Private &nbsp; Bought and Stolen For...

// Weapon: Hand Canon + Mouth

Corellia.

Ugh. Brokellia—Was more like it.

Over the years there had been extensive efforts to correct the damage that had been done to the so-called explorer's paradise. Mr. Antilles had visited Coronet City once before the fall. It had been a long time ago. There was nothing much to speak about, except, the leftover ship parts that could be found at a steep discount. It was a cesspool of debauchery. Grey and dark. More than once she had been forced to flee from shady one-eyed pirates in a vessel that wasn’t really made for it. Now?

Now she visited this sector as infrequently as possible. The closer she got to the Core, more importantly, the closer she got to Coruscant—The higher the likelihood would be that she would run into less than friendly individuals. She might have burned a few bridges in a job or two.

Or three.

But they couldn’t prove anything. The charges had never been filed, nor, would they have stuck. She had an air-tight alibi and always did. There was a reason she was the go-to when it came to “opportunities” that were high-risk and high-reward. She could fill any role, perform any task, and never fumbled. While her not-friend-but-maybe-friend

Alistair Key asked her to join him for yet another escapade she couldn’t refuse. He was crazy as chit. But, the credits were good. Clean.

The auburn-haired woman had long hair pulled up into a svelte chignon while her porcelain painted face was etched perfectly with just the right amount of color. Black eyeliner and luscious lashes topped with a deep purple shadow that ran into a smokey fade. Her cheeks were tinted with rose and her lips were dangerously red. It was her favored shade, ‘Catnip Cookies’, and had actually been named after her by a new vendor in the Cirius System.

Who would travel several parsecs for a good lippy? She would. And had. Planned to - Next week.

Mr. Antilles was sitting on the edge of the bar in the back with a microphone in her hand. They had a decent set up in this absolute dive, a glitz band, with an omni box, prishti bulb, a bass vye, and a synthtone. She would have been impressed if it weren’t connected to anything that had to do with Corellia. There was a reason why they met on the station. Not the absolute dump-heap that was the leftovers of some bygone horror flick. The bartender had been slipping her a decent handful of credits every time she ran through a new song. The customers seemed to like it a lot more than the jizz songs the glitz band tried to do. It was sad, really.

“Times have changed
And we've often rewound the clock
Since Tatooine got a shock—
When they discovered Bantha Rock…”

She sang a slow old folk-tune. Her voice was low and soft, though, just as sultry as her appearance. It didn’t seem to affect anything that she smoked about two packs of tabac a day. Her eyes lingered on the less than pristine patrons while she surreptitiously kept an eye on Key and his supposed associate. The sassy woman and entrepreneur didn’t know what had him so fussed. Normally, he was hard-pressed to care. Unless it involved “revenge” or “evil mastermind” plans that were no doubt destined to get him thrown in a gulag.

When a young woman in baggy clothing entered, she nodded to her associate. Key had the easy job. All he had to do was secure the third for his little scheme and they could get the party started. She could only take so much of this cheap booze, so long, before she got rot gut.

That would make this job a lot harder than necessary.

Alistair Key · Oct 21, 2020

LOCATION: Corellia Station
WEARING: xxx
TAG:

Mr. Antilles

Cold eyes were fixated on Mr. Antilles for several moments. They had worked a few times together, but this was the first time he had ever heard the woman sing. She was full of surprises that one, Jack of all trades. Of course he would have to use that term. Calling her a Jill of all trades would likely end in a broken wrist or a broken... something else. Alistair did not want to really think about the consequences of making that mistake, or even what would happen if she knew he was doing it intentionally. Normally he did not care, but today his mind was fixed on the job.

Her eyes moved, they were signaling that someone was looking for him. It was a subtle gesture, but Alistair had learned to read such mannerisms when he worked law enforcement. Cop turned Criminal was a more common story than people knew, but his was a bit more... dramatic. Perhaps he still would be an upstanding citizen had the institutions he had sworn to protect had not failed him. Family, friends, his job, doctors, insurance... everything he needed to count on most had all let him down. They had all fallen short.

Alistair would rebuild it all, but first, he had to tear it down.

Revenge was a simple motivator, and it paired well with his objectives. This particular job was beyond what he or Mr. Antillies could do alone, and the cyborg which now stood in front of him had certain skills and predilections which were required for this operation to be successful. The man looked around the cyborg and gave Mr. Antillies a simple nod. It was indeed their anticipated third party.

"Don't mind if I do," he said taking the offered drink from her hand. "Gemini, have a seat for a moment. I was enjoying the view," he added as he nodded toward the sultry woman that had been singing. A smirk pulled at his lips as he extended his hand and motioned toward an empty seat. "She will be joining us well, just uh... be careful to not make the mistake of calling her sugar. She hates it."

Alistair took a sip of the proffered liquid and let out an audible sigh of pleased refreshment as the contents of the glass met with his stomach.

"Not bad for cheap stuff. Corellians were always more known for their ale or red wines. Can't bring myself to drink something so low class though. I like expensive things."

He took another drink before setting the glass on the table. The clink of the glass against the surface echoed in his ears slightly as he reached for the datapad which was just inside the brown suit coat he was wearing. Fingers pulled up a shipping manifest for Locke and Key Mechanics, a company which Alistair was intimately familiar with. Mr. Antillies was correct in her assessment of the charismatic lunatic. Everything he did, down to the smallest detail of the most insignificant job, was about revenge and the plans which he laid out to achieve it. This job would move the plan forward while taking a shot at a small, but sweetly satisfying, bit of retribution.

"Locke and Key has a shipment of weapons leaving this evening. I plan on stealing it, and I need help to do it. I stand to make a lot off this little job, so the pay is good. I just have one rule... No questions... so... in or out?"

All he needed was a yes to get the ball rolling.

G 3 M 1 N 1 · Oct 23, 2020

Teaming up with other people like this wasn't within the usual bounds of the norm for G3M1N1, she had her passive reservations lingering within the biomechanical confines of her mind. After passing the graciously gained drink to the man wearing what seemed to be a faux human face, she couldn't help but have her arms subtly move behind her back, her fingers intertwining, thrumming and rolling over one another hidden by her sleeves as a silent protest to the tone of the critique, as well as a sign of one form of anxiety or another. The man appeared, dangerous, it wasn't normal for a humanoid to be wearing the face of another man, which, in her line of work, was all that she could have possibly assumed it was, as it didn't appear to be anything like the medical skin grafts she had seen before. The Blue-Violet luminescence that appeared to be her iris' would fracture into thousands of tiny fractal formations, spreading across the Sclera of her eye, falling into digital binary patterns as she would activate the forensic node here in this bar to gain more information about her employer and the area around them.

Adhering to the offer to take a Seat, G3M would look around the table for what seats where inherently available, the man seemed to be listening to tonight's songbird, But at the mention of her joining the group she couldn't help but wonder who this woman is, the seat that the employer pointed her to was across the table from him, adjacent in a manner that the two of them would be able to face him and talk openly in the mean time. So, G3M1N1 simply sat, folding her arms as she would ponder who this woman was, turning her active scanners to her, half inspecting for weapons, the other half to see if there were any signs, or samples visibly apparent to her UV sensors that would gain even the slightest semblance of insight to what the young canaries' position would be within the group, especially considering the warning that was given.

"So... who is she to you?" G3M would speak in the interim between Alistair's words, probing a little into the nature of someone who would be joining the two of them, unsure of how a woman capable of singing in a smokey lounge would be part of a job which would require a person to put a word out for someone like herself... However the topic would quickly junction into talking about the apparent swill that she had attained for the man. G3M seemed taken back by the insult at the drinks, she had thought herself paying the man a simple respect, but it seemed that it had been taken as some kind of routine service, simply an expected behavior and one which she had failed at, evidently. It didn't take her sensors to understand that whoever this man was, he was one of Ego... and men with ego were always dangerous. So for now, she would listen, attentively as he spoke while she would follow his almost affectionate gaze upon the cantinas' entertainment.

No questions was it? It was a simple request in theory. but there were ways to move around such convoluted order but for now, G3M would need more information, ho "Additional requests means additional payment, Allow me to pick something from the loot when we acquire it, within reason, as well as my payment and you have yourself a deal." G3M's eyes wouldn't be taken off the entertainer sitting on the bar, violet flame wreathed in circles dominating the dim light of the cantina around them as she stared in wonder at the confident diva. She didn't have much interest in the loot, not really, but it was a test to see if there was some give and take between herself and her employer. Not a question, but a demand. All relationships needed to be stressed to see if they would bow or break under pressure, and when military grade weapons were involved, bowing would be essential. If he accepted the proposal G3M would listen to a reply before continuing. But the tension of the situation was beginning to get to her, stress levels were rising higher and higher, G3M1N1 wanted, no, she needed a resolution to the inner conflict surrounding trusting this man soon, before she felt herself withdrawing from him entirely.

"I haven't heard of Locke and Key before, but if its a weapons shipment of any decent size its going to be guarded by weapons of at least the quality they're shipping. I trust you have more information than a simple shipping date and a hyperspace route, and I will need those details to carry out the job efficiently." There was a shift in the voice of the once meek girl which had first entered the Cantina wide eyes with curiosity and anxiety. G3M1N1 had accepted a job, and the second she did some of the casual veneer of shyness, awkwardness fear vanished as little girl melted away to be replaced by something more confident, stalwart and imposing. Some of her facial features shifted, contorted like flexing a muscle, making her look older than a teenager as she would lean back in her chair, thrumming her fingers against her folded arms. The Violet-Blue Iris' which burned within her skull taking on a Violet Red hue in their stead, binary streams flowing through them constantly which one with a keen eye would be able to confirm the existence of personality subroutines which had kicked into effect when a 'mission' was involved.

it was time to begin.

Alistair Key //

Mr. Antilles

Mr. Antilles · Oct 23, 2020

// Location: Corellia Station

// Tag:

// Weapon: Hand Canon + Mouth

Mr. Antilles caught the eye of Alistair and sent a saucy wink in his direction. To anyone that was not familiar with their rather tumultuous and complicated dynamic, it would have seemed like a harmless flirtation from across a crowded room. Her funny-faced friend would know to read it exactly as it was meant to be delivered. A warning that was loud and clear as the rising sun. Don’t kark it up.

It always struck her as odd when he sought her out for his machinations. She was, generally speaking, against everything he wanted to stand for. It was true that she had her own code of ethics. It was skewed beyond all reasonable measure, but there were some jobs that even she wouldn’t take. It was all a matter of what she felt to be totally FUBARed in the galaxy. She cleaned up the mess. She sorted the chit. She didn’t often add to one end of the scale or the other.

At least—not enough to make the scales tip. Most of the time.

Sometimes. Probably.

She was still miffed that Alistair thought she couldn’t do this job alone. It didn’t matter though. He was the sucker flitting the bill in the end so Mr. Antilles let him call the shots. Okay, some of them. Not all of them. For now. The auburn-haired vixen with the hour-glass figure shifted from her lofty position at the bar and rolled from one song to the next without missing a beat. Somewhere in the distance, she heard someone order a drink she hadn’t heard of in ages.

Kad. This place was an absolute dive. Alistair was going to owe her a lot more than a tube of lipstick and a good time before everything was said and done. She watched the poorly dressed contact, target, what-have-you, fodder, make a connection in passing. She hadn’t puller a blaster on him yet. That was a good sign. Or a bad sign. She could really, really, never ever be sure when it came to Mr. Bloody-Karkin’-Crazy-Arse-Key.

“Do we have anyone here in the crowd that remembers the Death Star?”

She lulled the sheeple in with an easy smile and a sweet bit of flippant charm while a few hands went up. Some jokingly. Some not. Some of these patrons were geezers of the finest quality. The glitz band kept the beat going while she teased, joked, and played the part of a perfect entertainer. It had been her calling once upon a time. That ship had sailed, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hunt down the paddle boat to make her way back every now and again. “Tough gig, huh. Well…Here’s a song for you. You can sing this the next time you spot an X-Wing squadron in your trench…”

“If you know what I mean—And I think you do.”

The band kept going while she cast a fluttering wink to the drunks and creeps with and laid-back laugh. The song itself was a hit that she had picked up from a real flighty fellow named Ricky Cheese that had one good eye and one good leg. The other ones were made out of glass, wood, or spare robot parts. She wasn’t telling which was which and what was what. Afterall, Mr. Antilles did not believe in the time-honored kiss and tell. A secret was a secret. “Alright, fellas…”

“Get set up for your attack run. Stay on target, steady on target.

You were the one who changed my world.

Really, blew it up—You were the one for me.

You lit the fuse, I stand accused—You were so deadly.”

“Oh Baby, you dropped a bomb on me.”, she went on, grinning, when some of the lyrics caught a chuckle from the intoxicated riff-raff. Okay. Maybe this mission wasn’t all bad. “You. You dropped a bomb on me…”

“Got your hand caught in the, wookie jar, but I’ll never forget you’re my—Shooting star, but Baby…”

She caught Alistair’s wave that it was time to join the kiddie table and slid off the bar top as she finished the song. Her deep red outfit was touched with black paneling and only seemed to make her that much more forbidden.

“You…You dropped a bomb on me.”

She handed the microphone back to the bartender and took her share of the credits that had been collected. And the cigarette straight from his pouty-sad-mouth that he’d lost his cash cow for the evening. As Mr. Antilles sashayed away, she waved to the new fans she had accumulated. All who were the very definition of coyote ugly—Before she sat down next to Alistair, kicking her feet into his lap, and not all that careful to avoid his ahem before she let her eyes fall to the missing pieces of the puzzle.

“Mr. Antilles. Charmed.”

It did make her eyebrows raise that the badly dressed cutie hadn’t heard of Locke and Key before, but she was a forgiving tyrant. That was about when the QT seemed to get a little weird. Mr. Antilles specialized in the weird, strange, and generally unusual as all kark but this was something new. Grey eyes focused on the changing of her features. Well, hot dog. Little Miss Sunshine was either a cyborg or a pretty toaster. Antilles brought her cigarette up and took a drag with a flirtatious little grin.

This…Just might be fun after all.

Alistair Key · Oct 23, 2020

LOCATION: Corellia Station
WEARING: xxx
TAG:

Mr. Antilles

Alistair smirked and nodded as the sultry Mr. Antillies shot him a proactive look with an over the top wink. He could almost here her voice in his head saying wink as she did, dripping with the playful tone her voice liked to take at times. She didn't have faith in him to keep from screwing it up. What did she care anyway, it wasn't like she was thrilled he insisted on finding an extra pair of hands. Besides, what Antillies may not have been aware of was that his job was more about the cyborg than the guns they were going to steal. If Alistair had his way, the day was going to be very profitable, and the top hat wearing vixen would have a much larger payout than she had originally bargained for.

Gem's voice pulled his attention back to the matter at hand. Who was Mr. Antillies to him?

"It's... complicated."

The answer wasn't exactly honest, and at the same time it was. Alistair did not really know what Mr. Antillies was to him, a friend, someone he hired on occasion, a paramour, that annoying itch in the backside that you couldn't scratch in public... there were all kinds of labels perhaps, but in the end they were what they were. Alistair had credits, and she needed them. It wasn't like the two were joined at the hip or anything of the like.

He almost spit out his drink when a Qui Gon Jinn and Juice was ordered. Could this place fit any more of the stereotype that it already had. At least Mr. Antillies seemed to have the crowd eating out her hand, and was pulling away with credits for a side hustle. Not that the barkeep minded. Her singing kept the patrons in their seats and ordering drinks. Overall it was going to be a good night for him too.

Details.

Apparently G3M1N1 wanted a better pay out. The maksed man smirked and laughed. He downed the rest of his drink before pointing a finger at the prospective third wheel.

"I like you... you want a thing or two off the haul, fine. Your fee and what you want, within reason. I got my eyes on something specific anyway. The rest is just to finance future operations."

They would have a deal, about the time the auburn haired beauty joined them. Alistair grunted a bit as her heel dropped on his lap in a rather inconvenient location. He knew her well enough to imagine it had been on purpose too. The introduction was simple and short. Alistair liked it. They were back to business in no time, though it seemed Mr. Antillies had a few fans that kept looking toward the table.

Allistair shot them a hard glance as he jerked his head toward the door. It was his way of telling the men to beat it.

"How about being the former head of security for Locke and Key work for ya? I can tell you how each shipment is guarded, and I can also tell you that everything has to come right through this station for customs. That's our window. We hit the shipment the only place the security escort can't watch what's going on. I got it all worked out in this head here... trust me... it's a piece of cake!"

He looked over to Antillies before she could say anything or shoot him some look that would cat doubt on the whole operation.

"It's a piece of red velvet... smooth... promise!"

G 3 M 1 N 1 · Oct 23, 2020

... ... ...ANALYZING SOCIAL CUES... ... ...

When the additional reward was confirmed, G3M would give a curt nod, motion sensors, while there seemed to be some play going on at the odd drink that a patron had purchased to once side. The Qui Gon Gin hadn't quite hit G3M as hard as the Flying Solo or Java the Hutt. They had been her introduction to plays on language for the sake of humor, and had caused her to have a laughing fit that was more embarrassing the more she thought on it. Thankfully, time had dulled those senses somewhat, but somewhere deep within her, a more childish version of herself couldn't help but giggle like the child she mentally was.

As Mr. Antilles sat with them, she would hoist her legs all but slamming them down into Mr. Key's unmentionables, a move that mere moments ago would have seen G3M shy from the impact of the blow, inquiring to his health and well being, now however she observed the interaction curiously, attempting to ascertain the relationship between the two of them. Complicated was the term he had used to describe it, but the two of them, if not intimately familiar, had some degree of closeness. In the system's general information, casual physical contact on such a level, especially involving vital organs was either a show of personal intimacy or an open claim of hierarchical dominance... Both seemed likely at the time when compared to the tone and sharpness of Mr. Antilles' voice as she would introduce herself to the newest member of their little cadre.

"A pleasure, Gee Three Em One En One, Mr Key here has already surmised it is simpler to refer to me as Gemini. Your singing voice was admirable, it had entranced many of the patrons here. I can see how that would prove useful on a mission of this nature."

The details of the job soon-after would begin to drop, G3M1N1 would begin to absorb the information, processing them through her combat computer as she would attempt to develop a combat oriented three dimensional map in virtual space, however she needed a little bit more information to complete her simulation. the importance of the goods being transported could likely effect the voracity of the resistance they would come across if they were to simply hijack or assault the convoy. How many ships in the convoy would also matter or if there was a single freighter involved, its class and size would suffice. Then there was the matter of the level of training and the types of armaments at the disposal of the men in question. So, she would continue.

...PROGRAMMING VARIABLE SCENARIOS... ERROR, INSUFFICIENT DATA...

"Excellent, I'll acquire no more than two pieces of equipment at a value of no higher than 3.5% of the shipments value. I will also need to know likely numbers within a standard range, the kind of transport or other vehicles they are likely to employ as well as ordinance we will likely come encounter in advance. From that I can generate, and project if you desire, a holo-image for planning our approach. As it stands however, I do not possess enough required information to begin running combat simulations effectively. "

G3M1N1 would confirm to the two of then, remembering her parameters to not ask questions, so she simply made demands. It had seemed to earn the appreciation of Alistair already, perhaps the forwardness would garner the appreciation of Mr. Antilles also, seeing their connection to one another. G3M, as almost a flight of fancy, or perhaps rogue humanness would brush some of her synthetic hair away from her eyes and face. As she was computing, scanning and adding information, the images reflected in her cybernetic eyes would be awash with a cascading waterfall of code which was being processed before her vary eyes while the maintained the conversation. The constant shift and flow of the digital lights reflected her thought patterns as she held conversation, changing shapes and disassembling any information that was received by her almost like a music visualization image.

Should G3M be given the required information, and should they agree to the holo-image, she would produce, with approximation of what she could find on the holonet, images which would approximate the scenario of the ship in its hanger, G3M had already observed the security of the base on the way in, and could happily extrapolate the Corellian security which would be in place at the dock depending on the docks size class. Entrances and Exits would be highlighted including ventilation and docking stations. A projected number of civilian engineers and tradesmen would be apparent in the image also to keep the scenario as realistic as possible. If this plan were to go smoothly, it would need to be relayed, and so G3M would await it, mindful of there being no other creatures within earshot.

...AWAITING PRIMARY MISSION DIRECTIVE...

Alistair Key //

Mr. Antilles

Mr. Antilles · Nov 5, 2020

// Location: Corellia Station

// Tag:

// Weapon: Hand Canon + Mouth

If she knew that Alistair described her as complicated, she would have gone upside the back of his head with the flat of her hand. That would teach him.

Thankfully, she was blissfully unaware of his slander. Instead, she was stuck enduring his depraved idioms and she ground her expressly high heel into his groin area. An apologetic smile with a far too innocent “Oops” would ensure he sufficiently assumed it was deliberately. He seemed entirely too confident about this operation. Mr. Locke himself knew her face after the incident at the Casino in that freaky little backwater.

Mr. Antilles gave her full attention back to the third member of their merry little band of thieves and tapped a well-manicured nail on the table for a moment. G3M1N1? The designation confirmed her suspicions about her, rather, it being a brave little toaster. There were more than a few markers that gave the general idea of an HRD or an Android, but that was the kicker. No parent that loved their child named their youngling that. Not unless they wanted them to get beat up on the playground and have their lunch money stolen. “Roger roger Gem.”, she responded breezily, raising two fingers to her temple to offer a low-key salute. The compliment toward her voice made her laugh. It was a low, pleasing sound.

“Nah, honey-girl. It isn’t all that. These fellas are too drunk to know what good is. As long as it isn’t splitting their eardrums we’re golden.”

The auburn-haired woman wasn’t sure she wanted to correct the QT-toaster about what her role would be on the team and cast a sideways glance toward Alistair Key. She wasn’t certain about this one. It seemed that she had multiple modes to run through so that she could operate with the right programming. Did she have something specific for a smash and grab? Or was she just using an algorithm for predictive outcomes? Did Key even know her specs?

“I’m a jack of all trades. I can fill whatever role we require, though, I doubt singing will get us in.”

It wasn’t completely off the table, though. She couldn’t imagine that working at Locke and Key was any grand affair with how exceedingly dull their CO was. He was hunky, for sure, and more metal than man—But party animal? He was not. “Not a lock I can’t slice. Not a target I won’t hit.”

Not a man, woman, or slug she couldn’t distract.

With a roll of her shoulders, she pulled her legs out of Alistair’s lap and put her cigarette out in the dish on the table. A little automatic enclosure wrapped around it to get rid of the butt and the smoke. Her arms folded as she leaned on the table with a full bosom resting on her arms. “Look…Kiddo…Have you ever done something like this before? You’re low-balling your gains and you don’t exactly blend in. You’re a lot harder to off than the average hired help…”

“But Locke and Key can put the inexperienced on right quick. They make the best tech, hands down, this side of the verse. Moreover—They know how to use it.”

Her concerns were valid. She wasn’t so much worried about her own skin, but she didn’t want to lead anyone down a path of criminal intent that couldn’t really comprehend the consequences. Mr. Antilles had never been caught. It was because she knew how to read a room, knew when to hit, and knew when to fold’em. Could an automaton anticipate that? Did they project enough of a facsimile of human ingenuity to pull it off? Sure, she was precise. Accurate.

So was a calculator. That didn’t mean it was a good idea to bring it to a heist.

Alistair Key · Nov 7, 2020

LOCATION: Corellia Station
WEARING: xxx
TAG:

Mr. Antilles

Mr. Antillies was not complicated at all. What one saw is what one could expect from her. Sure she could surprise on a job, but that was the nature of the fact she was a jack of all trades. No, she was not complicated in the slightest. Alistair had simply suggested their connection to each other was complicated, and more so that did not have to explain to the cyborg that having Mr. Antillies around was about more than just how useful she was on a job. The crazy man liked having the woman around. She was a free spirit, and for all the chit they gave each other, Alistair enjoyed the company.

Being insane was a lonely thing, but he would never admit it.

He winced as the woman drove her heel into his groin. His eyes shot her a glance, a quip ready on the tip of his tongue, but he thought better of it. Alistair knew the woman well enough to know that whatever it was that he was about to say would only make things worse for him in the long run. Mr. Antillies was not a person whose bad side you wanted to be on.

Alistair just hoped she remembered what the real job was here.

"Look look... we ain't about to take on a Locke and Key security escort on before they get to this station, and we sure as hell aren't doing it after they leave. Customs is the window."

He smirked when Antillies put out the cigarette and asked her questions of the mechanized human in front of them. She seemed to be concerned with the way it was projecting.

"The cyborg will certainly blend in though. Please tell me that you got the uniforms? See going in as customs agents should allow us to get onto the transport ship, especially if it gets flagged for investigation. Hypothetically if that happens the crew has to get off the ship. We walk on... we hack into the navigation controls... we do something to ensure the engines malfunction... or we just steal the ship outright with all the guns."

Alistair leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head, clasping his hands together as he laced his fingers to rest on the base of his skull.

"Just sending Locke a message is all. The man needs to know he is vulnerable... that ego of his... he may be the best, but he isn't invincible. No one is."

The masked man leaned forward once more and took one last gulp of the cheap booze.

"We ready to do this thing?"

G 3 M 1 N 1 · Nov 10, 2020

HOSTILITY DETECTED ... CALCULATING REPLY

GEM1N1 could hardly process the seemingly endless streams of doubt that reverberated within the voice and subsequently the expression of Mr Antilles. Each of them poured off her form as an endless stream. The girl within GEM1N1s iron frame sat back within the pilots seat, surrounded in a virtual space, clustered by the many prompts and questions of the assisting AI as it had taken control of her motor functions for the mean-time, performing its duty to support her during her recovery. Suffice it to say that G3M didn't like this woman, her inner eyes would narrow in her direction, pacing around her to get a better view at the simulation... she seemed brash, overly cruel and beyond all others, egotistical. But such women rarely got to be so outwardly that way without being put in their place quickly... it is a cruel Galaxy out there, if someone were to be half as rambunctious as the creature that stood before her she would have spent the better part of her career putting those who objected to such behavior in their place before they could put her in hers. Suffice it to say she was dangerous, and G3M didn't need her AI to tell her so, although she could see that her forensic scanner was seeking to take note of her muscular density, likely an attempt of ascertaining her physical ability just in case something were to break out between the two of them. G3M slapped the approve for the scan, it seemed harmless enough, it's not like the woman would be able to spot the scanner with a million other processes occurring simultaneously unless she had some tech to prevent it or alert her. It would simply translate as G3M1N1 giving her a look from head to toe, cocking a head to a side to better take in her entirety.

As the woman began a spiel of her own GEM1N1 would take it in, waiting for an opening to answer, the automaton sitting upright, poised like that of a princess or a palace guard. Stalwart, but unnervingly unmoving until she had a reason to, the micro-expressions that had made her seem more human had all but dried up, despite the welling flows of condescension which Mr Antilles brought to bare... GEM1N1 had, with a show of strength impressed Alistair Key, but she doubted doing the same to Mr Antilles would be as easy, or as risk free. Mr Antilles would likely not be the kind to respect GEM1N1 if she allowed herself to be pushed around and doubted, but she also doubted she was also the kind to enjoy being publicly challenged. Which left one method of attack... a common enemy.

"To put doubts to rest, as it seems they are plenty, yes, I am new to this kind of game. Yes, you likely have far more experience than I, Mr Antilles. I've been in employ for one year and seventy two days. However, in that year I have taken on the Crymorah syndicate and won. Mrs Key here, despite their many faults, bought in someone worthwhile, because, While Locke and Key may have the best tech this side of the Galaxy, I am the best Locke and Key have to offer"

G3M1N1's hand would move to one of the plates on her arm, lifting it up to reveal the Locke and Key product stamp in the lower corner of the shade-steel plate which had been pressed into most of the individual sections of her body. A symbol of ownership, a makers mark. But as demonstrated via her somewhat hostile rhetoric now, G3M1N1 had figured in the end that through Alistair was the method to get to the heart of Antilles, she didn't seem to be the kind to care for others around her... more than that, she seemed the kind to harbor some anger, misplaced or otherwise at the man who had hired her for the job, so, it didn't take much outward analysis to inform the decision to commiserate with that anger. After all, if Alistair Key was man enough to take a heel to the groin for the service of Mr Antilles, he would be willing to take a couple of tactical verbal stabs from herself for the sake of the job moving along at more than a glacial pace. G3M1N1 would look to Mr Antilles when it came to the acquisition of uniforms, unsure if Mr Key was referring to her or G3M as to who got them. though within the body Gem figured that he was talking to the slightly more scantily clad of the two... She seemed the kind to easily rob a man of his clothing. But she would turn to Key...

"I am ready, I have current up to date Locke and Key passcodes and phrases to access low security Locke and Key areas should I need them for the purposes of my own maintenance, apparently being a client there enough to get this done to me was enough to put me on the mailing list. But I typically use other channels. So I don't mind burning them for the sake of this job, if the payout is as nice as you claim it to be."

G3M1N1 would release a datadisc from the arm which had the panel lifted up, pinched between her forefingers on the same hand as she would elevate it into a two finger salute before holding the disc out for one of the two to take it. While it was not necessarily one of the intended things that was asked of them for the job, if they were taking the uniforms from guards, it might be good to have some access to some Locke and Key channels or if the docking area was more of a permanent Locke and key owned docking bay, they would likely offer a more complete cover, as uniformed men and women without codes would also be suspicious.

Standing up from the table, G3M1N1 would do a quick check of the weapons that she had on her person. Her integrated weapons were on board, she held enough ammunition for two reloads of each, which was more than enough for most engagements domestic or otherwise. Her legs held a pair of Bandorium alloy vibro-knives in her hidden compartments, enough to evade basic scans, though relatively easy to acquire within her line of work. Her larger weapons, sadly, had to remain on her ship, hauling around weapons of war in the middle of a space station, especially two of which were intended for anti-armour would draw even more attention to the cyborg than she already had. It was a shame, but nothing could really be done about it. G3M1N1 was ready to go, Gem, within her, wasn't so sure, these people weren't the kind she had worked with in the past, there was something... off about the two of them. She'd taken down gangsters, criminals, even an assassin once... albeit some time ago. But the people she had gone up against were killers, wrongdoers, criminals. She figured that these Locke and Key folks, from what she could tell were weapons merchants, another massive company that dealt in the business of death and carnage...

She would have questioned Mr Key about it... or maybe Mr Antilles, but she'd given control to G3M1N1 now, her consciousness rode passenger for the mean-time observing the world second hand like a drive in theater. They'd have to see where things went.

1207

Alistair Key ||

Mr. Antilles

Mr. Antilles · Nov 30, 2020

// Location: Corellia Station

// Tag:

// Weapon: Hand Canon + Mouth

Alistair was such a crybaby.

Honestly.

He seemed to forget that she had been involved with the seedier aspects of society back when he’d still been a card-carrying do-gooder that chose to be on the right side of the law. Legitimate work, etcetera, etcetera, so on, and so forth. His infantile understanding of the galaxy had only cost him everything that mattered. His family—And even his face. That was what obeying the standards of the reigning social order awarded the sheeple that fell for the oldest lie in the book. The notion that people were inherently good at their core. The belief that they would, in the end, do the right thing.

Her grumpy and rather frumpy meal ticket had learned the hard way.

As queer as he had become; he wasn’t sheeple anymore.

“Just because you have a bone to pick with Locke and Key doesn’t mean I’m in the mood to die today. I might not be young anymore—But I’m still pretty.”, she drawled out slowly while lifting a well-manicured hand to pick at an imaginary imperfection. Her nails were pristine, blood red, and matched her lipstick but they were shaved short to avoid any mishaps. Ever tried firing a blaster with a three-inch nail coated in Corellian lacquer? Not, happening. “I’d like to keep getting my kicks before I start looking like you, Key.”

She could feel the QT Toaster-5000 giving her a rather thorough review from across the vaguely sticky tabletop. Mr. Antilles didn’t mind. She couldn’t have known, of course, that the automaton was scanning her to extrapolate a potential threat level but there were some things that could be discerned between the bouts of silence and the way her head snapped to the side. It wasn’t human. No matter how excellent her tech was; she was so very, very far from what she presented herself to be. The act was cold. Like a bird of prey seeking a rodent scurrying through a field.

Antilles was no rodent.

Her expression slowly cleared from laughter while the machine seemed to gather its faculties so that it could decide how best to respond. Once upon a time, Alistair Key hadn’t known her as well as he did in the present. They hadn’t always been on friendly terms. He had come to her side, been her back up, a friend of a friend, and he’d brought another fool named Silcona Lie, as even more back up. Mr. Antilles had ended up killing Silcona. Now, the little chit had tried to kill her first. Antilles, had just been quicker. Alistair hadn’t taken it well. They came to a steadfast agreement. They could draw on each other; or she could owe him one.

She still owed him one. Among other things.

There was a brief moment where her sweet, easy smile, faded away and translucent grey eyes fell cold as winter skies. The dark-haired woman listened while GEM responded, clearly, with some help from her ‘superior programming’ and the assassin turned medicinal philanthropist didn’t look when offered the Lock and Key emblem. Antilles got the funny. Ha, ha. Very, cute. She could appear harmless when she wanted to. The lightly tanned woman had worn all manner of disguise. From down-homey and comfortable to high-class and untouchable. She scarcely looked like herself, on occasion, until one met the eyes. She could have been dressed up like a frilly priss in a Nabooian Parade, but as long as her eyes could be glimpsed, she could still send lesser beings running screaming. She was a consummate actress, but unless she worked at it, that was the giveaway.

If eyes were the mirror to the soul, Mr. Antilles was in trouble, because no one was home.

The chilled expression slowly faded while she exhaled, wishing, she hadn’t put out her cig so fast. She hadn’t missed the dig toward Alistair. “Listen, kiddo…”, she trailed off, a smile pressing her countenance into something entirely Cheshire and unreadable. “You don’t fit the bill…But you’ve got chops. I can respect that well enough…”

Pause. She seemed to be expressing something close to warmth. As if she was glad that the AI had put up some sort of fight. Genuinely, glad. It wouldn’t be comforting. One of the main reasons she ever looked that pleased was because there was a timer set, ready, and burning daylight until she was able to rip someone a new one. “But if you mouth off to Mr. Key here or disrespect him again?”

“I’ll turn your Lock and Key-certified ass into scrap.”

She leaned back in the chair while robo-bunny did her thing. She said her peace; and didn’t care much for what followed. Eyeing the cigarette longingly she sighed with no lack of drama and nodded to Key when he inquired about the uniforms. “Freshly steamed and pressed. Got em stashed nearby.”

Mr. Antilles rolled her eyes heavenward when Alistair started to go on, and on, about

John Locke . “One day…You’re going to have to learn to let this go. I get that you’re diggin’ the half-man half-cyborg deal, but trust me—He’d be way more interested in me than you.”

“You’re acting as if he dumped you. It’s sad, Key. Really sad.”

Her painted face formed a little smirk while she slid out of the booth and straightened up. A quick adjustment of her hair, then her girls, and she nodded her head to the side so they could pick up their costumes. GEM had the codes? She had the duds. Customs wasn’t far off and they would hardly look out of place in a bustling, busy, space-dock. Mr. Antilles walked with a surety that couldn’t be questioned. Everything she did screamed that she owned every square inch of tile she walked on.

Even if she didn’t.

She led the pair down a deserted hallway and pressed her hand against a wall. It opened—And she retrieved a briefcase. From there she popped it open and began to deliver the clothing and the goods. Lock and Key ID badges that would register in the system as valid employees. Without them? Even with codes—Good luck cracking the security.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

“Get dressed.”

Alistair Key · Dec 2, 2020

LOCATION: Corellia Station
WEARING: xxx
TAG: