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Title: Talking Scrap

PCs: Detour, Overclock

Location: An alley in the Dead End

Date: 04 March 2015

Summary: Detour talks with scrap, the scrap talks back.


Junk. Junk. And more Junk. A boxy mech with a grave demeanor walks stiffly between shanties and scrap heaps, moving carefully as if to try and avoid touching or being touched by the inhabitants and their filthy make-shift homes. The mech as a rifle out, occasionally using the end of its long barrel to poke in piles or knock things out of his way. Besides that, it makes him look more formidable and less like an easy mark for mugging. It is clear that the mech finds this place distasteful and would rather be elsewhere, which begs the question, WHY is he there? 

While poking a heap of garbage, a large turbo-rat roughly the size of his arm shrieks and dashes out, biting at the end of the rifle defensively. Detour whacks its nose with the edge of his rifle and then holds the large weapon in one hand while he uses the other to get out a smaller weapon. He is quick to fire a discharge of blue electricity that arcs to the mechanoid rodent, causing it to squeal in pain before it falls over, stunned, but not dead. Detour swaps the stun gun for a device which he holds over the fallen rat and presses a button with his thumb. Instantly it sends out a grid of lasers which form a cage of sorts around the vermin. The mech picks this cage up and brings it closer to his face, inspecting the specimen with scrutiny.

The sound of weapons fire is enough to make most of the sector's inhabitants take a few steps back. Many of them are damaged enough that one stray shot could be fatal and Detour's open carry display has the bulk of them keeping a safe distance.

One exception to the rule looks up from a scrap heap she'd been laying on not too far away. Sprawled on the pile as she was and with much of her interior bared, she could haven been mistaken for scrap until she raises her head and looks over out of silent curiosity.

"Guess it'll have to do..." Detour mutters. The cage and rat inside it get stowed away in subspace, and the mech resumes holding his rifle securely with both of his hands. He seems to not care about the empties scuttling away in fear or think much of the disturbancehe is causing as he tromps further into this part of Dead End, poking more heaps. He turns, and is about to poke the heap Spectrum had been lying on, but then pauses when he is aware of someone staring at him. And it isn't a look of fear. Nor is it a look of hostility. The mech frowns slightly and cautiously takes one step closer, examining the sprawled out individual, and its exposed inner workings. The mech looks disgusted.

Spectrum's body is reclined partly on and partly in the pile with one knee lazily raised and one arm dangling off the side. A sizeable piece of scrap metal protruding off the same forearm is resting against the ground, and a quiet but perceptible hum betrays that the pump just below her chestplate is still running. The femme looks back with mismatched optics, one cracked and one whole - at least she might be a femme. There's enough paneling missing that it's genuinely hard to tell.

"Have you never seen a robot's insides before?" She asks in a slow drawl endemic to many empties. "Scavenge away, I won't bother you."

A derisive snort follows the femme(?)'s sarcastic question of whether or not he'd seen insides before. "I'm not a scavenger," the mech says with clear indignation in his tone as he looks at the individual. "I'm a trapper."

"Scavenge, trap, same thing," Spectrum asserts dismissively. "One moves, one doesn't. You picked quite a place to work."

Another snort comes from the mch as he turns quickly, having heard some shuffling just too close to him, and points his rifle menacingly. Although he doesn't see anything move away, he certainly hear's a frantic scuttling fade into the distance. He then slowly turns back around to the gutted femme. "Not my ideal. Been a while since I got my own hands dirty, but most of my hunters have been..." he trails off and then cocks his head to the side. "You would not happened have seen a tall insecticon femme in these parts?"

The empty smiles a little as Detour distracts himself briefly. "Seen? No," she admits in the same lazy tone and pauses for a deep breath that rattles something in her chest. "Do you have anything of hers to show me what she looks like?"

"No," the mech responds plainly. The mech pauses a moment, glancing around himself, and then he stares up at the sky for a few silent moments. Without so much as a 'goodbye' the mech holds his rifle firmly in his hands and begins walking off, dismissing the femme as just another hunk of junk hardly worth his time.

Spectrum's smile widens. "You haven't used those thrusters in a long time, have you?" She guesses as Detour turns to leave.

The mech pauses for a moment or two. He then slowly turns back, staring at the mess of a femme. "Wht's it to you?" he asks in an almost snarl. Of course he is curious on how she'd know after a brief encounter, but he's not about to go asking questions just yet. Maybe he'l make some demands...

"You might like to think you're above us, but with your boots on the ground you're only a few steps away from homeless, yourself," the empty goads as she sits up, causing loose parts to clatter down the pile and better exposing her own workings. "And you'll never find her that way."

Detour's frown deepens, taking on a rather sour aspect at the empty's words. "At least I am intact," the mech scoffs, sneering as more of her is exposed. "And at least I can keep myself moving rather than to lay around and let the scavengers have their way with me." There is a strong disgust in the mech's voice as he speaks, and it is no surprise when the mech turns away again and bgins stomping off.

"For now," Spectrum laughs as she rests her hand on the scrap heap and watches Detour leave. "What's the reward if I find her before you?" She calls before the mech can leave earshot.

The mech looks over his shoulder but does not walk back to her. He calls in response, "50 000 shanix for the Head of Scorn. But I'm not hunting her for the reward - I'm the one issuing it." Detour then continues stomping, and it doesn't look as though he'd listen to anymore from a femme laid to waste.

As Detour's footsteps leave earshot, Spectrum slides back onto her back. Her pump hums with fresh life as she contemplates. "Almost too rich for my oil... almost. I wonder how much Scorn would pay for him..."

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