Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Thomas McTavish, Feb 28, 2014.

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  1. Neutra Regalia.
    Caesar looked over the cityscape as the dim artificial "moonlight" glinted from the metallic roof of the building he was standing on, the streets and back alleys a blur of neon motion, a flow of light and dark serving as the visual representation that was the harmonious cacophony of the middle layer of the city of Regalia. The ceiling that was his sky almost looked real, but for that he could see the pipes and supports. The scene was almost poetic, but was interrupted by the reason he was there in the first place. He needed to be getting down to see what was left of the body. A fall that steep was sure to make a mess, not that anyone would really care. He needed the DNA as proof. Then return to his employer, collect his credits, and search for more work. The city was a busy place, and he was a busy man. He ordered his helmet to play Moonlight Sonata as he made his descent. Something was calming about the ancient music. Made him focus. And now he needed to focus. Authorities would be here any minute, and with as corrupt as they are down here he was likely to be killed on spot.

    He made it to the bottom and got the blood sample, just in time to dash away as the Uniform Pigs showed up. Time to meet his employer and collect his dues.
  2. "I want to see you again." Blue eyes looked up and focused on the glassy orbs of a half-naked male. Not wanting to upset him, the female let her lips curve into a smile as she slipped on her knee-length black coat and zipped up the front of it. She moved toward him with a sway in her hips and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, making sure her hand lingered on his chest a moment longer than usual. "Then look for me next time you are in the area." Turning her back to him, the female made her way out of the dirty motel room and down the backstairs that led out to an alleyway. Once the not-so-clean air hit her face she gave a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall of the building. Having that horrid man's hands all over her would have made her puke. Thankfully her receptors had been switched off just as soon as his shirt had come off. Despite how gross he had been, Resic could not deny the fact that he was willing to pay quite a bit of money for a couple of hours with her. She just made a mental note to not take on the same features till at least a week or two had gone by. Speaking of which...

    Straightening her back, Resic flipped the receptors in her body back on and forced her features to change back to what she preferred to wear. The brown color of her hair faded back to pure white, while her eyes darkened from blue to pure black. Her skin tone remained the same color since she had decided to leave it as it was when she had started working that night. But with her last client having been generous with the funds from his pocket, Resic could easily call it an early night and head home. Maybe she could stop into the one shop and see if any books had shown up? A part of her doubted it, but it never hurt to try. Once her features were back in place, Resic pushed herself from the wall and made her way down the alleyway toward the crowded street ahead. Just as she was about to step out into though a group of uniformed officers shot past her. Causing her to step back into the alleyway and look after them with concern. What the hell was going on? She hoped it was nothing too serious. Nothing that would make the streets become crowded with uniforms and force them to stop everyone that seemed different and shove a million questions down their throats. Maybe skipping out on the shop would be a good idea...
  3. Of course, unlike the majority of the people that were out tonight and doing something seemingly illicit, Gwen was doing something that was, ostensibly, legal. Although the advent of cybernetics and the rest had increased the sheer brutality and force of the boxing scene, making it a cybernetic technician's wet dream of innovation on how to hit stuff harder, laws had not caught up to it, and the occasional bribe thrown the way of politicians was enough to make sure it kept that way, despite the occasional fatality from some guy getting punched in, like, half or something.

    Gwen had come into the scene as a teen of 17 originally, wearing the first initial prototypes of her power fist design. She punched out a guy twice her size in a single hit with the actuating, piston-driven power fists that were her trademark. She had only made them better overtime, and even now, they were easily considered the best in the sport. This excellence was shown quite obviously by the fact that she was currently ruining her opponent's day. The fight had started off with the man dancing around her, using his lighter exoskeleton and lighter power fists to pick at her, but the moment she landed one punch on the guy, it was obvious his parts just weren't up to the task. It was only round 2, and the guy's exoskeleton was sparking and near-shattered, his eyes glassy and dazed, and his fists wavering.

    With a quick step in and a feint with her right, she brought her left around in a wicked cross, slamming it into the side of the man's head, as the pistons and servos did their work, literally detaching the man's head and sending it off into the crowd in a spray of viscera and blood. The crowd, of course, went wild. This is what they came to see, after all. The fighters both signed legal waivers that said, in essence, not a damn soul was liable in case of their, uh, tragic demise.

    After the bout, with her hands all fixed up and cleaned off (blood caused an awful lot of rust if not treated right), she headed on out of the back entrance, rolling her shoulders a bit to get some post-fight stiffness out of them. Woo. And right out in front of a dead body. With officers standing around. Now, the politicians took bribes, and paying the politicians one lump sum was easier than paying the cops every time something bad happened.

    This meant the police didn't take a high view of boxers.
  4. Gunfire was always a problem. You didn't have subdermal armor or body armor, you were pretty done if you got hit. That's why Gracia got the Neuroprocessor. She could hack and shoot at the same time, her left hands doing all the work while her right hand took up arms. Her PDW was in her back in the sling, her MP was in hand, dishing out bullets. She had three of her four left hands working on the computer, and the fourth working on reloads. The enemy was getting closer, however, so pretty soon, she'd have to switch to her shotgun. It was also slung on her back, but she could get it easily if she had to.

    At 97% of the access process, she received a notification to her neuroprocessor, which fed it to her HUD - a heads up display in the peripheral of her vision which was projected by said neuroprocessor. Her client had just been killed. Gracia was pissed. All this work for nothing. No payout, no endgame. Gracia sighed and decided she'd snag a couple of files and leave lewd .jpgs in their place. And one signature virus was left on the system - when someone attempted to perform administrative processes - like deleting or restoring files - a shoulder up picture of her in the nude, smirking, would pop-up and all files would be deleted. Then the tower would burn itself and any memory devices connected to it. In some systems, this caused an explosion. The interesting thing was, this virus was strung into the Operating System's code, which means it was hard to take care of. It even actively sought out virus protection programs and caused them to infinite loop on themselves by trying to delete themselves, reading themself as a virus because of this, and then trying to delete themselves, reading themselves as a virus, et cetera.

    The best part was that nobody had recorded any pictures of her face, and anybody who caught her in the act took a few 9mm rounds to the general cranium area. Only she had knowledge of it, and only she knew her own identity behind the crimes she committed for profit. Neutra was great for all of that. Terrible police.

    These weren't the police, they were hired security. It was time for her to scat out of there. She couldn't leave any witnesses. She'd highjacked the security system and burned all the cameras, and there were some security officers she could mindjack as a decoy. She got right to work on that. Her left hands, save for one, went to work on her smartphone to mindjack the security officers. Her right and remaining left arm handled the shotgun. Their numbers were thinning. She had to seek out anybody who could know her identity. Death, death, death.

    Gracia successfully mindjacked one of them and directed them to make an uproar. They took out a few sec guards and were soon dealt with by another, which had seen Gracia. As she came by, the officer focused on killing the mindjacked officer, she blammed him in the back fof the head, splattering grey matter over the mindjacked corpse. Her neuroprocessor accessed her memories, making her four left hands form into one, as the processor was focusing the hands while her brain worked her right. Quickly, she recalled each man that had seen her and compared them to men she'd killed. There were three more left who had possibly seen her. Two of them could be mindjacked. Again, the four hands separated, the usual deal. Three of them worked on mindjacking one, the third steadying her shotgun. She mindjacked one and had it kill the one she couldn't jack. The other jackable one killed the one she had. She quickly jacked that one and directed him to shoot himself in the head.

    Done deal. Time to find whoever shot her client.
  5. Roslyn sat at her swiveling chair, her desk scattered with pages consisting of scribbled, messy jottings, some pages complete facial sketches, others paragraphs and paragraphs of handwritten notes. She scribbled at another piece, looking up at the wall of screens, all different models, all varying in size. Some were really old, some the most recent of technology. Anything she could salvage, really. She constantly alternated from looking from her notes to the screens above her. Each had a number written in indelible ink, from one to twenty two, she continued to write, almost violently now as she jumped to a facial sketch within seconds. Her constant obsession over her job was more of an addiction, for hours on end she sat and never stopped writing, her wrists were plagued with aches often, but nonetheless did this stop her. She stopped after a continuous hour of writing, smiling slightly as she zoomed into screen four; a news reporter stood outside in the center of the markets of the Lower Sector, her current residence. She turned on the sound to hear yet another report on her, when press was slow these often came about, it was nice to know people considered her a superstition, and that many think it's true.

    'The Observer. This name is often whispered in hushed tones around the Lower Sector. Rumor has it that he has cameras everywhere, and see's everything despite the fact he's rumored to be eyeless. Apparently he charges major amounts of money to those who seek information. And despite the authorities attempts to track him down, wherever he is, he's never left a trace. Those who have met him before say that he moves from his two bases on a bi-monthly basis. But is this fact, or a widely believed superstition?'

    A knock at the door made her jump, another customer, most likely. She was already scraping in at least ten thousand credits each month, her clients, or those who wanted to make an appointment, firstly had to pay off her broker, Morikei. A well known and trusted socialite here, no one would suspect him of working for her. He'd then blindfold them and drop them off inside her apartment building. They'd then have to pay to come in, then for every hour. But those who were desperate did.

    The knocking continued again, Roslyn got up to reveal her biomechanical forearm and shin from the dark silk dressing gown she hung round her shoulders, along with a pair of grey shorts and a plain white tank top, she tied the belt of her gown and looked through the peephole of her door. Despite the fact that she sat watching screens all day, she managed to keep her toned, slim figure.

    Jona Serin, the leader of Morphius, one of the Lower Districts well known gangs, stood at the door. Roslyn smiled as she propped herself against the doorway, her arms crossed. "Well well, look who's back."
    "I need some info, T-O, now. I don't have much time." Her tone was serious, unlike her last visits. She walked in past her and sat on the chair next to her desk. Roslyn followed the tall woman back and sat in her usual chair. "Okay, what for, what information, be exact." She looked at her face once more, she was worried. "Don't have much time until what?" Roslyn questioned her.
    "I need to see the activity of the police force here, they're on my tail. I need to know what they've been doing to find me."
    Roslyn nodded, she recorded the Authorities' activities often."
    Jona took the folder as Roslyn handed it to her and began to read through Roslyn's notes.

    "They've been around asking alot of people, new members also were recruited. Higher Sector badges on their sleeves. They're after you, no doubt about it. But the little bitches are clueless about me, so they'll still be doing what they were doing last."
    Jona nodded as she put the file down, "If you don't hear from me again, presume me imprisoned or dead.! She stood up now, she then left, shutting the door behind her.

    Roslyn walked to her wardrobe, getting dressed into a casual leather jacket with her favorite crop top which finished in a turtle neck, along with a pair of skinny jeans and high heeled boots. She always dressed up when going outside, or when meeting a new client. First impressions were, from her experience, actually rather important. Within the first fifteenth seconds of seeing someone, the mind begins to form a judgement of some sort. There weren't any meetings scheduled for today, but it was better to be prepared.

    Another knock came from her door. Possibly Jona again. Though probably another unscheduled client Morikei forgot to inform her of. She looked through the peephole.

    Authority Figures, from the looks of them. Roslyn reached for her pistol, keeping it hidden behind her back as she creaked the door open slightly.

    "Are you Miss Roslyn Reteck?"

    "Who wants to know?"

    "We're investigating a local matter of crime, may we come in?"


    "Miss, we are not asking now. Let us in."

    "What do you want to know?"

    "We need to see you first!"

    "Okay, give me a minute!" She yelled back, rushing to the wall of screens in her room, switching the channel to Satellite TV and displaying a normal programme, then sweeping her notes into a backpack. She then walked back to the door, opening it to see the Policemen once more. She offered to shake the lead's hand, the standard tall male figure you'd expect to be in the force.

    "Come in, then." She nodded towards her sofa before sitting down herself. "So, whats happened now?"

    "This boy, named Joseph Sullivan was stabbed on this street corner last week. Do you know of any possible suspects?"

    Of course Roslyn knew, she knew everything that had gone on here, well, in the majority of the Lower Sector for years.

    "I think I remember seeing someone running down the street." She tried to sound as if she was unsure.

    "Yes, what did they look like?"

    "A short male, possibly female, I never saw their face due to their trench coat."

    "Anything else?"

    "No, sorry."

    "Okay then" The Officer sighed before getting up, Roslyn hastily opened the door, showing them out. Back to watching her screens. The 'Hacker', or thats what Roslyn assumed her to be, appeared to be walking down the street on screen two, Roslyn recalled that not only a few days ago had another been killed, a possible relation between the two appeared, also. A sincere one, though. Most likely mere acquaintances. She began another facial sketch of the cyborg, her biomechanical hand moving quickly as she did so.
    #5 Raimei, Mar 1, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 1, 2014
  6. Jet waited at the back door of the club with nothing to do. Work recently had been a little slow due to his last job. He didn't want to kill the guy, but he was in the way. It was a couple weeks back when he was training some incoming recruits who were looking for work. They all were low lives who had nothing better to do. He had been working the same gig for about two years now, no kids to support, no wife to put his money into, just himself. The apartment he lived in was on the east side, but he never went there and if he did it was to drop off a couple of things. All of the new recruits thought they were all high and mighty when they joined, and so was he when he first joined. After he talked to Janis, the head of the club, he decided to have a practice session without them knowing. Each of them had gotten their weapons and were set in the corners of the club while Jet was by the bar. A man that Jet knew who owed him a favor come in with a pistol in his right pocket and a menacing look on his face. Two of the recruits went up behind him and watched him. The man approached the bar and pulled his gun out and pointed it at Jet. The guard behind him on his right immediately shot the man in front of him in the back. The man was fired and sent to jail, while Jet had to wipe up the blood. Stupid rookies. The night continued like every other night had, nothing happened and he was bored.
  7. Aeon Augustus

    Now that was a name that struck fear in people.

    Nobody saw them coming. Nobody saw them leaving. They owned a relatively small home in Forma. Only his clients knew he was a mutant. Nobody figured someone so big could be so sneaky. In truth, it was his specialty. He was a terrible gunman. His advantage was that he was quiet and powerful. Back in his days as a gladiator, he was always introduced second. Even in the light, he could still uncannily blend into the shadows at the edge of the arena. Approach the back. Turn their heads to a fine red mist with a palm strike. That wasn't entertaining, though. He had to give the enemy the death of a thousand cuts. Still, his training was useful for killing things. He became a mercenary and killed more things for a living. Not in order to keep on living, like he used to, but on the rare occasion that he was seen, it helped. He was a great fighter, whether the enemy knew he was there or not.

    There were no clients today. Sad thing. Someone died recently, though. A lot of people, actually. No news there. Let's just say death is common. Aeon was watching the television. Today was a particularly bad day for a stroll - or as Aeon was say, let's go to Neutra. So he left his home for Neutra. Because he wanted to. Because he wanted to kill something. Let's say something else was going to die, like anything else.
  8. Roslyn sat in her chair, continuing to scribble on and on. Business today was slow, few clients had shown up this week, and she needed clients. She reached for her phone, dialing up Morikei and waiting for him to answer.

    "Hello? Who is this?" He asked, Roslyn always kept her number hidden.

    "It's me."

    "Oh, okay, what do you want?" He relaxed.

    "I need publicity, I want you to graffiti 'The Observer' on a few barren walls here and there, don't get caught. Got it?"

    "I- I don't know, T-O. It sounds risky. What if I get caught?"

    "There's 500 sitting here with your name on it."

    "Done." Morikei hung up, presumably going to get something to graffiti with. Roslyn watched on her screens later on as she saw him writing what she'd told him in large lettering on the walls here and there. She'd give him half the money later.
  9. "Lissen, I didn' do SHIT."

    Those were the first words out of her mouth when the police rolled on up, some of them taking out their stun batons and patting them against their palms with no small amount of amusement in their eyes. After all, they didn't actually really care all too much if she was the one who did it or not. She wasn't one of the people that paid to get some measure of protection from the "goon squad", as it were, so she was unfortunately on the block for a murder she didn't commit. It WAS pretty obvious that she didn't do it, considering that, y'know, she didn't even have her power fists on, and it looked like the guy had fallen from the top of the building.

    But when did lack of evidence get in the way of some good old fashioned police brutality? And when did common sense get in the way of a vicious machinist pugilist getting riled up for another fight after she literally just punched some guy's head clean off? One of the policemen, a more level-headed one, thankfully, stepped on up and said, "Miss, we just need to ask some questions about this. Where did you just come from?"

    She jerked one thumb back towards the boxing club she had JUST stepped out of a couple of seconds ago. "In there. Punched someone's stupid head off. Won the fight. Legal, too, waiver signed an' all." She simply shrugged as if punching someone's head clean off like it was a toy was, y'know, a normal thing. It was, really, in her line of work, although that was more of a side effect of her success than a seriously common thing in the sport.

    She noted some kid running around spraypainting T-O everywhere. Fucking Tapout guys with their PURE MUSCLE, NO CYBERNETICS, CLEAN FIGHT philosophy. No one wants to see leglocks. They wanna see some good old fashioned blood and violence. Thankfully, she had the attention of the police, so that kid passed by unmolested, spraypainting away.
  10. There. Another 6,000 creds. Caesar wondered why his employer wanted the man dead, but he was not one to question motives. He returned to the scene on the crime, the police forces didn't recognize him. He had apparently had caused some trouble for one of the boxers that worked in the building and his display helmet showed a prostitute hiding in a nearby alley. My, what a mess he'd made. Probably fucked up a lot of people's days. He smiled, unseen in his helm. Luckily, there were no witnesses. Except that 'Observer' guy the news has been bitching about. That bastard sees everything. Luckily he didn't work for the cops, so The Observer was not a threat right now. Right now, actually, was time to find new employment. Scooting past the Pigs and gathered crowd. He was just another unconcerned citizen, for all they cared. HE headed down the street, and burst into some random building to use as a hideout. It was through this door he saw some modded woman and another person sitting near some screens he didn't pay attention to. Until he saw the scene of his crime, not through the new channel, either. He cleared his throat. "My bad. I thought this room would be empty. I'll... just be going, now." he said, closing the door and making a hasty exit. Hopefully she wouldn't be seeking repentance from him for busting down the door.
  11. Right on the internet, the news sources were already catching it. Cambots took pictures of the body. Positive identification as Gracia's client. The police were swarming. Some curvy looking lady was getting hounded by the Swine Squad. One of them had a brain and stepped in. Of course it wasn't her, she was a well-known fighter. Killed most of her query. Boxing Legend, just because she was an undefeated woman. Mostly the woman part. Gracia couldn't help but respect her - her name was Gwen McCarroch. She had a temper. Gracia'd seen her files. Best not to get on her bad side. Still, she was at the scene, so they'd have to talk.

    Arriving at the scene shortly after noting this, Gracia stood in the shadows on the ground. She'd best not get on the roofs - her client had been pushed off. He also had some extra holes in him. After the police left, she'd have to investigate. Do some surveillance, review the memories later. Her Neuroprocessor gave her a practically eidetic memory, but she could only recall her memories when she wasn't using it. A man passed through the crowds and Gracia decided to follow him for a bit. She could do that much.

    Quickly, Gracia scaled a building, running up the side and grasping at a sill, then pulling herself up onto the roof. She caught sight of the man again and walked along the roof, observing the man. When she had to jump between roofs, she'd take her eyes off him for a moment, then resight him. He walked into a building and Gracia decided to camp out for a moment. She had plenty of time before the police fanned out, and she'd seen the crime scene, so she'd have a chance to investigate later.

    So now, it's a stakeout. Sit and wait. He had a handsome figure. Maybe she'd be able to forgive him, if he was the killer.
  12. Her black eyes watched as the uniformed officers gathered around something; murmuring to each other and looking to everyone around them. Feeling a bit curious, she stepped out of the alleyway and moved a bit closer to the commotion. She kept to the side as she watched the cops begin to question some chick that had come out of the building. When they pointed toward something on the ground, she moved her gaze toward it. They did not widen in fear, instead her head tilted to the side a bit as she took in the scene before. What was so important about a dead body? It was not the first one she had seen in Nuetra, and she was sure it would not be the last. Either way, if they were making a big commotion over one dead body, though it was obvious this was not just some simple stabbing, then the person had to have been important. But really, who was ever considered important in this region?

    Figuring it was not her business, Resic turned away from the scene and made her way back toward the alley she had been in a moment ago. Figuring it would be best to just go home and lose herself in one of her books at home. Maybe settling into the net for a bit to relax. Daring a glance over her shoulder at the scene she was leaving, suddenly she ran straight into a large, dirty male. "Hey! Watch where you're going?" The guy turned around and looked down at Resic who had taken a couple of steps back, her hands going up toward her chest. "Well now, what have we got here. Aren't you a little cutie." His dirty mouth formed into a grin she had seen numerous times before. A smile that said he was going to expect her to apologize to him, and not just with words. Which was something she was not in the mood for right now. Lowering her head, making it seem like she was scared and falling into herself, Resic looked for a place she could run off too. Would this guy really try to force himself on her with the cops not too far off? With the stench that was coming off of him, she was positive the answer would be yes. Besides, when had the police ever cared about a prostitute. Especially a cybernetic one.

    Not bothering to answer him, Resic bolted around him and pushed her way through the crowd of people that were moving about. She heard him yell after her, followed by the sounds of being yelling and complaining about being shoved. Those sounds meant that he was following after her! Not bothering to glance behind her, Resic shifted through her mind for a disguise that she could call up. One that would make her unnoticeable so she could slip into some hiding place and wait for him to give up. But the problem with this plan of hers? The fact that she could not change her clothes with a thought as well. Hopefully he had not gotten a good look at her attire before she had darted off.

    Her dark eyes looked around for some place she could stop for a moment and make the changes she needed to make. Sure she could do it while she was running, but changing her hair would be the one thing she would need to hide for. Even as she looked around herself, her eyes had already shifted from black to green. And her skin had begun to darken a bit; as though she had been laying in a tanning bed numerous times a week. If anyone had seen her before and then looked at her now, they would have a bit of a hard time believing she was the same female from a bit ago.
  13. After a bit of banter back and forth between her and the cops, she had, thankfully, been let off the hook. Multiple people coming out of the club verified that she had absolutely jack all to do with the guy who fell from the top of the building, and various witnesses agreed, commenting that she didn't have anything to do with it. She stuck around for a little bit for any further questioning, having taken out her power fists and tinkering with them a tad bit while she was laboring through their obnoxious questions and some of the curious press' questions as well, before she saw a woman running through the crowd, and a man bellowing after her.

    Uuuusually, that meant something bad was going on. Taking off one of her hands with a deft motion and replacing it with the heavy power fist, she stepped through the crowd, using the massive hand to make herself a path. She ran through a few mental commands, streaming them down to that receptor at the base of her spine. A voice rose in her head, saying, "Low Power." That meant that whatever she slammed the fist into wasn't going to be dead, but they sure as hell weren't going to be having a happy day. Shoving her way, she saw the woman that was, presumably, running from some doofus. She didn't really notice, and/or care, that she was changing in front of her eyes, but she saw the drunk bastard soon enough.

    The man, of course, didn't even notice that she was there. His eyes were looking for only one person in particular, even though his eyes should've been making sure that an angry woman with a giant fist wasn't paying attention. As the man passed, her hand lashed out and grabbed him by the cuff of his shirt, dragging him towards her and locking her gaze upon him with a baleful eye that threatened a whole wide new world of horrible pain that was going to be inflicted upon him. "Hey. Ass. Whoever you're chasing. Back the fuck off. Or I will END you." Subtlety was not Gwen's forte. It never was. It never would be.

    It didn't really matter that the cops were looking. She wasn't a fan of letches, much less drunk as hell letches, and this man certainly seemed to fit that bill rather well.
  14. Roslyn jumped as a man leapt into her apartment, no sooner did he shut the door and leave than he quickly appeared at the start. She surveyed her attention back to her screens, Police outside the boxing gym. Another prostitute running from a predator. She scribbled down more notes as the man was briskly punched by a presumed boxer. Morikei was within an eyeshot, he was still spraying her name around town.
  15. Rushing from the building, his helm quickly alerted him he was being followed. Some woman on the roof who had been watching him since he left the crime scene. Perhaps she had some connection to the man he had killed? Either way, it wasn't much of his concern, until she became hostile or found out more than she needed to. For now he continued down the street, passing by a few other known mercenaries. Now, to the PlugIn Bar. If he's likely to find work anywhere, it's there.
  16. Gracia hopped across the street, leveling the gap, landing smoothly on the roof in front of her. This guy was going somewhere seedy - well, seedier than most places in Neutra. A bar or a club, probably. Perhaps now was a good time to further her investigation. She vaulted down from the edge of a roof and grabbed onto a bar stretching out from the building, landing on an awning with a flourish, like an acrobat. She was going to confront him. She hopped off the awning and jogged up close to the man, a smirk on her face.

    She gave him a sultry and cocky look, tilting her head towards him. "Hey there, big boy, let me see your face. I got something to ask you - we can go somewhere private, but I need answers." She had her MP bagged and her guns slung, but she was still openly armed. "And the only reason I want to see your face is because I want to know if you're cute or not." She shrugged and looked ahead. "I'm not looking to hurt anybody else tonight, but the guy on the news lately is a client of mine. I didn't like him, but I can't get paid by a dead man."
  17. "Stalker Incoming" alerted Caesars helmet as his follower approached and started talking. "You can ask with the helmet on. I don't reveal my face in public. Too many cameras. If you want to see my face, we'll have to go somewhere private. Otherwise you can ask your questions now or get out of my way. A man doesn't find work staring at pretty girls with guns." he crossed his arms and stood straight, hoping to get this over with quick.
  18. Gracia sighed in relief as he didn't engage hostilities. "We can go somewhere private. I have no problems with that. Know anywhere around here we can go? I only ever come here for the occasional rave." She reached her natural hand over to his chest and stepped in front of him for a moment. "I'm itching to see your face - and at the same time, I can understand why you might want to keep it a secret. So take me someplace. I'm not picky - in most cases."
  19. Caesar nodded, which was only noticeable by a slight movement made by his helmet. "I know of a place or two. Helm, send the Imperial." he commanded. Within minutes a sleek, black hovercar pulled up an opened. "Get in." he commanded the girl, sliding into the vehicle himself. He set it for some location on the other side of the city. It took just about as long for them to get there as it took for the car to arrive. When it came to a stop, they were outside a warehouse in the abandoned district of Neutra Regalia. He led her inside and into the basement. It looked like an actual place to live. "The name is Caesar, by the way. Now, before I take the helm off, I'm going to need you to leave your weapons by the door and tell me what exactly your intentions are. The last thing I need is an enemy who knows my face." he said, sitting down on a couch.
  20. Resic decided to take a chance and glance back to see how far the guy was from her. Hopefully he was far enough that she would not have to run too much longer to get away from him. If only she had not let her curiosity get the best of her. Then she could have just walked home and avoided all of this commotion. But no matter what she wished, she could not turn back time. Steadying her nerves, Resic shot a glance over her shoulder and noticed the guy giving chase was suddenly stopped by a woman with a very large hand. Watching as the guy was yanked back and brought face to face with the woman, Resic felt herself stop running and just turn to watch what was going on. Did the woman know him? Had they gotten into a fight before? The woman definitely looked like a fighter. One that no one would want to run into in a dark alley.

    Though she was a bit of a distance away, she could still hear what the guy was saying. It didn't help that he was shouting, blinded by the alcohol that was in his system. "Let me go you bitch! This is none of your business!" He pulled himself away from her and turned to face her. His eyes went to the large fist she had, but that didn't seem to stop him. To him she was nothing more than some woman that needed to be put in her place. And of course, he would be the one to do it. "Watch out!" Resic felt herself yell out as the guy's fist came around to connect with the woman's face. Would she be able to dodge the blow? Resic was hoping that she would be able to. She did not feel like witnessing someone get hurt all because of her. She was nothing more than some pathetic whore who was selling her body in order to pay for it. If only that Artificer had not found her bloody, broken, and dying. If only he had just left her there in the dark, then she never would have had to take the life she had now. Had her life before this one been any better? Did she have some family looking for her even after these past few years? The Artificer had said that her face had been so badly damaged, that there was no way he could have gotten a picture of it that would have helped her find out whom she was. All he had known was that she was not originally from Neutra, but which region he had no idea of. But if she had not been from Neutra, then why had someone damaged her body as much as they had and dumped her in this place? So many questions she had; and all of them without answers.
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