but Iosif always had some kind of contingency in place for situations like this. Aratoht had taught him to sleep with one eye open and as a rule of thumb he always kept a sidearm within reach, just in case the day came when it'd need use. So long as he followed the same doctrine here, he'd get along fine. With that thought out of the way, he stripped out of his armour and stowed it inside the storage locker along with the rest of his equipment, save for the sidearm which he kept holstered at his side and his trusty welding tool.
Until now, however, it hadn't occurred to him how he actually looked with the various layers of equipment stripped away. His 'casual' wear effectively consisted of a set of khaki cargo pants, a pair of military-spec boots and a black vest with some faceless clothing company's logo printed on the front. It gave a particularly graphic view of his cybernetic arm, where it was joined to the organic tissues of his shoulder, in addition to the barcode those slaving bastards had tattooed across the back of his neck to mark him as their property. All in all, not a particularly handsome sight, but Iosif hadn't signed on for a modelling contract. The only thing that actually bothered him was the fact that this was his only change of clothes, but with any luck he'd find an alternative from one of the others if he asked later on.
In the meantime, he decided, he'd head over to the hangar to find out what to expect with the salarian dropship that was practically waiting for his attention. After all, he'd be piloting the damned thing. When he finally reached the hangar, however, he noticed Tanya had already started off or at least she was about to, judging by the equipment she'd left lying around. Putting two-and-two together, he figured they shared the same idea, and with that he spoke up. "So, are we taking a look at this or not?"
This was one for the records. Well, at least for his own records anyways - Iosif hadn't pulled off a successful job like this since his last info heist. Still, it wasn't anything that would've made the front pages on any of the Citadel Headlines, maybe a fluffer article to keep some tabloid afloat between its next half-naked asari pinup. At any rate, it made a good comeback and as far as Iosif was concerned, that was reason enough to give himself some kind of credit. Him, and this motlet crew he'd joined up with. Who knew, maybe things with these guys would turn out alright after all. Then again, Jedrah was always going to remain at the pit of his mind as a permanent reminder of how much trust could be worth.
It didn't exactly hurt, however, that the two batarians wouldn't be joining them on the vessel. As much as it put a dent in their whole operation against Siame and as much as they'd stuck their necks out and been burned for it, Iosif found a slight sense of relief in their absence, even if he wasn't going to advertise that particular detail to everyone else. One of the batarians had definitely struck him as the slaver type and even after they'd supposedly proven themselves with their last job, Iosif remained unsure as to whether or not he would've had to put the bastard or his would-be 'fellow brother' down at some point or another. All the better they were gone, he supposed.
Having quietly sat through Tanya's little speech, he figured it was time to grab a decent bunk before the others staked their claims. Conveniently, quite a few of the sleeping quarters were closer to the hangar - where he planned on spending quite a bit of time, if that salarian dropship was anything to go by - and so he wound up claiming the next compartment after Tanya's. Luckily for him, he'd not exactly been carrying a great deal of personal effects or equipment. Most of what he owned he was wearing, armour and weapons included. Anything else he'd need could probably be taken from the contents of whatever the ship's previous occupants left behind, or otherwise earned over the course of this endeavour.
Stepping inside the cabin, he found an appropriately compact space; a bed, desk and a chair all crammed together, accompanied by a storage locker against the wall. Hardly a luxurious space, but one to call his own - more than what could've been said for anyone who'd experienced life in a batarian slave mine. A few minutes of searching through the locker revealed the previous occupant to be one of the human crew members and amusingly enough, one who particularly enjoyed reading the exotic pleasures of Fornax Magazine. Unfortunately for him, that's where the amusement ended as whoever the man had been also happened to be a few sizes larger than him when it came to clothing. A little annoying for Iosif, as he'd come aboard without any extra baggage, but he figured that one of the other cabins would turn up with a few sets of clothing that matched his size close enough.
Before he planned on slipping out of his armour, Iosif went to check the sliding door that guarded entry to the cabin for any kind of security measures or locking device. Troubling enough, it lacked either - but Iosif always had some kind of contingency in place for situations like this. Aratoht had taught him to sleep with one eye open and as a rule of thumb he always kept a sidearm within reach, just in case the day came when it'd need use. So long as he followed the same doctrine here, he'd get along fine. With that thought out of the way, he stripped out of his armour and stowed it inside the storage locker along with the rest of his equipment, save for the sidearm which he kept holstered at his side and his trusty welding tool.
Until now, however, it hadn't occurred to him how he actually looked with the various layers of equipment stripped away. His 'casual' wear effectively consisted of a set of khaki cargo pants, a pair of military-spec boots and a black vest with some faceless clothing company's logo printed on the front. It gave a particularly graphic view of his cybernetic arm, where it was joined to the organic tissues of his shoulder, in addition to the barcode those slaving bastards had tattooed across the back of his neck to mark him as their property. All in all, not a particularly handsome sight, but Iosif hadn't signed on for a modelling contract. The only thing that actually bothered him was the fact that this was his only change of clothes, but with any luck he'd find an alternative from one of the others if he asked later on.
In the meantime, he decided, he'd head over to the hangar to find out what to expect with the salarian dropship that was practically waiting for his attention. After all, he'd be piloting the damned thing. When he finally reached the hangar, however, he noticed Tanya had already started off or at least she was about to, judging by the equipment she'd left lying around. Putting two-and-two together, he figured they shared the same idea, and with that he spoke up. "So, are we taking a look at this or not?"
I've got a post in mind that I'm meaning to get up over the next few days. It's just getting around to writng it up.
20 October 2077
Portland, Oregon
Morning
".... Sergeant?" A nervous, shaky voice trailed behind Nate as he knelt beside the Lieutenant's corpse, prying his 10mm sidearm from its late owner's holster. He ignored it, instead aiming the sidearm towards the clowards and firing off a single round, before quickly pushing the weapon towards the Lieutenant's side, as if he'd been holding onto it when he'd died. When he finally saw Coporal Quentin's frozen gaze once again, he gave him a firm stare from behind the visor of his helmet, before speaking up. "He snapped, just like the Captain did." On paper it might've sounded like a statement, but face-to-face he may as well have been pointing a rhetorical question at the man. Corporal Quentin gave a stiff nod without another word.
With that out of the way, Nate quickly brought a hand over his radio and blurted out, as if on-cue ,"We've got a man down!". It wasn't too long before the cavalry showed up, a small squad comprised of yet another CO and several men who were a little more beefed up than Nate's own post, perhaps because they were expecting a fight. Instead they found a shell-shocked kid, a worn-out sergeant and the cadaver of their CO with his brains splattered all over the wall. In peacetime, there was a good chance Nate would've been sniffed out by some hardass MP who was smart enough not to take the word of two potential suspects, but with Uncle Sam's finest straining to keep the city under wraps it had been something of a cakewalk. As far as the relief team were concerned, the Lieutenant had grabbed for Nate's gun, then failing that pulled out his own and made a meal of it. When they questioned Corpoal Quentin for his side of the story, he gave the same answer he'd given Nate earlier - a stiff nod, accompanied with the mutterings of "Like Captain Morgan..."
Even under his 45d, Nate could still hear the CO muttering 'poor kid' under his breath as he turned away, not that it was anything new, before shifting his wearied gaze back towards Nate and offering him a few parting words. "There's nothin' more you can do here, Sergeant. It's a damn shame... waste of good men like that, but there's nothin' more either of you two can do. We'll take over and clean up from here, you just take the kid with you and get some rest. Dismissed." The middle aged CO, a limping old wardog who had probably been kept out of a desk job for the sake of the war effort, gave Nate a reaffirming nod and patted him on the shoulder plate of his T-45d, before turning his attention back towards the scene. Glancing back towards Corporal Quentin for a moment, Nate stiffly gestured for hi mto follow with a tilt of his head.
For a short while, the two were silent as they passed through the streets of downtown Portland - a few prying eyes occasionally glanced from behind the safety of their barred shopfronts to get a look at them, but otherwise nothing. Turning into an alleyway, intentionally, Nate's thoughts were interrupted by the Corporal's voice "What did you just-" only to be cut off by Nate, who hit back with a "What -we- just did, you mean." He shifted his view back towards the Corporal, and continued. "You heard it straight from the Lieutenant. 'Weapons free, Corporal.' Tell me, why'd you enlist?" It took a little while before he got an answer. "To protect my country. Friends, family." Just as he expected. "And you think that taking potshots at a couple of rowdy civvies is going to protect this country? Hell, you even refused to do it yourself. It was either the Lieutenant or them, and it's not the civvies that are pointing rifles downrange at their fellow Americans."
Yet another long pause followed, before the Corporal eventually spoke up once more, this time somewhat dejected. "Al.. fine. You did what you had to Sergeant, but... what now? I... we can't just go back after this, can we?" At least this time, he had something of an answer for the Corporal. His thoughts drifted northwards, to a place where rumours were born. "No. But there's other places, too."
Portland, Oregon
Morning
".... Sergeant?" A nervous, shaky voice trailed behind Nate as he knelt beside the Lieutenant's corpse, prying his 10mm sidearm from its late owner's holster. He ignored it, instead aiming the sidearm towards the clowards and firing off a single round, before quickly pushing the weapon towards the Lieutenant's side, as if he'd been holding onto it when he'd died. When he finally saw Coporal Quentin's frozen gaze once again, he gave him a firm stare from behind the visor of his helmet, before speaking up. "He snapped, just like the Captain did." On paper it might've sounded like a statement, but face-to-face he may as well have been pointing a rhetorical question at the man. Corporal Quentin gave a stiff nod without another word.
With that out of the way, Nate quickly brought a hand over his radio and blurted out, as if on-cue ,"We've got a man down!". It wasn't too long before the cavalry showed up, a small squad comprised of yet another CO and several men who were a little more beefed up than Nate's own post, perhaps because they were expecting a fight. Instead they found a shell-shocked kid, a worn-out sergeant and the cadaver of their CO with his brains splattered all over the wall. In peacetime, there was a good chance Nate would've been sniffed out by some hardass MP who was smart enough not to take the word of two potential suspects, but with Uncle Sam's finest straining to keep the city under wraps it had been something of a cakewalk. As far as the relief team were concerned, the Lieutenant had grabbed for Nate's gun, then failing that pulled out his own and made a meal of it. When they questioned Corpoal Quentin for his side of the story, he gave the same answer he'd given Nate earlier - a stiff nod, accompanied with the mutterings of "Like Captain Morgan..."
Even under his 45d, Nate could still hear the CO muttering 'poor kid' under his breath as he turned away, not that it was anything new, before shifting his wearied gaze back towards Nate and offering him a few parting words. "There's nothin' more you can do here, Sergeant. It's a damn shame... waste of good men like that, but there's nothin' more either of you two can do. We'll take over and clean up from here, you just take the kid with you and get some rest. Dismissed." The middle aged CO, a limping old wardog who had probably been kept out of a desk job for the sake of the war effort, gave Nate a reaffirming nod and patted him on the shoulder plate of his T-45d, before turning his attention back towards the scene. Glancing back towards Corporal Quentin for a moment, Nate stiffly gestured for hi mto follow with a tilt of his head.
For a short while, the two were silent as they passed through the streets of downtown Portland - a few prying eyes occasionally glanced from behind the safety of their barred shopfronts to get a look at them, but otherwise nothing. Turning into an alleyway, intentionally, Nate's thoughts were interrupted by the Corporal's voice "What did you just-" only to be cut off by Nate, who hit back with a "What -we- just did, you mean." He shifted his view back towards the Corporal, and continued. "You heard it straight from the Lieutenant. 'Weapons free, Corporal.' Tell me, why'd you enlist?" It took a little while before he got an answer. "To protect my country. Friends, family." Just as he expected. "And you think that taking potshots at a couple of rowdy civvies is going to protect this country? Hell, you even refused to do it yourself. It was either the Lieutenant or them, and it's not the civvies that are pointing rifles downrange at their fellow Americans."
Yet another long pause followed, before the Corporal eventually spoke up once more, this time somewhat dejected. "Al.. fine. You did what you had to Sergeant, but... what now? I... we can't just go back after this, can we?" At least this time, he had something of an answer for the Corporal. His thoughts drifted northwards, to a place where rumours were born. "No. But there's other places, too."
I've been ill these past couple of days and kinda bogged down with college work, gonna try and rectify that very soon though.
Sorry I've been quiet these past few days, I've kinda been stuck with college and stuff and I've not been too well over the past few days.
Yeah, a time skip might be handy.
Finally got a post up, sorry for the delay and if it's a little short but I didn't want it to drag on too much.
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