Everything's too bright. Washed-out white stings the back of his eyes. There's a hum all around - is it his head or is it the floor?

Max is really hungry. His back and shoulder don't hurt, but his face feels like that one time he got drunk at Mesas Negras and called a bunch of visiting Marines "Navy guys".

Dark against the white now - his shadow? Yep, that and blood left over from a busted lip and dribbling nose. The room (and it is a room, not the loading screen from the Matrix like he thought at first) starts swimming its way back to just this side of blurry.

Sweet Elvis Presley, it's like Apple took over the world. Soft white contours and ergonomic seams line the chrome-and-plastic walls. Max tries to steady himself for the first of many attempts to stand, but his hands are bound behind him. Feels like cold metal restraints-

Speaking of cold, Max has lost most of his clothes. He's got his underwear at least, but apparently the jokers who redressed him didn't realize the side with the tag goes on the inside.

Right, back to standing up. Max tries to stand sans help from his arms, but his cuffs seem attached to the floor with a slim metal cable. After a few tries the action scientist gets to his feet and finds that he's got maybe ten feet of roaming room. He's not sure if his vertigo is inside his head, but he'd bet that he's on a ship or at the very least inside a space station. His stomach's come to know the difference between the faux-grav and the real thing.

Max hasn't had too much time to think when one of the seamy panels in the wall slides sideways, admitting two Turai in full chrome and gold regalia. No guns strapped on their chests or hips, just the short swords. Their booted feet thunk quietly on the thick floor. The next sound is the sharp tap tap tap of dressy shoes on deckplates as a third man enters the room with an almost jovial gait.

"What's up, Doc?" jokes an oh-so-vaguely-familiar voice in perfect English. The voice is young but scratchy, with a metallic tinge as if the stock components can't deal with the language yet. Max looks up and sees a rarity in the Jade Imperium - actual cybernetic parts. One red-lensed eye sits in a round sconce. Filaments woven into facial muscles flex skin that's been worked over to its breaking point by frisbees. Beneath the four replacement limbs, the facial reconstruction, and the endless frisbee regeneration Max sees what's left of the man he once knew as Specialist Benjamin Greene.

admiralducksauce wrote:

"What's up, Doc?" jokes an oh-so-vaguely-familiar voice in perfect English. The voice is young but scratchy, with a metallic tinge as if the stock components can't deal with the language yet. Max looks up and sees a rarity in the Jade Imperium - actual cybernetic parts. One red-lensed eye sits in a round sconce. Filaments woven into facial muscles flex skin that's been worked over to its breaking point by frisbees. Beneath the four replacement limbs, the facial reconstruction, and the endless frisbee regeneration Max sees what's left of the man he once knew as Specialist Benjamin Greene.

Max struggles to find a compliment.

"Locutus of Borg, how nice to see again. Love what you've done with the place. I could use a drink..."

(looks down)

"...and perhaps some clothes that cover more than the family jewels. You know, it's really cold in space...despite all the environmental buffers and such. Speaking of which...Where are we and when do the strippers get here because I could sure use a..."

Max will continue the endless tirade until such time he's gagged or forcibly stopped. He's not about to break.

"You're on the Perfection Vendetta," Greene of 9 answers. "As for the strippers, well, you're the one in the underwear."

He rolls his head, shaking out a crick in his neck. It's hard to tell how far the modifications go. Greene's wearing a loose tabard over a Turai-style undersuit. His drop holster and the sidearm in it looks Earth-made. "Your friends are KIA, man. That freighter's gone. Whose idea was it to name the ship after the damn devil, anyway?"

admiralducksauce wrote:

"You're on the Perfection Vendetta," Greene of 9 answers. "As for the strippers, well, you're the one in the underwear."

He rolls his head, shaking out a crick in his neck. It's hard to tell how far the modifications go. Greene's wearing a loose tabard over a Turai-style undersuit. His drop holster and the sidearm in it looks Earth-made. "Your friends are KIA, man. That freighter's gone. Whose idea was it to name the ship after the damn devil, anyway?"

"Not mine. Got anything to eat? I haven't ate anything passing as real food in weeks." says Max, doing his best to look nonplussed by the horrifically bad situation he's in.

"You know, you cook scrofa right it tastes just like bacon. I've got presets for ham sandwich, steak, fried chicken, a bunch of stuff. But first, why not tell me what you were doin' all on your own?"

admiralducksauce wrote:

"You know, you cook scrofa right it tastes just like bacon. I've got presets for ham sandwich, steak, fried chicken, a bunch of stuff. But first, why not tell me what you were doin' all on your own?"

"The last time I saw them was on Aikoro...That was...Through all the excitement, I'm not quite sure. Now, about that scrofa."

"Wow, that totally didn't answer my question, doc. I know where Top and the rest of the team are. What were YOU doing all on your own?"

admiralducksauce wrote:

"Wow, that totally didn't answer my question, doc. I know where Top and the rest of the team are. What were YOU doing all on your own?"

"Well, that's a stupid fucking question. I'm the only one left."

Greene's red cybereye contracts ever so slightly in synch with the glare from his real eye.

"Yes. You are. Think on that. Now get the man his sandwich," he mutters to one of the Turai.

---

It does taste like bacon, actually. They let Max reposition his cuffed hands in front so he doesn't have to eat like David Hasselhoff. He figures he's got a kicking radius of maybe 15-16 feet now from the center of the room. Greene knows it, and is staying outside of it, which only leaves a ring of 5 feet or so where Max couldn't possibly reach.

"I'd have thought you would've wanted to be more cooperative, given some of the alternatives we ain't exploring right now. Oo-yay lay-pay ice-nay, I an-cay elp-hay oo-yay et-gay ome-hay. What was your mission?"

admiralducksauce wrote:

What was your mission?"

(in Shatner-esque iambic pentameter)

"Well...you know, space is the final frontier. I was sent to...seek out new life, new civilizations. To...boldly go...where no one has gone before. That being the buffet line on Sambasan. Man, this stuff really is good."

"I told you," Greene smirks. "But forget this Star Trek shit. Why're you being a jackass, doc? I'm the reason your arms and legs are still on. Why you're eatin' bacon and not being mindfucked by their jellyfish monsters. I signed on with them, they made me their Rav-Whetu, gave me a whole ship, man. A fuckin' spaceship!"

admiralducksauce wrote:

"I told you," Greene smirks. "But forget this Star Trek shit. Why're you being a jackass, doc? I'm the reason your arms and legs are still on. Why you're eatin' bacon and not being mindfucked by their jellyfish monsters. I signed on with them, they made me their Rav-Whetu, gave me a whole ship, man. A fuckin' spaceship!"

"Prove it. You know I'm no real threat in a stand-up fight. Keep the cuffs on me and give a tour of your ship. You got the recipe for Dijon mustard?"

Greene ignores Max's plea for mustardy goodness. "Since when have you ever been interested in a stand-up fight? See, your problem is you think 'cause I'm a grunt, I'm an idiot."

Max puts some of his language skills to work while Greene's talking and figures his fancy "Rav-Whetu" title means something close to Traitor King or Biggest Betrayer Ever or something along those lines. Greene might be just warped enough to take pride in that, though.

"So...let's cut to the chase. Your keepers have instructed you to keep me alive, but for what reason other than getting back to the Homeworld which I'll tell you right now is NEVER GOING TO FUCKING HAPPEN. They were better off shooting me in that sewer."

"Eally-ray. Ut-way oo-day oo-ya ant-way ee-may oo-tay oo-say?" adds Max under his breath; truly realizing that while Greene might not be completely stupid, his Spycraft could use some practice.

(In pig latin)

"You have to play along enough to where they don't send in the jellyfish," Greene says. "You have to give me something I can use."

"...We'll work up to the Homeworld," Greene lapses back into English. "What were you doing on Aikoro?"

admiralducksauce wrote:

(In pig latin)

"You have to play along enough to where they don't send in the jellyfish," Greene says. "You have to give me something I can use."

"...We'll work up to the Homeworld," Greene lapses back into English. "What were you doing on Aikoro?"

(In pig Latin)

"Honestly, I was along for the ride. My former colleagues decided upon themselves to start a revolution on their own. Unfortunately, our contacts chose to betray us in the name of turning us into the Imperium. That's when it all went to hell and I got seperated from the rest of my team. Up until my capture, I was just trying to get to safe spot to lick my wounds before continuing on...preferably to a planet with loose women and cheap booze. I'm pretty sure everyone else died on Aikoro."

"So you don't even care if you get back to Earth? Long as there's green alien hookers and space beer you're set?"

admiralducksauce wrote:

"So you don't even care if you get back to Earth? Long as there's green alien hookers and space beer you're set?"

"You forget, Greene...I grew up in Vegas. Green alien hookers and space beer wouldn't be that much a departure from civilian life. I doubt our friends have ever heard of Elvis. Think of the possibilities. And no, at this rate...I don't really care about going back to Earth."

"Then why not work with me?" Greene asks, slipping back into English. "The Imperium is dead set on getting to Earth. The way things are now, it's not going to go well. I've been working my way up, I've been learning their way so when the shit hits the fan I can keep our home intact, doc."

"And maybe with your 'help', their chrome asses might never reach Earth. Not until home's had time to get their shit together. Shit, this pig latin stuff's getting on my nerves. Don't you know Farsi or somethin'?"

admiralducksauce wrote:

"Then why not work with me?" Greene asks, slipping back into English. "The Imperium is dead set on getting to Earth. The way things are now, it's not going to go well. I've been working my way up, I've been learning their way so when the shit hits the fan I can keep our home intact, doc."

"And maybe with your 'help', their chrome asses might never reach Earth. Not until home's had time to get their shit together. Shit, this pig latin stuff's getting on my nerves. Don't you know Farsi or somethin'?"

(switches to Farsi)

"Farsi? Certainly not one of my particularly favorite languages, but yeah...I learned it on the forgettable plane ride to Kabul back in '02. You will have to forgive the Eastern Persian dialect I picked up there...But yeah, sure. So, what's the plan?"