Ysabelle nKataros
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Posted - 2005.01.03 03:01:00 -
[1]
A tight woven skullcap hid her neural plugs - black of course. Snugly fitting her body, an unusually curvaceous one for a Sebiestor, was a matte black bodyglove, long-sleeved to cover the intravenous feeds on her arms. Ysabelle leaned back into the comfort of her seat in the dimmest corner of the bar. A haze of narcotic smoke filled the room, making figures at the far side blurred and indistinct. This place was the lowest, the seediest bar on the Brutor-owned station, filled with the heavy-featured, muscled forms of her larger cousins. The dubious concealment of the corner didn't offer her much comfort, the company being as rowdy as possible without quite being a drunken brawl. There had been more than one punch thrown, but if a fully-grown Brutor male lands a punch, his opponent doesn't tend to get up very quickly. Ysabelle felt vulnerable, exposed, in danger. But that was why she was here, for the rush, the kick she got from putting herself in physical danger. Many pilots were content to stay wired to their pods, their ships permanently, muscle mass slowly withering until their true forms were naught but a skeleton with scraps of flesh. And so they stayed.
But the exilharation wasn't the only reason. Today she was here for information, to find out where a man would be at a particular time.
So she could kill him. Well, killing was secondary to the mission, but if she got the chance, she'd most certainly take it.
But her contact hadn't showed up, or she was late. She'd never been late before, or wrong before. Ysabelle loosened the unobtrusive - and highly illegal - millitary grade sidearm in her belt. It was a Gallente weapon, a blaster pistol with ionised thorium charges. One shot, one kill. She ran her eyes over the scene in the bar, a little quieter than it had been before. There was a trap here, she was certain, her cover had been blown. The muzzle of her blaster slid free of its holster, and she tensed, looking for the danger. Most likely one of the Brutors would start a fight and she'd end up 'accidentally' crushed or stabbed in the confusion. Oh, how wrong she was.
With a stunning bang, a section of wall twenty feet away from her suddenly didn't exist anymore. The shockwave picked up a Brutor like he was made of plas-sheet and slammed him into a group of others, scattering them over the floor. They rose groggily to their feet, and as the ringing in her ears cleared, Ysabelle heared cries of shock from the formerly slightly over-happy patrons. A faint pulsing shriek filled the upper register of her hearing and she almost froze, but managed to duck beneath the table before the three spherical Lycan drones tore into the room with ultrasonic squeals designed to disorient everyone around. "Oh, ****" she had time to think as the deadly mechanical hunters began to search the room. They found you by every means possible, could be programmed with your pheremones, facial maps, movement patterns - more advanced ones even came equipped with an EMI device to find you by your psionic signature. Her augmented hearing registered two moing to the far side of the room, the third heading directly for her corner. It hovered above her table.
Controlling her racing pulse, Ysabelle looked down. The table was Uvarh-wood, a common styling in minmatar bars. And it meant the table wasn't bolted to the floor like in some places. A chance, however slim. She exploded upwards, propelling the table higher. It smashed into the drone, carrying on up to the ceiling and crushing its delicate carapace there before clattering down to the floor behind her. She was already moving away, diving full length over the prone body of an unconscious Brutor. Two distinct tings pierced the rising commotion of the bar, the unmistakable sound of needle rounds hitting a solid object. She could hear the droids ripping through the air towards her and rolled under another table. This time the dual sounds were dull thuds as the needles embedded in the wood. Lying on her back, she kicked the table upwards toward the drones, which dodged around it. But she'd been expecting that. Her blaster snapped up and vapourised one of them in a scintillating blue-green flash. The other was sent tumbling away by the blast, then righted itself and came straight for her, spitting slim metal death.
Or straight for where she had been. The ceiling was held by massive I-beams, exposed metal girders. Clinging to one by her fingertips, Ysabelle swung her boots forwards with crushing force, meeting the drone in mid air and smashing it on the point of her toe. Breathing heavily, she dropped to the floor, scanning the wreckage, the half-stunned Brutors, the broken tables. A shadow appeared at the door and she turned to look.
A slim Caldari woman stood calmly there, short black hair framing her near-perfect face.
"You're late," accused Ysabelle.
"You didn't seem to have much trouble," Yuki replied, "I always thought it was a waste to have so much augmetics
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MAcheTT3 > Hehe, ok... How much would you take them off for? |