"...and I can get you anything you need on Omega...heh, that is, as long as it goes along with what Aria orders.....which could be anything from weapons, stimulants, information....females...males...."
Sergeant Major Francis McDowell sat across the table from a rather talkative, slightly perverted, Batarian black market represenative. The dimly lit booth Frank had ordered provided a key place to observe Afterlife, the main hub of criminal activity on Omega. It also made his job ten times easier...as information brokers were as easy to find as a low-rate prostitute (which is pretty easy in Omega).
Frank sighed, "You know what, all I'd really like is that letter you're going to give me."
The Batarian's four eyes got a little bit wider and its voice had gone up in pitch.
"A letter? I...I don't know what you're talking about."
Frank chuckled, he saw how this was. The Batarian was an amateur at business, but he at least knew how to give subtle demands...in this case of more money.
"Oh, well, in that case, I suppose the extra 40 creds I had for you was an oversight....aw well."
The Batarian stood, "Wait...wait, you mean this letter?"
The alien produced a crinkled, yellow envelope from his satchel.
The Special Ops Commando smiled.
"Yes, that one."
He snatched the envelope from the Batarian, then with a blurr of motion, smashed a backfist into the alien's head. The Batarian's head gave a sickening crack, and purple liquid began to come from the alien's nose.
"Wha...what was that for?"
Frank stepped out of the booth and tossed a 40 credit chip to the sprawled out form that was the Batarian.
"Lying. Bad business begins with a knack for saying the wrong things. Be happy you've got the money....this overcharged crap they say is beer was hardly worth my time."
The booths around Frank had become suddenly quiet as everyone's attention had been drawn to the scene. That was too much in Frank's book, but sometimes, when dealing with the underworld, a certain dramatic flair was needed to get your point across.
As Frank left Afterlife, everyone gave him room, even a few of the bouncers. No matter the race or alien, intimidation always has an affect.
Once outside, Frank opened the yellow envelope, taking out a black paper with faded white writing. To the untrained eye, it seemed to be just a jumble of random letters and numbers. Things like "HUUG UOF89 GRJE00," were in fact an old engima code...some of the combinations going back as far as World War 2. It still worked, as a super advanced society like those that were in the council often had trouble understanding the most basic of messages.
Frank decoded the letter mentally:
Lone Wolves 4 and 2 have both confirmed the arrival of a freightor marked as "Valkrie." According to local intelligence, they've just encountered a derelict ship near the 'forbidden' Omega Relay. One of our teams checked the ship shortly after the "Valkrie" left, there was nothing discovered, only that the ship belonged to the Black Ops organization Cerberus. This alone is reason to find out what was taken by the "Valkrie." They will be docking within 2 hours at the most, according to Lone Wolf 2. Your objective is clear.
Is the bull in its cage?
Frank's expression grew more serious, he had just recieved the code phrase that allowed him to do anything necessary to procure the information. Such as killing everyone on the "Valkrie" if need be.
He took a piece of paper and wrote down: It Already Moves Rapidly, Enter A Doomed Yurt.
The message was simple...and odd, but if the reader were observant, he'd see that somewhere in the message it spelled "I am Ready."
He then tossed the envelope into a green trash can and began the short trek to the docking modules. It was time he inspected this incoming "Valkrie."
you very much
If a tree would fall in the woods.....would the other trees laugh at it?
Last edited by CommanderQ; 11-24-2010 at 08:53 PM.