Clusterfrag

Axel rubs his chin and leans forward, staring at the map as if that will make the projection give up all of its secrets. "If we're, uh, borrowing a boat, we're going to want to make sure that it thinks that we're its masters." He glances over at Mouse. "Anything else would be suicide. And if we've got root access, then swinging the boat around the island shouldn't be a problem. Won't even need anyone to stay with it. All remote." He says, feeling pleased that the conversation has turned, however briefly, toward his expertise. "And since we can do it at-will, we should wait until we have the packages in hand. Too early, and we telegraph our intent."

Zal shakes his head at Yung. "The marina is where they moor their gun boats. It's also close to their command center, which means it's much easier for them to spot it, seize it, or both. I'd recommend we land on the unused part of the island and stay there. I can leave a man behind to watch the ship. As for my officer, I'll share his photo. His name is Luis De León." Zal swipes his commlink and an image file lands in his public PAN.

The shared photo depicts a latino man in his early thirties with a full beard and a rash of acne scars. Bleached hair is arranged in tight corn-rows and a ring glints from his septum.

"Okay," Anne-Marie murmurs. She looks up from her comm-link. "Tex can get a ship, but you've got to make a choice. The first is a retired, authentic transport ship from a medical corporation. It's a converted tanker ship though, so it's bulky and quite slow. The second is a barely used micro-container vessel tug conversion-- more nimble and much faster, but it's less likely to pass as genuine." Anne-Marie pantomimes a scale with her hands.

Zal folds his arms. "A lifeboat, maybe? Nothing with any armor on it. If we're forced to flee, we'll almost certainly be taking fire and I'd rather have cover if that happens. I suppose if worse comes to worse, we can steal a gunboat."

Mick smiles mischievously at the idea.

The decker returns to fidgeting with the shotglass, a byproduct of both mental processing and her own tension. She nods along with Axel’s concerns, noting “I FIGURE THAT’S A PERK OF ACQUIRING A VESSEL LEGITIMATELY. THE GOLDEN ARMY SHOULD HAVE DIGITAL OWNERSHIP, AT LEAST FOR THE DURATION OF THE MISSION. THAT WAY, WE DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT LOSING CONTROL OF OUR BOAT MID-OP.” It’s still a fairly large assumption on her part, but she has enough to worry about without also having to crack the team’s legitimate gear.

The notion of sending the boat around shore, while shelved, does seem to spark something in Mouse’s imagination. She swivels her head back to Axel, “SPEAKING OF AUTOPILOT, I WONDER… IF BUTCHER BAY IS SO SHORT STAFFED, WOULD THEY BOTHER MANNING THEIR PATROL DRONES?” She doesn’t elaborate, instead simply shooting the rigger a wicked little grin, leaving him to fill in any details of what the two could do with such vulnerable targets. Whatever her plans are, they clearly involve shenanigans.

The choice of boats, unfortunately, is a much more immediate and far less entertaining concern. “PASSING GETS US IN. IT STOPS BEING AS USEFUL WHEN THE ISLAND’S ON LOCKDOWN.” Her lips tighten with the obvious unpleasantness of this scenario, as she adds, “WITH A MANEUVERABLE CRAFT, THERE’S A CHANCE WE WON’T GET SHOT TO SHIT ON OUR WAY OUT. WE’D JUST NEED SOME EXCUSE TO EXPLAIN WHY WE'RE USING IT AS A MEDICAL TRANSPORT. SECURITY CONCERNS, MAYBE.”

Of course, that scheming little smile returns in the face of Zal’s alternative, and Mick’s clear approval. “...OR WE COULD FALL BACK ON PIRACY, BUT THAT’S MY SOLUTION TO EVERYTHING.”

Catching Mouse's eyes, the ork adds "Plus, we could shell the command center if we're under fire on the way out. Fuck you very much, Saito. Xenophobes get bodybags." Mick considers, and throws in their two nuyen. "My vote is the tanker ship for plan A– we slip in, slip out. If that goes to drek, plan B– one of you two," the adept indicates they mean Mouse and Axel, and continues. "You two autopilot the tanker back out to sea, give them something to shoot at while we steal one of their gunboats. One of the benefits to the tanker is that it can take more hits before sinking, giving it a longer lifespan as a diversion. Feint left, punch right." The ork makes a fist with their right hand, their knuckles issuing a set of meaty crunches as their finger curl into their palm.

Axel's eyes flit between Mick and Mouse, a mischievous excitement plain on his face. "Yeah," he says to Mouse, "even on a normal day, I doubt they'd have all drones being directly controlled by an individual rigger. Kinda' defeats the purpose of cheap, disposable killing machines if you have to pay a professional's wages for a grunt's job. If they're short-staffed, that ratio gets further in our favor." There's a hunger in his eyes as he considers the possibilities.

He turns his head to Mick, "Send the ship on a merry chase around the bay, soaking up all the bullets meant for us?" He nods his head as if listening to a voice only he can hear, "Now that's my kind of Tuesday night. Mouse, you might need to do some work keeping them out of the ship's systems while that happens. Gods know I'd be trying to commandeer it remotely if I were a jackbooted fascist trying desperately not to be humiliated," He finishes, still grinning.

"I agree with the choice of taking the tanker, so unless anyone else has objections, I think we can confirm that and move on to other decisions." Yung surveys the room to see if anyone plans to speak up.

"With regards to hacking drones and remote piloting things, let's just make sure we don't spread ourselves too thin. Taking the fight to them is appealing, but I'd feel a hell of a lot better if any eyes in the sky or treads on the ground were watching our backs." He says, looking at Axel. "If you can handle both, that's your call, just my two cents."

“Personally, I think if we focus too much on the gunboats we might lose sight of the real goal.”

Mick stands, their blood rising and visibly eager, "I've been part of enough bad ideas to know when talking about it more isn't going to help them go any better. Sounds like we know the chords and we know the beats, and shy of a full band rehearsal, any more talking about it is gonna just be bulldrek. What say we order ourselves a tanker, stick our chums that do the talk-good on the decks, and go from there?"

Anne-Marie bobs her head in a quick nod. "Transport ship it is. I'll make the arrangements." She glances sidelong at Zal, her expression expectant.

"Dawn. We should be on the water at daybreak," Zal replies. He faces the team. "Since we'll be risking our lives together, I think you should meet my squad. They're at the Rancheria guest house just across the courtyard, which coincidentally, is where we'll be bedding down tonight."

"Also, this will be the last time we can requisition any supplies. Anything you folks need besides thermal smoke grenades and a thermal-dampening suit?"

Mick smiles. "Got anything better for an automatic than an Uzi IV? Still needs to be fairly compact if I'm gonna slink through the shadows."

Axel wastes no time taking up an offer like that. "I noticed your guards are sporting Ares Alpha rifles. Any chance you've got another laying around? Also, a signal jammer could go a long way toward neutralizing and commandeering enemy drones."

Offering extra supplies? For free? Reiya figures she may as well put in her own request. “I’d take some extra crossbow bolts. Could come in handy.”

Mouse nods along with Axel’s request, particularly the mention of electronic warfare gear, and adds, “THE TEAM UP TOP WILL NEED UNIFORMS TO MATCH OUR COVER STORY. DEPENDING ON WHAT MEDICAL COMPANY WE'RE POSING AS, I MIGHT ALREADY BE COVERED- I HAVE SOME GENERIC CORPO GEAR I CAN TWEAK TO MATCH." She glances across the group again, drumming her fingers gently in thought. "FOR AKELA AND TAIPAN, GENERIC SAILING GEAR WILL WORK IN A PINCH, AND IT ONLY NEEDS TO STAY ON UNTIL OUR FACETIME IS HANDLED.”

"I'm sure I have an extra Ingram Smartgun to spare-- Mick, was it?" Zal blinks at the onslaught of requests. He turns to Axel. "The ranch's security belongs to the General, they're not my men. If you need a rifle, though, I can probably manage that. My communications specialist should be be bringing a jammer, but I'll double-check."

Anne-Marie smiles at Mouse. "I've got the uniforms covered: sailor's jumpsuits with the same branding that's on the ship." She glances at Thoryne. "Not sure I'll be able to get any troll-size on short notice, unfortunately." Her gaze whips over to Reiya. "You mentioned crossbow bolts? That one's easy, Tex has a whole load of hunting gear in storage-- he's never used it. I'll take care of that."

Zal jerks his head towards the door. "Let's walk and talk. I'll introduce you to my team."

Mick gives Zal an affirmative nod, takes another slug of Mezcal, rises, and says, "Appreciate it. Lead on, omae." The ork corks the bottle and brings it along.

Zal leads the team through the twisting, visceral corridors of the main house and outside. The sun is muted, obscured by a panicle of cumulo stratus. Still, it's warm and the buzzing of insects and chirping of birds lend a calming aspect to the environment.

"I'm going to guess you haven't fought against any of Saito's men before," Zal says as he crosses the courtyard. He looks back over his shoulder. "More specifically, the Kuroikaze. They're like Saito's gestapo."

A few of Tex's security goons seem to be taking a smoking break under the shade of a manzanita. Their heads swivel in unison as they watch the team. Zal ignores their presence.

"Every member of the Kuroikaze is hand-picked from regular Imperial army ranks-- usually the ones being investigated or on the verge of being dishonorably discharged. Saito prides qualities like fanaticism, aggression, ambition, and cruelty. Once selected, they're transferred to a facility with other candidates and aren't allowed to associate with anyone else. Then begins five years of intense martial training. It's essentially a special forces program."

The Rancheria is a miniature version of the main house, tucked away in the center of a grove of olive trees. The primary difference is that the guest house's glass walls are tinted for privacy.

"They're peerless warriors," Zal continues. "As if that wasn't already bad enough, they have this armor--" He thumps his chest. "The obsidian black karuta they wear. It's constructed of some kind of re-assembling semi-fluid composite bound by carbon-nano lace. Basically impervious to small arms fire. Anything less than an assault cannon won't penetrate. You hit them with a high enough caliber and you can bruise 'em, but they have pain editors and adrenal pumps, so it's pointless."

Zal stops and turns around. "There are weak points-- gaps in the armor for mobility-- that you can exploit. A well aimed shot or--" He glances at the katana sheathed at Taipan's hip. "--a blade will do the trick if you hit: just below the armpits, the inner thighs, the small of the back, or under the chin." He illustrates by tapping each of these locations on his own body. "Commit it to memory: armpits, thighs, back, chin. It could save your life."

"Normally we use guerilla tactics-- hit and run. Or we'll overwhelm them if we can isolate them. We'll be on their turf this time, though. Fortunately there shouldn't be very many of them."

The door to Rancheria opens with a hiss of compressed air.

Mouse is quiet as she follows the team through the Courtyard, less interested in the wonders of nature in its heavily manicured glory, and moreso in each grim detail that Zal brings to light. “SO, ASSUMING WE LAND SAFELY, THE FIRST THING WE DO IS CONVINCE THEIR RECON TEAM, COMPRISED OF THESE ELITE, HEAVILY ARMORED DREKLORDS, TO FOLLOW US DOWN INTO SOME ENCLOSED SPACE ON THE SHIP…” She tries to keep a straight face, even if her skepticism is clear the more she lays this out. “...WHERE HOPEFULLY, WE GANK THEM IN ONE LUCKY SHOT, BEFORE THEY CAN CALL FOR BACKUP, OR TAKE THEIR REVENGE ON THE CHARMING AND VERY UNARMORED SQUISHIES WHO TRICKED THEM.” She takes a long, slow breath. “YEAH, WE’VE GOT THIS.”

Zal peers at Mouse. "They may be fearsome, but they're also low on supplies and contraband. I guarantee they'll want to inspect the cargo hold for anything of worth they can seize. We just have to make a half-hearted show of resistance to avoid arousing suspicion. Meanwhile the bulk of our manpower is standing by to ambush. Bet on greed."

A low whistle issues from between Taipan's teeth as Zal lays bare the caliber of Saito's lackey's they're likely to encounter at the Rock, his face darkening at the mention of their high tech armor, and further at the mention of chrome.

Armpits, thighs, back, chin...

"Cargo hold seems as good a place as any." He glances at Mouse and Axel before adding, "If we can jam up the comms at the right moment and keep them from phoning home, would mitigate some of our risk."

Yung furrows his brow as Zal elaborates on the details of the island's opposition. “Not to be a drekhead here, but this would have been good information to know during the planning. Still, I’m glad you mentioned it. Do you happen to have some APDS that would work with an Ares Predator?” He gauges Zal’s reaction about whether armor piercing ammo would even make a difference in the situation.

Before waiting for a response he adds, “A few flashbangs would be welcome too. Mick knows I’m a big fan.” He readies a wink in case they cast a glance in his direction. “Also, this might be a request for Tex, but a bottle of fine Japanese whiskey, the kind that comes in a box that is marked accordingly…maybe we’ll celebrate if we live through this.”

Zal listens as Taipan speaks, nodding his head. "My thought as well. The clock starts ticking as soon as we eliminate the recon party. While they won't raise the QRF for what could be malfunctioning comms, we still want to avoid raising any more suspicion than we have to. The success of this operation depends on us taking advantage of the diminished troop strength. Our odds start to go down the more they organize."

The freedom fighter's eyes narrow at Yung. "Do mercenaries usually agree to engagements without asking pertinent questions beforehand? These are Imperial troopers, not some low-rate gunslingers." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "We have plenty of ammo, but you better be a crack shot with a pea shooter like that. My entry specialist should have flashbangs, you'll meet her in a moment." Zal enters the Rancheria without addressing the whisky.

A gust of cool, climate-controlled recycled oxygen greets the team as they move inside. The foyer is a small dome of triangular skylights over reclaimed barn wood flooring. A melange of cultural items adorn the walls: a Maori war club, a whaler's harpoon, a collection of lacquered kiseru, among various other items. A pair of the same, strange, sphincter-like doors lie open, revealing a dormitory and a washroom respectively.

Gathered in the center of the foyer, chatting amicably, are a diverse group of figures.

"My team," Zal explains. He moves from left to right, introducing each of his subordinates.

"Baek Hyung-Shik: communications, surveillance and counter-surveillance." A short Korean human man with a neatly trimmed beard and Zeiss cyber-eyes salutes. His hair is tucked in a bandana depicting the old California state flag.

"Ferris Baker: combat medic." Ferris is a willowy elf of indeterminate gender with a wild mane of platinum hair. They nod and smile at the team.

"Zdenka Juric, I believe you know. She's deputy commander for this mission and navigations specialist." Zdenka beams at the team and gives a thumbs up.

"Abeje Gbeho, demolitions." A tall, dark-skinned ork with a short pink mohawk and a grenade-studded vest nods quietly. His arms are covered in burn scars.

"Charlie Wheeler, breach and entry." Charlie is a Junoesque human woman with a fair complexion. Her hair is cropped short in the back but dangles just above her eyes in front. She lifts an obvious cyberarm in greeting, servos whirring.

"Lafayette Costa, marksman and overwatch." Greeting the team is a rugged dwarf man with wind-chapped skin and a bald head sporting a tattoo of a crosshair. An eye-patch covers one eye, the other regards the team with curiosity.

"And finally, there's Candice Brown, our team--"

A sprightly, Mouse-sized human woman leaps forward. "It's Candy, actually."

Zal says nothing but turns a smoldering gaze on the young woman. In response she grins sheepishly and steps back. Zal sighs. "Our team's drone pilot and recon."

Candy is petite, bright-eyed and very jovial-- hardly the image of a hardened soldier. She's hemmed her fatigues to better suit her figure. A wild tuft of blue hair protrudes from her scalp at impossible angles. Her eyes are both artificial and both alternate through a full spectrum of color, albeit at different intervals like a randomized heterochromia. A silvery arachnid zips out from one of the open doorways and skitters up to her foot. She glances down and stifles a gasp, looking anxious. As discretely as she can she signals the tiny drone to ascend. The drone complies, climbing her leg, hip, and onward, until it perches on her shoulder.

Though he says nothing, Zal's hardened gaze is condemnation enough.

"Skip was just doing recon," Candy murmurs with a nervous cough. "Can never be too careful."

Zal shakes his head. "Don't judge them based on appearances. I've hand selected each individual here for their talent." He watches sidelong as Candy reprimands the tiny drone. "As well as their passion."

Yung’s eyes go wide, he produces his Ares Predator from the hidden recesses of the holster within his jacket and holds it with both hands. "Pea shooter?” He asks rhetorically. For the first time in the interaction with Zal he looks flummoxed.

“Okay listen, clearly you and tío Taipan need to exchange parenting notes, maybe share light beer and discuss philosophies on team building. But…pea shooter.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disbelief before returning the weapon to the holster.

“That said, if Mouse wants to get me all gussied up in a seaman’s outfit, peacoat being most appropriate, then I’ll need some protection a little more discreet for the initial ruse; armored vest for instance.”

As the group enters the Rancheria Yungn beams toward the motley assortment of tacticians Zal begins introducing. After the introductions and witnessing the exchange between Zal and Candy he begins chuckling quietly to himself. “So similar yet so different eh, Zal?”

“Pleasure to meet you all.” He says, bowing his head slightly to the group. "I would never judge anyone on their appearance, talents speak volumes."

“HE’S SENSITIVE ABOUT THE SIZE OF HIS HAND-CANNON.” The aside comes out at best as a stage whisper, as Mouse shoots Yung a playful smile of feigned empathy.

As the team enters the foyer, however, her energy seems dampened by the presence of so many strangers. She takes her place just slightly behind Reiya, the way a shy child might hide behind their parents’ legs, and peers out amongst the bizarro-world crew. In particular, she studies Hyung-Shik, trying to get a read on her military counterpart, but unsure if it would be a breach of etiquette to send out an introductory probe of his gear.

It’s Candy, and more accurately, Skip, that breaks the ice, the decker’s pupils instantly widening in adoration at the endearing little drone. She peeks out, and shoots the other team a quick wave. “HI. WE’RE THE MERCENARIES.” Might as well say what they’re all thinking, anyway.

Her gaze remains leveled on the little walker, however, as a snaggletoothed grin stretches across her countenance. "PLEASE TELL ME THERE'S MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM." From her expression, it's clear that she's not asking out of skepticism about the drone rigger's arsenal, but instead, optimism that she'll get to see more shinies.

Mick glides amongst the group, hesitant to make much of an impression. The bottle of Mezcal produces faint swishing sounds that track to their ears almost like whispers, secrets told between kids in tents in backyards, a flashlight beaming between them and casting their conspiratorial meeting aglow in larger than life silhouettes on nylon mesh walls. The ork sizes up the crew opposite their own, acutely aware that uneasy allies such as these often have a way of sticking a knife in your back when it's turned in a fire fight. Still, the adept can't help but crack a smile at Candy's odd-girl-out disposition.

Candy looks up at Zal, seeking silent permission. Zal shrugs, resigned to let his people remain at ease for a while longer.

"Uh huh," Candy says to Mouse. The diminutive rigger is bedecked in a canvas jacket sporting a wide range of drone manufacturer patches. The sleeves have been elongated so that only her finger-tips peek out. After extending both arms, a pair of small butterfly like drones swoop out from the confines of her garment. The elegant, clockwork-esque machines fly in a coordinated figure eight above Candy's head. After a circuit or two, the butterfly drones begin to spin and disassemble, re-configuring themselves into something reminiscent of twin daggers; the sharp ends of which are pointed towards the ceiling, for politeness sake. "These are my dancers," she says reverently.

"Those dancers have a body count," Zal remarks. The pride in his voice is unmistakable.

Candy glows at the praise, a slight flush coming to her cheeks.

Zal clears his throat. "I'll have my people see to the requests you made. Is there anything about the plan you wanted to go over?"

"Oh, now where did you score these absolute beauties?" Axel finally asks with a hue of awe to his voice. He watches the butterflies transform into daggers, all while maintaining altitude. "The propulsion method is obvious when they're just butterflies, but when they're in this mode? Gods, that's clever."

He blinks as if first noticing the woman for the first time. "Axel, by the way. I'm the puppeteer for our team." He extends a hand enthusiastically.

Candy gazes at the floating blades admiringly. "My rig can broadcast parallax Abraham-Lorrentz fields. The drones themselves have magneostatic processors, so I can use the corresponding recoil to plot a trajectory. It took a long time to learn how." On command, the blades cross one another and then transform back into winged forms. She turns her attention back to Axel. "Nice to meet'cha! I can't wait to see your friends!"

Lafayette's eye is locked on to Thoryne's assault rifle. "Nice shooter," he says simply.

Charlie folds her muscular arms. "So this is the detention block team, huh? Who's the CO?"

"That's a good question," Zal replies. "Although we'll be sharing comms, for the sake of organization, who should I consider the point person?"

Mick shifts uneasily at the idea that any of the team might consider themselves the ork's commanding officer. Still, such structures are a fact of life-- and particularly for military groups, be they para- or proper. "Probably Taipan, here," Mick indicates the stone faced street sam, whose acceptance of his leadership role seems to remain apprehensive. "He's been accused of being our boots-on-the-ground Tío for this op, such that he wants to be."

Zal nods at the suggestion. "While you decide, I think it's a good idea if you have a better understanding of the island's defenses. While the plan is to bypass them with our ruse and ultimately shut them down, I think it's good knowledge-- just in case. Baek?"

Baek steps forward, flashing a perfunctory smile at each member of the team. He places a small plastic cube on the floor, from which springs a wire-frame hologram of Alcatraz that slowly rotates in the middle of the foyer. "Black site D was always meant to be a maximum-security detention facility," he says. "The designer clearly wanted to deter escape attempts and breakouts, judging by the multiple different levels of defenses."

A trio of bright pin-points alight on the wire-frame. "There are three CIWS turrets at the West, North and East end of the island. This is the strongest of the anti-aircraft and anti-ship defenses. Their effective firing range is about a kilometer, but they can reach up to five, weather permitting." A large number of lights appear, encircling the perimeter of the island. "Next are the depth-charge mines. These are triggered by proximity, but pinpointing them is difficult as they have a coating that resists sonar and they're rigged to change position at random intervals. As if that wasn't enough--" Baek pinches an edge of the hologram and spreads his thumb and index finger. "You see this hatchmark pattern? There's a network of electrical transformers on the sea-bed. The system detects localized organic life and is capable of releasing current into a specific zone. I don't need to mention what happens to electricity in sea-water, do I?" He straightens and returns to the hologram to its original size. "The defenses work on an authentication methodology: ignore friendlies, engage hostiles. At a certain distance, the system requires operator input to engage, but get close enough and the system itself will make an executive decision. It can also be temporarily deactivated by the operator."

"Hence the subterfuge," Zal says. "The strength of their automated defenses makes them arrogant. Once we're on the island, we'll only have to deal with manned patrols and guards. When we take the command tower, we'll power them down completely."

"Oppa, what about drones?" Candy tilts her head at Baek. The spider drone on her shoulder leans forward as well, as if expectant.

"Fewer than you'd expect, due to the absence of qualified riggers," Baek replies. "I expect a few automated surveillance drones. They probably won't scramble the combat drones unless the alarm is raised."

The entrance door slides open and Anne-Marie steps in, carrying a large bundle of crossbow bolts slung over her shoulder. "Just as I thought," she says. "Brand new." She shrugs off the bundle and hands it to Reiya. The bolts themselves appear to have carbon fiber shafts and titanium, serrated heads. "These are designed for drones-- hunting prey that can outthink the hunter is all the rage these days." Anne-Marie eyes the nasty looking bolt-heads. "But I imagine they'll work just fine on organic targets."

Reiya follows the introductions and the details of what they're up against with a mix of interest, boredom and distraction; nothing mentioned is in her wheelhouse, but she tries to absorb the basics anyway. And then Anne-Marie hands her a ton of crossbow bolts. "Shiny," she says without thinking, but it's true. Reiya certainly couldn't afford these. "They may even get through that special armor."

Man, these military guys just can’t get enough of tactics. Wonder why Taipan is so quiet.

“Well, based on Baek’s assessment of the defenses, it sounds like we’re really gonna have to sell the ruse, else we might be fragged before we set foot on the island.” Yung purses his lips while furrowing his brow, attempting to figure out the details of his social engineering plan.

After a moment of contemplation while absentmindedly fixating on the serrated bolt tips, Yung produces his comm link. “I’m gonna step out for a few, I’ve gotta think without any chatter, no offense. Anything critical, please let me know when I’m back.”

Yung turns to address Anne Marie as he starts walking toward the door, “Don’t think you heard the request, but if Tex has a nice bottle of Japanese whiskey, Yamazaki Reserve or 12 year, still in the box, that would be ideal. Part of the plan of course.” He winks before continuing through the sliding doors while putting the comm link in his ear.

Anne-Marie hooks a thumb over her shoulder and addresses Reiya, "He always that cocky?"

Zal seems to be lost in thought.

"Chief?" Zdenka asks. "Something on your mind?"

"The biggest unknown in this endeavor is one we lack the ability to reconnoiter," Zal says. "Baek, any idea if there are magical defenses?"

"There's the warded detention block, of course. Kuroikaze squads always have at least one mage. Why?"

"Geek the mage," Lafayette adds flatly. "Always geek the mage first."

"I'd hate to avoid sentries just to get spotted by something I can't see," Zal says.

"I could probably score some deepweed," Charlie adds.

"No deepweed," Zal says, shaking his head. "Slows the reflexes." He turns to the team. "Any of you awakened, by chance?"

“YES.” Even though the question had been aimed at Reiya, Mouse breaks away from her briefing notes in immediate, almost reflexive response. As far as she’s concerned, the answer’s as outwardly simple as Yung is, even if Reiya could likely add more nuance to that depiction, what with her enigmatic powers like assensing and ‘actually listening to people’.

She looks back at the revolving wireframe, squinting at the sheer volume of deterrents scattered across the bay floor. “STILL GOOD TO KNOW, IN CASE FOR WHATEVER REASON YOU CAN’T HOLD THE TOWER. ALL THE MORE REASON TO HAVE PIRACY AS A FALLBACK, SO WE’RE NOT STUCK PLAYING THE WORLD’S WORST GAME OF MINESWEEPER.”

On mention of the awakened, she fires off a single nod. “WE HAVE… AT LEAST TWO?” There’s a clear falter in her sentence as she clearly remembers the incident in the cave, her eyes briefly darting to Mick, not wanting to volunteer that information on their behalf. She’s not even sure if Mick would count themself in that group- relying on the same spurious rounding-up that happens whenever Mouse is served a drink.

Instead, she tilts her head back toward the door. “AS YOU CAN SEE, AKELA HAS THE SUPERNATURAL ABILITY TO PICK THE EXACT WRONG TIME TO FRAG OFF.” She grits her teeth, before adding, “I’LL MAKE SURE HE GETS THIS INFO.” She figures she’ll append it to the old prison-flicks she sends him later tonight, which he may or may not have already forgotten about.

“BUT REIYA HERE IS PROBABLY OUR CARRY.” She gives Reiya a playful nudge, beaming up at the shaman with a cheeky grin. “SHE DOES ALL THE MAGIC. TALKS TO GHOSTS AND EVERYTHING. HONESTLY, SHE PROBABLY DOESN’T EVEN NEED TO WORRY ABOUT SHOOTING THROUGH THAT ARMOR, SINCE SHE’S GOT, Y’KNOW, MIND BULLETS.”