n0ble
   Part 1: Look Aliive, Sunshine   
Kim jabbed another autoinjector into his bicep, winced down at his tea, then silently cursed out the gauge of the needle he'd chosen. Hibernation always left him feeling numb, and much like the limbs, professionalism was slow to return.   "Something for your tea,  el-tee ?"   Averys stared up from his drink and spared a moment to dunk the teabag a few more times, then adjusted his glasses. He waved away at Tyr's avatar,  "No, thank you TYR-maybe a little bit of milk, if thats alright but its great."  Something to take the edge off the green tea's peppermint, perhaps. The NHP would know better than him.   "As you like, Sir."   The avatar-a square-jawed man squinting down the length of a dirty highball glass from a pair of craggy eyes-was polishing a glass with a particularly stubborn stain. Like it wanted to ignore what was facing them on the window. Trast.

Pangelogic, the singlular landmass smeared from wide, arctic top to a small tapering south. With the sun at their backs, the light they couldnt see the civics sunk to the ocean, and a part of Kim was disappointed they be making landfall before they could. The thought drew the lieutenants attention back to the slate adjacent to his tea. He took a conservative sip from it and flicked through a few updates from the local omninet before opening a window into the biometrics for his team.  "Ugh."  
 "Local's slow to update here. Whatever they say about this place the compression speed definitely wasnt proven on Ras Shamra. If it ever was."  Hana grumbled and loudly slurped her coffee, and Kim looked across the roundtable at her.  "You pre-loaded the 'sim Staff Sergeant?"  

Hana smiled, then quickly nodded, adding a curt  "Sir."  for good measure. Kim left it, chalking it up to hybernation and the fact that Staff Sergeant had programs to run before they met with the office Trast-side. Slow local net notwithstanding.

 "Good. Should pass the drop while we make landfall. Legal's waiting planetside."  

TYR rolled his eyes.  "Hey, engineering is too. Hear they can drink."  That got a smile from the old man. At last victorious over the stain, the navigator began to arrange a series of glasses on a tray. For the rest of the team. Kim's eyes returned to the team's biometrics. He qued up the release mechanisms for their pods, then the data packet for the mission. A few of his fingers traced across the encryption command's on his slate, and the mission details began to load. He'd been briefed on them pre-gate. And soon so would everyone else.

The room they were in was one part galley one part briefing room-MSMC always did like to compartmentalize-and was rotating around their drop ship for gravity. Trast's sole continent was stooping towards the perpendicular as they talked-the tapering south become like an ochre clock hand.  "TYR?"  
 "Sir?"  The man made of soft blue light looked up from his drink tray with a pensive gaze that hardened into a dour squint.

 "We've any grub for them? I'd just as soon get started."   The pods had begun to gear down. Waking protocols that the team had set for themselves had begun.

 "Sir. I'll see what I've got." 
 
 Spoiler: OOC 

Alright, welcome to the game everyone! Feel free to describe what your character's rooms look like-I figure theres a floor with hybernation pods &amp; personal rooms for each of you and the NPCs stacked on top of the ship's galley/briefing room (connected by a corridor w/ ladder). This in turn rotates around the dropship for some semblence of gravity. Please pick speech colors-I'll be using greys, reds and blues."
 
DrakeRaids
Saffron  loathed  cyrosleep.

She recognized it's utility, the need of it. But the human mind was a strange thing, and so even understanding it's use did little to endear it to her. It was like dying. Even if it wasn't literally so it was so close to it that the difference was almost purely academic. And the chill that set in, even if she knew she shouldn't feel it, even if she knew she would be unconscious before any of that actually set in? Somehow reminded her of home.

Of threadbare blankets and heating systems that barely worked.

She  hated  cryosleep. And hated the person it reminded her of being even more.

Which is why Saffron wasted no time. But then when had she ever? She worked and moved like a woman with a terminal illness. Already thinking out her next moves even as she rose from the cryopod. Her room was hardly the spartan one of a soldier. It was decked with color and art taken from previous jobs, bought, or even stolen in a few cases.

Clean herself up. Avoid thinking about philosophical implications of your technical resurrection. Get dressed. Pull up her tablet, and immediately begin sorting through technical data verifying supply integrity. Don't think about the people you've killed or abandoned. She would have to personally ensure that transit had been kind to all of their technical systems, especially the printing machines. Put on a cheerful affable mask, smile and let them see what you want them to see. On that note, also make sure that the supplies that she had personally misplaced we're still prepped for offloading and sale once they made planetfall.

All of this wasn't overwhelming to saffron, rather it was comforting. It was a safe feeling of shoving unimportant things into the back of your mind as you dived into work and tangible progress. The warm feeling of knowing exactly what you needed to do to plan it out and have control.

 But she was also rather hungry so food would have the manifest next.

And so it was only a short time after waking up that the petite, slender, pale skinned woman in a fine dress was up, following the wafting scent of cooling tea. " Hell~ooo. I smell something good! Sharing is caring you know and sleeping works up an appetite. " Her voice echoed, proceeding her arrival as always, " I'm so glad to see our esteemed XOs up and at it already! How are things looking? I was just about to go start inventory, think I have time before we make planetfall? "
Kubular
  Wake up... wake up... please wake up...  

Tunay hears the sound beckon through her aurals as if a voice in the back of her mind. She made a mental command to halt the wakeup call. The thaw from waking out of cryo was still a novel kind of pain, she noted. Discomfort. Pressure. Dry.

  W-wadder-... f-f*ck,   she coughed and cleared her throat.   "Water. TYR... H2O me."   She demands.
She's unable to move in her pod at first, barely rolling her eyes around to assess her surroundings. The display in the pod gives a readout of her returning vitals with her name in blocky letters at the top:

SIERADSKI, TUNAY.

CALLSIGN: DAZE

Yeah.

After she's able to turn her head and pull her limbs out of their torpor, she sits up in the pod and scans the room and settles on the mirror. She looks at those skinny atrophied limbs and feels disappointment and disgust. All the perfect SSC genoming in the galaxy and the hardened conditioning she'd gone through, and she still looked like an anorexic child. Although, if the DoJ holos are to be believed, she'd be back in shape in 1-2 weeks.

She stumbles into the mirror and examines the scar on her face. Clenches and unclenches her jaw, admiring how the scar ripples angrily, and then smiles as if to dispel the associated memory. She slips into her greys slowly and carefully as if doing it for the first time.

She spots her commanding officers and Marigold in the galley. And the f*cking robot. She stands at attention and salutes the Lieutenant and addresses him with a curt,   "Lt. Averys."   and then heads straight for the bar.

  "Water me, computer. And all the coffee on the ship. Aren't you s'posed to be able to hear me anywhere on this rig?"   she says groggily.


 
 Originally Posted by DrakeRaids 
   ...I was just about to go start inventory, think I have time before we make planetfall? " 
 

After which Sieradski leans on the counter and gives a sloppier salute to Marigold.   "I'll do anything you need me to but that."   she interjects with a perfect grin.
Rakaydos
Cypher's cybernetic systems came online faster than his organic half, like waking from a long sleep to a murmur of status reports and authorization requests. "Opening his eyes" no longer had literal meaning to him, but the eyes displayed on his visor did open, along with an animation of a yawn.  "I could do with a sandwich, I suppose. Good morning Saffron!" 
RdMarquis
At least he knew where Sieradski might not be, if things got ugly.

Sam had already gotten more than he bargained for out of this assignment, starting with learning he would be teamed up with a familiar, but less than friendly face. Sort of. The first time he met Daze, they had been trading fire from the insides of their mechs. Sam still only recognized her from a file, and he had the feeling she hadn't expected him to be just out of his teens, when they saw each other in the flesh.

In any case, unless Sieradski made it clear she wanted to finish their duel, he had to assume bygones were allowed to be bygones. Waiting for that penny to drop was still less unpleasant than the (still novel) experience of cryosleep. Sam took an extra couple minutes in the shower to imagine the idea of being  processed  into his bare minimum and then to relative normalcy was rinsing off.

The scowl which formed at the thought almost became an outright snarl. You could say that was the story of Sam's life thus far. It would be an easy way to get him to challenge you to a fight.

He sighed and pulled on his uniform. In lieu of giving her blessing on his decision to join MSMC, the Doc reminded Sam his future was open to change, if not the circumstances of his birth. He had just been surprised his "parents" would agree.

 "Lieutenant."  As for the other Lancers, Sam settled for greeting them as tentative  "Colleagues"  as he entered the galley. He says little else. But food, as well as getting a move on, sounded  very  appealing at that moment.
Kubular
As the protogen walks in and gives its simulated yawn, Tunay raises an eyebrow and shakes her head,   "I am never going to get used to that, Grey. And can you even eat sandwiches?"  

____

  "Just got a bit chilly in here."   Sieradski gives a bit of a sarcastic smile as she turns to greet Sam. She keeps her elbows rested comfortably on the bar at her back.   "Carlisle, is it? Or should I call you HAWTHORNE? Bit of a shocker seeing you this side. Don't you worry kid, I've turned over a new leaf. Thank her for that."   She tilts her head at Saffron.

  "No hard feelings?"   she pushes off the bar and extends a hand to Sam.
Rakaydos
 " I'm still human enough to enjoy food. Just dont look at what's left after the nanites get their share."   Cypher stretched, then turned to to the others.  " Shall I grab something for anyone else? " 
Kubular
Sieradski tilts her head and knits her eyebrows quizzically,   "Nanites? Is that a better interface with your organics or something?"  

She waves a hand at Grey,   "Nah, let TYR get it. You’ll put him out of a job. I’ll have whatever you’re having I think."  
DrakeRaids
 "Do not worry Sieradski~"  Saffron's animation was still a little forced, but, as the old Terran Saying went; 'Fake it till you make it.' She tapped her tablet and made a tsktsk sound,  "I wouldn't trust any of you but TYR with my numbers. And that's only when I'm in a good mood~ You must take pride in your work after all. Also if you get to good at, what would my job become hmm?"
 
 "Still! We should all get along yes? I know I am always a little cranky after waking up but no need to cause any bad blood before we even make land. Lets break some bread, before we head down to earn out keep. And I want some of that tea that I smell, nothing beats a fine cup of green tea to clear the head..."   Saffron claimed a seat comfortably, still tapping on her tablet idly. Her demeanor was warm, and friendly, but she was almost always this way. Words spent thusly cost one nothing, and could pay dividends indeed.
Rakaydos
 
 Originally Posted by Kubular 
 Sieradski tilts her head and knits her eyebrows quizzically,   "Nanites? Is that a better interface with your organics or something?"  

She waves a hand at Grey,   "Nah, let TYR get it. You’ll put him out of a job. I’ll have whatever you’re having I think."   
 

  "Just a healthy part of the cyborg microbiome."   he turned to the cealing, checking the comm connections to the NHP.   "TYR? we got hungry people in here..."  
BelGareth
Something, deep inside of him, awoke.

It was as if a stone had suddenly sprung into consciousness, a dark pool that lays so still for years, suddenly rippled from an unseen force.

Looking around, he seemed to panic at first, he could only see, and it was pitch black,  was this death?  he thought to himself, alongside a hundred other things that his panicked brain conjured up to feed his newly awakening anxiety.

And then suddenly, he heard a beep, an obtrusive, loud, beep. Like that from a hospital....it was followed by another and another, and his cool calm black pool was no longer, it was a tumultuous frothing lake, he began to panic, how could he stop it? It was only getting worse.

And then something grabbed him from below, and all he could do was fight to breathe in the dark deepness...

He awoke coughing in something that resembled a hospital, though, when the chamber he was in opened with a hiss, he looked around and thought it looked more like a barren crews quarter, which is what his heads up display from his subdermal netting once it booted up confirmed.

Looking back at the tube he crawled from, he saw his name and callsign, which the HUD confirmed:

NAME: CURRY

CALLSIGN: RORSHCACH

That sounded familiar, he seemed to be hollow, but knew exactly what to do, as if he was a shell, empty of the things that make you a person, but his frame was still functional, much like a mech.....He shook his head, and pulled on his flex suit, and then....uniform? The HUD confirmed it, but he wasn't sure, he pulled it on anyway and headed to the main commons as directed from his HUD.

Entering, he looked around and saw everyone else seemed to be awake already, he looked at everyone separately with care, and then once he found the LT, gave him a quick nod and moved over to find some water.

Curry, was a big man, and somehow was still big, a rare genetic flaw perhaps generated in the void of space? Who knows, but it was obvious he was still a big man, he had a hulking frame a bald head, and almost a permanent scowl, like RAF or Resting angry face as they used to call it.

He frowned at the thought, who was  they ? Shaking his head mentally again in less than 30 seconds, he reinvigorated his search for water, damn was he thirsty.
Kubular
Sieradski gives Curry an appraising look before huffing,   "That is super unfair. How did you keep all your muscle mass in cryo...?"   She leans over Marigold's shoulder and scans the datapad before finishing:

  "Curry?"  
RdMarquis
 
 Originally Posted by Kubular 
   "Just got a bit chilly in here."   Sieradski gives a bit of a sarcastic smile as she turns to greet Sam. She keeps her elbows rested comfortably on the bar at her back.   "Carlisle, is it? Or should I call you HAWTHORNE? Bit of a shocker seeing you this side. Don't you worry kid, I've turned over a new leaf. Thank her for that."   She tilts her head at Saffron.

  "No hard feelings?"   she pushes off the bar and extends a hand to Sam. 
 

 "Any of one of the above."  He accepts the handshake.  "And sure. No hard feelings."  Because Sam did want to trust her (she was far from the only one trying for a fresh start). And however sincere Sieradski was, he wasn't about to take the first swing. Besides, his typical response to a trap or treachery was to spring it, then force his way out.

Sam turns his regard to Saffron.  "I didn't want a grudge match, especially not against a teammate."  Any type of fight to the death, really. He didn't have to  love  his new job.  "So, thanks, I guess..." 
BelGareth
Curry turns to look at Sieradski and shrugs   "Who knows, it's never been an issue for me"   He reaches out a hand in greeting,   "Sieradski?"  

He scratches his head with one hand,   "Who I gotta kneecap in this joint to get some water?"  
n0ble
 "Maybe? 'Pends on how long it takes to run through the sim versus our time left in making planetfall."  Hana peers up from her tablet as she responds to Saffron,  "Ripped some VR tech from when the Midnight's cloud burst over Klataua-'member that Lt? Nuckin futs. Anyway, s'portable enough for sim-tech that we can work out any kinks in peoples ontologics as we make way to the surface."  The sound of clinking glass and the beginning smells of a meal-greasy, breaded pub food smells-begins to waft into the briefing room. Hana looks up from her slate again, cupping a hand over one cheek  "Hey TYR? Beer!" 

Averys offers a conservative smile by way of acknowledging Hana's reminiscence about their time served together after returning saffron's salute with a crisp one of his own. His answer to Hana is a quiet  "I try not to."  before the usual stoic demeanour reasserts itself. The lieutenant hefts a case of muscle stimulants onto the table and offers it around. Opening reveals several vials of the clear liquid used to rouse the body from cryosleep's rigour, complete with a fresh set of needles for anyone still working out the kinks from their slumber.  "Oh and some of the green tea please, TYR."  the man says with a sympathetic glance to Curry. He offers the autoinjector to whoever takes the case first, his face baring a neutral, placid expression as he does so.  "Right then. We're eight hours out from getting planetside. Lets get started. Legal's been briefed on the situation and why we're coming. Plan is to convene with Counciler Heelan once we're on the ground at..."  He checks the slate  "...Armistice, then go out from there. Our reason-" 

A whirring sound heralds TYRs approach cutting off the lieutenants talk, as one of the arachnoid galley drones under the NHP's control brings out everyone's drinks on one tray and a series of foods on the other. Amongst what everyone has requested to drink, there is a large, fogged over with grey bottle of spirits and eight shot glasses on the drinks tray.  Grey-Gallows  bourbon. Each company is allotted one-and only one-cask that's customary to drink from before a job.  "Anyone for something heavier?"  If TYR could sound eager, then he's emoting enough to seem so with his query. The drone even trains it's lens onto Hana with what could be described as a sassy click of it's visual lens. Most of the offered food is high is calories, fat and protein: things like breaded chicken wings, potato skins covered in expensive smelling cheeses &amp; a series of crispy, breaded tofus that smell of teriyaki, complete with a communal bowl of garden salad, looking all the world like a gaia-class planet from above for how the green of the veggies breaks up the monotony of the other foods browns and golds. TYR's drone parses out the drinks.  "Hail me for a refill-I'll be in the galley."  
 
"Thank you TYR. Our reason is this:"  The lieutenant flicks something on his slate, and at some unseen command a mechanical whine issues from the exact centre of the briefing table. The middle of the table flowers open, a projector pushing itself from the centre. Threads of light dances upward from the device, weaving a visage cast from the light as it self-moderates to compensate for things like skin tone. The face the projector makes is a weathered one. Square-jawed, topped with a plume of dreadlocks riding over a militant undercut, and possessed of a wide, pink scar that track's across the Sparri face rotating now rotating around the table.  "Commander Mozaia Shengralin. Evidently something of a golden boy for the big U."  The lieutenant is not exaggerating when he says this. According to what's scrolling through a window that's being projected underneatht the face, The Commander has ripped hundreds of ops across the 'Rim-with one mission's date and time even syncing up with the traditional borders applied to the Boundary Garden. A series of commendations and qualifcations near as long as the number of mission he's served scrolls in parallel with the list of successes. With a flick of the wrist from Hana, a small vid-clip buffers, stops with an added curse from the Staff Sergeant about the local bandwidth, then fully loads below the face, showing the commander's mech. The Tokugawa-labelled as the  Mourning Star  by a bit of text that tracks across the vid-clip-appears as  a shimmering outline in the waning of Trast's evening light. Steam roils all around the mech from the melting ice it stands atop. The output pouring from the mech's reactor and trio of torches laces the vid with static before the it cuts out near quickly as it began. Behind the mech, one can see the snow-capped mountains of Trast's north. The clip is dated twenty years ago.

 "Evidently  somethings  happened and now the Hero of Hegartha's gone AWOL and went in for it with the locals."  For a moment the lieutenant's eyes slide over to DAZE before settling back onto Shengralin's light-wrought face.  "Which is why we're hear. Well. That and the payout."  The lieutenant nods at the scroll of the Commander's history by way of acknowledging the extent of his career, the timing just so that the list of the Commander's service abruptly halts at the word CLASSIFIED in big blocky red letters superimposed over the floating face.  "Purse for this comes down from UIB-that's Union Intelligence for those of you not in the know-according to our mission parameters it's not do or die but this far from Cradle it mayaswell be, if that makes sense."  Hana whispers a small curse at the mention of the Intelligence Bureau, punctuating the word with an aggressive slurp from her beer- "We're not cleared to know what this guy was up to past a certain point, but we are cleared to bring him home. With force, if needed."  The lieutenant pauses to take a contented sip from his tea.  "Mm. Questions?" 
 
 Spoiler: OOC 

If this were a movie, Commander Shengralin would 100% be played by a young  Temura Morrison 
 
BelGareth
Curry grunts and takes the food offered to him, as well as the drink. He begins to eat while listening to the brief, a flitter of a memory stirs somewhere, and he is suddenly back with another team of Lancers, Gerrick was just finishing up the brief, the holovid whirring with the usual *clank* *clank* *clank* noise, that every single one of them had tried to fix, but no one could figure out so they all just accepted it, the Captain furrowed her brow as she looked at everyone,  "this is going to be a tough one ladies and gents, im going to put my own personal stash out as a reward to whoever gets back, feel free to crack into it, and keep it ready for when I return."  She said, grim as a doorknob.

Truman piped up with a sardonic remark  "Right, like we're going to beat you back LT!" 

She turned to regard hum and nodded slowly, it took Curry back a few, he had very rarely seen her like this, in fact....

Curry came back to reality as the briefing table came to life, projecting the image of a handsome man and his Tokugawa...He continued to munch on the wings, and some kind of tuber covered in solid lactose? He wasn't sure, but it sure as frack tasted good, he was used to MRE's, or tray rats, anything really that wasn't food, protein paste, civ rats, food bars.....all the greatest and finest cuisine from across the galaxy! He almost got carried away with himself, too much food in his mouth at once, and looked around hoping no one was watching him, he was acting....like he had never had good food before, he turned his eyes back to the briefing.

Finishing up his latest rounds of pasties, he chased it down with a big gulp of chilled water   "So this guy....hero...whatever, just ups and leaves and UBI has no clue? No known associates within the last"   he waves his hand   "few years? No known locations of his whereabouts? Or are we just dropping down and taking a look about? Recon first?"  

He takes a step forward   "Classified, hmmm, I bet he did something they don't like"   he said with a grin, even if the comment was stupid. He raised his empty glass without looking   "Hail"   he said simply   "So what's the play here? Standard search pattern-sectioning off grid squares or?"   he said, hand still raised and waiting.

 
 Spoiler: Anyone 

UBI is incorrect on purpose, feel free to correct him.
 
Rakaydos
  "With UIB, "Classified" can also mean all the things the Union would rather we not know. UIB's responcible for making sure union upholds the First Contact Accords, after all."  
RdMarquis
Sam was more used to unprocessed food than some (being born to replace some big name did have one or two upsides), but he still piles his plate with a little of everything and eats gratefully. The shot could wait. For that matter, he wanted a full stomach before that shot of bourbon.

He takes another glance at the projector, trying to put himself in the Commander's shoes. What would make him try to reconnect with his "parents"? Admittedly, family was sort of a reason for his volunteering for this Trast assignment. Sam was closer to Dr. McDowell than the woman people knew as his mother. Even so, he didn't know Doc's daughter beyond her workplace and a photograph of a slightly younger clerk in uniform.

 "The Commander leave anything behind? I don't mean a note explaining himself. Anything meaningful enough that he'd try to retrieve it. Or, you know, friends or family." 
DrakeRaids
" No liquor, I'll take the tea boss~ "

Despite being rampantly greedy, shady, and occasionally murderous, Saffron tended to avoid most intoxicants of just about any kind. Her reasons when asked differed depending on her mood but, regardless she was happy to leave them for others as she took a long sip, smiling wryly across the table at her compatriots as they where briefed.

She immediately had all the mission info that they where privy to downloaded onto her personal device and was parsing through it as they briefing occurred, her eyes flicking back and forth with a frown. This all sounded pretty not great for them. Hostile locals and environment, an AWOL ace who didn't want to be found, and a not enough Intel by far.

This could get bloody fast. Getting in with the people on the ground would be the first priority. Find out what they wanted material wise and maybe start up a bounty for information. But if this turned into some kind of guerilla war situation shed not care for their chances.

If he was hostile there was a chance they'd have to deal with other pilots trained by this guy too. Extracting him alive was going to be tricky. Pulling him out of hiding trickier. There where clear ways to force him out,  it not ways that wouldn't get them under censure from Union and if they wanted to operate in the future that was a no go, and Saffron would like to not have to get a new identity. His mech at least was a loud one when it came to signatures. Maybe they could track it? That wasn't unfeasible, keeping a Toku quiet was pretty much impossible.

She sat the tablet down and sighed, still thinking, trying to come up with good angles as she stared at TYR, and then her bosses.

" This sucks ." Tone flat, and lacking any emote.
Kubular
 
 Originally Posted by BelGareth 
   "So this guy....hero...whatever, just ups and leaves and UBI has no clue?"   
 

  "UIB"   Sieradski interjects.   "Union Int Bureau. How long were you under, Iceman?"  

Though she had been cheerily enjoying her water and food while the Lieutenant briefed them, she couldn't help interrupting Curry. It was kind of wild that someone could be around and not know something that basic. Not unheard of she knew, but she'd never met anyone who'd been so disconnected from Union.


 
 Originally Posted by DrakeRaids 
 " This sucks ." Tone flat, and lacking any emote. 
 

Sieradski smiles at that. She grabs Marigold’s shoulder.   "Not all bad, KANKO. I’ve seen them boneheads in action."  
  "We used to raid the Northerners. He'd already been workin' with them awhile by the time I got started."   She points at the holo projection of Shengralin.

  "They got pretty sophisticated. More and more each year. But that got my old crew sophisticated too. Funny story actually, that’s where I got my mech. Took it from some dumbass up there callin’ himself a ‘Baron’ fighting for a warlord."   Sieradski pauses a moment and looks around, just to make sure no one has any qualms with the implication that she looted the mech from a corpse.

  "If we see any Skyfolk… Westerners. Let me verify them. I got err… unfinished business with at least one of them."  
BelGareth
Curry was busy feeding his gullet, which seemed to be endless at this point, he was  famished , his eyes bulged out as he was corrected, his cheeks turning red with embarrassment. Once his mouth was empty, with a frown, he responded  "Whatever"  with a hand wave as if to dismiss the point, but then turned from everyone and moved to the bar, silent but still eating, even if it was a little more timid than before.
n0ble
  "A hero?"   TYR purposfully squeaks a rag he's got lodged in the bottom of a glass, then fills it with more of Curry's drink. Hana winces, then scowls at the NHP.   "A term for survivors, used when many people die and the word murderer falls short of the numbers."   The NHP puts a heaping pile of plated chicken wings onto a planet before mounting it to a bar, then sends another over to the briefing table. A phalanx of dipping sauces have cordoned off the poultry, making sure it does not escape the plate. An awkward silence settles into the briefing room, broken only by the Staff Sergeant tunelessly humming away as she pokes a bit at her dataslate.

 "A-hem. Dam right it sucks."  The Staff Sergeant stabs at TYR with another empty bottle of IPSN  Big Spruce  pale ale and a smile.  "Almost as much as whatever Trunkhead POG redlined the omninet here into the ground."  Hana pauses to burp. Maybe for emphasis. Then she accepts a full growler of the  Big Spruce  from TYR. A man with a guitar, leather jacket and greased about hair is wielding an electric guitar like a Blackbeard chainaxe on the bottle's label. Little crimson, orange and yellow music notes frame the...well the spruce tree the man's attacking. She waves the opened bottle around the table for others to take a drink, and the gesture scatters a bit of pine scent into the briefing room. A few quick flicks across her tablet-alarming for the Staff Sergeant's liver, if not for her digits aclarity in the face of the past few beers-convey a something to the node in the centre of the briefing table.

A new scroll buffers, stops, then buffers to almost done before resetting with a grumble from Hana at the slow uplink speed. While the bar undernea the floating visage revsolves, the Lieutenant begins speaking.  "Far as we can tell, some initial family, made a war orphan on Hades colony-"  This elicit's a raised eyebrow from TYR in recognition of the lives lost there  "-subsequently raised adopted-mustve been a hell of an adopted family to run from if it meant running to the kinds of missions this guy took  before  Classified. By all accounts the man's history ends there. Except for that photo and-"  a small chime rings out from the central projector and everyone's slates as the the new scroll buffers into an energy readout from the nearest blink station-the one you all took to get within Trast-space. The energy signature is synonymous with the core output of a Tokugawa make identical to that of Shengralin's mech, and several uniquely anomalous energy outputs besides.  "With radio silence from their operative and given the jurisdictional clusterf*ck Trast's shaping up to be planetside, falls to MSMC to get this golden boy back-but it would be silly to assume we're operating alone down there. Union protetcs its assets."  Its a testament to Lieutenant Avery's monotone delivery that you cant tell whether he's joking or not. The energy signature has Shengralin as arriving at forty years prior to the current date.

 "Plan is to drop right to Armistice-they've a sky elevator that cuts the time in-transit down. Once there we play nice-outside of Big U's embassy we're about as Union as it gets, see what needs doing. Integrate-it's not peace keeping as far MSMC is concerned."  something taught lodges itself in the Lt's voice as he continues. Sympathy.  "But it wouldnt hurt to make a few friends. Well."  Averys shoots a pointed look and smile at Sieradski &amp; Sam  "More friends. You two will be taking point on this, at least initially. Even if your info's out of date its still info. Verification's yours Sieradski-just clear it with us first. Once we get established there we go out and hunt leads as they present themselves and as we want. Like I said, we're close to Big U. Close. That means more operational freedom once we're there." 
 
 Spoiler: OOC 

Big Spruce is a real beer. People like it. I do not but the can kind of looks cool (nothing like the IPSN lable though.)
 
Rakaydos
  "40 years is a pretty cold trail. Are we still looking for him, or his heirs?"   The mask of the cyborg... absorbed... the chicken wings, like it was not a solid object.
RdMarquis
He'd heard the line about heroes before. For some reason, a pre-Fall video game sprang to mind, though he was almost certain it was not the source.  "So what do you call someone who saves lives, instead?"  Also, Sam only drank socially. At the moment, he had a glass of iced tea in next to his plate.

The somewhat grim remark causes his eyes to flick over to Sieradski. It's all she gets regarding the wannabe nobleman's mech. Sam didn't hold it against her. Every single known mech could be said to trace its lineage to...well. Something used to commit a fundamental wrong. And her machine was no less a weapon than his Myrmidion. Hardly a squeaky clean tool. Sam's pragmatic side, meanwhile, remembered it was likely the "baron's" mech would continue to be used against Armistace if Sieradski hadn't taken it.

It was obvious little they knew of the "hero" right now would help in finding him.  "About this Classified stuff. Are we gonna get in trouble if we learn any of it on the way to Shengralin?"  Sam's sarcasm was more obvious. It dims when the Lieutenant instructs him to share the lead with his old...acquaintance.  "I'll try (as hard as I do on any mission) not to let you down."  And he had a good record.
BelGareth
 Curry had rarely seen Lieutenant Novak in such a state. In fact, her usually composed demeanor seemed to have been replaced by a palpable sense of unease, her steely gaze clouded by hidden doubts. He remembered the intensity in her eyes, a glimmer of apprehension that sent chills down his spine.

As the team prepared for their mission, tension hung in the air like a heavy shroud. The briefing had been ominous, filled with whispered rumors of a hidden threat lurking in the depths of the forsaken sector they were about to enter. The flickering holovid had displayed disturbing images of twisted wreckage and blood-soaked battlefields, serving as a grim reminder of the dangers they were about to face.

Curry's mind struggled to piece together the fragments of his memories. Why had they embarked on this mission? What was the true nature of the threat they had encountered? The snippets of recollection teased his consciousness, but remained frustratingly out of reach.

The Lieutenant's voice echoed in his mind, her words heavy with foreboding. "This is going to be a tough one, ladies and gents," she had said, her tone devoid of the usual confidence and reassurance. The weight of her words lingered, a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

Curry's thoughts were interrupted by Truman's sardonic remark, breaking the uneasy silence that had settled over the room. The Lieutenant's response was chillingly measured, her nod conveying a hidden understanding that sent shivers down Curry's spine. It was as if she knew something they didn't, a secret that gnawed at her very core.

As the team set out on their ill-fated mission, the darkened corridors of the derelict ship awaited them like a maw of impending doom. The atmosphere grew more suffocating with each passing moment, as though the very fabric of reality was unraveling around them. Whispers of forgotten echoes seemed to dance on the edge of Curry's perception, haunting and indistinct.

Then, amidst the chaos and carnage, it happened. A blinding burst of light engulfed the Lieutenant, her figure vanishing into the void before Curry's disbelieving eyes. The shock and confusion that followed erased all trace of the incident, leaving only an agonizing void where her presence once stood.

Curry's mind was left scarred by the traumatic event, his memories reduced to fragments, torn and frayed like the remnants of a shattered world. The weight of guilt settled heavily upon him, a nagging suspicion that he had failed her, that he was somehow complicit in her disappearance. 

Curry snapped too and looked around the room, more food was within reach, and he grabbed some more, he seemed famished, but nothing was quenching his feeling of hunger.

He used his HUD to locate Sieradski &amp; Sam, his BAI having made a note on their ident's while he was daydreaming during the debreifing.

  "Alright then, whats the plan you two?"   he looked shell shocked, like he just recalled a traumatic event, and was trying to mask.
BelGareth
Lieutenant Avery gazes out at the desolate space station, a somber expression etched across his face. He takes a deep breath, the weight of his words heavy in the air. His voice carries a tinge of sorrow as he addresses the crew:

 "I'm afraid it's much worse than we feared. Trast... it is becoming a desolate wasteland. The planet's once-thriving ecosystems have deteriorated, swallowed by decay and ruin. The signs of a civilization in decline are everywhere, as if the very essence of life has been drained from this place." 

He gestures towards the vast expanse beyond the station's walls, where the void of space looms ominously.  "The reason we have to take the space elevator is that there is no active spaceport on the surface. Trast's infrastructure has crumbled over time, leaving behind only remnants of what once existed." 

The lieutenant's voice carries a hint of sadness, tinged with a touch of resignation.  "Things have been falling apart here for some time now. Neglect, conflict, and a lack of resources have ravaged this planet, transforming it into a crumbling society." 

Sergeant Hana, known for her sharp wit, leans against a nearby console and interjects with a playful smirk,   "Well, LT, looks like Trast hit the jackpot in the 'Galaxy's Worst Vacation Spots' sweepstakes. Pretty sure that means you owe me drinks"  

A chuckle escapes Lieutenant Avery's lips as he glances at Sergeant Hana, appreciating her ability to inject humor into the dire situation. He nods, a hint of amusement in his eyes, before he dismisses everyone.

   
Your shuttle lands at a desolate and foreboding space station Dock 3A1, the last stop before you board the space elevator that will take you to the surface of Trast. The station hangs in space, a decaying monolith surrounded by an aura of melancholy and decay. As the shuttle docks, you step out onto a dimly lit platform. The air feels heavy with an oppressive silence, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional flicker of malfunctioning lights. The walls of the station are a dull, industrial gray, covered in layers of grime and rust. The metallic surfaces reflect the characters' faces, distorted in the dim lighting.

The atmosphere is suffused with an eerie stillness, as if the station is haunted by the echoes of forgotten lives and lost hopes. The corridors leading to the space elevator entrance are narrow and winding, lined with flickering fluorescent lights that cast long, ominous shadows on the walls. You pass by abandoned shops and facilities that were once bustling with activity but now lie in ruins. Broken windows and shattered glass add to the sense of desolation and neglect. The remnants of signs and advertisements hang crookedly, their faded letters barely legible.

   
Occasionally, you catch glimpses of other individuals, station personnel or desperate travelers seeking passage to the surface, their haggard appearances and haunted expressions reflecting the grimness of the station. Whispers and murmurs hang in the air, giving a sense of hidden secrets and unspoken fears. The station's atmosphere is further enhanced by the persistent smell of coolant and fuel, mixing with a metallic tang. The scent lingers in the characters' nostrils, a reminder of the harsh realities of space travel and the tenuous grip on survival in this desolate place.

   
The space elevator is a simple parallel mag-lev car, on any other planet, a space elevator would mean a bustling metropolis, and many of you have experienced that, and so when you step into the almost abandoned station you have an overwhelming sense of something  off , something is affecting this place, impacting it so things didn't....weren't normal, everything seemed to work, and the doors hissed closed as the last few refugees of the station jumped on last minute, a number of ratty dirt ridden passengers pull their clothes tightly and keep to themselves, outside, you can see the once magnificent planet of Trast as you descend.

   
RdMarquis
Sam  was  imagining a settlement going downhill from the Lieutenant's words. It wouldn't have been his first time seeing one. But those cases still involved people trying to continue their lives, even rebuild. This space station, on the other hand...he was equipped with a combat saber and pistol, but if he didn't know this was their route to the elevator, he would expect to be using them soon.

Sam curses under his breath. What the hell happened here? As his team continue on their way, he directs a few  "Hello" s to anyone unfortunate enough to look like they might be meeting his eye, trying to strike up a conversation. It was a good time to be worried if Trast wasn't doing much better than the space station. What was Doc's daughter doing out here (and more importantly, was she safe)?
Thunder999
Volodymyr hadn't been talking much so far, he never really got used to cryo, and then there was that food, it sure beat what they had back home, to say nothing of the bourbon (come to think of it, they hadn't even had a distillery long enough to age the good stuff by the time he left).
His cheerful mood was dampened a bit by the surroundings, this place is certainly bleak.

 "So, finding a 40 year old trail left by someone with a recent past that's more black bars than text, in a crumbling society, reckon we can get it done inside the week?"  he says with a sarcastic grin.
 "We got a plan?" 
RdMarquis
 “Um.”  Sam didn’t need a reminder that they didn’t have an easy job.  “Pretend we’re looking for someone easier to find, and work a lot harder?”  He shrugged.  “We haven’t given it a shot, even if other people have.” 
CateranEnforcer
From one backwater to the next, Lola guessed she shouldn't be surprised. Still, the air of mystery about it might be worth something.  "We'll know more soon enough. When we get planetside, I suspect the situation will be apparent. Until then, try not to get pickpocketed." 
Volthawk
Jack stayed quiet during the briefing, letting the others with ties to Trast take the focus as those with knowledge of the planet. His knowledge was very out of date, anyway, so need to draw attention to it if the boss didn't think it was worth mentioning (assuming he knew, anyway - it wasn't somethig Jack advertised, and he didn't know if it made it into internal reports about him). The lack of information meant that he didn't have much to add at the moment, anyway.

During the walk through the station, Jack rarely looks forward, constantly looking around at the state of things with a thoughtful, slightly concerned look on his face. This wasn't the first time he'd been here - when he'd left Trast the first time, he'd had to come to a station to meet with the ship heading out of there. This was the same place, right? He'd tried to not to think about it for all those years, it was a little fuzzy. Back then, things were...there was a war on, of course, so things weren't perfect, but it still wasn't this  derelict . What had happened here? The information they had in advance on the current state of Trast suggested that there were still states down there, so...had they turned inward so much, or perhaps focused fighting amonst each other, that space infrastructure had suffered? Had the war that he ran from been so bad that they never recovered? Couldn't tell from up here. It all just seemed...

Volodymyr speaking up shakes Jack from his increasingly melancholy thoughts, and he makes an effort to appear upbeat again.  "No problem. People are still people, wherever you go, and people talk. I haven't exactly met a lot of super-spy types, but everyone has to meet people and go places eventually, right? There's always going to be  some  kind of trail. We just need to get out there and see what happens, who we can find, and work from there." 
Alteiner
Tesshin had a pensive look, gazing down at Trast below from the elevator's mag-lev car. The dying world looked utterly-alien to him. A small handful of deployments, months of cryo and multiple blink-jumps apart; in just a few short years, he'd glimpsed the furthest reaches of Union-known space, each world a galaxy's width apart from the provincial planetary cluster where he'd been born and raised. Even if he was living the Cosmopolitan life now, he was still far from it as far as mindset went.

He turned over the information from the brief in his mind to get his thoughts off his feelings of alienation. Commander Mozaia Shengralin, Hero of Hegartha. What a philosophical nightmare. Didn't matter how much they were being paid; finding one single needle in a planet-sized haystack was ridiculous.

 "We're supposed to integrate with the locals until we catch wind of something related to Shengralin, aren't we? Guys with profiles like his don't just go dark, especially after walking away from what had to have been a promising career. We'll need to get our faces known before we start knocking on doors." 
BelGareth
Finding your seats with ease, as the car was not full at all, the car was dirty, trash lied everywhere, but was made of clean, cold, plastics and metal, seemingly nicer and higher tech than you would have thought seeing the state of the station you just left, a strange juxtaposition of tech and grime, the slow descent of a society losing their core workers who performed the day to day tasks that kept a civilization up and running.

It wasn't long until the doors of the car opened and a group of men came walking through, they eyed the lot of you, their clothes were dirty with grime and oil, as if they had just finished their shift in the loading docks, they didn't look happy, and a general grumble came from them as they sat around, some taking up positions at each end of the cart, while others seemingly sat at random.

Several of them seem to be covering bulges in their clothes, underneath their jackets held in place with one hand, and almost all of them are looking between themselves and you.

 
Thunder999
Volodymyr nods his head and offers a greeting,  "Evenin', been a long day has it?" 
BelGareth
One of the men, sitting closest to Volodymyr, turns his attention towards him with a stern expression. He leans forward, his eyes narrowing as he responds in the Trastian commoners' dialect:

 "Aye, long day indeed, mate. But what brings fancy folks like yourselves down here? Ain't often we see your type minglin' with us common folk on these rides."  His tone carries a hint of skepticism, a reflection of the divide between the working class and those perceived as privileged.

Another man, a bit more gruff in appearance, chimes in,  "Yeah, reckon ya ain't here for a joyride. Spill the beans, fancy pants. What's your business on our turf?" 

The rest of the group watches with guarded curiosity, their gazes shifting between Volodymyr and the other pilots. Tension hangs in the air as they await an explanation, their hands still discreetly positioned near the concealed bulges under their jackets.
Thunder999
 "Well now, first time anyone's called me fancy. We're here for work of course, nothing too exciting, Union wants some fancy commander found and this is the last place they saw him."  Volodymyr replies with a grin  "Don't suppose you fellas know a man with a huge scar on his face and even bigger mech?"  As he's saying this, he subtly turns so they can see the large revolver holstered on his belt.
BelGareth
The leader of the group, a rugged man with a scarred face, eyes Volodymyr with suspicion. He sizes up the pilots and their confident demeanor, noticing the holstered revolver on Volodymyr's belt. A sly smirk forms on his lips as he realizes they might not be as easy a target as they initially seemed.

 "Look what we have here, boys,"  the leader sneers, his voice dripping with both arrogance and menace.  "A bunch of fancy flyboys, thinkin' they can waltz in here and disrupt our plans. Well, ain't that just precious?" 

His companions growl in agreement, their gazes flickering between the pilots and the concealed bulges beneath their jackets. The train car seems to shrink as tension hangs heavily in the air.

The leader leans forward, his tone turning cold and threatening.  "You see, flyboys, this here is our turf. And anyone who comes sniffin' around where they don't belong pays a price. So, unless you fancy a taste of Trastian hospitality, I suggest you turn your shiny little ship around and fly back to wherever you came from." 

The men around him, emboldened by their leader's words, shift their stances, readying themselves for a confrontation. Their eyes convey a mix of hostility and confidence, fueled by a desire to protect their secrets and maintain control over their domain.

As the train car hurtles towards its destination, the atmosphere crackles with the anticipation of a clash between these determined thugs and the pilots who refuse to be intimidated. The outcome hangs precariously in the balance, with the mission's success contingent on the resolution of this tense and potentially volatile encounter.
Alteiner
Tesshin watched this interaction play out with a bored look on his face. He had hoped that they'd at least get as far as planetside before problems started cropping up. He glanced between the rough-looking men, trying to feel out the social dynamics between them while looking for any kind of insignia or marking meant to show them as part of a group. It would be one thing if this group was the totality of their little club, and entirely another if they were part of a bigger organization (if Tesshin had to guess, probably a dockworkers' union). One dealt with bravado very differently from the confidence that came with having backup.
BelGareth
Tesshin, the astute observer, watches the unfolding interaction with a bored expression, hoping for a smoother journey before encountering such troubles. His gaze shifts between the rough-looking men, analyzing their demeanor and subtle cues to discern any indications of their affiliations.

As Tesshin studies their rugged appearances and the way they carry themselves, a flicker of recognition ignites within him. He detects a certain disciplined air about their movements and a hint of military influence in their attire. His astute instincts lead him to believe that these men were once part of a military group, now potentially working as mercenaries under the guise of common laborers.
Rakaydos
Cypher paid the locals no mind, focusing on his positively ancient handheld game system.
RdMarquis
 "Damn...I was seriously hoping to make some new friends on this trip."  Sam's tone of voice sounds sincere, at any rate. He places a hand over his heart.  "You're hurting my feelings, guys. It's even worse than what I'll do to you if this ride down goes badly."  And he did intend to let them make the first move. Even if he was armed for a fight, these were tight quarters full of people and equipment the station needed to remain (barely) functioning.  "Let's change the subject. What's this about a plan?" 
CateranEnforcer
Lola definitely would qualify as fancy in the eyes of these men she realized. Though wearing a thick jumpsuit, it was pristine, not soiled by work. She was also quite small, probably an easy target but thelaser pistol hidden away gave her confidence, not to mention the explosives.

She looked up, irritated by pretty much everyone,  "I think what my annoyingly forthright companions are trying to say is this; Union has taken enough notice to send a, as of yet, peaceful party. We represent a fraction of the resources at their disposal. Even if you intend to overpower us here and now, you will have escalated their concerns and the next group might not be as open and honest...."   she glances around at the group,  "as we are. And it would be real embarrassing to be responsible for bringing the ire of our superiors onto this world."  
Volthawk
Again, Jack felt that same...he didn't know how to describe it. Disappointment, maybe? Whatever it was, these men brought it out just as looking at the old space station had. He hadn't been sure how he'd feel about finally coming home, but this...wasn't it. Not that it mattered at the moment - he needed to focus on the situation. Looked like it was time to try deescalation a little.

 "Look, guys. We're not here to cause trouble with you - whatever it is you're working on, that's not part of the job. Defending ourselves  is , however, and our bosses make sure we're all armed - I'm a medic by trade, so I'd really rather not, but they insisted - you know how it is sometimes when those above you get an idea into their head and it doesn't matter what you say - so now I've got this thing with me all the time."  He pats the machine pistol on his belt - he's not wording it like a threat, and his tone is staying steadily upbeat, but he is making it clear that he's armed too.  "Not my favourite thing in the world to use, so let's not go down that route, shall we? Who knows, maybe we could help each other out. We have access to more resources than what you might get rifling through our pockets, after all, and that way none of your lads there get shot in the process."  He pauses, looking back at the other pilots, noting the melee weapons they carry.  "Or taken out by something more close quarters, I guess. Point is, it'd be better for everyone if we just cool this down a bit."  He shrugs.  "Particularly since if you do start shooting, I  will  try to save your lives after we drop you, but you'd be right at the bottom of the priority list when it comes to who gets fixed up, so I might not be able to help you all in time, besides the risk of some of you dying instantly. I hope you understand." 
Kubular
DAZE rolls her eyes, but notes the stances and movement of the "laborers".

  "We're invited. 'nough said. You don't want this Smoke anyhow. You feel?"   she grunts. She doesn't bother to gesture her weapons. Her companions have seen to that. And besides, the implication is clear. Everyone in the car knows that everyone else is armed and dangerous.

Though she lacks the height to loom over the men, the cold stare she gives is enough to make lesser men shudder. She places a casual hand on her hip. A better position to draw from, while still maintaining a dispassionate bravado.

  "Dontchu worry your pretty head. We're not interested in your 'turf.' Just passin' through."  
BelGareth
As the group of pilots responds with a mixture of sarcasm, confidence, and veiled threats, the men in the train car begin to relish the violence they believe they can unleash. Their expressions turn sinister, and a collective glimmer of anticipation dances in their eyes.

The leader of the thugs, emboldened by the pilots' remarks, sneers and leans forward, revealing a glimpse of metal beneath his jacket. He locks eyes with each pilot in turn, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

 "Looks like we got ourselves a bunch of jokers, boys,"  he growls, his voice laced with malice.  "Think you can come down here and play with us? Well, we'll show you how things work in our territory." 

With a swift motion, he pulls open his jacket, revealing a set of menacing-looking machine guns strapped across his chest. The other men follow suit, unfastening their jackets to expose an arsenal of firepower.

A tension-filled silence falls over the train car as the pilots and their adversaries face off, each side brimming with intensity. The air crackles with the imminent threat of violence as the train hurtles further into the depths of Trast.
Alteiner
Tesshin clicked his tongue. He had very much hoped that they could just let cooler heads prevail. Nonetheless, these guys, as eager as they seemed to bare fangs and bark, were being careful to stand just this side of actually initiating aggression. The MSMC strike team was being dared. This, it seemed, was either a bluff or a scheme. Either his initial impression of these men had been wrong, or there was a deliberate game being played here. Tesshin got to his feet and pulled his pack of gear over his shoulder, the massive sword sized for a 1/2 size mech most visible among it.

 "You think icing a team of mercs on contract going downstream is a good look for you?"  he asked, taking a step forward and getting in the leader's face.  "Is that how things work on Trast? Yeah, right. You need to work on your idiot impression if you want anyone to believe that. What do you think flashing all that steel does for you? We know you're holding? We already did. If you were gonna shoot first, you would've done it. I'll admit we got off on the wrong foot. This is your territory, and we can respect that. We didn't come here to interfere with your business, and I'll apologize if that's what we've done. Hell, we'll bow our heads and make a proper introduction to whoever's in charge around here. But, we've got business of our own down there, and we're not about to turn around just because the locals don't like us. So you can flash your guns and preen like a peacock and we'll all just walk away when we get down to the surface. That's all fine by me. But, if you or any of your boys put hands on those weapons, and every one of you dies. So quit wagging your d*ck and decide whether the cleaning crew is gonna have to wipe you off the walls." 
Rakaydos
"  If you all dont keep things down, you'll find  just how well I know how things work around here. I may be forced to ask you to take a step outside."  
Cypher was still lounging with his game system, but to emphasise his pointed remark, he pointed to the airless void outside the window.

On his dataplating, he was looking for old blueprints and scematics- everything he would need to blow the airlock if things got out of hand.
Kubular
As soon as the jackets come open, DAZE already has her sidearm drawn. This doesn't seem like a good location for a firefight. One wrong move and they're all speeding out the side of the car.

  "A-a-ah"   she warns.   "Hands off. We wait here like this until the car opens and we walk out. Nobody gets wasted."  

She trains the weapon on the leaders head.   "Hi. I'm DAZE. Look at me, don't look at them. We can have a friendly chat. We're Mirrorsmoke. You know? Garbagemen? What's your name man? Yall got an outfit?"    or are you freelancers? 

Mercs like these are vicious sorts. The only way to get their attention and respect is viciousness in kind.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Rolled a 9 in discord to Take Control of the situation. Tried to hold the situation hostage until we could walk away, but unless I can justify my pirate/outlaw background here, that's a fail.

EDIT: Added accuracy for a 14 on the check to Take Control.
 
BelGareth
Amidst the rising tension in the train car, a sudden interruption crackles over a private channel, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. A distorted voice, cold and menacing, booms over the wrist comms of the thugs, commanding attention and demanding compliance.

 "All parties, stand down immediately!" 

The thugs reluctantly lower their weapons, their expressions now tinged with fear and uncertainty as they receive orders from the one they answer to. Confused looks get passed back and forth until one of them speaks up,  "To the rim with that!"  he exclaims as he brings a weapon to bear.

However, his words are drowned out by the foreboding hum of an energy weapon charging. Before anyone can react, a shotgun blast erupts, and the defiant thug collapses to the ground his head nothing but a smoking, leaking stump upon his shoulders, his brain matter blown across the carriage.

The chilling execution sends shockwaves through the train car, the echo of the gunshot reverberating in the confined space. The remaining thugs' defiance is replaced with fear, and they cast uneasy glances at one another, understanding the price of disobedience. They all seem to retract back into the shadows and seats, pulling their clothing tight about them, as if to hide from the carnage.

As the train car continues its descent towards the surface of Trast, an oppressive silence fills the air.
Thunder999
Seeing that this is apparently going to be a smooth ride down after all Volodymyr resumes his conversational tone  "I take it whoever that was is a big deal here?"  he does not acknowledge the corpse.
Alteiner
Tesshin let out a breath as the local muscle backed down and returned to his seat, hefting his sword over his shoulder and leaning it across his body. From the looks of things, whoever it was who decided who (and what) went up- and downwell without trouble at least knew how to keep their people in line. The bigger concern was whether that power was government, military, or criminal in nature (and whether there was even a difference on Trast).

 "Bigger deal than us."  
Rakaydos
Cypher was curious. A transmission on a private channel? If this person was a big deal, thye might be a step toward their taget... or possibly the target themselves. Without rising, he attempted to backplot the transmission

 (d20+2)[ 4 ]  Investigate or Hack/fix (same value)
CateranEnforcer
  "Just like that? What the hell?"   Lola was already reaching for her firearm just moments before the gunshot and getting low. She slowly stands back up. She shouts at the thugs,   "Nothing to say about that?"   

Lola doesn't demand a reply, but keeps an eye on the others. Things were a little loose here and she'd rather not get caught off guard.   "We'll have some answers soon, looks like. Someone is likely waiting for us."  
BelGareth
Cypher attempts to backtrace the source of the mysterious voice that commanded such respect among the thugs in the train, a tripwire is triggered, it's almost as if the netcomm here was setup with a man-in-the-middle proxy attack as part of it's packet filtering, you barely have a chance to respond as you watch sparks erupt from your dataplating. It's not terrible, and your system is rebooting automatically, systems seems unscathed except the console you were using, a little bit of downtime and you can get it back up and running with some tools.

The space elevator turns from space to a more planet-with-green-vegetation-and-seas view, one that would take most peoples breath way, but the stifling atmosphere seems to leech all emotion out of everything, making everything dull, and uneventful.

The elevator begins it's slow descent, rocket brake boosters firing in phases, as the carriage comes to a smooth slow speed which barely rebounds once it stops, the technology of the space elevator was seemingly untouched by this planet, the same could not be said for what you would encounter once you step outside of the terminal.

Everything seems to have crumbled, been discarded, looted, or burned, what isn't has green foliage growing out of it, or through it. You see the Union Headquarters, which is the only clean, maintained building you can see, several small  Goblins  led by a  Napolean  on patrol, the building boasts a hefty Barricade wall equipped with Laser turrets, and rocket ampules. Your built in heads up displays show the call-signs of the patroling mechs:  Gremlin  and  Wraith  were led by the  Emporer .

The gate to the building was a shimmering energy field, the guard didn't even look down at you as your ident's were scanned remotely from tiny drones that flew around you like flies. The field doesn't come down, but instead a side door opens up, hissing as it comes out, and then slides to the side, allowing your ingress into the bowels of the building. For it does not let you into the courtyard, but down into a basement below, the walls are a slick black, and the lights in the corners of the tunnels roof are a soft amber, the stairs lead you down into what looks like a war room, and you realize this is your teams berthing, the center has a holomap which is currently showing the local news, however it seemed to be advertising something:


 As the neon-soaked streets of Trask come into view, you catch sight of a massive holographic billboard hovering above the bustling crowd. The display flickers to life, showcasing a neo-cyberpunk advertisement for "MechTech Pro: Elevate Your Mech Game!"

The holographic billboard stands tall, its bright neon letters pulsing with energy as they spell out the company's name. The backdrop is a futuristic cityscape, with towering skyscrapers and gleaming hovercars zipping through the air. The Trask skyline twinkles like a sea of stars in the distance.

The advertisement takes on an ethereal glow, featuring stunning visuals of mechs being outfitted with cutting-edge augmentations. Glistening energy cores hum with power, while sleek hydraulic limbs move with grace and precision.

"Welcome to MechTech Pro, where innovation meets perfection. Transform your mech into an awe-inspiring masterpiece, equipped with the latest tech that Trask has to offer."

The scene shifts to a state-of-the-art mech garage, bustling with activity. Expert mechanics in futuristic attire work diligently on mechs, their skilled hands expertly installing cybernetic enhancements.

"Trust your prized possession to our team of seasoned mech mechanics. Their craftsmanship and precision will take your mech to new heights, elevating your combat prowess beyond imagination."

The holographic display showcases an array of customization options: holographic decals, reactive camo patterns, and personalized insignias that make each mech a unique work of art.

"Unleash your creativity and make your mech a reflection of your individuality. Our cutting-edge designs will set you apart in the battlefield, leaving a lasting impression on all who dare challenge you."

The advertisement shifts to an action-packed montage of mechs in combat. They demonstrate unparalleled power and agility, soaring through the skies with remarkable speed.

"Experience a new level of dominance with MechTech Pro's advanced augmentations. Your mech will become a force to be reckoned with, capable of outmaneuvering and overpowering any adversary."

The scene concludes with a group of confident Lancer pilots standing proudly beside their upgraded mechs, the energy pulsating through their armors as a testament to the newfound potential.

"Join the elite ranks of Lancer pilots. Let MechTech Pro revolutionize the future of mechs and bring your dreams of supremacy to life. Elevate your game, only in Trask."

As the advertisement comes to an end, the holographic billboard slowly dims, leaving a futuristic logo of MechTech Pro glowing in the darkness. The tagline "Transform Your Mech, Conquer the Skies" lingers beneath the emblem. 

To the left is your mechanic hangar, where you can already here the automated docking handling your containerized mechs, the right are you bunks, small slim doors slide open at regular intervals, revealing a cot and a locker, spartan and bare, but more than enough for your mission.

The Union representative that would usually meet you is not present.
Thunder999
Volodymyr looks around  "Can't say that ad matches what we've seen so far, feels like the kind of planet more likely to 'salvage' your mech than upgrade it. I would suggest we go look for the Union rep, but unless I missed it, we never got a name." 
He's not normally so quick to judge, but they nearly had a firefight before reaching the surface.
RdMarquis
 “Singrin Castella. Or someone working for her.”  Hawthorne looked uncomfortable. They were clearly inside a fortress, one which had been under siege for a while. And pilot or not, he wasn’t mad about the idea of being volunteered to help with the defenses the moment he stepped through the door. They had been sent to find a missing person.

Also, that commercial (which felt more like a horribly timed joke) really wasn’t helping his mood.  “The polite thing to do would be waiting for them to send someone to meet us. But if that takes more than an hour, I’m going to start looking for answers to questions.” 
Volthawk
Jack remained quiet during the...resolution, he supposed the word was, of the standoff with the thugs. It was immediately obvious that his skills wouldn't be of any use here, after all - no fixing that wound - and further challenging the thugs or trying to get information out of them wouldn't get anywhere. Just another reminder that things had changed, he supposed.

The situation on the ground didn't improve his mood much (although he hid it as best he could, as always). The state of the station had been a sign of things to come, it seemed. So much time had passed since the war, and Union had been here the whole time...why were things still like this?

The advertisement distracts him from that train of thought, and as he thinks it over he hears Volodymyr's comment and feels like he has to respond. Trast may have changed a lot, and it might be...complicated, but still.  "It makes sense if you think about it. Trast had access to early mech designs and data before it cut itself off from Union - Simon Trast had ties to Sec-Comm, after all - and the war gave them the opportunity and need to develop and use that tech. It was a long war, after all,"  Jack pauses, as if distracted by something, before shaking his head a little and continuing.  "So there was plenty of time to work on this kind of thing. And after that, well...it seems like Trast has never fully stabilised since, going off what we've been seeing and hearing, and that kind of environment is perfect for the development and testing of new frames and systems."  He sighs.  "MechTech Pro's probably offering their services to everyone involved in this thing, so if we have to fight one of the non-Union factions directly, their elite troops might have some of those upgrades in their mechs. After all, the powerful can always find the resources to enrich themselves and those they value, regardless of the situation on the ground, and when things are uncertain you value your best pilots a lot."  That tracked with how it felt back then, at least. He shrugs, and happily goes along with the change in subject before more of those uncomfortable memories resurfaced.  "We can be patient for a while. In a place like this, with the circumstances, you need to be a little flexible, and accept that things will be a little...fuzzier sometimes, when it comes to the details. It'll be okay." 
Alteiner
Tesshin barely raised an eyebrow at the flagrant display of military adventurism offered by MechTech Pro's advertisement, surprise reserved largely for how blatant it all was. Even back home, the warhawkery had been dressed up by pleading to honor and dignity, the empire's noble history and the duty of the warrior to caste to fight for her. It seemed the people of Trast needed little convincing.

 "It's a raven's nest, in other words."  he answered Jack's explanation.  "Rapid development of military technologies and minimal oversight would leave this whole continent a feeding ground for ambitious warlords and hungry mercenaries. Meanwhile, the armorers reap the profits from every transaction for a new frame blueprint. Human blood transmuted to pure gold."  Just collect the guns from abandoned battlefields, and a wise merchant could even double-dip on their profits. Disgusting.

The basement, at least, lent a kind of comforting familiarity. War rooms and barracks didn't change much no matter where you went, it seemed. Spartan though the accommodations may have been, they were, at least, more comfortable than the microgav bunk of a starship. Tesshin was eager to drop his meager luggage near one of the cots.

 "Union Rep went out of their way to set this bunker up for us. This is obviously meant to be our forward operating base on-world. If our employer wants to find us, they'll know where to look. Until then, we can get settled in and call any spare time PTO." 
Rakaydos
"If you dont mind, I need to take my face off and do some repairs. Mind if I take a private room?" Cypher motioned to the display serving as his head, which had been glitching since the failed backtrace.
RdMarquis
Hawthorne shrugged at Jack. He found the other pilot's more optimistic take a little doubtful, but not enough to be a jerk about it. On a similar note, all he can manage in response to Cypher is  "Sure..."  Whatever fixing his face actually meant.

Then, while he was thinking of it,  "I can let you know if we need to leave in a hurry." 
Thunder999
Volodymyr nods at the explanations from Tesshin and Jack and turns to check out the hangar, probably nothing interesting but he'd rather wander than just stand around.
BelGareth
As you all take a look around, some of you fixing gear, others checking the hanger, those of you that are hungry find dispensers in the main berthing area, nothing fancy as on  the Gimble , more nutrient paste, protein packs, complex-carbo-packs, and plenty of coffee. Large tables allow for weapon maintenance.

As you wait, another advertisement springs into being:


  The Grand Hunt Lodge 

Seeking thrill and adventure? Experience the ultimate Jaeger-style hunt at The Grand Hunt Lodge!

For distinguished guests and noble hunters, our exclusive lodge offers the chance to face legendary monsters amidst the untamed wilderness of Trast. Embark on thrilling safaris led by seasoned guides and skilled Jaeger pilots. Test your mettle against colossal beasts, and claim trophies worthy of legends!

Book your exclusive hunt now and savor the thrill of a lifetime! Limited availability.

Visit The Grand Hunt Lodge today! 

~

The hangar bay is an incredibly large chamber with chains and hanging frames coming from the rafters that were higher than you could see, the ground turns into a giant catwalk which surrounds a bay that descends further into the darkness below, at each bay is a large wall mounted elevator, currently at the same level as the catwalk. Above each bay, is a large yellow framework that reaches 45 ft upwards, with grav-clamps for clasping a mech in the bay for maintenance.

There are 8 bays altogether, each one opens up behind the bay to allow for alternate non-humanoid statures, as well as the initial space for the printers, which were being currently setup for production. The whole room was automated, and was a frenzy of work and function, klaxons blaring and lights flashing.

~

As Cypher enters the spartan room to fix his data plating, they find a note attached to the mirror:


 "Looking for a good time and some valuable info? Head to The Rusty Gear Tavern tonight. Ask for Max - he's got the connections you're looking for. Bring your thirst and your curiosity, and you won't be disappointed. Just remember, loose lips sink ships, so keep it discreet. See you there!

A friend in need" 

~

As everyone has settled in, Sergeant Hana walks in  "Listen lively! The LT has some news!"  She marches over to the Holo-player and selects the message link to connect to the LT up on  the Gimble 

As the holographic image of Lieutenant Avery flickers to life, the room falls silent, and all eyes are on the projection. The lieutenant stands tall, his expression serious, yet determined.  "Alright, listen up, everyone. Things have changed since we last had any info on Trast, obviously, and we need to adapt accordingly." 

A flicker of concern crosses the lieutenant's face as he continues,  "On a more positive note, we've been informed several local UNION sympathizers are present, and should be willing to cooperate. Keep your eyes and ears open when you're out and about; any information they provide could be crucial to our success." 
 "Now, here's what we need to do,"  the lieutenant says firmly.  "We'll split into smaller teams and head to each point of interest to gather more intel. The information we have may be outdated, and we can't afford any surprises. The Gimble will remain on standby in case of any urgent communications or evacuations. Stick to the shadows, be discreet, and remember, we're here to find Commander Shengralin and bring him home safely. This is not a typical operation, so stay sharp and expect the unexpected." 

With a final nod, Lieutenant Avery ends the transmission, and the holographic projection disappears. The room buzzes with a mix of tension and determination as the Lancers prepare to embark on their mission to uncover the truth behind Trast's troubles and the enigmatic Commander Shengralin.

Sergeant Hana waits for the room to settle,  "printers are about to start, so we should be good to go once you return and we debrief,"  she pauses  "Good hunting" 
Thunder999
 "So, do we have any points of interest yet, or are we just going to go for a walk and hope the next band of locals are less eager to fight?" 
Volthawk
The advertisement for The Grand Hunt Lodge gets Jack's attention as he waits, and a fair amount of confusion. Monsters? What? Trast's wildlife had always been fairly tame, as he remembered it. Maybe some mundanely dangerous creatures if you got out into the wilderness, like with any planet, but nothing of the kind of scale being advertised here. He leans forward a little and squints at the monster in the backdrop of the ad. What was that thing? Dismissing the idea of the planet spontaneously evolving gigafauna in such a short (evolutionary speaking) period of time, that left...something imported from another world, maybe? Or artificially cooked up here, maybe...Jack's education with the Anatomists had focused on practical medicine, and had been brief because of the demands of the war, but he supposed there was nothing stopping them getting into this kind of research...

He shrugs, before looking around for any of the pilots with more recent knowledge of Trast.  "Got any idea what these 'monsters' are? First I've heard of things like that on Trast." 

---

With the ad still on his mind, Jack figures he should probably give the hangar a look. He nods to himself when he sees the size of the bays and the scale of mechs they can facilitate. That's good. He had a new design that he wanted to give a try, and it looked like these could handle that just fine.

---

Jack listens attentively to the briefing, although the mention of printers does bring a question to mind.  "What's the policy around here with using mechs? Given what we experienced coming down here, there's a fair chance of a firefight starting up, or worse - these adverts we've been seeing suggests there's a pretty healthy industry around the creation and use of mechs, after all. Should we use our own judgement when it comes to escalating to that point, or is there someone else that we need to get approval from first - whether that's you, Hana, Avery up on the Gimble, or some other official here?"  He pauses.  "I suppose there's the same question when it comes to just fighting on foot - not that I'm looking for fights, of course! Just...you know, if things go bad and force starts looking like a good idea, is there anything we should consider beyond just general discretion? Diplomatic or political issues, for instance, if Union has anything like that going on with people out there, for instance."  He shrugs, feeling a little self-conscious about speaking up so much.  "Just want to make sure we know what the rules are, that's all. Feels volatile out there." 
Thunder999
Volodomyr speaks up again when the monsters are mentioned  "Oh are those things not native?" 
Alteiner
The bulk of Tessin's prep-time was in setting up a few hermetically-sealed food containers. If the team were expected to live off of protein slabs and glucose injections, they'd need at least a bit of flavor just to maintain sanity. Thankfully, the spare rations he'd picked up at the last station they'd stopped at for shore leave was a partial solution: frozen fruits, frozen chocolate, dried meats, alcohol, cigarettes, and a few other food items wouldn't do much to fill their stomachs on their own, but supplementing the blander, if more filling, meals, they'd do a lot to make the place a little more hospitable. Of course, those supplies were limited, so finding another line on fresh food, booze, and other amenities soon would was near the top of his list of priorities.

 "Don't hold back, crew. If you're carrying, share the wealth." 

Between the advert for the Grand Hunt Lodge and the return of their ever-peppy field team leader and what amounted to a missive from the Lieutenant, the crew had a mandate to get the eyes of the local players (at least, the Union-sympathetic ones) on them, and a convenient vector to do so.

 "Is our local administrator going to put in an appearance at some point, or should we assume we have our employer's tacit approval in determining rules of engagement and SOP?" 
CateranEnforcer
Lola crosses her arms,   "That Tavern ad seems a little suspicious. It's a little too on the nose. It might be honest, or it might be a honey trap. If we go there, be on your guard. If it's truthful, that might be a place to find those supplies and local support."  
RdMarquis
Sam speaks up about the Rusty Gear offer.  "Feel free to call me stupid, but the way I deal with traps is springing them after taking the right precautions."  He shrugged.  "If we let them take the first swing, they can't whine about anyone coming around to cause trouble."  Their team was still in the dark about what they were up against on Trast.  "And just to be clear, this is me volunteering to go first if things don't seem right." 
Thunder999
 "It'd probably spook 'em if we turned up in our mechs wouldn't it."  Volodomyr adds with a sigh.
BelGareth
With a soft hum, TYR's holographic form materializes in the ready room, his virtual presence projected from the holo display. He appears slightly perturbed, a virtual hand absentmindedly cleaning a holo cup as he glances at the mission briefing displayed on the holo table.  "Ah, the joys of multi-tasking,"  he remarks, his voice carrying a hint of dry humor.  "I must say, I'm not particularly thrilled about having to divide my attention between the Gimble and the planet's surface simultaneously, but I suppose it can be managed." 

TYR then gestures to you all as he cleans a holo-mug with a holo-bar towel.  "Seems to me you already have the points of interest, the bar, 'The Rusty Gear Tavern,' could be an excellent place to gather local gossip and potential contacts,"  he continues.  "The MechTech Pro might have some insight into the local mech scene and any peculiar happenings in the area. As for the ranger station, they might have records of any recent disturbances or activity in the wilds." 

TYR pauses for a moment, giving the lancers a chance to absorb the information.
Thunder999
 "I'm up to check out Mechtech Pro, I'll head over as soon as the printers are done, get the conversation started talking about the local modifications of choice, then see what they know. 
Alteiner
 "If someone's going to the Rusty Gear, I'll provide backup. This 'Max' was able to get into the building and leave that note; they're not the sort of person any of us should be meeting alone. I'm interested in the Grand Hunt Lodge, too, but if any of us are headed out of the city, I think they should have the full team with them." 
CateranEnforcer
Lola considers her options.   "We will need gear and contacts. I'm prepared to see what we can get our hands on at Mechtech pro."  
Rakaydos
 "I'll head out with Volo. Lets see what they have going." 
Volthawk
Jack nods.  "Agreed about the Lodge. So that makes it...two teams, I suppose? One checks out MechTech, the other goes to the Rusty Gear, then we meet up to swing by the ranger station and make sure we're informed about what's out there before moving on to see what's up with the Lodge? That sounds about right to me. I'll go to the Rusty Gear - I've been in places like that plenty of times on my travels, before I joined up with Mirrorsmoke." 
BelGareth
With the decision made, you each receive a payload of data that unloads itself, updating your objective marker, making it pulse in your vision, neither one was far, but the third objective was the furthest, on the edge of the city, a secondary rally point was designated between the two primary objectives, allowing you all to meet up en-route to the ranger station.

With Sergeant Hana working with the printers, you hear her curse as one of the components broke out of it's alignment, she storms off to the hangar bay spewing curse words like it was a curse-drought. Classic Sergeant Hana.

The only exit was the entrance, which brings you up to the gate of the massive complex, as you exit several Mechs with grunt pilots walk out of the yard, where the force field barricade deactivates for them to egress, they do so in a slow lumbering manner, which makes you all grown in derision at their weak attempts of piloting.

Once outside, they formed up in a loose heron bone patrol formation and took off in a slow gait, observing everything and anything. In the lead was an Ace, callsign " Maverick ," followed by two Archers: " Hawkeye " and " Longshot ". Bringing up the rear was a Support, callsign " Guardian ," followed by two Assault mechs: " Hammerhead " and " Bulwark ."

You follow the patrol at a distance, best never to get close to mech's on patrol, even more so when they are piloted by grunts.

The ground outside was littered with debris, the roads were cracked and grass as tall as your waist was growing from it, providing a a strange feeling of the natural world juxtaposed with the industrial landscaping of a once thriving metropolis, it was both eerie, and beautiful at the same time. Broken down vehicles were strewn where they were left, most were gutted by fire, rusting throughout, with vines and even skeletons within them, like tombs of long lost archeotech kings of old.

The patrol quickly outpaced you and circled east, it seemed like they were patrolling the city center in a circular loop, which was confirmed as you watched them take another left southward.

You go past a high end mall, stores long closed, Memory markets, Reality sculpting boutiques, Digital body MOD shops, Neural-link travel agencies, and DNA Couture Clothes amongst others, this was once not just a thriving city, but a rich one. Not far from the mall, your groups separate into two, heading off to your objectives, MechTech and the Rusty Gear.


 MechTech Pro 
Welcome to MechTech Pro, where the past and future collide in a grungy and nostalgic symphony. The air is thick with the scent of motor oil and the hum of machinery. Neon lights flicker above shelves cluttered with a mishmash of mechanical components, circuit boards, and rusted scraps, like relics from a forgotten era. The walls are adorned with faded posters of bygone advertising campaigns, their colors muted by time and grime.

A hodgepodge of salvaged metal panels, mismatched gears, and outdated gadgets hang from the ceiling, casting dappled shadows on the grease-stained floors. A creaking ceiling fan struggles to circulate the musty air, its blades coated in layers of dust. A jukebox in the corner emits static-filled tunes, accompanied by the occasional clank and whir of a half-repaired machine.

Behind a worn-out counter cluttered with tools and spare parts, a grizzled mechanic with grease-stained hands and a tattered jumpsuit stands. His goggles rest atop his forehead, revealing eyes that have seen countless mechanical wonders and horrors. He offers a half-hearted nod as you enter, lost in his work and the symphony of clinks and clatters that envelop the shop.

The inventory is a treasure trove of forgotten tech: busted servos, outdated interface cables, and ancient power cells lie side by side with retrofitted augmentation modules and jury-rigged cybernetics. Piles of discarded, stripped-down mechs and their limbs lean against the walls, awaiting transformation or reincarnation into something new.

As you explore the cluttered aisles, you'll find it's more than a store; it's a haven for mechanics and tinkerers, a haven where the past melds with the potential of the future in a symphony of rusty dreams and hopeful sparks.


 The Rusty Gear 
Step into the Rusty Gear, a dimly lit sanctuary of grit and camaraderie. The scent of aged wood, spilled ale, and distant memories permeates the air, creating an atmosphere of both nostalgia and worn charm. The interior is dominated by a long, scarred bar that seems to have survived more than its fair share of brawls. Stools with cracked leather cushions line the bar, where patrons exchange stories and drinks.

The walls are adorned with a mismatched collection of faded holo-prints and scavenged mechanical parts, giving the tavern an air of steampunk chic. Sputtering Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling, casting an amber glow that flickers and dances with each gust of air. The clinking of glasses, the low murmur of conversations, and the occasional raucous laughter create a symphony of tavern life.

Behind the bar stands Max, the grizzled owner with a patch over one eye and a perpetual smirk on his lips. He darts around with a practiced ease, pouring drinks and slinging mugs with a flair that speaks of years spent tending to both machines and thirsty patrons.

As you settle onto a barstool, you can't help but notice the eclectic crowd that calls the Rusty Gear home. A group of local laborers huddle at one end, sharing tales of their toil on the planet's unforgiving surface. A lone figure nursing a drink at the corner booth catches your eye – a brooding hunter with scars that hint at encounters with creatures far more dangerous than mere mortals.

In another corner, a trio of rowdy locals engage in a heated card game, their laughter carrying a hint of mischief. The unmistakable aroma of pipe smoke wafts from a corner, where a figure in a trench coat leans against the wall, surveying the room with a detached air.

Behind the bar, Max is in conversation with a drunk, whose slurred words are met with an amused chuckle. The sound of darts hitting the target board punctuates the background noise, adding an element of friendly competition to the ambiance.

The Rusty Gear is a haven for those seeking refuge from the harsh realities of Trast. It's a place where stories are spun, alliances formed, and secrets shared. Here, in the warm glow of Edison bulbs and the clink of glasses, the people of Trast find solace and fleeting moments of respite from the chaos beyond its doors.
CateranEnforcer
Lola walks into the place catches the familiar greasey smell. This is the place real work was done. Even though she had raised her stature beyond this life, these were the people and parts you needed on your side to keep things running and stay supplied.

  "I'll look and see about munitions first. Things we can run out of in the field."  She tells the others.   "Let's just hope we don't get a similar response like we got on the way in."  
RdMarquis
Sam took the Gear as the first real sign anyone still lived on (not just survived) Trast. True to his word, he entered the bar first, in case they were expected. What he wasn't sure of was how to go about making a good impression on the locals. At the very least he tried to avoid being too obvious with the barkeep.  "You got coffee? Keep it black, thanks."  Obvious he wasn't alone, not with his teammates nearby.  "You must be Max. I was told to look you up after I flew in." 
Thunder999
Volodymyr's first thought is that the real thing fits Trast a lot more than those shiny adverts, though he's pleased to see more signs of honest work than hopeless collapse.
He approaches the man by the counter to introduce himself, cheerful and casual as ever.  "Ah, hello, name's Volodymyr, as it happens I'd not long hit planetside and one of the first things I hear about is this place, mech's not even printed yet, but what lancer can resist checking out the local scene." 
Volthawk
The Rusty Gear, at least, was a little more familiar to Jack. Not so much from his time on Trast before, of course - those days were busy with training and trying to turn the tide of death from the war - but from the years afterwards, spend drifting and trying to find somewhere new that felt right. Places like this were all over the place, and a not uncommon port of call when living that kind of life.

After giving the room a quick look around, Jack peels off from the others into the crowd - Max might be useful, but he wasn't the only potential source of information here, and if things did go south having someone not immediately in focus might be handy. Out of the crowd, the hunter gets his attention - that might be one way of knowing what's going on with the Grand Hunt Lodge and these monsters ahead of time. Approaching the corner booth, he gives the man a nod of recognition before speaking up.  "Would another of what you're drinking buy me some time to talk?" 
Alteiner
Tesshin sniffed the air in the Rusty Gear. This was familiar, even if he'd never set foot inside before. Strong drink, games of chance, the rush of life; bars didn't change much no matter where you went. He had foregone the hardsuit for this excursion, not wanting to invite further local aggression by being obviously dressed for a full assault. The ceremonial armored sleeve over his left arm, the sword on his back, and the few visible scars on his face and arm still made it obvious that he'd seen, and survived, his share of combat, but he wasn't about to ruin a good thing by starting a fight.

As his compatriots went to their respective tasks, Tesshin approached the bar as well, though not to take a seat.  "Barkeep,"  he said with a simple smile,  "I'll have sweet potato shochu, if you have it. If not, just a glass of single malt; on the rocks, either way."  He was confident that, if necessary to blend in, he could nurse a drink for a fairly-long time, waiting for the ice to start melting and water down the liquor. While waiting for his drink, he beheld the card table. Three wasn't exactly a lot for a game of cards. He watched a few hands, trying to figure out the rules as best he could, so he could ask to get dealt in once he had his drink.
BelGareth
  MechTech Pro  

Amidst the familiar tang of grease and the clatter of machinery, Lola steps into MechTech Pro, a haven for those who understand that real work is done in places like these. The scent of sweat and engine oil hangs in the air, a testament to the sweat and toil poured into each mechanical creation. The atmosphere is thick with the clinks of wrenches and the hum of generators, a symphony of industry that pulses through the heart of the shop. Rows of tools line the walls, each one polished by countless hands seeking to keep these mechanical beasts alive.

As she considers the array of parts and tools, Lola's gaze falls on Kaelen, the grizzled mechanic who holds court in this den of ingenuity. There's a quiet determination in his eyes, a deep connection to the mechs that surround him. Kaelen's hands move with the precision of a surgeon as he works on a half-disassembled chassis, a testament to his skill and experience. The grit under his fingernails tells the story of countless hours spent in pursuit of perfection, and the scarred face that watches the machines come to life speaks of battles fought and won.

The clatter of footsteps announces Lola's presence, and Kaelen glances up, offering a nod of acknowledgement. His lips quirk into a half-smile as she mentions the potential similarity between their arrival and departure.  "Aye, it's not the warmest welcome you'd hope for, but that's Trast for you,"  he grumbles, his voice carrying the weight of a weary world.  "If you're in the market for munitions, you'll find plenty here. Trast's troubles haven't stopped the demand for firepower, that's for sure." 

His gaze shifts to the battered mechs that fill the workshop, a mixture of scavenged parts and hard-earned repairs.  "We've got what you need to keep your machines in fighting shape. And if you're looking to help this planet find its feet again, well, you've got a kindred spirit here."  He taps a wrench against his palm, a knowing glint in his eyes.  "But remember, you don't just fix mechs here. You're giving a little hope back to a place that's seen its fair share of darkness." 
  The Rusty Gear  
Sam's entrance into the Rusty Gear marks a tangible connection to the living on Trast, a place where survival is more than just a concept. The atmosphere inside is a blend of smoky warmth and lively chatter, a refuge for those seeking a moment of respite from the harshness of the world beyond. The clinking of glasses and the low murmur of conversation create a symphony of camaraderie that seems to defy the odds of this forsaken planet.

Approaching the bar, Sam tries to make himself inconspicuous, his request for black coffee a subtle indication that he's no stranger to the rhythm of this place. The barkeep, a seasoned figure with a scar running down his cheek, nods in acknowledgment before expertly preparing the order. Sam's mere presence sends ripples through the local patrons, whispers of curiosity and a few glances that range from indifferent to welcoming.

Meanwhile, Jack navigates the crowd with an ease born from experience, blending seamlessly into the throng of patrons. The corner booth, occupied by a lone figure nursing a drink, catches his attention. As he approaches, the figure raises an eyebrow, an unspoken invitation for Jack to join. The booth's occupant exudes an air of nonchalance, his demeanor reminiscent of someone who's seen it all and lived to tell the tale. Jack's greeting is met with a nod of recognition, the man's lips quirking into a half-smile as he acknowledges the request for a moment of his time.

The dim light casts intriguing shadows across the bar, a reflection of the shadows these individuals have traversed in their journeys. The clinking of glasses, the hum of conversation, and the faint strains of a song playing in the background create an ambiance that's both welcoming and enigmatic. It's a place where secrets are shared, alliances are forged, and destinies entwine amidst the whirlwind of the cosmos.

Tesshin's arrival in the Rusty Gear is like a silent acknowledgment of shared experiences that transcend time and place. The heady aroma of strong liquor hangs in the air, mingling with the sounds of laughter and camaraderie. The bar's timeworn furnishings, marked by the passage of countless souls seeking refuge and connection, embrace him with a kind of familiarity that only places of shared stories can provide.

Choosing to leave his hardsuit behind, Tesshin projects an image of understated confidence mixed with a hint of danger. The ceremonial armored sleeve over his arm and the scars on his face and arm tell tales of battles fought and won, while his restrained presence conveys a mastery of restraint that comes from wisdom earned on the battlefield.

He approaches the bar, not for a seat but to be a part of the tapestry of life unfolding before him. The barkeep meets his request with a knowing nod, as if recognizing a fellow traveler on a journey laden with secrets. As Tesshin's drink is prepared, the clinking of glasses forms a backdrop to the stories shared in hushed tones, the confidences exchanged between strangers who have stumbled upon a haven of respite.

His gaze shifts to a card table where a trio is engrossed in a game of chance. Tesshin watches with a measured curiosity, his sharp eyes taking in the ebb and flow of the game. A simple smile graces his lips as he anticipates the taste of the shochu he's ordered. With a quiet determination, he waits for the ice to start melting, a reflection of his patient approach to unraveling the mysteries that await him on this planet.
Volthawk
Jack smiles as he sees the hunter's reaction. Good, some things work the same in most places. Once the price for the conversation has been paid and the hunter has another drink waiting for him, Jack takes a seat and gets to it.

 "I'll respect your time and get to the point. I'm from around here, but I've been gone a long time, and things are...different now. Some of it makes sense, but there are things where I'm struggling to fill in the gaps. That's, well, why I came over. When I was here, there weren't really many hunters - of beasts, anyway - and the biggest animal out there was..." He shrugs. "I'm not actually sure, I didn't exactly get much chance to explore nature back then, but it was fairly mundane out there. Now these days...I'm seeing monster safaris being advertised, pictures of creatures that definitely didn't live here when I was last around, and when I saw you I figured you knew something about this. So...yeah, that's about it, my cards on the table. Care to help a confused guy out a little?" 
Thunder999
Volodymyr walks up to Kaelen, putting on his friendliest voice  "What sort of munitions are popular on Trast these days my friend? I wouldn't mind hearing about these troubles either, never know we might even be able to lend a hand." 
 
 Spoiler: roll 
PM]
BOT
 Bogsy's Dice Bot: @Thunder 1d20 + 2 (Rolling Volodymyr's Charm here)  =   1d20 {7} + 2 = ✨ 9 ✨
 
BelGareth
  MechTech Pro  

Volodymyr's friendly approach gets a nod from Kaelen as they discuss munitions. Kaelen responds,  "Popular munitions? Well, explosives are always in demand, given the nature of this place. The creatures they're hunting aren't your average game, so folks need some serious firepower. And as for lending a hand... well, that's an interesting proposition. If you're looking to make a difference, you might want to dig into what's happening with the Grand Hunt Lodge. That's where the real trouble lies." 

He glances around, making sure nobody's eavesdropping, then leans in even closer to Volodymyr.  "I've heard whispers that some of the creatures they're bringing in have... unusual properties. Not natural, you understand. There are rumors of experimentation, maybe even smuggling. Keep your ears open, my friend, and tread carefully. You never know who's listening in these parts." 
  The Rusty Gear  

Ryder leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studies Jack for a moment. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the Rusty Gear around them.

 "Trast has changed, no doubt about it,"  he begins, his voice low and gravelly.  "Back in the day, it was all about surviving in the harsh wilds, scrapping for a meal and keeping the tech running. But that was before the Grand Hunt Lodge set up shop. Now we got rich folks payin' fortunes to come down here and hunt exotic creatures. Things you wouldn't believe if you hadn't seen 'em with your own eyes. They're bringin' in these so-called 'monsters' from who knows where, creatin' artificial habitats in the wilds." 

He pauses and takes a sip of his drink before continuing,  "And that's where it gets tricky. The monsters they're huntin', they ain't from Trast. They're alien, and some say they ain't too happy 'bout bein' here. Stirrin' up a whole mess of trouble in the wilds. Some hunters have gone missin', and there are rumors that the Grand Hunt Lodge is keepin' secrets about what's really goin' on out there." 

Ryder leans in a bit closer, his voice dropping even lower,  "If you're lookin' for answers, my friend, you might want to start by investigatin' the Grand Hunt Lodge. But be careful. Them folks play a dangerous game, and they don't take kindly to outsiders pokin' around in their business." 
Thunder999
Volodymyr is quiet for a moment, thinking about what he's just been told, while he couldn't tell you precisely what he had been expecting, he's pretty sure this wasn't it.
He's not entirely convinced this is relevant to their actual mission, but it sure sounds like someone should look into it, and whatever's going on certainly sounds like it'd be as classified as their guy.

He keeps his tone casual as he replies, but his voice is barely more than a whisper  "It sounds like me and my friends will be checking out the local game while we're here."  and at a more normal volume  "Explosives are as popular as ever then, I'd have to rearrange a few things, but I'll keep in mind. On that note my Frame should be ready soon, so I'll be off for now." 

He'll begin to return to their base at Union HQ, sending a brief text only message to the squad on their usual encrypted channel  Got a lead, discuss at HQ, sounds like walls have ears here, Lonestar out. 
Volthawk
Jack nods thoughtfully as he hears Ryder's explanation. It was...about what he expected, really. The creatures being imports was the most plausible explanation, but at least knowing that ruled out some stranger and more extreme possibilities. It didn't mean he liked it, though - sure, he may have abandoned this planet before, but it was still his planet. It becoming the playground of the rich, while the city and the situation of the people on it was as bad as he'd been seeing...it just didn't sit well with him.

 "Sounds like I should have a look into them, yes. You wouldn't happen to have any pointers for me, would you? Even just some names of relevant people might be useful. And..."  Jack's expression probably makes the reason for him pausing quite obvious to the hunter - he didn't want to be rude here, but in those few moments he wasn't coming up with a smooth way of putting it. Eventually, once a few agonising seconds have ticked by, he decides to once again just be direct.  "Where's the money going? Trast...nothing I've seen since coming back would suggest at all that it's somewhere the rich come to play. That means they're not investing it here, or care enough about the city or the people enough to make everything nice and presentable. Am I making any sense here? I mean...you know, the money has to be going somewhere. Either offworld backers, or cached away somewhere, or..." 

Jack pauses again, but this time he doesn't finish his sentence. Now he thought about it, and remembered the details they had on the planet in their briefing materials, there were plenty of factions elsewhere on the planet that'd appreciate a good supply of funds quite nicely. It wasn't the most likely explanation, but one he decided to keep in mind going forward. And, from the perspective of staying mission-focused...if any group out here could get someone like their target on their side, the Lodge seemed like it'd definitely have the funds to pay the man for his services.  "Oh, um, sorry. I'm rambling a little. Well, you know what I mean. Anything you've got might be helpful. In particular, before I forget, any idea if they're even a Trast-owned organisation, or if they come from offworld? Might be useful to know if I'm dealing with locals or some corp types from who knows where." 
CateranEnforcer
Lola listens in and is especially interested in the mention of explosives.   "I may be interested in more potent explosives than I currently have access to myself. Used them for mining in the past. Now, using them for hunting is not something I'd considered. These must be some durable creatures."  
BelGareth
  MechTech Pro  

Kaelen, the mechanic at MechTech Pro, nods as he hears Lola's interest in explosives. He wipes his greasy hands on a rag and leans in a bit closer, speaking in a hushed tone as he shares a few trade secrets.

 "You've got the right idea,"  he says with a knowing grin.  "These creatures can be tougher than you'd think. Some of them got hide thicker than a bunker wall. If you're lookin' for the good stuff, I've got a couple of options. We've got your standard frag grenades, but I've also got something special. Thermobarics. They pack a helluva punch and can turn a whole bunch of 'em into smokin' craters. Of course, they ain't cheap, but when you're up against those big nasties, you'll be glad you invested." 

Kaelen starts to show Lola some of the explosive options he has available, each one carefully labeled and stored in a secure case. It's clear that Lola's interest in these unconventional hunting tools has sparked his enthusiasm.

 "Aside from the explosives, I've got a variety of other gear that might come in handy. If you're lookin' to gear up for some serious hunting, you're in the right place,"  he adds with a friendly wink.

  The Rusty Gear  

Ryder listens intently to Jack's questions, his weathered face revealing hints of concern. He takes another sip from his drink, clearly choosing his words carefully.

 "The Grand Hunt Lodge, they ain't a local outfit. They're backed by offworld money, no doubt about it,"  Ryder replies.  "As for who's in charge, there's a man you should look out for. Goes by the name of Ezekiel Crane. He's the head honcho around here, the one pullin' all the strings. Got himself a reputation for bein' ruthless. If you want answers, he's the one you'll need to get close to, but be warned, he's got a whole lot of muscle at his disposal." 

Ryder leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper,  "As for where the money's goin', it's anyone's guess. But there are rumors of secret facilities, hidden labs, and underground complexes in the wilds. Places where they're doin' God knows what with them alien creatures they're bringin' in. If you ask me, that's where the truth lies. Just be careful, friend. You're treadin' on dangerous ground."
 
With that, Ryder leans back in his chair, as if the conversation never happened, and he resumes observing the Rusty Gear's lively patrons.
CateranEnforcer
Lola examines the labels carefully, trying to discern the chemical makeup with a critical eye. Still, her academic interest in these explosives was overridden by her her desire to simply try them out.

  "Well it turns out I am looking to make a difference here. I'll be getting a closer look at the hunting lodge soon enough. I think we can make a deal, but how about a denomination first? Or perhaps a sample? I assure you that as a Lancer we come across plenty of things must of your buyers might not. What do you say?"  
Volthawk
The Lodge not being local tracked with what Jack had been thinking. And he had a name to work off now, good. As for the rest...well, if they were of any interest to the mission, they were probably going to be dangerous. Confirmation was nice, though.

He says his thanks and starts to get up, sending a quick  &lt;Returning home, got something here too.&gt;  through the comm channel, but pauses halfway through the motion as a thought strikes him. He should probably check that too, shouldn't he?  "Okay, last question then I'm out of your hair. Mozaia Shengralin. Recognise the name at all?" 
BelGareth
  MechTech Pro  

Kaelen scratches his head as he contemplates Lola's proposal. He clearly values his stock, but her mention of being a Lancer and the possibility of unique finds seems to pique his interest.

 "You drive a hard bargain,"  he says with a thoughtful expression.  "Tell you what, I can give you a small sample of one of our thermobarics. You'll see the quality for yourself. If it impresses you, we can talk business on the rest. But I'll need something in return, a little somethin' to show me you're serious about helpin' out here on Trast. What can you offer in trade?" 

Kaelen leans in a bit closer, a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he waits to hear what Lola might propose.


 

  The Rusty Gear  

The hunter, now known as Ryder, seems momentarily surprised by the mention of Mozaia Shengralin. His brow furrows in thought before he responds,  "Mozaia Shengralin... That name does ring a bell, though I can't say I've had any dealings with the man. If memory serves me right, he was a Union official of some sort, right? What's he got to do with all this?"
 
Ryder's curiosity is piqued, and he leans in a bit closer, clearly interested in the connection between Mozaia Shengralin and the Union's presence on Trast.


 

  The Dark Impregnable  

The berthing area, deep in its basement where the mech hangar is located, is dimly lit, and the low hum of machinery and the occasional clank of metal echo through the corridors.

As the team members gather in this foreboding fortress, their mechs towering ominously in their berths, the sense of anticipation and uncertainty only grows stronger. Sergeant Hana, her face illuminated by the soft glow of a holographic display, stands at the head of the room.

 "At ease, team,"  Sergeant Hana begins, her tone exuding authority.  "I trust your investigative efforts have yielded promising results. We've just received vital intel concerning the Grand Hunt Lodge, and while we don't possess the complete picture, it's a significant piece of the puzzle. The Lodge appears to be intertwined with various factions on Trast, which, in turn, seem linked to our elusive target, Mozaia Shengralin. While we don't have the exact coordinates of our quarry or a comprehensive understanding of this intricate web, the Lodge might very well be the linchpin that unravels this enigma."
 
She motions toward the holographic display, revealing Trast's sprawling wilderness, the twisted cityscape, and the imposing silhouette of the Grand Hunt Lodge.

 "Our mission remains reconnaissance-focused, but brace yourselves for resistance. Our objective is to discern the Lodge's inner workings, its ties to local factions, the destination of its funds, and the enigma of the colossal creatures. Your mechs are primed and ready, and it's time to pay the Lodge an unannounced visit. Caution is paramount; the Lodge takes its security seriously, and they're not amenable to uninvited guests." 

The briefing unfolds, delineating the strategy, distribution of roles, and the imperative for discretion. The UNION Fortress, a shadowy bastion, serves as the springboard for their plunge into the heart of the Lodge's enigma. The team knows they stand on the precipice of uncovering revelations that could recalibrate Trast's trajectory, potentially leading them to the inscrutable Mozaia Shengralin.

 "Before we proceed,"  Sergeant Hana continues,  "we've secured comprehensive orbital surveys and backscans of the Lodge's layout. It's an impressive compound, a fortress within the wilderness." 

The holographic model metamorphoses to unveil the Lodge's architecture, encased in towering, reinforced barriers, the epitome of impregnability.

 "As you can observe, these imposing walls create an impenetrable perimeter. Inside, an array of structures unfolds, encompassing a central lodge building, rumored to host the primary activities. The compound boasts cabins, an armory, a watchtower, and even what appears to be a training ground. Intelligence points to these cabins frequently accommodating wealthy offworlders, drawn here by the allure of the hunt." 

Sergeant Hana's projection highlights the salient points on the diagram.

 "The Lodge's compound layout is intricate, meticulously crafted to repel unwelcome intrusion. Our mission demands stealth, intelligence gathering, and a reluctance to engage unless absolutely necessary. Remember, our objective is information, not hostilities. Your mechs provide the upper hand, but their deployment should remain covert until compelling circumstances arise." 

She underscores the mission's gravity before concluding,  "This operation demands finesse. Stay vigilant, support one another, and let's edge closer to solving the enigma of the Grand Hunt Lodge and, ultimately, unveiling the truth behind Mozaia Shengralin." 
 "In addition,"  Sergeant Hana interjects,  "our intel discloses the Lodge maintains a defense contingent. Regularly scheduled patrols vigilantly monitor the perimeter, safeguarding against any unwelcome ingress. Anticipate resistance but exercise prudence and discretion. Our preference is to obtain the necessary intelligence without unnecessary hostilities. Engage only when there's no alternative or if your concealment is compromised." 

She casts her gaze across the gathered Lancers, her demeanor conveying the mission's seriousness.

 "This mission is integral to our Trast objectives. Your directive is clear: infiltrate the Grand Hunt Lodge, collect intelligence on its inner workings, and establish its connection to Mozaia Shengralin. Your training is your foundation; now, let's execute. Dismissed." 
 
CateranEnforcer
Lola smiles,   "How about a favor, then? I'll be on the lookout for salvage from the field for you. I know what to look for as a former engineer and foreman. As long as the product works, I'll find some suitable repayment. The scrap piles up in my profession. And if you have something specificin mind, now would be the time to ask"   He voice is firm and confident despite being the beggar in this case. She was fairly certain she was telling the truth.
Thunder999
Volodomyr nods his acknowledgement and heads over to his Everest, commenting quietly to the others nearby  "Everything really does point to that lodge, though a round of drinks when we get back says this goes louder than the Sergeant is expecting."  He's got every intention of trying his best to keep things quiet, but there's a whole lot more guns than camouflage here, and that place looks formidable.
Volthawk
Jack pauses for a moment, unsure about how much to give away about his purpose here, before speaking.  "Long story short? He's on Trast, and nobody knows why. Sounds to me like the Lodge might be a big enough deal to draw him to this planet, right?" 

---

The briefing is about what Jack expected, but it was nice to see the facility and get some concrete information about what to expect. One thing had him a little concerned, though.  "Any idea about what rich offworlders in particular may be there? If anyone with significant ties is there, it may present a problem if things get loud in there." 
CateranEnforcer
Lola crosses her arms.   "Infiltration will be a challenge. We're anyway marked as outsiders and a threat are we not? Whoever it was who saw us on the way in surely will not give us a warm welcome."  