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RP [Echoes] Welcome to El Hermosa. Quiet, Beautiful, Deadly.

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Warehouse

"Hundred Ks? Well that is not that bad. I might actually show some effort since you pay that well," Suvi said and grabbed another beer from the table. Being dis-interested by the Yoko and the old man, Suvi moved on to talk with someone else. She picked the raven-haired girl, since she was closer to the snack table.

"Hey," The neko said saluting the nepleslian with a beer bottle. "You don't look like a fighter pilot. Deceiving looks and all that eh?"
 
Warehouse

Amelia continued to glance at her plastic food plate, but listened to Yoko intently. The sum was considerable, specially after having dumped an even more considerable amount into building several safehouses and setting up operations for the last crew that she was in. The fact that there was -at least not directly- any life threatening conditions made it even better; no (serious) risk, and a lot of rewards. It was too good to be true. Her train of thought got cut off by someone approaching, which, at first, made the Nepleslian wonder if they were talking to her, up until she raised her head to look at Suvi and confirm, that, indeed, she was being talked to.

So much for keeping a low profile.

Amelia smiled faintly at the question, not missing the implied pricking from the other woman. "What do you think a fighter pilot's supposed to look like?" She asked, sounding more cynical than she would originally intend to thanks to the smile. Indirectly, though, she glanced with her eyes towards the old man, as if to suggest that was what the Neko had suggested before setting down the plastic plate with the half-eaten bite sized snacks. She had eaten enough of those.
 
Warehouse

"Well not like that," Suvi replied with similiary cynical tone, the beer bottle gesturing all over Amelia. The neko chuckled and leaned closer, putting the free arm around Amelia's shoulders. "Eh don't wrorry, didn't want to piss you off or anything. I meant that most pilots are arrogant shitheads from the look of it. I mean look at me." The neko chuckled again and took a swig of beer.

"You just look kinda silent, timid and all that jazz. Would not see you as a fighter pilot." Suvi shrugged and drank some more. "Freighter pilot or spacer trucker? Sure I guess, but piloting a space fighter and killing people? Nah."
 
Warehouse

Amelia really had a hard time standing the feeling of unsolicited touching. It was almost as bad as the passive-aggressive measurement contest that she found herself in. "Cool-headed pilots survive longer," she merely answered, trying not to say something that would potentially burn any future bridges. "Aren't you going to pay attention to the briefing?" the Nepleslian asked, gesturing with her head towards Yoko.
 
Warehouse

"Meh, brief is over pretty much. Sit in simulator, fly by mission parameters and win to get money. Can do." Suvi replied, looking at the nepleslian girl. "And yeah cool-headed pilots may live longer and I guess that troubles you neps. I have a bit of advantage of death not really being problem eh? Also it is great being cool headed, but what is a point of being a pilot when you are not cool as well. I say fly hard, love hard and drink hard and solve shit as it comes at you. Worrying about tons of shit just gives you wrinkles. Not that it matters though, this job is gonna be walk in a park. We are not even flying real machines."
 
Warehouse

//start//

Yoko turned on a heel and spoke to the rest of the room now. Maintaining her professional appearance.

"If there are no more questions, squad dismissed. You're free to practice with your machines, get settled in your quarters, or take the coach to the city center to relax. Operations commence at 0600 tomorrow morning."

Before any but the most nimble could get up, though, the had turned towards one pilot in particular.

"Hold up, Wolf-woman." Yoko ordered as she walked towards My'ean, who wouldn't give her the time of day.

Some of the newly recruited squadron went to either continue enjoying a sunny day, getting a head-start on their machines, or whatever else they thought was worthwhile. A lot of heads turned to see what might be about to happen.

Yoko stopped in front of My'ean and had to grudgingly look up at the amazonian proportioned woman.

"I want to see you fight. Grab some detox pills and one of the engineers will get you into a machine." Yoko said, before turning to the rest of the assembled pilots.

"Does anyone want to fight her?" She asked to the whole room.

It didn't take long for two right hands to stick up out of the room. "I vill fight." Came a drearily Germanic voice from the crowd. Fat Max making himself known as he stood up above the crowd and came over. Bodies moving and parted as he came until he stood in front of My'ean, all four hands on his hips the upper pair moved up and crossed his chest.

"Ef I win, I would like a date tonight." He challenged, confident, almost arrogant, not a bad trait for a fighter pilot.

"Men!" Yoko huffed, rolling her eyes.

My'ean set her hand on Yoko's shoulder, gently shifting her aside - cracking the knuckle of her opposite hand against her chin. She wasn't interested in the pills.

"I got this."

"Just get into the machine if you think you're hard enough!" Yoko replied, not pleased at being pulled aside, even if this was about to be a battle between two giants. Her heels clicking as she walked over towards the screen, tapping on her slate.

"Me, with tandem over here?" the Fyunenn tried not to laugh.

"I'd tell you to get a room if I wanted you to do that. No, separate machines. Anywhere you like, I guess." Yoko replied, her computer brain already setting up the screen in the cinema next to the lounge to display the set up of the coming bout.

It started as a starscape with a solid outline around the screen, in the top corners were their names. Dicker Max on one side, and Wolf on the other.

Two of the eggshells near them split in half horizontally, revealing the easily recognizable shape of a cockpit in the bottom half. Seat, stick, instrument panel. The top was presumably mostly made of up canopy.

Already, My'ean had wandered off to the console in question, stepping into it with no regard for what Yoko was saying - a touch wobbly as she lowered herself into the machine and began flipping switches and strapping in. Rather oddly, she paid no mind where her hands were actually going, more concerned with her flask - fingers moving like those of a concert pianist.

"You know this is just a game, right, Tandem? Doesn't mean anything? And a scimmy to boot: You might actually get a fair chance in one of these, loverboy."

Fat Max raised an eyebrow at this carry-on, and watched with some interest as My'ean climbed into the now split open eggshell, intently. Particularly when she bent at the waist. Before raising an eye as he watched her flick switches and then get her flask out. Now it was going to be a matter of pride.

Unfortunately for My'ean, the switches were currently based on the layout of an Origin Scimitar, her automatic instincts kicking up warning screens across the upper interior of the eggshell and the fainting growl of a mismanaged plasma engine.

"You clearly didn't read the safety brochure." Max replied, shrugging and walking to his own machine.

Judging from the way he was carefully strapping himself in by the safety restraints, he might know something she didn't. Or from her confidence, maybe not. It was hard to tell. It could just be that designing for four arms required some compromises.

A high-vis engineer with a metal arm quietly walked over and held a small device against the box side of My'eans eggshell, a volumetric display popping up. A few quick presses and My'eans simulated fighter kicked into life. The upper half-shell slowly closing down.

"Good luck, ma'am." Was all the engineer said as he stepped back to make sure nothing was wrong with the machine.

A second engineer stood by while Max adjusted his chair and got more familiar with the controls. His eggshell now closing around him as the sound of low powered plasma engines rumbled into his cockpit, closing off as the lid sealed.

Soon after the last sliver of light from the outside was shut off from the interior and My'ean was isolated in a H.U.D and dimly glowing cockpit with her thoughts, and the eyes of fifty or so peers watching through a screen.

//pause//

"And now we get to see if she's got any bite to that bark." Yoko said as the screen turned the outlines of two Origin Scimitar fighters, both having all systems green while the environment was generated.

Planetary. Forest. No enemy contact. Gravity 1.8G, amospheric density 21psi at seal level. 2 knot wind, WSW.

"This will be a Guns Only duel. Unrealistic, but we want to judge her ability to fight. Not to press a button." Yoko reported, surprisingly not tapping at her slate, her dull eyes revealing she was using her digital brain elsewhere.

She blinked, returned to the material plane, and turned to the rest of the room watching. White hair fluttering around her ears. "I think this should be entertaining, no?"
 
Warehouse

While the other pilots prepared for their duel, Suvi finished her beer, discarded the bottle in a bin and grabbed a new one. She returned back to the nepleslian girl and watched the screens showing the duel.

"So you wanna watch this? See how good they are?" Suvi asked the raven-haired girl and flicked the cap off the bottle with her thumb, sending it flying into nearby bin. "Who do you think will win? Pidgeon or the fattie? Might be good to see who we might end up going up against."
 
Runessa was curious to see how some of her... rivals, were in action. The payment promised was certainly appealing, she had some debts she should pay off before she had to start keeping an eye over her shoulder. The inexperienced girl quietly made her way to a nice spot to watch the duel unfold, noting someone enjoying a beer while conversing with a raven-haired girl.

She shrugged slightly at the neko's question, "Well, they're pilots not entertainers, so I'm not going to be holding my breath on that."
 
Warehouse

Suvi looked at the girl who talked to her. She shrugged and looked back on the screen.

"Pilots eh?" The neko said with a grim grinn on her face, showing her fangs a little bit. "We will see about that."
 
El Hermosa, Southern Norlin, Nepleslia - Warehouse, Cinema

Phanan - having finally made his way over from the lounge (and relieved to at last be free of that hulking Fyunnen's clutches) - settled into one of the room's many, many chairs with a sigh, then rolled his eyes skywards upon hearing a......strange reply from an extraordinarily youthful (and haughty)-sounding voice. Female...twenty at most. Obviously can't fly worth a damn, either, else she'd actually be paying attention. Typical of kids these days...


"This is entertainment for us pilots, kid. Aren't you supposed to be in school or something?"
 
The young woman cast a natural glare as her gaze fell upon the crippled old man, she frowned as she addressed him.
"I'd find more entertainment watching drunks brawl in a bar, old man." she turned her gaze away from him and back towards the 'entertainment', "And shouldn't you be in a elderly home, or a hospital being tended to by some overweight nurse?"
 
El Hermosa, Southern Norlin, Nepleslia - Warehouse, Cinema

The aforementioned "old man" raised an eyebrow, chuckling in amusement. Spirited, too? Heh, this one might actually stand a chance......for a mission or two. "Appears you have macular degeneration or something, kid. I'm no fresh-off-the-streets greenhorn......but I'm not that fossilized..." - a pause - "...yet. Besides, you never answered the question, or, let me guess:" Phanan's voice trailed off -

Lack of malnutrition (basis: physical appearance, especially...damn, they're large), lack of visible cybernetics, lack of heavily-developed muscle tone all imply a sheltered, secure early life. Scarring implies recent violence (and IDs origin as Nepleslian or Jiyuuian; Nekovalkyrja don't scar), thus implying she departed aforementioned safe haven. Recent, too, else symptoms of malnutrition would be present - with the exception of Frost, rich kids don't last long on the streets. Same goes for their money - so she's here for the same reason as me: in pursuit of the almighty DA, to support our brilliant lifestyle choices. The irony of it all is just killing me.

- only to resume a few seconds later. "You couldn't hack it being your rich daddy's little darling, so you grabbed some cash, hit the streets, and are doing this because, thanks to never learning about that thing called finance, you're in desperate need of more cash after wasting it all while discovering the the real world outside that perfect home of yours."


The cyborg smirked. "How's that for a diagnosis?"
 
Simulation: Forest planet, valley of shadow of death, I fear no evil for I am at altitude 33,000feet and climbing, speed 732 knots and rising, bearing 309 turning port to 280.

//start//


Already, My'ean was feeding numbers into the volumetric input, adjusting allocations and subtle behaviors in the Destiny AI. Her first came in purging the drop-tanks and landing-gear, then cycling down the life support. Slowly her gaze swung port to the electromagnetic shields, then starboard to the gravitational.

Subtle rocking of the yoke gave her an idea of how the craft fishtailed and bled speed - breathing tight in anticipation as she clenched her calves - teeth tight as she tipped her head back and got a very firm idea of what the field of view from the cockpit was - then watching the instruments dance and the rate they moved at very carefully as she brought herself about. She felt the simulator rattle. It took a moment for the blood to run back down from her cheeks - feeding adjustment into the behavior of the gravitational shielding to strip back the inertial compensation in exchange for almost unnoticable advantages elsewhere. The stress of the hull flexing delicately with a low moan. Clicking her tongue in time as she felt the motion of the craft shift. My'ean meant she could feel the G's more but as a result of this on-the-fly calibration, she had a better feel for her direction of travel and her velocity.

The movement of the craft, she decided would depend entirely on its heavy throttle - opening up to pick up speed and then cutting back to reduce her opponent's chance of a fix.

My'eans sensors picked up a contact eight kilometers away and climbing, getting above her. The lack of distinct aether contact on her sensors meant the other fighter probably still had its own droptanks still on and was using them to remain quiet enough gain a headstart in climbing above her without being noticed. As her fighter alerted her the contact turned towards her and gained speed, still climbing but at a lower angle.

//End of tape//

The cinema screen showed My'ean pull up to try and catch the higher aircraft, losing speed. Max didn't wait for her and dived, the added weight of his attached fuel tanks causing a shockwave of air to form around his aircraft almost immediately. My'eans speed dropped, and seeing Max coming right at her tried to turn out of her climb, narrowly avoiding a laser blast from Max's fighter.

Max pulled out of the dive before rolling the aircraft back over and chasing her down. Fuel tanks and higher energy letting him ride onto her tail.

Yoko's data slate beeped urgently and Yoko looked down at it in surprise. "Well, she's either unconscious or brain-dead" she murmured as she looked at it with a white eyebrow raised.

Despite My'eans jinking, Max calmly lined up his shot. Some of the crowd leaning forward as they imagined themselves in the same seat. Finally, a flurry of red laser cannon shots burst into My'eans shields, ripping holes into her fighter and causing her to spin. The second burst finished off the job in a fireball crashing into the forest at high speed.

After the quiet execution of My'eans aircraft, two Dennis security droids picked up the large fyunnen pilot and carried her outside, unceremoniously throwing her bodily off the threshold of the warehouse. Clearly she had failed the examination.


Warehouse - Cinema


Yoko shook her head and turned to the room again. "Alright, settle into your bunks or whatever you wish to do. You're free this even, briefing for first ops begins at 0600 tomorrow morning. There you will be divided into your squads for the day. Save your questions for when I care at all. Dismissed!"

And so the gathering dispersed, some went about settling into their bunks, others got something to eat, a few might even have gone out on the town to live up the paycheck they were expecting already. The choice really was up to them.
 
Warehouse - Cinema

"Oh well," was the only comment Amelia gave after watching the Lorath being carried outside by two security bots. The pilot had expected something more out of the fight, and the sudden ending it had came as a surprise. It was of no consequence, though, as far as entertainment went, since one of the other pilots looked like he was about to get into a banter competition with another, and if the raven-haired Nepleslian hadn't taken a twelve hour flight to get there all bets were that she would have probably stayed and watched it.

Instead, the pilot turned away from the blank cinema screen and started to make her way towards where she would be bunking to store the meagre personal belongings she had taken, so that she could get acquainted with the equipment that she would be operating afterwards.
 
Warehouse

Suvi smirked as she finished watching the show. She then shrugged and listened to Yoko, having her own thoughts about the fight and about her bitchy employer. The neko thought, that if the Lorath would not be drunk, the fight would look different, but that did not matter all that much. My'ean still lost. Suvi gave a salute to Max. The neko turned away and walked to her bike, she took the "saddle bags" of her bike and then flew back. She caught up with Amelia and lit a cigarette.

"Man I think somoene stole our employers favourite butt-plug with how cranky she is." Suvi chuckled at her own 'funny' remarks as she landed next to Amelia and moved back to walking place. "Yo wanna share bunks or something? I don't want to end up with the grumpy old man or something."
 
Runessa had to admit the old man was surprisingly on about a few parts of his 'diagnosis'; must've been something that came with being old and cranky. Still, she wasn't going to give an inch and do something as childish such as snarl or glare, she simply shrugged slightly and kept her confident, smug smile.

"Close enough to pass for a backalley doctor, but you'd never cut it in even the shabbiest of actual clinics. More than I expected for such a fossil though." she stole a glance towards the screen, jabbing a thumb in that direction as the events transpired, "And see? Was hardly anything. Not even long enough to get anything good from the winner. Or enough to appreciate a humiliating defeat, that was simply pathetic and sad."

With that sad excuse for entertainment out of the way, the neko in charge had already dismissed everyone, and it didn't take long for them to accept that gracious offer. As much as Runessa would enjoy trading barbs with the cranky geezer, she had better things to do with her time...

"Don't throw your hip out on the way back to your sponge bath, I'll be seeing you."

Looking around the place revealed a mens, womens,and question-marked doors to what were clearly toilets and showers. Stepping further inside revealed the startingly clean and white decor, as though someone had a burning need to keep the place pristine. A small box sat on top of the washing bench along with a row of four basins, and on the opposite side were the stalls.

But down the room and past them, that was where Runessa found what she was looking for. It sparkled and winked at her alluringly, past the rows of doors that made up the showers, speeding up a bit until she reached it. It's porcelain curves invited her and behind her the air turned fuzzy and opaque as an energy screen descended. It had a high back, perfect for lounging in, and trays on the sides for personal items. It took her a minute to realize there were three others the exact same in the room as well, arrayed around the corners with a bench in the middle.

The young woman had already checked out of her meager lodgings eariler in the day, so she didn't exactly need this... but she wanted it regardless. It had been ages since she had the simple luxury of a nice bath, instead of trying to use a questionably clean shower in equally questionable lodgings.

The central bench was a nice but spartan wood in construction, wooden duckboard around it helped maintain footing while the rest of the floor was cool, refreshing tile on bare feet. The tubs were arrayed roughly one to each corner, two on the sides of the bench with about six feet of space around each marked by a demarkation line, the further two tubs came together towards the center, the demarkation between them down the middle of the room, allowing one to step from the central bench area into any tub without intruding on the others. As she walked near one the air shimmered again and became the same fuzzy opaque as the door in had become along the lines on the floor.

Runessa had the entire place to herself and she didn't have any particular preference, the young woman quickly shed her clothing as she headed towards a bath, haphazardly tossing and messily piling the discarded garments on the bench in the center of the room. Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed a towel and threw it near her selected tub.

Soft, tender feet padded over the cool tiles as the young woman started to fill a tub with water and hummed a happy tune to herself as it filled with water - she didn't wait for it to fill all the way, and instead slipped in as soon as the water had filled just a bit of the tub. Sighing as the warmth of the water gently rose up over her body, soaking away weariness and tightness. Runessa reclined against the bath and let out a content sigh as she lounged in the rising, hot waters.

"It's been far too long..." sighed the girl happily to the empty room.

Sadly, while the surroundings were quite nice, it seemed they had only splurged all the money on that... the provided toiletries were quite simple and basic - almost seemed like the sort of thing you'd see at a decent hotel. Which, given what she had been getting used too in the recent weeks, was still a pretty large upgrade.

Runessa started by first submerging herself completely in the filled tub, running a hand through her two-toned hair, her finger tips running through her scalp tenderly, shifting red and blonde hairs into a nest in the water; may as well start from the top was the plan, as she shampooed her hair. This shampoo was probably going to be leagues better then the stuff she had been getting used too, that's for sure... maybe she'd actually be happy to smell herself for a change. Her fingers thrushed through the hair over her shoulder, running fingers down through the waist length fronds, letting the shampoo soak in.

With that attended too, next came the soap. Sadly, it was simply a bottle instead of something as luxurious as a soap bar, but she wasn't going to be too picky at the moment regardless. Runessa applied a liberal amount to the palm of her hand and carefully, almost caressingly, started to rub it against her skin. Her fingers didn't even flinch as she traveled across scars on her young body - they used to bring back bad memories, but she had long since pushed them aside now.

The former noble let out a gentle sigh as she traced and caressed every bit of her body, her hands running down her pale arms, over her chest and down her belly. A dainty leg and foot sticking up out of the bath as her hands ran up the smooth thigh and calf, spreading the cleaning liquid all over her moist... extremities before reclining back into the bath with a content sigh, simply basking in the hot waters. Her feet resting on the edge of the tub.
 
WAY TOO EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, THE WAREHOUSE.

Most of the ad-hoc squadron where walking, at least. It was more questionable if some of them had arrived into their own bodies yet but the placid chewing of alfresco breakfast and gulps of strong coffee seemed to be stirring life into them slowly. A Dennis droid in a chefs hat making magic with a spatula sat behind a large hot plate making the occasional cheeky comment to some of the less than awake eaters.

At precisely 0600 hours, as the sun began to cast a pale golden glow onto the city the sound of pumps on catwalk could be heard from overhead as Yoko exited the Upper Management office and made her way down the stairs, walking past the mess hall to the cinema-come-briefing area.
 
The Warehouse, Among The Machines

//play//

Amelia was one of the ones not standing about half dazed in the warehouse this morning, instead dragging over one of the overworked nightshift engineers still performing finishing touches on some of the machines in the back. The way the shorter Nepleslian dragged the taller and larger engineer made the scene look comical, as if out of one of the yamataian cartoons. Compared to the man in his dirty overalls, the Nepleslian was wearing the same clothes on the previous day, which were far cleaner but crumpled in the way only sleeping with them on entails.

"Can you run me by how configuring this thing works again? I'm trying to get the cockpit setup I'm familiar it but it's not working properly," she complained, standing in front of the chromed pod that were the simulated cockpits they would be flying out of.

The Nepleslian engineer rubbed a greasy hand under his hardhat, trying to fight off sleep even as he stood. But nodded and pressed a transparent panel in his hand against the machine. A GUI appeared on the panel and he swiped once and pressed a button. With a click the eggshell split in half horizontally, revealing a rather shapless, almost indistinct chair, a plain dashboard and a stick might have been a control yoke if it shed a few puffy pounds in the middle, all with the dull white texture of some kind of fabric.

"It's not amazing nothing unique to science but the eggshells will morph into any standard cockpit for any craft programmed into the system. The basic shape is built upon using a mixture liquid that will act as a solid with a current through it, and the color and texture morphing of the fabric. The controls will also morph based on the throttle and yoke setup."

"Yeah but the thing is that the cockpit I was using wasn't standard," The Nepleslian muttered under her breath, crossing her arms in front of her chest and watching the engineer go about his work.

Two more swipes and a press and the fabric swelled, the seat going from a lump of canvas to a padded leather flight seat, the controls convulsed and took on the shape of a flight stick and the throttle disappeared from one side and grew out again on the other. After a brief shimmer the coloers changed and canvas appeared to become metal. Switches grew out of the dash and instuments appeared. The process took about thirty seconds and when it was done Amelia was staring at a rough aproximation of a starfighter cockpit.

"The canvas maps switches and buttons by itself, no wiring or springs needed. Unfortunately this means while everything is in the right place, the feel of everything inside could be different from what you're used to." The engineer said, stepping back and letting Amelia take a look.

"Alright," Amelia said, grimmacing as she leaned into the metal pod and took at look at the simulated components once again. "The thing is that the particular cockpit components I'm talking about aren't standard, it's not an official block to any fighter, so I was wondering if there was a debug mode or something like that." she added. She could always switch back to a scimitar anyway, but it wouldn't be the starfighter she had been flying for months on end and was the most used to.

"Ah, non-standard. Precisely what the system was designed for actually. Do you have the technical docu-no, wait, of course you wouldn't. Alright..." The engineer appreared to think for a moment as he tried to make his brain work again.

"Talk to the head engineer after the mission, the guy with the goddamn battleship for an arm? Yeah, him. Vas was part of the team that originally designed these things, so get ahead of the crowd and be the first the ask him to help you set up yours after the first sortie. He's set to start shift this arvo." The engineer yawned loudly.

"Need anything else, babydoll?" He asked the short nepleslian in a friendly but put upon way.

"No, I'm good, thanks for your help," the Nepleslian siad, somewhat defeated that she would be flying in a less-than-ideal cockpit for their first mission. She hoped it wouldn't impact on her performance to the point where she would have to be escorted out of the premises and fired like the Lorath earlier.

Watching the engineer leave the room, the raven-haired girl turned around to the egg-like metal pod and hoisted herself in, sitting down with a huff and starting to get acquainted with the cockpit layout. The stick on the middle would be a problem

"Sure thing, doll. The first mission you guys'll all be in Scimitars anyhow. Everybody seems to know how to fly those things, so don't feel too bad." The engineer said, not even walking off with a yawn, but leaning against the machine and tipping their hat down over their eyes. Almost immediately he started snoring quietly.

//end of tape//
 
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El Hermosa, Southern Norlin, Nepleslia - Warehouse, Mess Hall

Had he been more awake, Phanan - sitting half-awake at one of the tables scattered throughout the room - would've probably had a smart-assed comment or two ready for Yoko as she walked by. Instead, the cyborg was currently staring what were supposed to be scrambled eggs, reflecting on his apparently poor taste in hotels - as the place one Thomas Phanan was currently staying at offered a coupon for the nearby Akemi's, instead of offering breakfast services of its own. It wasn't exactly a bad deal - given that the aforementioned coupon offered a discount of fifty percent - were it not for one thing.


Phanan, while waiting for his order to be cooked, had unfortunately witnessed the amatory adventures of several waitresses and customers, who'd decided to film an "adult video" - in full view of everyone else in the restaurant.


Suffice to say, that was the first (and only) time he'd visited the fast-food chain.


A flash of pain - his synthetic stomach's equivalent of a rumble - reminded the cyborg of the "food" in front of him. Following a yawn (Sleep deprivation, resulting from how goddamn early it is), Phanan braced himself for the inevitable - and took a bit of the aforementioned "eggs."


Then winced, nearly gagging as he (somehow) choked the half-cooked morsel down. More proof everybody lies: Contrary to popular belief, civilian ra... - another bite, another half-choke - ...tions are just as delightfully horrible as what the military uses. Several handfuls of seconds later, the cyborg had finally managed to devour the so-called "eggs," his hunger easily overpowering his pharyngeal reflex; with a grunt, said cyborg began shambling over towards the buffet table - and the nearby cook, a EM-J3-1a "Dennis." Explains why I nearly died from food poisoning just now, and how Yosuta paid for all of those "Executive Drone, standard issue" outfits. Typical - and on the topic of drones...


"Ever tasted your own cooking, Danny? No?" - the Nepleslian sighed, shaking his head in mock sorrow - "You're missing out, droid...I'm just dying from how delicious this meal was. Koilonychia? Cheilitis? Bradycardia? They're nothing in comparison!"
 
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The Warehouse, Mess Hall, Phanans Imminent Grave

The large monoeye on the Dennis turned to Phanan, the six auxiliary eyes doing likewise a half-second later, creating a slighting unnerving effect of a bot focusing its full attention on the wheelchair bound pilot. Only slightly ruined by the wobbling chefs hat on its head. It leaned forward, resting its elbow on the hotplate nonchalantly and pointed a spatula lazily in his direction.

"Listen here you excess lip flap of wrinkly skin. I didn't fight the Greens over what color the damn flag should be to be given wrinkled old cheek by a para-pilot-legic. I can't physically add bodily fluids to your eggs, but I will find a way to turn my unending circuits of hatred into a physical form and make you eat it if I have to put up anymore excess lip out of you."

The sound of lightly cooking robot elbow was a distraction from the alavalance of return fire from the droid. Without skipping a beat the spatula flicked sideways, scooped a fried egg onto a toasting bun, bacon, a touch of sauce from the other hand and flicked the whole thing up to the next person in line. Fat Max, too tired to the reflexes to kick in, caught a piping hot load of breakfast straight to the face and stumbled back, almost crushing to death the next three people in line.

The robots 'eyes' did not leave the old man the whole time.
 
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