>>151486
Food

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>>151496
>Food

Royce takes a short detour, finding a simple little sandwich shop. Behind its counter, Royce notices, is an extremely large man. His stature is thick, muscular, and the short hair of the guy makes him seem like he could, with little effort, tear a person in half. Behind the counter is a rifle of some sort, but it seems to be removed from the cooking process.

"Ah, a customer!" He speaks, "Was figurin' someone out there was hungry. What can I getcha?"
"Uh," Royce cocks an eyebrow, "What all do you have?"
"What do I have? Whatever you want!" The man gut-laughs, his voice buried in a thickly muscular throat. He seemed to have musculature where other people wouldn't even imagine it been there.
“Well, how about a Braldy’s Club?”
“Oh!” the man raises an eyebrow, “Cold cut club sandwich, triple the ham, add a layer of Venusian spices to the bread mix, right?”
“That’s exactly right. How’d you-”
The man tapped his head, “I’ve been around. I know good lunch. Best cook in my family. Though my family ain’t that traditional, if you catch ma’ meanin’ anyway.”
“How so?”
“Adopted.”
“Ah, nice,” Royce trailed off as the cook started pulling sandwich ingredients from the counter in front of him. The rifle seemed to be inactive, as if it would spring into motion on the moment a hand touched the stock.

>”That’s a cool gun,”
>”Were you on Braldy’s Escape long?”
>”Is Leuans as bad as the news articles say?”

>>151606
>”That’s a cool gun,”

>>151606
"Cool gun, i guess leuans is as bad as the articals said. "

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>>151614
>>”That’s a cool gun,”

“That’s a pretty nice gun,” Royce nodded.
“Yep! Partly my own design, but the original frame came from a friend’s dad. It was a deal between several weapon foundries to create an assault rifle that could penetrate the armor of thick Plague forms.”
“Did it work?”
“Oh yea, it definitely worked. I call her Mary-Lou.”
“Mary-Lou?”
“Yep. She sings hot death. Specialized 7mm rounds with a payload of pure slag once they punch through armor, and it has a barrel with smart drift control on top of using a magnetic accelerator to get the bullets exactly where they need to go. Whatever gets hit with it, is having a bad time. For that, I love it,”
“That… Went right over my head.”
“Oh, not a gun guy?”
“Nah, I just thought it looked cool. I’m new, is having it out like that necessary?”
“A bit. I’m a temp, picked this up to keep me fed while I waited for my other job to kick in. I started working, people got really antsy with me. They liked picking on my muscular hypertrophy. One fight where I dropped a dude through a bulkhead, and the manager told me I need to deter fist-fights. So now Mary-Lou is all the deterrent I need.”
“Funny, I was about to ask you if the gun was necessary.”
“Nice, it’s sorta necessary. But izall good. Here’s your grub, fella.”

Exchanging food for the credit chit, the gentleman slides the card across a scanner and it lights up green. Royce takes the card, looking it over again.

“Don’t worry, last guy who slipped a bug on our scanner left some teeth in the floorboards. You’re fine.” After that, Royce chowed on probably one of the better sandwiches he’d had in a while. Maybe the Matryoshka encounter was making it seem better? Either way, the spices were mixed just right. All the flavors came together, and the chef even handed a complimentary glass of soda. Pretty damn good, even before the free drink.

Do you wish to leave a tip, Royce?
>15%
>20%
>25%

>Beeline to hotel
>Survey sandwich shop
>Check local newsfeed

Totally didn't include all the votes in the post fuck me

>>151789
iktf. So many times i wish i could edit posts.

>leave a 30% tip
>check newsfeed

>>151780
>Beeline to hotel
>50%

>>151835
>>151823

Roll off. 1d10, higher wins.

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>151869

Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>151869

>>151921
Wins the roll. Thank fuck for IDs.

Writan'

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>>151823
>>leave a 30% tip
>>check newsfeed

Royce finished the soda and applied a 30% tip as more customers filed in. Taking the moment, he scanned over the local newsfeeds.

Local news outlets:
Unidentified Assault Droid recognized by Talon for protection of citizenry
Spaceport on lockdown!
Plague hits Sector 12
Fugitive Sam “Skewer” Karson escapes to Leuans Colony, Black Scribes in pursuit

Royce cocked his head at the second and fourth articles, reading further into it.

All parties interested in leaving Leuans Colony are instructed to stay in their current place of residence until further notice. Increased tensions between mafiosos and Talon have caused a cascade of retaliatory action that has an embargo placed on the spaceport. The Black Scribes have offered to assist, but have been turned down by Talon.

A video shows a gaunt man, his gray eyes piercing the camera lens and his reddish skin creasing in an expression of annoyance, standing at a podium.

“The Black Scribe Cell assigned to this colony will not be necessary in the resolution of this current… Issue. Failsafes are in place, and I assure any and all who are alarmed by this turn of events that I have made the proper calls. By the end of today, the issue should be resolved.”

Fuck.

Fugitive Sam “Skewer” Karson was spotted on Braldy’s Escape, escaping a Black Scribe Operative tasked with bringing him to the Republic for trial. The Operative was partaking in a joint-task-force to crack down on serial murder in the Outer Colonies. Karson is suspected to be involved in thirty-two cases of contract-killing, fourteen counts of armed robbery, and four counts of evading jumpgate charges. The UNN branch of Leuans Colony was unable to reach Karson for comment, but the Black Scribes request that any information be provided to, and that a reward is available.

Oh, that’s nice.

>Make it to hotel with haste; maybe he won’t hurt you given your involvement with the Matryoshka
>Search area for a gun shop
>Ask sandwich chef if he was able to work a break in to escort you to the hotel

>>152129
>search for a gunshop
If sam gets busted or fucked up in the meantime, then it just goes to show matryoshka needs to find more qualified individuals to do buisness with, so its really not our problem. Our own saftey comes first.

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>>152795
>>search for a gunshop

Royce knew that something was up, and that this colony was where he had about an 80% chance of catching a bullet with his ass. Standing from the chair, he nodded to the chef.

“Take it easy, pal!” he shouted as Royce vanished into the streets. It didn’t take long to find a gun shop, as there seemed to be a small sector of shops on this street. There were three little outlets, each one of them drastically different than the other. They all had holographic displays showing their various weaponry in the windows, and it was like someone had taken the idea of fashion outlet stores, but replacing weird clothing with bullet-dispensers.

Royce found people entering and leaving the shops, noticing that the trio appeared to be competitors. Each of the displays had a general aesthetic of their guns. Duke Firearms and Accessories appeared to have an Old Western aesthetic, with the mannequins having holograms of various pieces of attire as well as the weapons. Revolvers, lever-action rifles, and even a unique shotgun. Its immediate neighbor, Avanguardia, was a sleek, organically curved building that was an exercise in just what all was needed in a building. Its green exterior was accented by white highlights, and the mannequin was entirely a hologram, showing a supermodel with a marksman rifle that had twin griffons making up the iron sights. The odd-man out was Project MÉNTIOUM, bearing a jet black aesthetic with sleek, black metal that looked almost wet. The blue lights on the interior seemed to conceal what was inside, but the logo of a hand with an eye in the palm adorned the door.

There was another building a little further down the street, with a thick metal sign that appeared to be bolted to the ground reading “Emperor Arms moved! New location this way!” The building was too far to size up its inventory. A font made of bullet holes gave the slogan below it.

>Duke Firearms and Accessories, “The Old Western Aesthetic for the New Confederacy!”
>Avanguardia, “Set the trends, be the vanguard of your destiny.”
>Project MÉNTIOUM, “The future begins now. Have the foresight to arm for it.”
>Investigate Emperor Arms, “If they didn’t flinch on hearing it, it wasn’t an Emperor!”

>>152936
Go check out emporrer arms.
These places seem far too showy. You dont need somthing flashy to show off, you need a reliable firearm to put assholes down without any hiccups.

>>152987
>Go check out emporrer arms.

Royce decided that the stores here were a touch too showy. He saw these fancy displays, and noteworthy advertisements, but he needed something that dependable, and intimidating. He didn’t know how to actually shoot, so he needed something that would convince everyone not to try fighting with him.

Progressing down the way, he found his way to a massive warehouse. It appeared to be made of scrap metal, with an overabundance of blast shields and armor. The entire building looked as if it was capable of falling from the atmosphere, building itself, and then being able to eat a nuclear detonation. If there was armor to be put on it, this building had it in spades.

Outside of the building stood a massive suit of armor, and after a few minutes Royce realized there was a person in it and actively piloting it. The suit was easily seven feet tall, and it had a cannon of a weapon that appeared to be melded with the suit itself.

“You, there, you look like you need a gun! Emperor can provide a gun that’ll take out your target, and his immediate friends and family with a single detonation!” the huge suit barked, hydraulics and various machinery working to move the non-occupied hand to create gestures that beckoned Royce closer. He gestured towards what appeared to be an airlock door, with several rotating locks and pressure-valves that would seal the interior from any outside influence.

>Emperor Arms, explosives and more explosives
>Avanguardia, luxury guns
>Project MENTIOUM, futuristic and somewhat ominous
>Duke Firearms & Accessories, Old Western aesthetic

>>153036
>Explosives and more explosives
Since royce admits hes clueless about firearms, somthing that can decimate an entire room seems like a good device for intimidation.
If we go down, might as well take out every asshole in the immediate area with us.

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>>153053
>>Explosives and more explosives

Royce, realizing he had very little experience with any other weapon, figured blowing everything up would be a safe call.

Well, safer than me trying to shoot somebody. This way, Royce mused as he entered the airlock, They’ll think twice about putting me in a scenario where I’ll actually fire the weapon.

Entering the room, there was a thick scent of metal and oil, as if the grease and lubricants of the machinery that comprised the building was sweating. It took a moment to adjust to, but Royce held his own, and progressed to the counter. A guy wearing an armored jumpsuit turned around, a blowtorch in hand, turning his back toward a frame of power armor. It looked like he was welding plates into place, making it all just right. Each plate was black, with stereotypical racing flames going towards the head.

“Ey there, what kin I do ya fer?” the shopkeeper asked.
“Uh, yea, I’m Royce, visiting this place and kind of expecting trouble,”
“That there’s a purdy smart thing to expect.”
“Yea, and because if that I need weapons. Downside: I can’t say I really know how to handle guns. You got anything a beginner could use?”
“A beginner?!” the shopkeeper laughed, falling backwards onto his suit of power armor, “Son, the closest thing I could give a beginner is one of these,” and the man produced a small device that had a bright blue light.
“What is this, and how much do I owe?”
“Fer makin’ me laugh, it’s on the house. That there’s a shield generator. This is the kinda thing everybody buys ‘round here, but supply is pretty high. Super cheap. It’ll basically stop anything but the meanest of bullets from getting into yer butt. If it’s point-blank, though, you might be kin’a screwed,” the man shrugged.
“Okay, well, what can you get me that doesn’t require much aiming?”
“Well… I can offer you a few things. This location dun’ have much in the way of weapon variance, but I can offer ya an explosive pistol. Just point in the direction of the bad guy and hope fer the best. Potentially, I could even offer ya a grenade launcher. Though to be honest, if y’plan to leave soon it might be illegal in other sectors.”

>Fuck it, buy the launcher too
>Take the pistol and shield, no need to get too intense
>Alright, let’s say I didn’t suck at aiming… What else you got?

>>153092
>take the pistol and shield, see what else he has to offer. Specifically in the way of "meanest of bullets". If these shields are in such high supply, its almost a guarantee that potential threats will have one.
And
Ask about a firing range of some sort. "Just hoping for the best gets people killed"

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>>153109
>take the pistol and shield, see what else he has to offer. Specifically in the way of "meanest of bullets"

“I’ll take the pistol, for sure.” Royce looked at the shield emitter, searching it for an interface. He found a plug of sorts, and slapped it onto the device at the top of his spine. A meter showed up on his HUD, indicating he’d plugged it in right.

“So, what exactly constitutes “the meanest of bullets” as far as this shield is concerned, and what makes that kind of weapon?”
“Well,” the man shrugged, “Basically anything military grade. If it was meant to kill you, it was gonna kill you and the next guy. Suppressing fire and such will be more or less neutralized by the shield, but it ain’t gonna take a lot of those bullets.”
“Show me.”
“Well,” the man got into his power armor frame, “Most examples in here are pretty dirty pieces of work. Heavy weaponry, mostly.” The suit clunks along the metal flooring, and he walks to a display case to Royce’s right. The thing pops out from the wall, and out ejects a minigun. The man pulls it out, effortlessly swinging it to his hip. He rotates the barrels, and it quickly reveals several smaller clusters of firing barrels. “If one of these fires at ya, and you ain’t got the sense of a cow to hide, nothin’ short of military grade energy shields will last ya more than a few seconds. Though, I don’t think you could afford the armor systems necessary to use this equipment, nor would anyone you have any want in dealin’ with.”
“What if I could?”
“Then I don’t think anything would bother you, your entire time here.”
“Do you do test runs?”
“Most certainly not! Anywhere else in the Confederacy? Sure. But where the Republic don’t enforce law? Nosiree.”
“Well, if you couldn’t tell, I’m kind of scared of this place.”
“I know just the guy to help ya with that.” The man whistles, and there’s more clanking in the back of the room, towards a firing range that was as of yet unnoticed.

”Yes?” a booming metallic voice echoed through the storefront.
“You got yerself a contract here, B-501.”
”This visitor requires protection services?” The voice is that of a strange assault drone, weathered with years of service and with lettering on its robotic limb. A weapon rack seemed to be its right arm, with various weapons held in a rotating cage, ”I am a ZV-8747 Model Assault Droid. I have several armaments designed to provide favorable odds in numerous tactical spaces. I am B-501, and I am capable of taking various forms of currency.”

>”Holy shit, how much?”
>”Uh, why are you pointing him to me?”
>”What… What are you?”

>>153130
>holy shit, how much.

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>>153146
>>holy shit, how much.

“Okay,” Royce laughed, “This is too cool. How much for him?”
“He works on a contract basis. You set up a timeframe, and he’ll cover yer six for the time. He actually wuz commended by Talon on account’a how good he works.”
“No shit? Well, how much?”
“My rate is negotiable. I will take any form of currency you may own.” The machine rotated through its weapons, stopping on a pump-action shotgun.
“Think you could cover me while I meet someone?”
“That is my function, where is the location?”
“A hotel, a little down… Well basically, you’d be with me until I met a Black Scribe.”
“A Black Scribe?”
“Yea, I’m supposed to meet someone, who takes me to a Scribe, and from there I should be fine. Scribes are pretty dependable, barring the one I’ve met already. Though, I think he was the exception to the rule.”
“If I am to release you into Black Scribe custody, I will charge minimally. Black Scribes post operational success rates of 78%, and as such are the safest entities on station. I have cooperated with the local Cell on several occasions.”
“Fantastic. How much crystal you need?”
”Forty five thousand.”

Holy shit!

>Try to work it down; this is easily a ticket off station.
>Pay up. The Black Scribe can probably help us out.

>>153160
Pay up.
Our lives are worth more than any sum of credits.

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>>153213
>Pay up.
>Our lives are worth more than any sum of credits.

This is so Lynell has me show up on a ship, and not get my fingers in a cigar box.

“Sure thing, I can make that. Not my favorite purchase in the world, but considering the circumstances? Worth it. Thanks, shopkeep, for the hookup!”
“Any time. You uh, be nice to him, awright? He’s got some… Unique configurations, makes ‘im unique, and damn near a hero ‘round these parts.”
”Thank you for your concern, but worry not. I will be fine. Any who attempt to cross, there was an audible pause.

Credit transfer complete!
1x “Hound” Pistol added to inventory!
1x “Aegis” Personal Defence Field added to inventory!

”ARNOLDS, ROYCE, will surely not be.”

Sick!

Now, Royce felt confident. Confident enough to maybe even go back and tell the Matryoshka what he thinks of her. So long as him taking so long didn’t get his contact caught or something. All he had to do, was get there, talk to this Sam guy, and then sweet-talk the Scribes into helping him off station. Nothing Royce couldn’t figure out how to do. He’d managed to talk the Matryoshka into not forcing him into sex, so that was… Well, all things considered maybe he would need to do the Scribes a favor, and then they’d take him off world.

“C’mon, B-501, let’s roll!”

Strutting almost too triumphantly through the district, Royce navigated the crowds with an almost supernatural intuition. He actually had to stop once or twice, forgetting that the robot might not have been programmed to deal with large crowds of people. Whenever Royce bumped into someone or had to dart into an alleyway, B-501 merely had to switch weapons. Would-be muggers booked it, and Royce couldn’t have felt safer in his mother’s arms.

Finding the way to the hotel, Royce bumped directly into the man of the hour: Sam.

“Who the fuck?” the contact barked.
“Sam!” Royce shouted.
”Is this the Black Scribe?” B-501 inquired.
“Who?” He stared Royce over for a moment, then an eyebrow raised up as if he’d just had a fit of inspiration. There was a little too much epiphany in that smile, though. “Ah, you’re Royce Arnolds.”
“Yea! I’m sent here by the Matryoshka to meet you,”
“Uh, of course, yea, the Matryoshka sent me for you.” he looked back to B-501, “Why did the toy soldier there ask about Black Scribes?”
“I am to accompany Royce Arnolds until he is under the protection of the Black Scribes.”
“Matryoshka said you’d show me the Scribes? Or something like that.”
“Yea,” he said, his voice trailing, “The rest of my group’s in here.” Sam produced a small disk, and a projection of a Black Scribe identification card appeared over the device.
”It would appear you are safe now, Royce Arnolds. Will you confirm your delivery to the Black Scribes?”

>Dismiss Smiley, letting him go without fuss
>Keep Smiley with you until you see the rest of the Cell

>>153235
Keep smiely until you see the rest of the cell.
Better safe than sorry.
Plus he wasnt cheap, milk the service for all its worth.

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>>153242
>Keep smiely until you see the rest of the cell.
>milk the service for all its worth.

“Not just yet, Smiley. Y’know the saying, better safe than sorry.”
B-501 seemed to stop, the light that looked like a cartoonish smirk on his faceplate lighting up halfway before draining to nothing. Had Royce not known better, he’d have sworn the droid was experiencing a blast from the past.

”Understood.”

At this, Sam seemed irritated, “Whatever you want, kid.”
“So, where’s the Cell?”
“Just this way,” Sam lead Royce into the hotel, where a man waves at the alleged fugitive. “Back again, Sam?” he asks.
“Yea, back again.”
“Don’t leave a mess this time, dammit. I can’t keep buying new sheets every time you stop by.” Sam simply scowled at the clerk, who didn’t seem to care.
“Alright, there, Roy, we’re in here.” He slid a keycard across the door, and it popped open. Upon entering the room, it seemed uninhabited. Upon walking in after him, but before the robot could enter the room, the door slammed shut. “Good, now I’ve got one request.”

A chill went up Royce’s spine, and a mild cry of alarm exited his throat as an impressive revolver bearing a Duke logo materialized in his hand.

“Give me your credit chit, and tell the robot to lay off, or I put the bullet in your brain.”
“Pfft, good luck, I’m a bit smarter than that,” Royce may have been more cocky than he deserved, but he knew a bit more than Sam appeared to: assault droids like B-501 weren’t that different from the droids he had to work with on antique trade vessels. With a free hand, they could break a simple door down in seconds. With the armament the robot with the weird lights on its face had? Not even that.

”Arnolds, Royce, I am detecting distress. Clear the door.”

Royce jumped further into the room, scrambling to level his pistol. He watched as the steel door was punched clean out of the frame. There was a pump of a shotgun, and the barrel was pointed at Sam’s face.

“Sonuvabitch!” a familiar voice shouted, “A got-damn assault droid?!”
Sam spun around, as did Smiley, to point their weapons at the new figure that was standing in the bathroom doorway. He had a towel on, and Royce processed who it was.

The god damn sandwich chef.

“Who the fu-” in a blur of motion, a suit of sleek power armor bearing the Avanguardia logo plopped down from the ceiling. As she dropped, she interrupted Sam’s exclaimed question with a bark of her shotgun. Flame ejected from its muzzle, and the dragon-faced weapon erased Sam “Skewer” Karson’s face, scoring decorating the wall.

Smiley seemed overwhelmed, his head swivelling.

”We’re the Black Scribes,” the sandwich chef said.

>”Progenitor’s ballsack, I’d say!”
>”EVERYONE GET EXPLAINING I HAVE A PISTOL AND DON’T KNOW HOW TO USE IT!”
>”Where do I get a shotgun like THAT?

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>>153282
>A chill went up Royce’s spine, and a mild cry of alarm exited his throat as an impressive revolver bearing a Duke logo materialized in his hand.

That's supposed to read "materialized in his face." Thought I decided on the right way to word that, and fixed it. Sumbitch.

>>153282
"Nice shotgun. "
Check to see if any sam flakes got on you.

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>>153295
>"Nice shotgun. "
>Check to see if any sam flakes got on you.

Royce blinked, still processing that Sam was dead right in front of him. There was a moment of extreme alarm, followed by the silent realization that someone just dropped dead. They had life, they were thinking of stuff like “food” and “water” and “did I leave the stove on?” before some crazed suit of power armor plopped a belch of fire into their face. He made sure nothing of Sam’s carcass was on him. Thankfully, nothing was.

“T-that’s a nice…” Royce scrambled backwards, putting his back to the wall. The woman turned, walking over to him and picking him up, “Nice shotgun?” Royce exposed his teeth in a sheepish smile, hoping that the mute in front of him wasn’t going to snap his neck.

”Please provide ample verification that you are Black Scribes,” Smiley requested, ”I do not wish to risk my charge’s safety again.”
“Here,” the sandwich chef produced an actual badge, some kind of weird identification device shaped like a fist with a torch in it, “What Sam showed was a forgery. We’re here on Talon’s call.”
”Verified. Royce,” Smiley lowered his weapon as the suit put the dockworker down, ”These two are Black Scribes. They are not members of the Cell assigned to this location, but they are extremely well-trained operatives.”
“Yea, Cloak & Dagger, long story,” he spoke.
”I was abiding by the protocol fifty-”
“Fifty-eight hundred, forty-six, tac five, paragraph eight. Yea, I know. We’re kind of past that part,”

“Okay, hold the phone,” Royce barked, “You’re both Scribes?”
“Yes.”
“And how do I know you won’t put a gun to my face the second Smiley leaves?”
“I know a guy who just admitted he was a Scribe is on the floor, but there’s a reason we shot him. We just saved the organization a ton of crystal by offing the guy ourselves. And if we didn’t, I can assure you it was enough cash to where robbing you wouldn’t even come close.”

They don’t know how much money I’ve saved up, then, good for me!
“You guys promise to keep me safe?”
“If anyone messes with us, I will personally tear a man in half to keep you alive. Guaranteed.”

Looking over how large the chef appeared to be, it wasn’t hard to believe he could do it.

”Well, I guess that’s goodbye then, robot-buddy,” Royce said.
”Understood. Royce Arnolds, if we meet again, I will offer a reduced rate. I was able to glean notable data from you for navigating crowds. Stay safe.”

Smiley awkwardly tried to put the door back in the frame as he left, Royce’s eyes went back to the dead man on the floor, and the giant scorch mark on the wall.

>Attempt to play it off
>Calmly ask to get into that bathroom
>Collapse into the nearest trash can

>>153320
>projectile vomit at the one who picked you up.
No but really, take a moment to let it all soak in. Face it, youve seen worse while browsing the net. The only thing messing with your senses is just the stench of roasted deadbeat.
Play it cool.

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>>153334
>Play it cool.

Royce felt light-headed. There was also a wave of nausea overtaking him, and that sandwich was starting to have its second coming. He put a hand to his head, the scent of cooked asshole getting right into his nose. It was really hard to bear, much less try and keep his cool during. He’d been pranked with some stuff on the extranet before, videos that were supposed to be how-tos or otherwise instructional showing Plague monsters and all the viscera they entail. Repurposed corpses, flayed civilians, ugly stuff, but it’s one thing to see it on a screen then immediately close the tab. It's an entirely different affair to know “roasted deadbeat” just happened a single-digit number of feet from him.

“That's,” he laughed as his attempt to keep cool began turning to hysterics. There was a slap across his face. He snapped to the pain in his cheek, everything else vanishing as confusion overwhelmed him, “The Hell?!”

“Get over it, ya big baby,” the woman spoke. She took her helmet off, revealing scars all over her face. Her right eye was a badly-manufactured prosthetic with way too many lights to be such low-quality, there was what appeared to be a chunk of her jawline that was metal, and her hair seemed burned off on her right side. “Burnt flesh is something you get used to.”

She seems she would know, Royce realized. She had to be a few years younger than he was.

“Cripes,” Royce shook his head, glaring at her, “You couldn’t think of a different way to get me off that?”
“I could’ve, but I didn’t. A went to go and get suited up. I’m B.”
“B?”
“Yea, like the buzz!”
Great, another spastic woman that could kill me.
“Okay, look, I had enough problems with the Matryoshka, and she-”
“No, hush. If the Matryoshka is why you’re here, it all makes sense. We were wondering why a) a random kid was interacting with a killer like Skewer, and b) why Skewer somehow ended up here. We just got a report from HIGHCOM, an anonymous tip was what got A to chase as hard as he did, which put Sam on the run to this place. This meeting was manipulated.”
“You work with her?” Royce squinted his eyes.
“No, Scribes have standing orders to participate in her plans, in hopes we can gather enough data to start figuring her out. Just hope you’re part ends soon after this.”
“Sounds… Messy.”
“It is, but when raw chaos awakens in a person, you kind of have to just roll with it.”

>”Just roll with that psychopath!?”
>”Okay, look, I’ve got to get off this station. Please, just give me a ride off-world.”
>”What Progenitor-damned plot did the Matryoshka just drop me in?”

Going to get some snooze in before making the next post. Tell friends, get hype! The pain train will start soon. I’ll post on Twitter when I get up. twitter.com/BlackScribeQM

thanks for the entertainment during my boringass shift scribe.
Sleep well.

Bumpan. I'm ready to roll, let's get some work done tonight.

”What Progenitor-damned plot did the Matryoshka just drop me in?”

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>>157339
>”What Progenitor-damned plot did the Matryoshka just drop me in?”

“Okay,” Royce sighed, “Well, I guess I’m in this mess. What did Matryoshka just put me in?”
“I imagine that robot wasn’t cheap,” B said.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Then you’re hurting for crystal.”
“Yep.”
“Well, good news, we’re going to send you to a bank.”
“A bank?”

Oh no.

“The bank in mind,” B replied, turning away “Has a check you’ll need to cash. It’ll be the exact amount you need to get out of here.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I’m going to give you a device. It’s a phone, and I’ll call you. You answer it, and then we’ll get you out of here and on a ride to whatever Outer Colony you need to get to. Probably somewhere nice, like a trade-hub. Something much closer to your destination.”
“Earth?”
“Yea,” she nodded, turning back around and clenching her left fist. Royce eyed it over, and saw that it was a prosthetic. It appeared to be made of low-grade plastics, but was surprisingly agile. The gaps in it were filled with lights, with small transmitter antennae poking out over the hand, “Real close to Earth.”

>”If you say so…”
>”Considering the whole ‘broke’ part…”
>”Should I keep my pistol in the pack?”

>>157432
Forgot trip like a champ

>>157432
>”Considering the whole ‘broke’ part…”