People, wasting away in paradise Going backward, once in a while Moving ahead, falling behind What do you believe, what do you believe What do you believe is true Nothing they say makes a difference this way Nothing they say will do Take all the trouble that you can afford At least you won't have time to be bored Midnight Oil - The Power and the Passion Barrier Island, Ferros Block, Floor 7 Lobby Within the walls of Ferros Block's rough, brushed exterior, there was a hive of activity contained in one U shaped apartment block. On every odd numbered floor, there is a larger plaza area set aside within the building. Built inside and protruding upwards from the lowest point of the 'U' shape, and can be opened to air and natural light. Upon polished stone and lit by the afternoon sun and LED lamps, there was ample seating, surrounding lush green plants. Every now and then, enterprising vendors in beat up air trucks would occasionally hover nearby with their goods on display to entice customers, then park themselves on a pad and set up shop. Most vendors sold clothing, appliances, kitchenware, , along with food and drink stands. The breeze from the beach carried the sound of the waves with it, punctuated by the occasional air vehicle passing by - sunset trails following them. On the opposite side, you could look down Barrier Island, and if it was dark enough, the eerie glow of the cove could be seen; On the weekends, it'd be drowned out by the beat of hundreds of merchants and customers, walking and talking through night markets. Even so, there were telltale signs the building was not made solely for its looks - modules within could project a hardlight barrier strong enough to deflect gunfire across the building, and point defence countermeasures. Every now and again within the orbit of Traveller, there was some dolt with the bright idea of raiding a building in Sargasso in a mecha or a gunship - but only finding that their sole refuge is the sheer ballsiness of trying at all. The robots always got their way in the end, so help whoever tramples on their garden and bugs. And amongst bugs, there were bigger, deadlier, and far more handsome ones than others. An elevator to the Floor 7 opened up, two figures strode out, one in red carrying a pair of heavily laden shopping bags and a smile on his face, and the other in black, pastels, stiletto heels clicking against the stone, soon silent on carpet. "Yttrium, I gotta tell you," The man in red said, hoisting the two fabric bags as he rolled his shoulders, "things are looking up." And how. Luca had a favour from an influential being, and their trust with a successfully executed job. Yttrium had received a UC300000 dividend from the Sourcian, along with a hand written note complimenting the crude's smell. The ink seemed tasty to the gynoid, as a saving grace. The tall inky black figure tilted her head. She'd chosen to conceal many of her more exaggerated features beneath a cowl of sorts - a scarf matching the same red Luca was wrapped in. She watched him wistfully in whatever passed for deep thought in the mind of a crude. "Funny. I'm looking down," she gave a wink from her great height "So what are you going to do with yours?" The two were walking along, passing a door to another apartment. Looking down, they could see into the middle of the U of Ferros Block. "I'll probably use it to arrange future clients, or get us out of trouble in a pinch." Luca seemed confident Elena would come through on her end if he asked. He stopped in front of apartment 02, put one of the bags down and passed his hand over the lock. "We also have people willing to work with us." The door clicked open, and they walked in. "This little venture of ours is holding water so far," He put the shopping down on the kitchen counter and turned around, lips taut "but we've already got a pretty powerful enemy..." Luca tapped his fingers against his elbow, drumming the leather. "Remember Tanhauss?" he asked. "That reminds me..." she was soon fishing through pockets in the scarf with metallic fingers, fishing out a recept, turning it over slowly to skim the numbers. Some of the ones on the back were written by the cashir, though she couldn't work out why. "How exactly are we not going to get toooottally scrubbed from the surface of this world again? You had a plan but I forgot..." He nodded. "I figure we can remain adaptable." Luca outlined the skinny of his plans, tracing his finger against the kitchen counter, "we've got two well-stocked places we can bunker down in, and security for this place has been stepped up in light of the crime wave." "That benefits us, provided we register to the bounty-list and express at least a passing interest in doing the work for them." Yttrium followed the train of thought Luca had pushed into motion. "Kind of puts us on their good side, I'd think? I kind of used to do it everywhere I lived... Plus, seeing faces you recognised from the copsheets is usually a sign you should leave, you know?" The man in red snorted, smiling. "Are you joking? We need to ride the wave, with a surfboard made of private security opportunities," he started pulling groceries out of the bag, including a bucket of paint - swiftly set aside for Yttrium, "and bounties." After he put the milk, eggs, and bread away, he took off his jacket, hung it up and collapsed in a heap on the couch, heaving a sigh and rolling over before sitting off to one side and leaving room for Yttrium - her half was wrapped in plastic. "For now, I'd say we take a moment to drink the victory while it lasts." Luca turned on the TV with a smile, beckoning Yttrium over. As he flicked through channels, Yttrium parked rear on the plastic wrapped portion of the couch. "Well, when you put it that way..." she pondered, considering where she was was much better than when Luca first found her. He spotted a news report which caught his eye, clicking his tongue and sitting up with his head tilted. An Astro News Live reporter was on screen, standing in Wayward Mall with a microphone in his hands, a Sargasso PD prisoner transport upturned and a flaming wreck. "...reports say that the breakout happened while the bus was transporting prisoners from Middleton Remand Centre to Port Swordfish for transport to the Zero-G Max Security Prison. Bounty notices have been issued for..." Unsure of what to make of this at first, Luca glanced at Yttrium in concern as names were listed, each with a face not even a mother could love. "They're getting bolder," Luca said, watching the scarred, tattooed, and sometimes even monstrous faces on the screen - most of the prisoners weren't human - or didn't look it on first glance. Her artificial eye squinted at the report. "Guess you - er," Yttrium backspaced verbally, squinting at the screen, "we have our work cut out for us. Yeah..." It was clear though that she could smell money from a distance - glancing briefly down at the plastic bag of groceries at her side. Her definition of groceries wasn't exactly edible for other species, but it was tasty. A tongue licked about the corner of her eye - her lashes the boarder of a mouth with big thick shiny black lips for just a few moments before the bauble of her eyeball extended back from its throat to settle in its rightful place as a lash - all seemingly normal once again as the gynoid tittered quietly. Which was exactly why Frankie's bruised mugshot stood out when he was announced. Apparently he was wanted for several violent offences, a couple of fraud counts, and conspiracy to fix sports matches. And even after Luca had finished pummelling him, someone else (perhaps the judiciary) had seen fit to leave him a shiner before he got his pictures taken. Last Luca had heard about the earner for Tanhauss, they were supposed to be 'dealt with'. What had unfolded onscreen was the exact opposite. "Oh, son of a bitch," he bolted upright, reaching for his hand to make a call. Yttrium watched curiously -- fingerish toes drumming on the wooden floorboards before she stood up and began collecting on the kitchen table every weapon she could find in the house and whatever else was even slightly suspected of being useful as Luca did the very cool heroic thing and made the call. At the screen, he had paused the footage and fixed on a shot of the prison bus on its side. The front bullets from head on, killing the driver instantly. However, all the glass on the bus had been shattered before it was blown up - there was no sign of it anywhere near the crash site. The M.O. was a very familiar one. This was from the EAD playbook. ♫ Daft Punk - Superheroes ♫ Yttrium's enthusiasm in collecting shiny black metal tubes with handles and little boxes of explosively pushed pins of metal came to a halt - leaning across the arch of the kitchen's crescent wall to spot the television. "...Why was the glass blown in, not out?" "A sonic cannon. At the right frequency, a concentrated blast can shatter glass." Luca pointed out, rewinding the footage to an overhead camera. The bus was on the highway, with two police cars in convoy. "Watch." A third car - a white and blue beast on spherical wheels which didn't look like it came from any garage sped between them and blasted one police cruiser off the highway - and the bus into the other car. "And the guards probably had their ears blown out by more focussed beams, or got smashed in the accident." "...So that's the decompression then, not an actual explosion?" Yttrium whistled, audiably impressed. "Automotives make a lot of noise." Luca spoke aloud, the call was on speaker phone. "The guy who discovered it - Former EAD. Codename 'Driver'." He looked over to Yttrium. "Tanhauss must be employing him - Say, remember that idiot Frankie, Blue?" "Bits and pieces. Here and there. We're not known for our memory." The gynoid steepled her fingers, "I didn't model my appearance on the ditziest female model in Traveller's history because I thought it was funny. I did it because she forgets things, but it doesn't matter because people are too busy looking at her to get mad at her. I'm not sure why they look at her, but they do look at me and they don't usually get mad at me, so it works..." Her mannerisms made a lot more sense now. Luca raised a hand and put a finger on her lips - or where they were supposed to be. "And you were in a bucket, this is true..." She blinked with that one large eye, her little rant fading into silence. "Hello," she said softly - eyeing the finger briefly, a bit unsure of its presence. "I really roughed that guy up for you - and my trouble," He said. "You did!" "And I was goading him, messing with him - and he said that a guy called Driver was going to come after us." "Oh dear. Well, we spent enough money on weaponary so at least one of the things on the table will make him stop coming after us. Humanoids usually stop when you shoot them. Its ver effective." A fist clenched dramatically. "And the only way stop him is head on, and out in public!" "Publically traded? We're making a company? I call dibs on majority shares; I've played enough of that stupid human board-game to know if you don't get all the breakfast cereal first, everybody else does and they collect all the money. I don't want to not pass go. I don't want to not collect 200 credits. I like credits..." Facepalms could be heard throughout the universe. Though there was a faint logic to her point. Should they form a company? "Shh..." Those long mechanical ears tilted some and she fell once again into silence. For all their differences, some things were universal. "We need to stop this guy before he gets his hooks into Sargasso," Luca said, walking towards the kitchen table and seeing all the hardware Yttrium had collected pooled into place - a couple of rifles, some shotguns, a smattering of pistols and ammunition. "And I can't do it alone. We need to step up and counter the Driver, and Tanhauss' machinations." The small giant of oil stirred, listening carefully. As imposing as she was, she had a cowardly tendancy but... "I'm with you. I mean, this is my home now." Watching his lead, she clenched her fist together with a series of clicks and held it forward. "I'm not letting some jackass ruin it." "So! To all listening on the call: Mr. Isbala, Mr. Snuffles, and Ms. Sarn in particular," Luca named the people he'd met up with and worked alongside, "I'm going to have need of you all very soon - we've got a town to clean up together." Luca pointed upwards into the ceiling of his apartment dramatically, then clenched his fist - crackles of energy streaking up it. "One strike at a time! We are..." PHOENIX TEAM! START!! ELSEWHERE... In the darkness of some basement hideaway, where only a narrow slice of light was coming in from outside. The occupant of this den was dressed in a one-piece racing suit, the sort you'd see pilots wearing at the Frame Running or Drill Derby. Plastered all over the suit were stickers from all the sponsors he'd had on the years, layering over on top of each other and over strips of repair tape. Where these patch jobs failed, acrid blue smoke pulsed like a heartbeat, leaving wisps which broke his silhouette. Upon the figure's head was a plain white helmet; Beneath its purple visor was a segmented, grinning chrome skull mask which shone through the glass. It was burning for vengeance, neon pink lights filling the exaggerated eye sockets. Hoses ran from under his chin, slipping under his arms and down - and upon closer inspection, the helmet seemed modular. This Driver had found a renewed purpose in life: A reason to get behind throttle and stick and take lives once again. Just like his friend. Just like old times. "We got our guy on the ground out successfully." The racer said, skull's teeth were too many, all flexed into an inhuman, permanent smile which didn't budge an inch. He was talking into a hologram projection of a portly businessman at a desk on the coffee table. "It should draw him out." The businessman took a drag of a cigar, tasting the smoke and smiling at the good news. "Excellent work, Driver." He said, voice rich as a grey haze obscured his silhouette, "I'll pay you the usual-" Driver sat up, a mote flaring under the visor. "Hold onto it until I'm done." He interjected, grave and serious. "All I want before that, is his head." The businessman raised an eyebrow before squinting through the feed. "Is this personal for you, Driver?" He put his cigar down a golden ashtray and leaned in. The banker had been shrewd enough to anticipate such behaviour from the mavericks under his command, "I don't want you screwing this up because of theatric vengeance. Our shareholders have a lot riding on the Sargasso Appropriation Project." However, the businessman realised there was a silver lining in this. An extra carrot on a stick to lead his instrument of destruction around. "But if it makes you kill Luca Pavone quicker-" a gout of smoke flared from under the Driver's suit, neon blue glows following the wisps, tired leather and kevlar materials creaking as Driver's knuckles cracked underneath thick gloves, "then I have no complaints." From behind in the gloom of the basement, a toilet could be heard flushing, followed shortly by a door opening, punctuated by a zipper being fastened and some mumbling. Driver didn't pay it any mind. "I have my reasons, but he will be mine." They concluded the call with their handler, and turned around. "Frankie. Someone will be over to get you tomorrow, and they'll get you out of Barrier Island." "Yeah yeah, thanks," Frankie said, plopping himself down on the couch beside Driver and rubbing his face - peppered with sticking plasters doing a terrible job at concealing his bruised face. "You talkin' about that Luca guy t' Van Krupp?" He asked, reaching for a beer on the table. Driver didn't respond, sitting with his arms crossed, gazing absently into Frankie's bruised face. "I told that loudmouth, monkey-faced bastard you were gonna-" Driver's arms uncrossed, and a cold glove was wrapped around Frankie's neck a moment later, pinning him to the armrest of the couch. The force of how quickly Driver had moved made Frankie drop the bottle, beer spilling all over the floor. "Hmph," He exhaled calmly, even though the outline of his skull lighting up from under his helmet as he choked the patsy. "He'll know I got your ungrateful ass out of jail. You understand?" "You've ruined the surprise...!" Furious and passionate, Driver raised a fist as Frankie was trying ineffectually to stop Driver's supernatural strength. The fist soon connected with Frankie's face, leaving him with another bruise. "Hold your tongue from now on, Frankie, or I'll take it for my gearstick," The ghastly racer cast Frankie's broken form onto the floor, and the mobster earner crawled towards the bathroom again to get more sticking plasters. With that out of the way and his rage sated, Driver sat back and crossed his arms again. "If he knows I'm coming, then it will be a good fight," he mused to nobody in particular. The fixation transcended the money. "I could put him in his place..." He then sighed wistfully, chuckling low and throatily as his grin remained affixed. It was better than strippers showing up. It was like the old days. >END!
