"Smart" Guns

December 01, 2015:

Cobra Agents are disappearing and new weapons are the reason. To have, or not to have?

Madripoor

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

The paperwork had piled up, little by little. Unsolved cases, disappearances…

Nobody really paid too much attention to the unsolved mysteries, especially not those considered expendable, like AIM, Cobra, Hydra… those faceless minions.

On the other hand, families could, and did, miss them; the slow and steady pressure on police tended to stop, however, when identifying them as ex-Cobra, or ex-Hydra, or ex-Intergang.

And yet… suddenly, the missing cases took on a whole new light when new and powerful guns were intercepted, and studied.

DEO took a greater interest in those 'cold cases' the minute the techies at the studied the so-called 'smart guns', the newest step up in armaments.

Because the 'smartguns' were powered, not by CPUs, but by human brains.

Possible avenues were closed one by one, starting with the people who -could- have created such a thing. Lunair, for example, was hauled in by Roy and grilled, mostly over fried rice and hot tea.

With more and more weapons showing up via Madripoor, there was little choice…

Having abandoned the 'William Bard' identity a while ago, Roy Harper still felt obligated to show up in a white suit for old time's sakes, ready to beard the tigress in her lair. What was it… come into the parlor, said the spider to the fly?

Madripoors greeting is warm in temperature, but cold in demeanor and when the one 'known' as William Bard returns with a known woman, Lunair - The rolling entry to the island was directed. Their path of leisure is cut off by men in black tec gear, the red Cobra emblazoned upon their chestplates as well as their weaponry. One street - barred, alley? Barred. The sounds of marching preceding the herding process that would govern the two to the beach just outside of the Naja Corp docks. Fenced off and topped in razor wire.

The buildings surrounding the block met immolation from an earlier SHIELD breaching, but what is leveled is not missed, it is being progressed upon with new foundations and a spreading stranglehold of iron and crete. But what was run down and dilapidated is becoming new and /more/ for this slice of the island and its people left to the destitute. Sometimes you have to let the snake into the house to get shit done.

The waters outside of the docks are clear, netted and boueyed, a large filtration system even keeping the mire and pollutants on the side where the ships docked and there alone. The private business beach could be swam within but this was more for the locals, perhaps even the soldiers and workers, and meetings that did not warrant permission to the manse and its grounds. This was one of those.

Upon a lounge chaise and beneath an expansive black and tasseled umbrella, Baroness rests. A large sun hat casts additional shade over her facade, sunglasses remain perched upon the bridge of nose and the black faux leather swim suit seems cut in two to meld into one only over posterior and at hips where criss crossing laces keep it in place. Arms are covered by matching black gloves to above the elbows, one of which extending to the side to grip a bloody mary from the tray beside her and shift the umbrella skewered celery stick to the side for a sip that touches crimson lips.

The serpent in wait.

Lunair is totally returning with William bard. Shakespeare much? Maybe Roy really is a fan of getting medieval, arrows and all. Well, whatever. Lunair will have a parasol, and do her best to look just as worn and quiet as the locals. Still, something about this makes her uneasy. Maybe it's the BARONESS IN THE BRAIN. Stupid sexy librarians. Ahem. Nevertheless, she will blink, as they are barred. "Um."

Whistling softly, Roy has to admit, Madripoor definitely had seen better days. Then again, the Black Lagoon bar had been blown up some time ago, and while it could have been rebuilt easily enough, Roy's 'Contact' had opted to move to newer assignments for the moment, as Madripoor had been deemed hopeless.

Lunair's opting to accompany him to get a chance to -really- look at the smartguns that she couldn't show up at the DEO to inspect was a factor, but more importantly, it gave Roy a chance to get weapons that wouldn't show up when the Baroness's manservants checked him over.

"Baroness," Roy greets, managing to not draw out her call sign like a snake. Offering a wide smile, Roy reaches out for a hand, if only to bow and kiss it, like she were royalty. "Thank you for seeing us. This is Lunair."

Weapons fund or not found, Baroness does not seem to worry much. She is very aware of who and what she faces and has called out with her return. So when the soldiers seek to close in with Roy and Lunair one hand rises and makes a flicking 'shoo' gesture to make them stop in step and turn away to resume post. The hand used to wave off additional company is captured and kissed, and for the barest of moments fingertips twitched and what lay beneath does not even remotely feel warm and pliant. Cold and hard - slowly withdrawn to her lap where legs had swung over the edge and the semi sheer sash is adjusted over her lap though hanging open at thigh to guide u to hip.

Roy's introductions garner a tilt of the womans head and those frigid blue eyes capture Lunair, the smile forming casting further shadows upon her face where hat could not touch, narrowing her gaze into shark-like slits of abyssal depth. "I know."

The tone is satin on skin in its words lilted by the Russian accent.

"What is it you want, Roy? You at least arrive with more tact and brass balls then SHIELD. Get them cased in titanium though." The innuendo there blatant with the way her words lost their smoothness to come up bluntly short.

Lunair looks a bit - fearful - on seeing Baroness. But she tries not to show it. She is going to do her best to be brave, and be polite. There's a neat curtsy. Good to be kind to the one with her nanobits all up in your cranial bits, yes? Yes. Besides, if she's their contact, it's always good to be nice. "We should've brought a gift, probably. I'm not sure," She admits. She watches the soldiers go, perhaps curious and impressed. She tries not to giggle at the balls comment, because so many of us are 12 at heart.

Roy flashes a droll lopsided grin. "Well, at least -now- you can buy her dinner before you try taking her home with you," he comments, waggling both his eyebrows. "I'm glad you -do- appreciate brass balls, but you know… you should see how I dance."

The suggestive hands down to the groin might be sufficient, but it quickly ceases when Roy puts a hand on Lunair's shoulder. "Anyway, we're here because we were interested in discussing the newest technology in guns with you… I take it you already tried reverse-engineering them?"

"I prefer titanium. It's why I suggested it. I like my /balls/ to last more then a week." The suggestive dance Roy put on has a swift reaction from Baroness after the slight perk of manicured brow. One moment upon the chaise, the next she is standing in front of Roy and beside Lunair with her gloved hand sufficiently placed around those 'balls', her body positioned along side his in a manner that leaves bare thigh covering the action of vice-like grip if he does not dodge, almost making it look suggestive if it was not for the /grip/ itself. If he did not feel it before, he'd feel it now. The hand beneath soft fabric is anything but real and although she is not executing the force it is almost a threat of a hold backed by mechanization.

The lean against Roy puts the both of them in her vantage as gaze slides between the two of them, her hand coming to lips to pinch fabric of gloved fingertip between teeth and pull it from lithe limb. The sateen fabric is dropped from between and just as quickly that clawed cybernetic appendage is offering Lunair a finger-rippling wave. Tubes running where veins should be among the metal mass of joints and pistons as well as 'structure'. Within the tubes, a green venom Lunair will recognize and know too well.

"But I am not a girl to turn down a good dance. Just not this close." Capture and release she reaches up and takes off the hat, tossing it down upon the chaise. "I take it neither of you have come close enough to them to know, hm?" A deadpan look upon Lunair then as she offers then glasses and the mix as well for their own Bloody Mary's. "You're entering painfully close to a Masochist's tango."

Poor Lunair. Terror is being suppressed for her friend's sake. She looks a bit weirded out by all this balls business. "Not my fetish, etc," She offers to Rooy and Baroness. She does her best to pretend not to notice. She blinks. A weak smile and wave. Very week. "I uhm. No. We're just starting." And I'd quite like to run away now, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. "Tom Waits fan, huh?" She rubs the back of her head. Sheepishly.

Pulling back quickly, given the mercurial nature of the Baroness, Roy elects the better part of valor -this- time, flashing his hands upwards and out, as though he's dropped them. "Hey, I'd rather keep mine for a lifetime, thanks. A week just seems like a high price to pay, let alone a minute."

Pause. "I'm guessing you're a big fan of the Nutcracker Suite. Either that, or you spent too long at the mall."

Sighing, Roy runs a hand through his hair. "Lunair hasn't. I haven't really gotten up and personal with those 'smartguns' to know, but the reports… you've seen them, have you?"

A light huff of a half laugh is all that escaped Baroness for the moment. An upward curl of one corner of lips and she leaves their glasses for them if they changed their minds. "Aren't we all just ever so full of innuendo and quips?" Though she does little to keep hers amusing, they bore quite the message overall and when her glass is brought down a single tipped digit runs along the glass rim of her Bloody Mary, tapping just before she speaks again.

"Who are you working for these days Roy? I see her face all over, she is an easy one to trace. Moreso now then before, but none the less…" A shift of gaze from Roy to Luna and then back. "The only feed I saw of you was in the collapse of Hell's Gate, being the hero. I don't work well with heroics. Do tell me you came with one hell of an offer to make it worth my while."

Lunair is trying not to panic and pull out a flamethrower. She blinks, and turns red. Lunair is pretty low key as people go, but to the Baroness, well. Not so much. She settles quiet, as the two bargain. "Well." They are already doing better than SHIELD, so they have that going for them? She seems uncertain. Hmmm. Lunair is thinking. Whaaaaaaaaaat could they offer Baroness.

"Oh, after the Wall, we had a bit of reorganization, so whatever your records are saying, it's probably out of date," Roy responds, a lift of his shoulder in a deprecating shrug. Nothing she wouldn't have found out, really. "Besides, you could say I've been on and off the clock." Lunair would know precisely what -that- meant.

Motioning to take a seat, Roy shrugs. "I don't -actually- have an offer as much as some information. Like what happened to your missing Cobra troopers, and about your 'deserters' that you may be quite upset about."

"Bodies pile up. Men get cold feet. I make enemies. I know where they have gone or can presume to know. But in a business like mine…" Baroness states as she remains standing for the moment, bare feet planted in the warm sand and her eyes staring out /beyond/ them to her guards in the distance. "Well, turnover is a bitch."

"I hope you brought swimming gear." She states to them both before turning on heel and undoing the sash at her waist, shedding it to the side to flutter in a light breeze and cast a gauzy shadow over the sand it passes.

"You asked me about weapons. "Smart" guns, hm? Would it have to do with those? They are not mine…" Not yet. But no further words are exchanged until they are within the water.

Lunair is quiet. She fidgets. "Um. I guess I do." She can create cloth as needed. A deep breath, and a look to Roy. "Guess we're swimming?" Lunair can create a bathing suit for herself easily enough. She's not keen on riling up the Baroness.

"Of course they aren't… they're flowing from Intergang. What's more important is what they're made of. You're aware of the word on streets? More powerful, practically aim themselves, all you have to do is fire and powerful energy fire…?" Roy pauses, as he regards her going, before sighing. "I -could- skinny-dip if you like. Otherwise… well, Lun…"

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