| From: | Mike Goldberg <michael.goldberg@*******.COM> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Collection due . . . please deposit life in slot. |
| Date: | Thu, 7 Sep 1995 22:25:27 MST |
+++++ begin transmission
You see a medium height human, with close-cropped black hair walking down
the street. His duster is open and the wind of this rainy night causes the
duster to ripple behind him. He is clean shaven, but his blue eyes seem to
take in all the action on the street. He seems to not be too thrilled with
something. You think it might be all the elves around him, but you cannot
tell.
+++++ Initiate trace.
+++++ Tracing...
+++++ Trace Complete. Location: Dublin.
He is carrying a duffel bag with him. You see him step up to an ork that
is standing just inside a doorway. The ork sneers at him and says, "We
don't allow breeders like you here!"
The man smiles thinly. His smile never reaches his eyes as he says, "I
know you allow humans here, and I also know that there is at least one in
there for I am to meet him here. If you hinder me (a gleam enters his
eyes), I could arrange for you to feel as helpless as the elven rich brat
you just threw out ten minutes ago."
The ork looks surprised but it quickly wears off in anger as he registers
the insult. "Why I outta --"
The human smoothly interrupts, "And if I am late to my meeting, you will be
wishing what I was promising instead of what will happen to you otherwise.
LET ME IN!"
The ork stumbles back in surprise at the ferocity of the human. In the
ork's hesitation, the human, walks in the door. He quickly scans around,
and says across the bar to the human bartender, "I'm here to see 'a
Collector.' My name is Christopher Harker."
The bartender shakes his head and says, "He's in the back room. Make it
quick, for he only has the room for a half an hour longer."
Christopher makes an elaborate bow and then heads to the back room. As he
shuts the door behind him, you hear a vaguely familiar human voice say,
"Excuse me, but you happen to be in my way. . ."
---
A small, thin man smiles as Christopher enters the room. Christopher
studies the man for a long while. The thin man has a long, piercingly thin
nose, greasy brown hair that looks like it hasn't been combed in weeks, and
beady little dark brown eyes.
As your attention wanders around the room, you see two men tied up and
gagged in the corner. One is a young human teenager and the other is a (it
is hard to say but you guess) middle-aged elf. Both watch the man with a
careful eye. You can see that they are relieved in some manner.
Christopher says, "Hello. You haven't changed one bit." He extends his
hand and proceeds to shake the other man's hand.
The thin man says, "You have me at an advantage, sir, for I did not truly
know you except from that one video posted a while back."
Christopher smiles and nods, "Of course, how silly of me. Let's us be
seated, since we have a lot of things to cover in not much time." They sit
down. "My first question is: Who are those two that you are keeping in the
corner?"
The man grins and says, "The boy is 'Sprinkler' and the elf is 'Rook.' I
saved them from some trouble with Ares it appears. So now they are guests
of mine."
Christopher stops smiling and says, "And you trust them with the business
that we are about to engage in?"
The man grows serious and says, "They aren't going to be telling anyone
their stories in a few days."
Christopher says, "I see. Very well." He opens his duffel as the
'Rat-faced' man tenses. He throws the something on the table that catches
your breath. It is one, definitely used left cyber-arm. 'a Collector'
smiles as he starts to look over the arm in great detail.
Christopher merely leans back in his chair and sighs, "Boy I am really
tired. I hate traveling a lot in very little time." He eyelid start to
droop and he seems to be nodding off. The thin man is oblivious to
Christopher as he examines in great detail the arm. The elf in the corner
is watching him closely and raises an eyebrow at Christopher.
A few minutes pass, as you watch (almost bored to tears) 'a Collector' tear
apart the lower half of the arm. Christopher starts forward suddenly and
says, "Dear me. I almost dozed off. Sorry about that." 'a Collector'
looks at him carefully before starting back on his arm.
After a half-minute more of study, the thin man says, "The arm is
authentic. Poor Blitzkrieg. Very well, let's start talking about prices,
shall we? -- WHAT? This is a private meeting bartender!"
You see the bartender has quietly slipped in. He says in a smooth, rich
Irish voice, "Sorry guvnor, but it seemed very important to tell you this .
. ." The accent stops as the next sentence is said in very fluent German,
"My wicked Collector, it is time to die!"
The thin man stand up in horror, as Christopher slams the thin man's hand
that was reaching toward a holster onto the table. Christopher smiles
tightly and says, "Did you truly think I would sell you Blitzkrieg? You
are blind."
The bartender draws his sword. It is a beauty of an medieval broad sword.
It gleams wickedly in the dim light. You can see the terror in the thin
man's face as the bartender rapidly moves and thrusts the sword through the
man's gut. The bartender grunts as he literally lifts the man off his feet
and forces him to slowly slide down the sword. The thin man screams in
agony as his blood pores out and over the bartender's hands. After an
agonizingly period of time (turns out to be relatively short) the man stops
screaming. The bartender kicks the man off the sword. He grins and looks
at the two in the corner. He says in a smooth Irish accent, "How are
they?"
Christopher smiles and says, "I believe they are Sprinkler and Rook. Two
friends of Kor I believe. And they owe their lives to you for killing 'a
Collector', Herr Nightmare."
The bartender smiles as he looks them over and says, "Excellent." As chill
runs down your spin, you note that his smile never reached his eyes.
Looking into his eyes, all you can see is the eyes that are cold,
calculating and willing (maybe even eager) to kill. ]<<<<<
-- Christopher Harker <21:21:37/09-07-56>
