Crack in The Wall

[Noth Squadron]

. . .Kendrick Walter, Noth Squadron . . .Vicinity of Planet Wiesbdaden, Omega-55 I sat forward in my chair with not much to say, offering only a nod to telegraph my understanding of his request. Some parts of my internal monologue were rhyming, speaking was risking saying things that didn't need to be said. In front of us was something I almost found impressive, an armored and armed bag of rats clinging to a life, glory, and honor that they haven't had for some time. The rattle was almost as loud as the voices, and the colors bled out that violet hue of desperation. I heard the hiss and pop of a drink, bitterly distant, somewhere deep down the halls, and I mentally wrote off Twenty-Five's help for the next five hours. His effectiveness was low enough without an allied crew to infect with charisma, alcohol was going to lower his control of the social dynamic. Our targets certainly couldn't be in the best state of mind, but it would be a waste of time telling him to not drink on the job, as well. Inefficient. I strapped my handguns to the holsters on my thigh and chest, both covered by my coat. I also put on a deployable wrist blade, just in case. I'm not good in delicate social situations, so if Twenty-Five fails the speaking portion of this, I'll need to drag the both of us out of this. The memory of a demented tarot card flashed past my eyes. Aspirant, hmm? "Ante up and cards down."

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