To: Methusulah. Subject: You're a techfinger. Care to get some grease in your beard?

[Jayenbee]

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This message is highly encrypted using syndicliga proprietary encryption cryptography through intranet-publicneralink drops and are functionally untracable if no sender address is given. Abuse of Intranet functionality commands community service punishments as listed in regulation five three seven gamma six. security is assumed. Any deliberate or otherwise location triangulation method successfully employed against anonymous transmissions will receive either a one billion credit reward or immediate incarceration dependent upon disclosure and motive. The revanchist council requests that Arbeiters do not squander valuable neuralnet bandwith on the consumption of CNS articles, adult content, or gambling, and advise that the relevant arbeiters employ public terminals for such use, rather than the secure line. Communal enforcement may differ between Reichsarbeitergesellschaft der Alsterian and Landwirtrechbewegung cells. Consult your admin for technical support or contact your resident Neural Technology Help Specialist at www.totallypacifica@notAHacker.net. The Union reminds Arbeiters that "trolling" is not an acceptable standard of political debate, unless aimed at capitalists, fascists, militarists, etc, who lack the neurological prerequisites to engage in such discourse. Southern Unioners are encouraged to remember that the average Unioner's literary age is roughly analogous to a twelve year old on PCP, and are encouraged to avoid engaging in difficult subjects, and are suggested to stick to familiar subjects, such as the market value of cardamine, bundschuh-based footwear puns, and the general terrible quality of life aboard wedel mining station.

Have a glorious day, Comrade user. - Unity, your resident Neuralnet VI.

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To: That Hellion kid
From: Kalle Niska, AKA 'Methusulah'
Subject: Took you long enough.

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Niska adjusts his hat so that it rests just above his eyes and kicks his boots up against the console, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly as if to exaggerate the red glare from his bionic right eye, shifting a cigar about in his mouth with his tongue. Taking out what appears to be an old gas lighter of unknown origin he flips it open, striking a light to ignite his cigar; the warm glow eerily illuminating the old man's withered features. He takes in a deep puff of the cigar, exhaling through his nose, staring the camera down all the meanwhile.

"Y'know, you talk too much kid. Where I come from, that gets people killed."

He takes another brief pause to puff on his cigar, as if purposely taking his time to make a point.

"That said, you have my attention. This 'RELA' of yours is some interestin' stuff, but what made you assume I gave a damn about doin' somethin' familiar hmm?"

Yet again, he pauses for another puff on his cigar, holding stern expression on his face. After a couple of seconds his expression quickly softens, being following by momentary coughing-laughter.

"You got it kid, I'm happy to take a look and take a look I did. What we got here is high-grade crap, it's gunna take a bit of work and I can't do it alone. Besides, you sure I'm qualified for this? I mean, I know, but; you hear a guy boast and suddenly you wanna give him a chance? That's some rare trait of yours right there, kinda admire it."

Niska stretches, lifting his arms up as he does so, revealing a partially cybernetic right arm. From the looks of it, his arm must have been pretty mangled once upon a time and the cybernetics themselves have likely have seen better days. Upon lowering his arms, he leans forwards slightly staring deep into the cam, taking several cigar puffs.

"Y'know, this'd be easier if we just stole some Zoner, Hessian or Coalition tech right? Reverse engineered it, combined it with our own... just sayin'."

He leans back and shrugs, taking his cigar out of his mouth for the first time, toying with it in his four fingered cybernetic hand.

"And about that havin' your back an' all that. Think nothin' of it. I just didn't wanna lose a potential drinkin' buddy."

A great big grin spreads across his bearded face, revealing a set of poorly maintained teeth, many of which potentially being his own, before placing his cigar back into his mouth where it belongs, taking another deep puff in and then out of his nose.

"Keep me updated kid and I'll do the same, we'll get this crap in workin' order in no time, save our indentured colleagues and live to tell the tale with a pint in hand."

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Scrambling access point...
Decompiling neuratrace...
Signal Lost.

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When contending with a monster, you'd be wise to give the devil his due.