Iron Stars - uriel

Uriel is awakened by a pounding on his door. The room is a small one, an office once, now a bedroom in what remains of The Glass Tower. Left behind, caught between The Stain, the Locals, the Stained Freedom Front, and the other dangers, Icarus Industries has seen better days. They are floundering now, and soon there might be a change of leadership brought about by you. THe thought brings a smile to the man's face, thinking about how one day this entire planet might be a personal fiefdom.

Two almost fluorescent-white eyes flutter awake, and he immediately reaches for the mag pistol stowed underneath his pillow. The tension is diffused somewhat when he recognises the familiar situation. "Oh Gods... What now?" The man speaks in a well refined, strangely alluring whisper tone, sounding at once both threatening and relaxing. He rolls out of bed and wanders over to the door. Still clutching the weapon in one hand, hidden behind his back, safety now clicked off. He waits for another round of knocking from the stranger before jolting the door slightly open - hoping to rattle whoever is on the other side just a touch. Every second counts in the Tower. "Yes?" (edited)

"Need you on the top floor. Boss wants to see you. Problems , big ones. Said you're the only one who can fix it"

8:33 AM

THe voice sounds panicked, and almost pleading.

The man relaxes slightly, holstering the pistol, safety clicked back on. All that can be seen through the sliver of the door that's open is two bright eyes and an eerie grin creeping across his face. "Naturally. Give me five minutes." He stops. "No. Make that two." And closes the door, swiftly dancing around the cramped office-conversion to gather the appropriate clothing before making his way up. "All the way to the stop..." (edited)

The top floor of The Glass Tower is the only thing that still looks remotely corporate now. You can see glowing embers in different districts, fires raging through a building to those close enough to see them on the ground. A distant breac alarm is also going off but you can see on the holoboard here that a team is already on scene trying to handle things. "Oh good, you're here" Demetro says. He is a short man, built like a keg and missing an eye from a 'mining accident' that he refuses to elaborate on. He was working closely with Ife, the woman who managed to bring both Icarus and The Stained Freedom Front together before her injuries in a raid saw her evacuated off planet by the CBSS for medical treatment. He does what he can but he is no natural leader, and the Icarus middlemen especially don't seem to be respecting him very much.

"Well one does tend to shift after such a rude awakening." He laughs, more to himself than anyone else. "How may I be of service Demetro?"

"Need you to look into some violence on the north side of our district. Some big explosions there. Someone hits an air exchange or makes a breach to the surface, we're all dead. Thought maybe you could sooth some of the local tensions over, put that silver tongue of yours to use"

"And here I thought you just kept me around for my pretty face." He smiles. "Any particular notable individuals I should be aware of? I'm assuming streetwear is acceptable." Uriel asks pensively, he misses the anonymity wearing a hood provides. (edited)

(bump ❤️)

(thanks!)

3:17 PM

"Streetwear should be fine. We're not exactly sure what is happening out there. I was hoping you'd be able to handle the list of names for us, and we can decide how to proceed from there"

"Understood, it will be done." He glides out of the room and descends the tower, stopping momentarily at his bunk to change into more appropriate attire - a close-fit jumpsuit that outlines his sickly physique, layered on top with a heavy mantle and plates of carapace. His flowing black hair is shaved on one side and flops entirely over the other, occasionally obscuring one of his piercing white eyes, which are all that can be seen from under his grand, hooded cloak. He takes a step out onto the stained streets of Polychroniou and takes a deep breath of that oh so familiar air, heavy with smog. "Ah... It's good to be back." He fastens a pistol beneath his cloak and strides forward toward the plumes of smoke still sprouting from the north side.

(lets get a sneak/dex as we move through these city streets!)

(First roll... 6! Perfectly balanced, as all things shou-)

You don't see many people out tonight, as much as night can exist in an underground city. The Stain breach alarm has finally gone quiet and it looks like things are finally under what passes for control here. You come across the first sign of violence in the district, two corpses crucified and eviscerated, pinned up to the side wall of a warehouse as a warning to other gangsters in the area. There are of course no security forces here investigating. The bodies have had some of their personal effects picked over by brave passer bys or bystanders. Their boots are missing and their pockets have been turned out.

"May Flynz guide their light onward." Uriel says in very abridged prayer. He surveils the surrounding area to ensure no more scavengers are interested before approaching the bodies himself to scan for any useful information - left messages, gang signs, an iconic M.O. "Let's see who we're dealing with here..."

(I gotta read back in #tig and see if they did anything but string them up)

An N and K have been written on the wall in blood above the bodies. There are no known gang symbols here. The bodies have been cut open and explored for cyberware.

"Curious..." Uriel mutters as he inspects the bodies, completely undeterred by the gruesome display - if anything, impressed. "Perhaps some new players on the block?" He takes a few snapshots on his compad before moving on. With training, and a little dash of magic, Uriel is always unconsciously steeped in the culture oof the surroundings. He searches his instincts for where the poor, forgotten locals might gather on a night like this, to talk shit and drink their sorrows away, a place like that is always rife with the currency he is most concerned about - information.

There is a small watering hole close by. Most locals are still nervous about leaving their homes but for those who are brave or no where else to go the neon lit , smoke filled interior of the bar is a refuge from the fighting outside.

Uriel makes his way to this local dive. He pulls back his hood and takes in it's patrons as he enters, wanting to minimise but still fully expecting to be greeted with some hostility as an outsider.

Inside you can see about fifteen people, including the lone bartender are sheltering here, trying to put on a brave face against the dangerous streets outside.

Within a split second Uriel has modelled a persona to fit the setting. Head slumping downwards into bad posture, tensing of the shoulders, relaxing of the arms. He almost falls past one of the barstools before it catches him at the tipping point. He wipes a hand across his face and looks up at the barkeep with a sigh. "Cheapest drink in your nearest glass." His accent has become just that bit rougher, the whisper of his voice only still present because he is attempting to mimic an exhausted citizen. Uriel clumsily frisks his own pocket before pulling out a two credits in hard currency and tossing them onto the bar with a slight clatter.

The drink is a clear but somehow also cloudy liquor that smells like it’s been passed through four other people before being reclaimed and distilled again here. You see a few other people around the bar also drinking something like it and none of them seem to have gone blind or are rotting from within.

9:28 PM

A few others in here have minor stain exposure , their skin yellowing and showing hive like bumps where their body has been damaged by the alien bio weapon

Swirling the liquor in his glass, he takes a sip. Uriel stifles the urge to spit it back out into the glass, but at l least allows his character a cough. "Damn stain..." He mumbles, still loud enough for most to hear. "What the hell keeps making leaks?" Exclaiming to no-one, and everyone.

“Fucking idiots shooting off heavy weapons and explosives. Everywhere you go. You wanna die that bad just shoot yourself. Leave us out of it. Wish someone would tell ‘em” one of the figures in the corner booth says

"Amen to that..." He cheers his drink towards the figure. "Who is it this time? Those damn 'NK' guys? I hadn't even heard of them 'til a couple days ago." He ventures a gamble on dropping those new initials. (edited)

"NK, Stained Freedom Front, whole mess of folks. This neighborhood is going to the pits"

"Who's running the clown fiesta nowadays? I used to run with some bad eggs, maybe they've moved up in the world."

"Stained Freedom Front and Icarus have a deal now. Seems like its made things a bit better and safer but there's still gangs, cults, lunatics, and left behinds out there throwing themselves at anything that looks like good order"

"You seem good people, anything in particular bothering you that could check out? Reckon' we'll be dealing with the chaos either way, and there's gotta be more credits in this stuff than the labour mills." (edited)

"Just need these fucking idiots to stop killing each other. The gangs need to go, then we'll all be safe"

"Agreed." Uriel says through gritted teeth. He finishes the rest of his drink, and likely takes a few moments to regret that choice, before slamming the glass back on the bar and turning to the man he has been speaking with. "Thank you friend." Two more credits clatter onto his table as Uriel puts up his hood and walks out. A more regal stance returns as he reverts to his natural self, however he can't help but scratch his lower left arm in a rabid motion. "I can't act as an arbiter between the gangs out of nowhere, I need to engage, rise up, earn some credibility - or lack there of..." He reaches into a pocket and pulls out two small pots of a sickly green liquid, feeling the weight of them in his hands. "Only two doses left, damn my weakness. But... perhaps two birds with one stone?" He muses, wandering deeper into the night. (Might I get in contact with one of the local gangs, offering work in exchange for a meeting with a rush dealer? If there's no direct way to contact them, we could find a random junkie.)

(connect/cha)

(oof, 4)

You hear the Neon Knights got displaced by two psychos from off world, but there seems to be a method to their madness. They own a warehouse now at the south side of this district, and seem to have sworn a blood oath against any from the gang who are still alive.

"I can't tell if I like these guys or not." Uriel thinks to himself as he gathers disparate pieces of information from around town. "Still worth a visit, either we work with them, or we tell them in no uncertain terms to stop blowing holes in the ceiling." He inquires about where to find this warehouse, left with no other choice than to approach the front door and pray to Leila he wouldn't be shot on sight.

(sounds goo,d just getting a couple things clarified with them so we know what the place looks like when you get there)

1

== TO: Demetro
== FROM: Uriel Thayd
== SUBJECT: North District Violence

// BEGIN MESSAGE
Main cause is a disorganised local militia lashing out against a gang that got too greedy with protection fees. 

Tensions are starting to ease, but unclear how long this will take.

Any developments on your end?

I have the honour to be your obediant servant,
U. Thayd - Arbitrator - Icarus Combine

(edited)

(Archiving for now)