Robots, Wine, and Nox

[Fernand]

Premise;

Planet Nevers, one of the few planets in the entire sector to accomodate a dry, summery climate fit for the stereotypical viticulture that the Gauls infatuate themselves with. In conjuction with the nice weather its oceans are cool enough to harbour tunafish and marlins - also colloquially known as "Swordfish". These aspects further embold upon the Gaul culture - making Nevers one of the most important planets in Gaul space by virtue of tradition and agriculture. Not to mention the temperate weather-equilibrium most islands and archipelageos within the equator have, further fancying the planet as resort-like. Who wouldn't want to live on such a planet? Sprawling cloudscrapers with the view of charming vegetation, blue water-bodies and endless vineyards, streets clean of grime & dirt - speck-clean as if the planet licked itself spotless when no one was looking - of course the job of the menial bots was the result of that, working at the early hours of morning as to not disturb the citizens and tourists and sully the good portrait of the planet. If it isn't the agriculture, its the contrasting and sodomized nightlife Nevers has to offer. Districts filled with your average-joe casinos to underground drug-fuelled raves to blatant escort-services. Luckily these places are quote unquote regulated and hidden from non-native eyes, but when the occasional tourist does happen across one of these districts, they usually come out with the anecdotal experience of "A night to never forget" - that is if they hadn't been bled dry of their francs or blood.

One such individual, bearing the moniker Fernand, was an inhabitant of this paradise. Although not in his perspective. Y'see - Fernand was not high-class, nor even middle-class, non non. Fernand was at the bottom of the food-chain, despite having a degree in Automated Engineering, he was earning scraps and scrutiny from his colleagues & bosses working as a vineyard-automator. He'd have to singlehandedly inspect the miles of yield, program the robotics & even repair the machinery whenever the century-old bots would show their age, if his labour-like salary wasn't enough of a show, the extreme budget-cuts of this certain firm would affirm anyone with more than a dozen braincells this is not a fruitful establishment.

---

Exempli Gratia of a mundane day for Fernand is as follows;

Wake up at five a.m - before the cleaning-bots would finish their daily routine - eat the same basic groceries he can afford, sometimes spicing it up by playing with various spicing, flame magnitudes and going as far as introducing movement techniques such as hover-circling a pan to create an interesting dual-texture to an egg.

Show up at the vineyard at six a.m - Fernand has an initial dull routine he must do before he can spend the rest of the day idling. First, he must check for any insect infestations that could've flourished at night, did I mention the long stretches of grapes? That's where he gets his cardio from. Secondly, inspect each and every bot for fuel, correct programming and having to test-run in the case of a faulty line of code or a loose screw. This is where he gets his back-pain from. Thirdly, and arguably the worst one for Fernand, report to his boss that everything is in-check, this is where his mentality suffers the most.

"Right, Freddie" the boss doesn't even care for his real name, despite being employed for well over a year. "I hope you didn't fuck-up like last month with the bots"
Last month Fernand worked one shift where he didn't get enough sleep, as a result of his reckless maintenance, a small portion of the vineyards got cut whilst being half-ripe, resulting in a rather minimal loss as he stopped the bots before they could even harvest more than a hundred meters of land. The boss holds this incident as an omnious bargaining chip for his employment.

The boss holds almost no identity other than a cheeky smirk that's stapled onto his face whenever he condescends to "Freddie". His attire is upkept and pure-white, just like most rich businessmen in Gaellia, not a single curl exists upon the suit except whenever he crosses his hands towards Freddie. His hair short and overgelled, you'd think he implanted a coat of pearlescent paint.

"No, monsieur, I double-check now ever since th-" his speech is abruptly cut by the boss. "Good boy, you've no idea how much you've cost us with your insufferable mistake" Fernand sees the exaggerated lie like an aura emanating from him, but is powerless against it. "I apologize, yet again, monsi-" abruptly cut again. "You can go now, you have three more hours for your shift, don't slip on spilled machine-oil and crash the entire automation, eh?" not a milisecond after he finishes the sentence his gaze is turned back to his mundane paperwork and waves him off like a pesky fly. "Brûle en enfer" muttered under Fernand's breath. "What did you just say?!" the boss keenly opens his ears for snarky comments after he belittles his employees, to further play with his prey. "I just thought I'd make some Brulee le Creme for dinner tonight..." Nice save. The boss grunts in disdain and waves him off again. The extravagant mahogany double-doors shut and Fernand goes on to "enjoy" his elongated lunch-break, alas he exhausted all productive activities the job has to offer.

At the end of his shift at six p.m - he would sit and chat with the guard at the gate for an extended period of time, sometimes until the guard's shift would end - five hours later. He was the closest thing Fernand has to a friend. "Y'know, I thought this place would be a dream-come-true, instead its a visage for hell itself. All this beauty yet its just a curtain for sick & cruel people, where's all the compassion gone?" The guard hears Fernands depressive outburst and gives him a life-changing tip. "You want something to cheer you up? At the brink of midnight, down by the Ebrinum district, you know that giant billboard with a woman licking that wine-bottle? Turns out its a clever illusion & entrance to a whole new rabbit-hole of a world. The password is "Tandis qu'ils dorment, nous ferons la fête" - give it a try one weekend, it might help you bear this boring day-to-day"

---

Fast-forward to today, Fernand is pacing back & forth in his miniscule apartment - containing just a tiny bedroom with an even tinier bathroom attached to it, a short hallway connects to a cubicle-kitchen, and a small extrusion to the front door is situated at midpoint of the hallway. Thoughts are racing, from premature retirement to go as far as suicide at one point, he can't decide on how to move forward and improve his wellbeing. With the incredible amount of sorrow & stress - the guard's offer sparks up in his mind - he contemplates a few moments, thinking he's not really fit such environments until the realization of "What's the worse that could happen?" finally embraces him.

He wore a grey-suit with a blue checkered tie and a pure-white undershirt, his trousers matching the suit and black shoes to finalize the respectable look. Leaving his abode at half-past-eleven sharp, he struts anxiously to the alleged rabbit-hole that awaits him. He reached his destination, upon further inspection he notices an outline to the billboard which he never did before. A small push is all it took and he is greeted by a scary steel door with a slit on it head-height. Knock knock - silence, he attempts again but to no avail. Seeing things not go according to plan he does a one-eighty, only when he puts his hand on the secret billboard-door he feels an urge to stop, he came this far. He adjusts his tie, combs his hair and double-checks his ties - all good.

Knock knock - "Tandis qu'ils dorment, nous ferons la fête" - those few seconds felt like a whole minute, until the hiss of the steel plate releases and slides inwards. Entering the lobby the place seems like a doctor's office, it is not after a bouncer comes out from the other door that the sound of bass thumping the interior encompasses the room. The bouncer waves Fernand to follow - follow he does - a trek through a cramped hallway with many ninety-degree turns, and the looming bass getting louder & louder, ends with a gigantic, multi-floored club. The DJ is floating on a platform above the grooving dancefloor, at least half a dozen bars in every corner & floor - all having their own theme of drinks & liquor. Despite the hundreds of people, the club is relatively spacious and breathable. Overwhelmed with the amount of choice, he is struck in flabbergast, but breathing techniques always work to calm the soul.

What ensues is a rampant & reckless endeavour to taste whatever the club has to offer - a few expensive drinks and an attempt at the dance floor which proved too uncomfortable for left-footed engineer. He mingles & mangles wherever he can, but is either met with silence or a scoff, socializing - especially with these people - is hopeless. Just when he was about to raise arms and return back home from a rather disappointing night, a poke is felt on his shoulder - a man with a loosened suit, tie hung from either side of his neck, sweaty all-around and seemingly dilated pupils, offers him a rather obscure hand-sized cylinder. The contents could be a myriad of things, but Fernand did not hesistate to take the leap. One inhale is all it took for the colours to start become even more colourful, patterns starting to emerge and foolhardy aspirations to "get crunk" highten. Whether it is the alcohol synergizing with the unknown compound or the compound itself he didn't care. Everything is suddenly alright, attempts of mingling are actually met with positive hollers and he even earned a kiss on the cheek from a gracious & bodacious lady for being generous with a plain & simple cigarette.

Amidst the euphoria and ecstasy, something - no - someone, caught the eyes of Freddie. A blood-red dress stands out like an elephant in the room, the svelte figure would don large, circular earrings, a kept top-bun held all strands of hair with determination and dark Stilettos would flock from her legs - clack clack - audible as they may be despite the obnoxious club-bass. She stood out to him like how a pollen-rich flower stands out to a bee - his gaze tunnelvisioned - Freddie subconsciously followed her throughout the club, trying his best not to seem like a desperate stalker. He floated after her like a cartoon character being baited by the fresh aroma of oven-baked pie, the smell of her parfum encompassed his lungs - Fernand became predatory & lustful for this one. After a few struts here & there, she would enter a secluded hallway that was seemingly empty, as if it was the way to the storageroom, Freddie didn't care if he went into a restricted area and sequentially followed suit. Losing her sight in the process he engaged in stealthy steps and followed the sounds of her strident stilettos and reached a simple wooden door - voices are heard through it - Freddie instinctively crouches and realizes his rather silly reaction, why is he so uptight?

Peering into the room ever so slightly, he decides the coast is clear and enters silently, quickly hiding behind a stack of wine-crates. A conversation is heard between a feminine voice and a rather raspy, masculine one. "Madame Cartier, it is so great you came on such short notice" Freddie peeks over and sees both figures sitting parallel to each other on a plastic desk, the man wore a white military attire with green accents - medals, tags, and a beret strapped on one of his shoulders - no doubt someone in service. "Let's skip the pleasantries, Gerard, my time is short" She condescendingly speaks to the officer, he is beneath her in any shape or form by the sounds of it. "Did you acquire the intel I asked for? These shipments won't set out unless I'm sure the freeport is willing to buy them" crossing her hands & legs and proceeding to wiggle the above leg up and down, the officer caught attention of her pure skin because of her playful legs - she snaps her fingers to refocus the soldier "Sadly, madame, we don't have that information at this given moment. It is too dangerous for us to venture that far without raising suspici-" The madame furiously stands and flicks out something metallic - but her hand is empty. After a second the officer realizes his palm is penetrated into the desk with an illustrious dagger. "What do I pay you buffons for? Utterly & completely useless" surprisingly the officer contains his urge to shriek, trying to show confidence but proves futile. Two guards come into the room - the madame's lackies - bearing similiar outfits to the officer she just impaled "Get rid of him" she mutters in a cold tone and proceeds to take back her knife, holstering it into a thigh-sheath, a peek of her underwear was seen.

"And you" Freddie's heart descents to hell, hes been discovered. "What did you hope to gain by following a lone woman into a secluded place?" He slowly ascents, knees shaking and stammering an incoherent response. "I-i-i was just c-c-c-urious..." Freddie's body language shows all signs of weakness and frailty. "Curious, huh?" She raises her chin in a demeaning way and shows a slight smirk. "W-w--well.. I was coaxed by your beauty, mademoiselle, honest" Was this the correct answer? Am I going to be disposed like that officer? Moments of dread pass while the woman was tapping her chin in thought. "Do you know who I am? Obviously not, lucky you" starting to joyfully manipulate the aura, she penetrates his gaze with hers, eyes locked devilishly. "I can't let you go after what you saw, unlucky you, what will I do with you..? Hm.." Not a second later after her beguiled contemplation she gleefully announces Fernand's new career "From now on, you are mine, you will do as I say, when I say, capiché?" He nods erratically. "Here, I'll even give you your first assignment - You will be escorted by my men to Monte Carlo Freeport, there you will take a Tarvos and fly with a full cargo to Freeport 2, Bering, it is situated in the midst of house Liberty & Rheinland - good luck, newbie." On that closing note she pickpockets the bleeding officer and throws a PDA towards Freddie. "If you have any questions, use this - and don't dare to waste my time with stupid ones" Madame Cartier proceeds to exit where she came from. The men ask Freddie firmly to follow them.

---

Fernand now finds himself at the Tarvos' cockpit, about to undock into the unknown, a charted map signifies the path through a series of zig-zag-like patterns, with systems such as Tau-31, Drake, Colorado, Laptev, and finally - Bering.

He speaks his first words ever since he was extracted from his mundane life
"Did I just become a Drug Mule?"