HG: TRTW Act One - The Gathering Storm

[Hotfoot]

TN 1935
22 Autumn
Early Morning
Khayr-Ad Din
The Pit


Janos Capac rolled out of his bed and looked at his personal assistant with bleary eyes. It had woken him when he asked, but there was another tone the device was emitting, it had a message. He pressed a few buttons and grunted. It was time to get to work.

A week had passed since the last mission he had brought the team on. It wasn’t great money, but it was easy work. Slapdash modifications made to civilian gears were little match for the stable of pilots he had gathered together. Even a well-armed infantry squad could have taken out the rovers they had faced, but the losses would have been less forgiving. As it was, repainting the gears and giving them proper maintenance was a small price to pay for a proper test run of the team. Up until the last mission, most of the contracts taken had been low-risk work. Easy money, but not good practice for the squad.

Now, two new offers had hit the table at the same time. This was good, especially since the last contracts of this magnitude had been extremely scares since his last team disappeared into the White Desert. He shook off the foul thoughts of something that happened over two seasons ago, only to have them be replaced by others. More contracts would be coming, soon plenty more, and it would have little to do with how skilled or well-equipped his squad was.

He sent a simple text message to the seven men and women under his employ, telling them to meet him in the Barnaby Transport in an hour. With that, he put his personal assistant down and took a rapid silica shower, selected one of his finer suits, mindful to keep a thin coolant suit under his formal wear. Being stylish was one thing, being dead was another. Though the Sun was not up just yet, it would be soon enough, and the Badlands are a bad place to be improperly dressed.

When he arrived, his three technicians were already there. He smiled and gave them a quick nod to pre-empt their queries. “Yeah, we’ve got some offers. Soon as the pilots get here, we’ll go over the details. By the way, I hope you got that paint ready, I think it’s about time to start up some advertising. We’re back in business, full time, as of today.â€

[rhoenix]

TN 1935
22 Autumn
Early Morning
Khayr-Ad Din
Gunnar Maximilian's quarters

Life over the past year had been pretty good to Gunnar. He had finally bought out his old contract, and along with it, a Gear to call his own. He had begun learning to work on it immediately. When this chance to come up, he took it - now, he was...well, effectively a mercenary. However, it was challenging work that was never really dull, so he couldn't complain. He'd been on a couple good sorties so far, and though they were different than his experiences with dueling - they weren't that different.

Just as he was finishing his morning meal, thinking about what he'd like to work on first as far as his Gear went (and settling on tuning up the rifle first), Gunnar received the message from his new employer. Shrugging, he put a coat on over his mechanic's clothes, and left his quarters for the Barnaby Transport.

[Marcao]

TN 1935
22 Autumn
Early Morning
Khayr-Ad Din
Bedroom

The personal assistant beeped and waited, resuming its beeping every three seconds as it sought to annoy its owner into action. The beeping continued unabated for over a minute before having its desired result.

In the middle of the room a form shifted in a bed and groaned softly. It had been a week since his last job and Adrien had fallen on a familiar routine that did not included working. He took a deep breath and held it before turning over on the bed warmth pressed against his body in a familiar manner. His eyes opened and settled on a pair of breasts pressed against his face. He pulled back enough to get a better look at them before he glanced upwards; it took him a few seconds to come up with a name.

Abigail? No. Adelle? Couldn’t be. Tabitha? She wants me dead doesn’t she? Come on think!

His eyes left the young woman’s face and glanced down her neck before settling on her breasts once more. There was an unusual pattern of freckles…

Maeryn!

He smiled smugly at having come up with the name, the sounds of his personal assistant continuing unabated. Shit, he had to turn that thing off and go back to sleep. He recognized the pattern but paid it little mind. There was nothing that was going to intrude on his plans for the day. It was then that Maeryn moved, her eyes did not open but her arms moved against his side and slithered around him, her fingers coming to rest on his back. A few moments later and he felt someone moving behind him, a second set of arms coming to rest around his hips. For a moment, a fraction of a second he was completely confused.

Doesn’t Maeryn have a sister?

He considered that thought for only a moment before he turned his head and glanced over his shoulder and down. He could not see the face, but could see the top of a female head and could feel a body pressed to his back.

Meredith.

Yes, he remembered last night. He remembered everything that had transpired and allowed himself a languid smile. He always did appreciate the enthusiasm of some of his fans. Twin sisters in particular were particularly hard to resist. Still, while being in the center of so much beauty was certainly extremely pleasant he had to reach his phone before it annoyed him to death. His body moved and over the course of a minute he managed to slowly free his left arm from the grasp of two separate women. It took a great deal of self-control to not allow himself to indulge himself and he began the process of stretching his arm enough to reach the offending personal assistant as it continued its infernal racket.

His fingers brushed against the surface of the personal assistant but were unable to snare it. He took a breath and leaned further towards it, his body brushing against Meredith’s and pulling away somewhat from Maeryn. His hand snapped up the personal assistant in one fell swoop, his fingers silencing the mechanical construct before pulling it towards him. The screen flared to life under his coaxing, the text message was short and to the point.

“Merde.â€

[Cynical Cat]

TN 1935
22 Autumn
Early Morning
Khayr-Ad Din

Marcus fished grabbed his personal assistant off the top of his dresser. "Hello?"

"Marcus, I didn't wake you did I?"

"Diane." He smiled. "No, no I was already up." She had passed on his last two attempts to make a date and last night's party as well. He had been sure, up until this moment, that she had been done with him. A brief fling with a good looking piece of rough and then she was back to her cozy corporate world.

"I was just thinking of you," she said. "Saw a logo like on your Gear. Sorry couldn't make the party, but work's been killer. How was it?"

"Let's see, there were strippers, a huge amount of alcohol, a pharmacy worth of drugs, a DJ and a small army of hookers. Bing drinking, pill popping, drug snorting, live sex shows, group sex, dimly remembered red tinged rage, killer hangover, finding the bodies of a couple dead hookers, dismembering them and hiding the pieces. Fairly sedate."

"Ooh. Sounds fun. How was it really?"

"Not that great." He had hit the bottle fairly hard. "Not very debauched." Although Adrian had ended up leaving with the twins. The lucky fuck. He did alright, but Adrian was neck deep in pussy without even trying. Born rich and in the right country. Some people had all the luck, although he had somehow managed to fuck that up. "So, I thought you were giving me the brush off."

"The cancellations? Well, I can't deny it might have seemed that way," she said, "but they really have been working me like a dog. Part of the reason I phoned you. Look, I've got to go, but I'm not bored with you yet tiger."

The universe didn't hate him. Diane might not be in it for the long term, but he would take what he could get while it lasted. She was smoking hot, smart as a whip, made more money than he did, and a was great fuck. She had also somehow avoided becoming a soulless corporate drone and remained an interesting human being. "Alright," he said. "I'll take your word for it. How about we get together for a lunch or something?"

"I can probably squeeze that in somewhere," she said. "Let me check my calender." His assistant beeped.

"Fuck."

"What is it?"

"My boss. I might be killing people and wrecking shit soon. I'll get back to you."

"Don't make me wait to long."

"I won't."

[frigidmagi]

Alex leaned back on the leg of his gear. Unlike most he had never named it. It was simply The Gear or The Jag until a name made itself inescapable. He had a small pad of paper and a pencil and was drawing out the garage scene in front of him. He was more or less broke so he stayed in and around the garage while awake, although he had taken a few walks around the city. It was a... unquine place, there was nothing like it back up North, especially in the Protectorate. He didn't sleep to well last night, reoccurring problem, nothing much to be done though. Hopefully he would get to do something soon, doing something was better then sitting and thinking.

The pager that Janos had told him to keep on him started beeping. He checked it. Time to go to work.

[Cynical Cat]

Marcus got himself nice and presentable, complete with coolant suit and 11mm sidearm accessories. He looked at the result in the mirror. Not bad, not bad at all. Short, thick dark hair, golden skin, Eurasian features. Rugged clothes in good shape, an image that said prepared for the rough stuff and a successful professional who required a professional's wages. He nodded at the handsome devil in the mirror and headed out.

As a gladiator he was in the upper ranks, but that was as far as he went. He had the skills, the looks, and Gear to compete at that level and draw crowds and fans, but that was all he had. He was good looking, not gorgeous, formidable not masterful, and his Gear was good but not one of the kings of battle. He lacked the flash and the skill that the top rankers had. Adrian had the flash and Gunnar had the skill. By the Northern God that boy could shoot like nobody's business.

Well, fuck it. Better to be in their shadow making good money and having good men back you up than having his ass swing in the wind. He could be doing worse, a lot worse. It would nice just once to be the one everyone had their eyes on.

Fuck it. He was complaining that his big slice of pie wasn't big enough. Diane had phoned him back. He had a job lined up. He had good men looking out for him. He should be happy, not bitching about not having more.

Speaking of good men, he hit the speed dial for Alex's number. "Yo man? You there?"

[frigidmagi]

Alex fished the phone out of his thigh pocket.

"Yeah, I'm heading in. You?"

[Cynical Cat]

"Same," he replied in Anglic. "Just making sure you got the call, with you being newly set up and all. Didn't want you falling through the cracks."

[frigidmagi]

"I appreciate it. See ya there." Alex replied.

[Hotfoot]

TN 1935
22 Autumn
Early Morning
Khayr-Ad Din
The Pit: Janos Capac’s Garage

Janos looked at his pilots as they came in with a wry smile. A motley bunch, a Southerner, a Humanist, a Westie, and a Badlander. It was the start to a bad joke that in this company would end very poorly for the teller. When they had all assembled, he sauntered out of the back of his Longrunner with a big grin on his face. “Mornin’ gents, fine day to kick off the real business. Now, word’s gotten out that we’re as nasty as a pack of wild dawgs that ain’t had a hopper in a month, and here’s the proof,â€

[frigidmagi]

Alex thought for a minute before speaking. He never been in a duel before and frankly didn't see much point in being in one. Never had wanted to be a duelist.

"I would prefer the caravan myself. Sounds like better work and pays better." He said.

[Cynical Cat]

"Caravan," said Marcus. "Can't helped. Damaged by my Humanist upbringing. It's the right thing to do and the pay is better." He smiled. "I really need to get that part of my brain cut out."

[rhoenix]

For his part, Gunnar paced in the back of the room for one complete circuit before stopping. "As tempting as the duel prospect sounds, the caravan contract sounds more profitable, and would serve to get our name out in a better fashion than the duel would."

[Marcao]

It almost pained him to agree with Alex but he was correct. It was one of the few times that he did not allow himself a snide comment about the land where the man was from. The Western Front Protectorate was the most likeable of the CNS and that in of itself was not saying much. Still, he had to admit that they knew quality. He smiled for a moment, the familiar weight of his omnitool reassuring.

"The caravan is the most profitable of the two endauvors." He said in a heavily accented Anglic that made his homeland painfully apparent. "I take it that we will have full salvage rights?" It was unlikely that Rovers would be using any machines of note but even a Hunter could be sold at a significant profit or broken down into useful parts.

"Frankly, I have little interest in having to contend with a northern duelist in an artificial and dull display of skill." At that point, it might as well be completely a simulation. There would be little honour in it.

[Cynical Cat]

"He said full salvage Adrian," said Marcus, a little acid leaking into his voice. "Maybe if you got some sleep at night instead of trying out every one of your groupies you might have noticed."

[Marcao]

He blinked, blue eyes sliding towards Marcus although there was no enmity in those eyes. He did look rather disheveled at the moment, his left hand moving through his hair for a moment before he rolled his shoulders.

"Je regrette." He said in Universal French.

"It was a long night." He added moments later in his usual Anglic as if actively seeking the right words. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he said so. He clearly did not regret what had transpired...

[rhoenix]

Rolling his eyes at the antics of the two, Gunnar resisted the urge to open his wrist-top computer and work on his Gear's to-do list. "Ok, well good. Janos, was there anything else?"

[Hotfoot]

Janos smirked, then brought up the details for the Caravan contract. "Okay then, here's the details. The caravan was hit at night by a group of at least five Heavy Gears. The details are sketchy, but at least one of them was a fire-support chassis by the sounds of it. What makes the whole thing weird is that they said there were no contacts on their sensors, or at least they couldn't make any out. It makes me think that there's ECM at play. Could be Warriors left over from the War of the Alliance, or maybe someone got their hands on portable ECM gear. Hell, could even be a patched-up Cheetah. Point is, these are full military-spec Gears, and there are at least five, possibly more, and they have ECM support.

"Now, I've added a standard escalation clause if we face too much more than that, so we have the option of either withdrawing without defaulting or escalating for an additional forty thousand," He looked up and read their faces, "Now, it's a bit of a hike, probably about three days out, depending on how we push it."

[rhoenix]

At this, Gunnar smirked - the prospect of a good firefight was nice, and the thought that it would be well away from what they were protecting was particularly comforting. "Good, then it won't be all boring. So, when should we go?"

[Marcao]

His attention had been mostly on Marcus after his little comment. He liked the fellow Southerner and while he was not from the Republic originally, not everyone could be so fortunate as to be born in the most free nation on the planet. Still, when Janos spoke his attention naturally gravitated towards him. He would have to talk with Marcus at a later date about how...creative the twins had been. Furthermore, on some level he had to ascertain that he did not sleep with each and everyone one of his fans. Such a task would be herculean under the best of terms. He did after all have standards.

Eventually, Janos went silent and he considered what the man had said. At least five gears, ECM, potential true military opposition? Mon dieu, he could only hope they were Northerners!

"This is...very exciteeng." He admitted in Anglic.

He had been looking forward for an excuse of trying his new Junglemower and the Apocalypse IV system. If this information turned out to be accurate, it may actually be worth while to use both systems to their fullest. Furthermore, it would be a real challenge the likes of which he had not adequately enjoyed since his time on the Southern Republic army.

"How much time do we have to prepare?" He would also like to take a look at any data that had been provided to them but he could pester Janos for that later.

[Cynical Cat]

Marcus rolled his shoulders. "Sounds like these bandits are a step up from ordinary trash, which means better than ordinary salvage." He had made his bones as a merc killing bandits. They ranged from scum to beings so vile you could scarcely believe they were human. Putting them into graves was putting them where they belonged. And the money didn't hurt. Not at all.

[Hotfoot]

"We can take a day or two, but I'm itching to get out, so I'd like to shoot for either late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Get some fresh paint on the vehicles, maybe re-tag them, that sort of thing, and stock up on supplies. Speaking of that, I'm open to suggestions on the new names of the Barnaby and the Longrunner, and we probably want to start thinking of a name for the unit. 'Janos Capac's Irregulars' doesn't do much to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, though I'm always fond of seeing my name in print," He winked as he started making some notes into his assistant.

[Cynical Cat]

"We need something as flashy as Adrian, but less Southern Republic," said Marcus. "Keep the possible client base large as possible. Anglic name. Got to sound like we mean business."

[Marcao]

"There is notheeng wrong with le Republic." Adrien protested for a moment before he reconsidered. "But in this circumstance, I agree that it is in our best interest to appeal to the masses." He nodded. It was true that Khayr Ad-Din was closer to the South than the so called North. Nonetheless, the milicia was not exactly dear to everyone's hearts. He was also aware that sooner or later, they were going to have to deal with the milicia in one of their missions in the future. It was his hope that by killing enough Northerners it would all balance out.

He went silent for a moment, a frown appearing on his features. "Any ideas?" He had a few thoughts, but they were either too grandiose, too complicated or too...Republican to fit. It was true that two of the gears had taken names from the Nordic myths...

[rhoenix]

Gunnar shrugged. "I've always been partial to the two major natural disasters of the Badlands - why not something having to do with lightning and sandstorms? Being known as a force of nature couldn't hurt our rep, I'd say."