No Strings on Me

Mr. Brett signs back into his pseudo account and resumes therapy with his long term BCT head shrink who he refers to offline as "Dr. Honeypants." During his week of therapy he disappears frequently for more chrome, and also collects his favorite canvas shopping bags (One with pictures of cats knocking over bottles of milk and another with pictures of kawaii fruit telling the shopper to buy fresh kibble and save yen) and heads out shopping for things and knives.

After the thing tells the guys (and gals) about the other thing and the thing we gotta do to keep that other thing from thinging us, he scratches his beard and purses his lips in thought. He turns to Sergei, his face hard and stern, resolve burning in his eyes. Suddenly, his face softens. He speaks to the AI...

"I really thought you were more of a hotbox but, if that's who you want to be.... then I support you. Spaghetti it is."

Brett wrestled with the concept of calling the AI spaghetti throughout the week and it often popped up in his therapy sessions during the introspective struggle. Relenting to the box's desire brings him a great sense of relief, however, and he lets out a heavy but relaxed sigh.

"So, what's up now? We're Killin again?"

Da. Put new metal to good use.

Sergei also received therapy during the downtime, but also doubled down on his cybernetics. Where once were his cold, but expressive eyes now sit sensors, gently whirring in the background. His speech was more clipped, more curt, with fewer smiles and jokes.

I cannot stay inside forever. We earn freedom or die like dogs. Either way it ends.

Well said Sergei. It's about time to finally leave this place for some fresh air. As the heat is still on us, I have recalibrated cloaking device on my car and it now works perfectly. And added some security for the locks - to always have a car to get back too:) Could be useful to take some attention from us while doing business in the city... So when are we leaving exactly? - he said, playing with a new keys for his car in his hands. There was a visible dose of impatience in Neons body language.

"Since my place is burnt anyways, best hit the streets," Spacer says with no visible mourning for her workspace. "We should get some sleep first. I will keep an eye out; if this person found us, 'Saka likely isn't far behind." Lacking the same pep she displayed upon the first meeting, she turns back towards her desk and works on prepping her deck. Partitioning, cleaning... perhaps worshiping, if one looked with a certain lens.

Using his new chrome, Sergei scans all around the meeting spot using the full spectrum of his optics. He is looking for the infrared heat signature of people, but also the exhaust ports of any vehicles or machinery, including cybernetics. He looks for any one in the visible spectrum at low light, and also uses his UV spectrum to look for the soft glow of tritium sights or depleted uranium.

Flesher had been uncharacteristically solitary during this downtime. While normally she would be looking to start shit to either fight or fuck, things hadn’t been the same. Aware that she had made some minor upgrades, but it was the more major upgrades to her comrades that changed their responses to her jabs and prodding. There was a lag at times and zero recognition at others. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more; their decreased humanity or her decrease in fun. Part of her was changing too.
What good is winning if you ain’t there to fuckin’ revel in it?
She got into the car, sat in the backseat, and kept relatively quiet.

"What's it looks like, Red? Cold as the iron curtain or are we in business?"

Brett quietly disengages the safety on his assault rifle and puts a few incendiary shells into his pocket for later. He keeps his eyes peeled and intermittently activates and deactivates his radar.

One body. One armored vehicle. Let’s go. No lights.

Sergei leaves the vehicle at the ready without waiting for the others. Quickly but controlled he closes the distance to the figure until he is a suitable distance.

Somebody order pizza?

It’s a joke that is delivered flat with only a twinge of mirth.

Neon waits for others to leave the car, going after Sergei. If someone stays, he shrugs his arms and leaves the car. Being quite proud about his latest adjustments to the his Chevillon Thrax' cloaking system, he turns towards it and presses a button on the remote control with his right hand. He widens his arms, with a big a smile on his face - while watching his car, that slowly, but completely disappears from the view in just a few seconds as he would like to say:
"See! Isn't it a pice of art?"

To be honest he doesn't give a fuck if anyone else is watching it too. His inner satisfaction is enough for him. Then he starts to walk towards Sergei - not being very fast about it. As they would be on casual walk near the river or something like that...

Mr. Brett grimaces and hits the comms

"Drone has eyes on you. Get that job and bounce."

Brett gets out of the car and walks around to the far side, putting the ride between himself and the armored vehicle. He continues to scan.

Spacer hangs tight in the car. She slides over to a door seat, ready to book it if things go sideways. But for the moment she sits and waits. Almost blankly.

Flesher considers sitting in the car with Spacer to get to know her better, but felt no encouragement there.
Not one to stay bored, she slides out the door and slips into the shadows to watch what goes down with Serj.

Sergei thinks deeply as the figure speaks.

Without raising the alarm? This makes job much more difficult. What materials will you provide? Munitions? Tech? Also, there is the matter of payment. My crew is not cheap.

Da.

Sergei considers the proposition for a moment. Briefly and ever so slightly he begins to look back to the car, but stops. His face grows more resolute.

We take job. Any thing else I should know? Our last fixer liked surprises. I do not.