It's probably bad business practice to try to make contact with the guy you've been paid to dig up dirt on, but York's already got what she came for, she's been paid and she's made the handoff. Besides, it was hard to ignore what she'd found, and really, she's not sure why internals haven't picked up on it yet. It's clear it doesn't go up that high, and if it looks like what she thinks it looks like, the guys high up are probably gonna want to know. And Duv Galeni is pretty high up.
York's pretty sure he knows he's being followed, but that's probably for the best. Not surprising him is probably best in her favor right now. Hopefully that means he's less likely to shoot first and ask questions later, or maybe just shoot first -- he doesn't seem like a paranoiac, but he's ImpSec, and all ImpSec are paranoiacs in York's experience. Barrayarans, man.
She knows he's going back to his apartment and she tails him at a distance, waiting until he's gone up to take the lift. Delta's got the layout of this building pulled up in the back of her head, and it doesn't look like there are too many suites per floor higher up. She's not sure if she's gonna have to knock or if he'll be waiting there, ready for her. Man, she hopes she doesn't have to break in. Well, that'd be fun, probably, but she doesn't think it'd make a very good impression. Still, she came armed too. She's not stupid. But Delta is running probability scenarios and York is almost ready for a half a dozen outcomes when she steps off the lift.
Someone is following him. It's clear a few turns from work and becomes more obvious when he leaves his bubble car and starts the last leg of his walk. An angry Komarran that wants to yell at him for working with Imperial Security? A friend of his father's that's not sure they recognized him? Whoever it was, they were determined to find him and catch him off guard. Why else would they be waiting so long to engage? It's not his ideal use of his off-hours, not when he's spent all day and overtime trying to figure out who's been buggering into their system, but he doesn't have a choice.
His wrist comm is on and ready for use though he leaves it be for now. Alerting security or Imperial forces would only let the person who's following him know and if it's a friend of his father's, he'd rather not involve anyone else. He lets out a small sigh when he reaches the door to his flat and rubs his face before opening the lock. As soon as he hears the door slide shut behind him, his stunner is in his hand. If there's going to be a confrontation, he'd rather have it behind closed doors.
Well, hallway's empty. That's probably good. If this thing turns into a fight, better that it's not in a more public space, although York's hoping for the not-fight outcome. It's not that she's worried so much as it is that this would be a lot easier without her having to punch someone in the neck.
Hey, D, which one is this guy's again?
Duv Galeni's apartment is the third door on the left.
Got it. D'you think I should knock first, or just go on in?
It was partly rhetorical, but she feels Delta running probability scenarios in the back of her head anyway. He is already aware of our presence. There is a sixty-eight percent chance he has armed himself. Thirty-six percent chance of violent outcome if you choose to use the door chime. Thirty-nine percent chance of violent outcome if you choose to open the door yourself. After a moment he adds, I think you could have tried a little harder to evade detection.
But it's easier this way, York thinks, and she reasons that maybe that three percent difference in probability lies in that maybe, if she knocks, it'll come off as a little less threatening. So York, conscious of her stunner, raises a finger and hits the door chime.
They're ringing the door bell? That adds credence to his theory this is someone who knows him or a family member. He knew this possibility became greater when he was stationed on Komarr. Even in a dome full of as many people as there were, it was hard to escape that part of his past. Whether they intend to be friendly or not is another matter and he keeps his stunner in hand.
He takes a moment to approach the door, standing off to the side in case it's already been rigged with explosives. He is in Imperial Security after all and preparing for the worst was a key survival trait.
"I wasn't expecting any visitors," he says in an even tone. "Name?"
York would call the guy a paranoiac, except that he's taking totally reasonable measures against someone he knows has been following him. Still, this is gonna get awkward if they have to keep talking through a door.
"Yeah, 'cause that's why you left the door unlocked." Just because she knocked doesn't mean she didn't notice. "Not a name you'd recognize, but hey, as a sign of good will: you can call me York."
"A codename?" He doesn't need an answer to be willing to bet it is with the way she phrased that introduction. York. Nothing he recognizes or even in the realm of what a Komarran would choose for an alias. Which then begs the question what the hell is she doing here if she's not some old acquaintance of the family.
He edges his foot in front of the door, having decided it's not ready to explode if she's still standing so close. He has one more requirement before he opens it. "Weapons out and on the floor. You can slide them to me when I open."
She might still have some hidden on her, but he can at least get an idea of the tech level he's dealing with. The nature of trade on Komarr meant all kinds of equipment passed through.
York sighs. They never do make it easy, do they? She was willing to put her hands up at stunner point, sure, but drop her own? This might be turning out to be more trouble than it's worth. Hey, D, what do you think he's packing?
Based on Duv Galeni's psychological profile, he is most likely holding a stunner. However, I estimate there to be a seventy-point-three percent chance that he also has a nerve disrupter somewhere in his apartment.
Okay, I know, not the time, but I do you go out of your way to avoid saying 'sixty-nine' on purpose?
But rather than wait for an answer, because she's sure Galeni isn't going to wait long, she unholsters her stunner and sets it on the floor. After a moment's hesitation, she sets down her nerve disrupter in resignation, too. Well, she'll keep the knife hidden in her boot. He's probably not expecting that anyway. And if it really comes down to it, as long as she gets in close, York doesn't really need a weapon.
Good. He was wondering if it would be wiser to stun her and sort out the rest later if she was hesitating this long. Door open and stunner pointed at her, he notes that at least one of the weapons she's laid out is lethal. If there's another on her in hiding, he'll have to be sure he's faster. Distance would be his best weapon.
He slides her weapons back into his flat with his foot before stepping back from the door and motioning her in. Whatever it is she has to say, he has a feeling it would be best to say them behind closed doors.
"You've been following me," he states with a raised brow. He'd really appreciate an explanation.
Terrible time to make jokes, but then again, York never was good at holding back the commentary. She holds her hands up, showing them empty in a sign of sort-of surrender. "I know, I know, stranger following you home, that's always a red flag. But I only came to talk, I swear." She raises her eyebrows in a hopefully disarming smile, the scarred skin around her bad eye stretching a little, and steps in.
A mercenary? Those weren't uncommon on Komarr where many used their money to their advantage. If only Komarr relied on their own bodyguards, but with their population limited and interests lying elsewhere, outside resources had always been more practical.
"Talk quickly. Right now I see no reason not to alert security to your presence." And then they could take it from here, both the headache and paperwork that came with such an intrusion.
Hey, D, how quick could he alert security if he gets bored with conversation?
Very quickly.
Okay, cool.
York keeps both her hands and that disarming expression up, apparently mostly unruffled by the threat. She's had worse said to her at nerve disrupter point. "Something's a little rotten in your house, Ser Galeni. I'd do some finance audits on your ImpSec outposts on Komarr. Some of your officers are investing Daddy Emperor's pocket change in the wrong places."
Now that gets his attention. His aim doesn't falter, but his interest is piqued. Questions are flooding through his mind, but there's one that sticks out above the rest.
"If your concerns are with what ImpSec is doing," he starts, "you realize there are better places to report such information than a random Captain in the same organization."
"Yeah, but then I'd have to explain a bunch of stuff I don't really want to, and I think this ticket'd get lost going through proper channels, if you know what I mean." York tilts her head with a shrug, keeping her hands up. "You seem like a standup kinda guy. How much do you think it'd boost your career if you outed an internal racket?"
"That depends on the racket," he answers dryly. A Komarran going after important Barrayarans in Imperial Security sounds like a dream of his, but a dangerous one. He almost committed career suicide once when he answered his father's call on Earth and covered his tracks.
"You're already going to have to explain it here and now. The only part you're changing is the audience."
Acquisitions are usually a breeze. The clients usually aren't asking a whole lot -- sometimes expensive shit, but usually it's just information, and that's easily portable -- and for the most part, the places she needs to get into are a joke compared to what she used to do for Freelancer. Civilian security systems? They don't stand a chance against York, especially with Delta.
Getting in is always easy. It's the getting out that sometimes poses a problem.
This time, it's a museum. Nothing crazy, not a whole painting or anything, just a few historical artifacts in small padded crates that are easy to tuck away. No alarms tripped, no guards sighted, no one even knows she's there. But when she swings up into the vents that'll take her to her exit, she has to drop right back down with a pained hsis as a blast of steam powers right through it.
"The hell?" York mutters, rubbing her hand. Damn near burned it. "They're not supposed to be flushing the ducts out for another six hours."
I did advise against using the vents as an exit strategy, Delta notes.
"Yeah, I know," York mutters to herself, glancing around -- and then the pitter-patter of little footsteps in combat gear start to sound down the hall. Shit. And here she is, backed in a corner office on the tenth story with some stolen property and no other exit strategy. York looks over her shoulder through the floor-to-ceiling glass window.
"Hey, D? What are the odds I wouldn't break both my legs if I jumped out this window?"
A point-zero-zero-one percent chance.
"Cool, thanks." York looks down the hall, then back at the window. "What about my survival odds?"
Delta is silent for just a beat. York waves him off quickly. "Y'know what, never mind. I don't wanna know."
Natasha's spent months looking for James. She chases military chatter, news broadcasts, every whisper of a rogue soldier has her slipping in, usually days late, and trying to put together some of the pieces. Far as she can tell, the program that made them didn't go under completely and James seems to be trading time between trying to pull those pieces out of the shadows and picking up mercenary jobs that are so far under his skill range it sometimes makes her laugh.
Laughing is good, because it keeps her from thinking about what she's going to do if she finds him. If he doesn't remember. What she's going to do if he tries to put another bullet in her body.
She'd actually been casing the museum herself -- rumors and hints at connections she couldn't prove. So she'd been laying the groundwork to slip in and investigate herself. The fact that this is where her scanner programs pick up some security chatter? It's a streak of unexpected good fortune. It feels almost too lucky, but she can't help hoping anyway even as the practical side of her figures it's a trap. But, she's walked into traps before. And she's hunting a goddamn ghost and she knows it, so she chases every whisper.
The details are sparse, but it's enough to spark her attention, to get her moving, giving up all pretense of surveillance. Benefits of being a paranoid soldier turned weapon and spy is that she always has her gear with her. It's just a matter of getting in, hoping she's not too late. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, it's him.
She always likes rooftops. Easy landings, usually no guards, and that smooth drop of window panes down to the street below. In this case there were a few guards but they were quite unconscious by the time she picked up the floor number from the comm chatter, and likely to stay that way until this mess was over one way or the other.
10th floor. She doesn't have time to waste on the elevator, so she uses an explosive charge to knock in the door to the service stairs. Normally she'd be quiet, but she wants to draw attention. If it's James, she knows he can handle it, but it'll be easier for her to pick off security on her way toward him if it's not all at once. Not that she couldn't, but, not much reason to push her luck if she doesn't have to. And if it's not James, well. Call it her good deed for the night.
The sound of people in combat gear starts to get louder and a lot more chaotic.
Oh, shit. York jerks at the sound -- she knows an explosive when she hears one -- and stares up at the ceiling.
"D, what the hell?"
Alert. Secondary intruder entering from rooftop. Security is on its way.
"Secondary intruder? Who's the first intruder?"
That would be you, York.
"Oh, ha," York mutters, annoyed, and edges against the wall to lean into the hall. No one on this floor yet, but she can hear the little pitter-patter of combat boots thundering up stairs. "Alright, cool. Can't go through the vents or I'll sauna myself to death, can't go down or I'll get shot to death."
She glances out the window, then eyes the stairwell exit across the hall. Secondary intruder, right. "Guess I'll take whatever's behind door number three. D, how close are they? Do those stairs go straight to the roof?"
Affirmative. Security will reach the tenth floor in nine seconds.
"Oh, this just gets more and more fun." No time for hesitation now. York bolts across the hall to the stairwell exit and hooks around the railing to give herself a little momentum as she starts to run up the stairs. She has no idea what their exit strategy is going to be from the rooftop, but hey, maybe they can hijack this secondary intruder's getaway plan instead.
A military-subsidized education to get her into the golden world of digital security was an opportunity for a Jersey girl with three brothers, no mom and a mechanic for a dad. Project Freelancer was an opportunity for a soldier with serious talent and skill, including when it came to getting her dumb ass into trouble. And when everything else around her burned to the ground and left her in a hole she sometimes only wished were six feet deep, now this -- this is a real fucking opportunity.
Felix and Locus are an unknown quantity, but so had been Project Freelancer, and right now she doesn't have much of a choice. Locus is pretty inoffensive -- quiet, ruthlessly businesslike, almost reminds her of Maine before he went off the fucking deep end, except with manners. Felix, on the other hand, is dangerously smart, and he reminds her of every overcompensating frat boy she met in college, except somehow he makes that work for him, which is an achievement in itself.
Admittedly, after several years in prison, she's not too picky about company. Especially knowing what she knows now. Hearing that Wash and Carolina are not only both still alive but apparently never bothered looking for her, seeing that article about the victory over Project Freelancer -- what, that victory hadn't been in the fucking courts? The ones where they'd sentenced her to hard time, while Wash and Carolina got a handshake and a pat on the ass? Her moral compass was never too tightly calibrated, and years ago she wouldn't have joined up on an op as ruthless as what they're pulling on Chorus. Years ago, she wouldn't have been able to sleep at night thinking of the countless lives lost in pursuit of profit. But she's just not all that picky anymore, and there's good payout in it for her, and more than anything, she wants out. This will get her out for good.
It's Foxtrot now. She hasn't gone by York in a long time -- couldn't really stand to, after the trials, but Foxtrot-12 had been a UNSC designation, not a Freelancer one, and that doesn't sting so badly. But York? The name doesn't have such a nice ring to it these days.
She's aware, to an extent, that Felix is using her resentment for Carolina and Wash to get the job done. She'd have to be more than half-blind not to see it. But the thing is, she just doesn't care. All that means is that Felix is getting what he wants while she's getting what she wants, and what she wants right now, more than anything, is revenge, payout, and retirement, in that order.
The firefight was already underway by the time she dropped planetside, but it's not hard to pick out Carolina in the chaos -- she still favors the same armor as she did all those years ago, almost bitingly familiar. Foxtrot's not in any armor Carolina would recognize, and her stance is even a little different these days, carrying more tension in the shoulders after too many rounds in the prison yard, where glibness didn't count for half as much as it did on the outside. But she favors the same rifle as the old days, and she still compensates for the partial blindness in her eye the way she did before Delta when she fires on Carolina. Back in the day, she'd have opened with some light banter at the very least, but now? Now, she's just feeling a little impatient to get things started.
There's one good thing about wearing bright aqua armor in the middle of a firefight between black clad mercenaries and the white and tan forces of Chorus. It makes her a target, an attractive one for anyone looking to carve out a place in the hierarchy. It also gave the outmanned and outgunned Chorusian soldiers a chance to retreat with a minimum of casualties. The reds and blues were coming soon to help cover a retreat. Epsilon was feeding her a constant stream of data to keep her ahead of the pirates trying their best to kill her.
Hey C, next time you decide to drop yourself in the middle of a fucking brawl can I not be dragged along for the ride- Asshole on your six, drop in three seconds.
"Will you stop complaining if I let you pick what we watch next movie night?"
That offer might be more enticing if there weren't four movies to choose from on base.
She went for incapacitating wounds, just enough effort put in to wound the pirates. Better to make them a strain on Charon's resources than to put more blood on her hands. There's enough of that already. The two of them have been so focused on the guys around them that the first shots of the rifle catch her in the shoulder, carving a furrow through the aqua armor. The pirates all start to back off, orders flowing in from on high to give Foxtrot some space to deal with the freelancer. They weren't retreating but they knew getting in the middle of a fight like this wouldn't end well.
Who the hell is this asshole? Epsilon asks, appearing over her shoulder in a burst of blue pixels.
"I don't know, but they're mine." She pulls out a pistol, laying down some covering fire as she feels Epsilon warming up her speed boost.
She's never really been an angry person. Annoyed, yeah -- Wyoming did occasionally make her want to punch him, like, really badly -- but anger? That had always been more Carolina's deal. And South's. And Maine's. And -- okay, so there were a lot of angry Freelancers, but York was never really one of them. Then again, she's not really York anymore.
And seeing Epsilon flicker into sight at Carolina's shoulder, just the way Delta used to with her, that's an angry thing. She fires off another shot, this one aimed at Carolina's knee, before she shifts stance. Carolina's fighting style hasn't changed all that much, and after all those hours in the training room, she knows how Carolina moves. Turning always seemed to be the speed boost's weakness, and if she can just sidestep Carolina and shoot her in the back, that'd be a good start.
It's not that Carolina is careless, she's the type of fighter who tries to plan for a hundred scenarios, but after so many charon mercs who were no better than a UNSC soldier fresh out of basic it takes her by surprise to be up against someone who's actually good at what they do. Felix and Locus are one thing but this one is an unknown quantity. She throws herself across the battlefield, the speed boost pushing her even further until-
The bullet hits the knee joint in her armor and sends off a spray of sparks as circuitry struggles to keep up with the power being pushed through it. It had already taken some damage in another fight a few days prior and there hadn't been enough time to properly repair it before the alert went out for this.
Shit, careful! I don't think a head on fight is going to work here!
It's too late for that, though. At the last moment when the newcomer dodges out of the way of Carolina's charge the sudden attempt to break and turn ends with the unmistakable sound of circuitry and armor tearing. Carolina skids across the ground, breathing through the pain while Epsilon scrambles to queue up the healing unit.
Well, how convenient is that. Carolina does her one better by going down all on her own — a little farther out of range than Fox was banking on, but she's actually got a chance at getting the upper hand here. Carolina might have outranked her on the leaderboard, but hand-to-hand combat is the one arena where Fox is sure she stands a chance against her.
She doesn't miss a beat; she holsters her rifle and moes at a dead run to close the distance between herself and Carolina. Once she's in striking distance, she launches herself off the ground, arm pulled back to deliver a merciless punch to the side of Carolina's helmet with her entire body weight.
All she needs to do to knock Carolina off her guard is to make her feel a little too challenged. Fox is pretty sure she's up for the job.
Edited (im sorry i had to update this with new icon) 2025-06-22 03:48 (UTC)
Most civilian security systems are not built to withstand York's (alright, York's and Delta's) secret-government-program-level breaking and entering skills, but this is not most civilian security systems. This is a privately-owned museum hosting a private collection, and they're hosting a private fundraising event tonight, and all this private means even more security than usual. But after a point, all that security becomes paradoxical: when you put enough moving parts into a machine, it becomes a whole lot easier for one little thing to slip in between the cracks. Which is exactly why York's specifically chosen tonight to lift the miniature David statuette from the museum director's own private collection.
It's kind of a challenge to steal something that's being featured in plain sight, and maybe if she were fonder of the idea of going to prison she'd try to actually snatch it in the middle of the event, but she doesn't think the orange jumpsuit is really her style, and the weakest point of any security is in transit. She'll get it when they process all the exhibits for storage at the end of the event. She's got the rest of the evening to get all her dominoes in place.
There's a weakness she can exploit in the security system through the building's electrical system, giving her just enough time to let her pass through the motion detectors and badge scanners to the back area while everyone else is wining and dining. Once she's back there, she can get into their closed system and reroute the statuette for outside delivery. It sounds like a cakewalk, but the exit strategy is the trickier part. Grifting really isn't her game, but she can knock a delivery driver out and steal his uniform. It'll work. This will all totally work.
York, says Delta in the back of her mind, the odds of detection are still higher with an HVAC system entry as opposed to appropriating a security badge.
"Yeah, I know, D," York mutters as she shimmies through the vents. "You mentioned that two hours ago. And a few hours before that. Call me camera shy, but getting my face caught would be bad for business. Besides, I'm totally fine as long as nobody decides to turn on the heat in the next ten minutes."
The forecasted low for tonight is forty-three degrees Fahrenheit, Delta informs her.
"Thanks, D. You're a real helper." The lights in the building go out with a hum for a long moment before slowly flickering back on. York grins. "And that would be the security system resetting. It's go time."
You have a three-minute window before all systems will be fully back online.
"Three? I can do it in one and a half. Time me, D." She wriggles her way past the security checkpoint and the motion detectors installed in this stretch of ducts, and once she's over the processing room she knocks out the grate with her elbow and drops down. The room is blessedly empty. "See that? We're ahead already. Wish I'd had a chance to snag one of those little glasses of champagne. This feels like a champagne moment."
Nobody with any sense comes to Pandora for any reason other than money, which is exactly why York’s here. A quick job, one-and-done—just grab some goods and haul out, and the drop point isn’t even that far from here. Just a few days and she’ll make enough on this payday to buy herself a whole goddamn beach vacation, which she sorely needs and deeply, deeply deserves. A bad run of luck resulting in a few jobs going sour has kind of harshed her vibe lately, and while she’s not at risk of starving or anything, she’s getting a little tired of dodging misinformed creditors who think she owes them someone else’s money. Not getting paid stings enough, but to go so far as identity theft to screw over your ex-contractor? Now that’s just uncalled for. York is badly in need of a good time.
Which is why this job lit her right up. She’s worked for this client before, and they’re reliable with the payout, if a little hands off. It’s a grab bag job—they’ll buy as much as she can loot in a single jaunt—which means she can be flexible, and York always prefers flexibility. And to top it all off, it looks easy. Frankly so it’s almost a little boring, so York forgoes her usually rigorous homework on the mark and she decides, well against Delta’s suggestion, to wing it almost based purely on the information handed to her by her employer. She does a little joint-casing when she hits planetside, but once she confirms that the security really is as nonexistent as the reports say, anything short of a half-blind run would just be a yawn. So she’s on Pandora for less than a full day before she makes her move.
The place is obviously closed for business at night, and apparently unguarded, too. York can think of a dozen places she’d put guards if she had even the slightest inclination to protecting the place. Maybe they’re too broke for guards, she muses as she squints up at the high window that’s her best bet for a clean entry. Then again, who’s got high-value assets bored rich people would literally kill for and no security budget?
“Who’s got out-of-print Atlas tech and no security budget?” she mutters to herself as she bends over a shelf stocked with some very fancy-looking guns, some of which look like they might actually work. Delta automatically begins tallying their estimated values in the back of her mind as her eyes land on each item. He only adds in the little kaching sound effects because York insisted.
Would you like to know? he asks in the confines of her mind, a little too politely.
“Aw, come on, D, don’t tell me you cheated.”
I have not allowed the information to influence my tactical advice, if it makes you feel better.
York jabs her penlight up at the ceiling in emphasis for lack of a body to point it at, perhaps a little carelessly. “You still cheated. Not cool.” She points the light back at the very large rocket launcher in front of her, inspecting it carefully. “We’re gonna have a talk about this later. There are professional boundaries at stake here, D.”
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sunchime2016-12-27 10:11 am
For Epsilon
for duv
York's pretty sure he knows he's being followed, but that's probably for the best. Not surprising him is probably best in her favor right now. Hopefully that means he's less likely to shoot first and ask questions later, or maybe just shoot first -- he doesn't seem like a paranoiac, but he's ImpSec, and all ImpSec are paranoiacs in York's experience. Barrayarans, man.
She knows he's going back to his apartment and she tails him at a distance, waiting until he's gone up to take the lift. Delta's got the layout of this building pulled up in the back of her head, and it doesn't look like there are too many suites per floor higher up. She's not sure if she's gonna have to knock or if he'll be waiting there, ready for her. Man, she hopes she doesn't have to break in. Well, that'd be fun, probably, but she doesn't think it'd make a very good impression. Still, she came armed too. She's not stupid. But Delta is running probability scenarios and York is almost ready for a half a dozen outcomes when she steps off the lift.
no subject
His wrist comm is on and ready for use though he leaves it be for now. Alerting security or Imperial forces would only let the person who's following him know and if it's a friend of his father's, he'd rather not involve anyone else. He lets out a small sigh when he reaches the door to his flat and rubs his face before opening the lock. As soon as he hears the door slide shut behind him, his stunner is in his hand. If there's going to be a confrontation, he'd rather have it behind closed doors.
no subject
Hey, D, which one is this guy's again?
Duv Galeni's apartment is the third door on the left.
Got it. D'you think I should knock first, or just go on in?
It was partly rhetorical, but she feels Delta running probability scenarios in the back of her head anyway. He is already aware of our presence. There is a sixty-eight percent chance he has armed himself. Thirty-six percent chance of violent outcome if you choose to use the door chime. Thirty-nine percent chance of violent outcome if you choose to open the door yourself. After a moment he adds, I think you could have tried a little harder to evade detection.
But it's easier this way, York thinks, and she reasons that maybe that three percent difference in probability lies in that maybe, if she knocks, it'll come off as a little less threatening. So York, conscious of her stunner, raises a finger and hits the door chime.
no subject
He takes a moment to approach the door, standing off to the side in case it's already been rigged with explosives. He is in Imperial Security after all and preparing for the worst was a key survival trait.
"I wasn't expecting any visitors," he says in an even tone. "Name?"
no subject
"Yeah, 'cause that's why you left the door unlocked." Just because she knocked doesn't mean she didn't notice. "Not a name you'd recognize, but hey, as a sign of good will: you can call me York."
no subject
He edges his foot in front of the door, having decided it's not ready to explode if she's still standing so close. He has one more requirement before he opens it. "Weapons out and on the floor. You can slide them to me when I open."
She might still have some hidden on her, but he can at least get an idea of the tech level he's dealing with. The nature of trade on Komarr meant all kinds of equipment passed through.
no subject
Based on Duv Galeni's psychological profile, he is most likely holding a stunner. However, I estimate there to be a seventy-point-three percent chance that he also has a nerve disrupter somewhere in his apartment.
Okay, I know, not the time, but I do you go out of your way to avoid saying 'sixty-nine' on purpose?
But rather than wait for an answer, because she's sure Galeni isn't going to wait long, she unholsters her stunner and sets it on the floor. After a moment's hesitation, she sets down her nerve disrupter in resignation, too. Well, she'll keep the knife hidden in her boot. He's probably not expecting that anyway. And if it really comes down to it, as long as she gets in close, York doesn't really need a weapon.
"All yours, pal."
no subject
He slides her weapons back into his flat with his foot before stepping back from the door and motioning her in. Whatever it is she has to say, he has a feeling it would be best to say them behind closed doors.
"You've been following me," he states with a raised brow. He'd really appreciate an explanation.
no subject
Terrible time to make jokes, but then again, York never was good at holding back the commentary. She holds her hands up, showing them empty in a sign of sort-of surrender. "I know, I know, stranger following you home, that's always a red flag. But I only came to talk, I swear." She raises her eyebrows in a hopefully disarming smile, the scarred skin around her bad eye stretching a little, and steps in.
no subject
"Talk quickly. Right now I see no reason not to alert security to your presence." And then they could take it from here, both the headache and paperwork that came with such an intrusion.
no subject
Very quickly.
Okay, cool.
York keeps both her hands and that disarming expression up, apparently mostly unruffled by the threat. She's had worse said to her at nerve disrupter point. "Something's a little rotten in your house, Ser Galeni. I'd do some finance audits on your ImpSec outposts on Komarr. Some of your officers are investing Daddy Emperor's pocket change in the wrong places."
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"If your concerns are with what ImpSec is doing," he starts, "you realize there are better places to report such information than a random Captain in the same organization."
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"You're already going to have to explain it here and now. The only part you're changing is the audience."
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for natasha
Getting in is always easy. It's the getting out that sometimes poses a problem.
This time, it's a museum. Nothing crazy, not a whole painting or anything, just a few historical artifacts in small padded crates that are easy to tuck away. No alarms tripped, no guards sighted, no one even knows she's there. But when she swings up into the vents that'll take her to her exit, she has to drop right back down with a pained hsis as a blast of steam powers right through it.
"The hell?" York mutters, rubbing her hand. Damn near burned it. "They're not supposed to be flushing the ducts out for another six hours."
I did advise against using the vents as an exit strategy, Delta notes.
"Yeah, I know," York mutters to herself, glancing around -- and then the pitter-patter of little footsteps in combat gear start to sound down the hall. Shit. And here she is, backed in a corner office on the tenth story with some stolen property and no other exit strategy. York looks over her shoulder through the floor-to-ceiling glass window.
"Hey, D? What are the odds I wouldn't break both my legs if I jumped out this window?"
A point-zero-zero-one percent chance.
"Cool, thanks." York looks down the hall, then back at the window. "What about my survival odds?"
Delta is silent for just a beat. York waves him off quickly. "Y'know what, never mind. I don't wanna know."
s c r e a m s
Laughing is good, because it keeps her from thinking about what she's going to do if she finds him. If he doesn't remember. What she's going to do if he tries to put another bullet in her body.
She'd actually been casing the museum herself -- rumors and hints at connections she couldn't prove. So she'd been laying the groundwork to slip in and investigate herself. The fact that this is where her scanner programs pick up some security chatter? It's a streak of unexpected good fortune. It feels almost too lucky, but she can't help hoping anyway even as the practical side of her figures it's a trap. But, she's walked into traps before. And she's hunting a goddamn ghost and she knows it, so she chases every whisper.
The details are sparse, but it's enough to spark her attention, to get her moving, giving up all pretense of surveillance. Benefits of being a paranoid soldier turned weapon and spy is that she always has her gear with her. It's just a matter of getting in, hoping she's not too late. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, it's him.
She always likes rooftops. Easy landings, usually no guards, and that smooth drop of window panes down to the street below. In this case there were a few guards but they were quite unconscious by the time she picked up the floor number from the comm chatter, and likely to stay that way until this mess was over one way or the other.
10th floor. She doesn't have time to waste on the elevator, so she uses an explosive charge to knock in the door to the service stairs. Normally she'd be quiet, but she wants to draw attention. If it's James, she knows he can handle it, but it'll be easier for her to pick off security on her way toward him if it's not all at once. Not that she couldn't, but, not much reason to push her luck if she doesn't have to. And if it's not James, well. Call it her good deed for the night.
The sound of people in combat gear starts to get louder and a lot more chaotic.
:')
"D, what the hell?"
Alert. Secondary intruder entering from rooftop. Security is on its way.
"Secondary intruder? Who's the first intruder?"
That would be you, York.
"Oh, ha," York mutters, annoyed, and edges against the wall to lean into the hall. No one on this floor yet, but she can hear the little pitter-patter of combat boots thundering up stairs. "Alright, cool. Can't go through the vents or I'll sauna myself to death, can't go down or I'll get shot to death."
She glances out the window, then eyes the stairwell exit across the hall. Secondary intruder, right. "Guess I'll take whatever's behind door number three. D, how close are they? Do those stairs go straight to the roof?"
Affirmative. Security will reach the tenth floor in nine seconds.
"Oh, this just gets more and more fun." No time for hesitation now. York bolts across the hall to the stairwell exit and hooks around the railing to give herself a little momentum as she starts to run up the stairs. She has no idea what their exit strategy is going to be from the rooftop, but hey, maybe they can hijack this secondary intruder's getaway plan instead.
for carolina
A military-subsidized education to get her into the golden world of digital security was an opportunity for a Jersey girl with three brothers, no mom and a mechanic for a dad. Project Freelancer was an opportunity for a soldier with serious talent and skill, including when it came to getting her dumb ass into trouble. And when everything else around her burned to the ground and left her in a hole she sometimes only wished were six feet deep, now this -- this is a real fucking opportunity.
Felix and Locus are an unknown quantity, but so had been Project Freelancer, and right now she doesn't have much of a choice. Locus is pretty inoffensive -- quiet, ruthlessly businesslike, almost reminds her of Maine before he went off the fucking deep end, except with manners. Felix, on the other hand, is dangerously smart, and he reminds her of every overcompensating frat boy she met in college, except somehow he makes that work for him, which is an achievement in itself.
Admittedly, after several years in prison, she's not too picky about company. Especially knowing what she knows now. Hearing that Wash and Carolina are not only both still alive but apparently never bothered looking for her, seeing that article about the victory over Project Freelancer -- what, that victory hadn't been in the fucking courts? The ones where they'd sentenced her to hard time, while Wash and Carolina got a handshake and a pat on the ass? Her moral compass was never too tightly calibrated, and years ago she wouldn't have joined up on an op as ruthless as what they're pulling on Chorus. Years ago, she wouldn't have been able to sleep at night thinking of the countless lives lost in pursuit of profit. But she's just not all that picky anymore, and there's good payout in it for her, and more than anything, she wants out. This will get her out for good.
It's Foxtrot now. She hasn't gone by York in a long time -- couldn't really stand to, after the trials, but Foxtrot-12 had been a UNSC designation, not a Freelancer one, and that doesn't sting so badly. But York? The name doesn't have such a nice ring to it these days.
She's aware, to an extent, that Felix is using her resentment for Carolina and Wash to get the job done. She'd have to be more than half-blind not to see it. But the thing is, she just doesn't care. All that means is that Felix is getting what he wants while she's getting what she wants, and what she wants right now, more than anything, is revenge, payout, and retirement, in that order.
The firefight was already underway by the time she dropped planetside, but it's not hard to pick out Carolina in the chaos -- she still favors the same armor as she did all those years ago, almost bitingly familiar. Foxtrot's not in any armor Carolina would recognize, and her stance is even a little different these days, carrying more tension in the shoulders after too many rounds in the prison yard, where glibness didn't count for half as much as it did on the outside. But she favors the same rifle as the old days, and she still compensates for the partial blindness in her eye the way she did before Delta when she fires on Carolina. Back in the day, she'd have opened with some light banter at the very least, but now? Now, she's just feeling a little impatient to get things started.
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Hey C, next time you decide to drop yourself in the middle of a fucking brawl can I not be dragged along for the ride- Asshole on your six, drop in three seconds.
"Will you stop complaining if I let you pick what we watch next movie night?"
That offer might be more enticing if there weren't four movies to choose from on base.
She went for incapacitating wounds, just enough effort put in to wound the pirates. Better to make them a strain on Charon's resources than to put more blood on her hands. There's enough of that already. The two of them have been so focused on the guys around them that the first shots of the rifle catch her in the shoulder, carving a furrow through the aqua armor. The pirates all start to back off, orders flowing in from on high to give Foxtrot some space to deal with the freelancer. They weren't retreating but they knew getting in the middle of a fight like this wouldn't end well.
Who the hell is this asshole? Epsilon asks, appearing over her shoulder in a burst of blue pixels.
"I don't know, but they're mine." She pulls out a pistol, laying down some covering fire as she feels Epsilon warming up her speed boost.
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And seeing Epsilon flicker into sight at Carolina's shoulder, just the way Delta used to with her, that's an angry thing. She fires off another shot, this one aimed at Carolina's knee, before she shifts stance. Carolina's fighting style hasn't changed all that much, and after all those hours in the training room, she knows how Carolina moves. Turning always seemed to be the speed boost's weakness, and if she can just sidestep Carolina and shoot her in the back, that'd be a good start.
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The bullet hits the knee joint in her armor and sends off a spray of sparks as circuitry struggles to keep up with the power being pushed through it. It had already taken some damage in another fight a few days prior and there hadn't been enough time to properly repair it before the alert went out for this.
Shit, careful! I don't think a head on fight is going to work here!
It's too late for that, though. At the last moment when the newcomer dodges out of the way of Carolina's charge the sudden attempt to break and turn ends with the unmistakable sound of circuitry and armor tearing. Carolina skids across the ground, breathing through the pain while Epsilon scrambles to queue up the healing unit.
Who the fuck is this guy?!
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She doesn't miss a beat; she holsters her rifle and moes at a dead run to close the distance between herself and Carolina. Once she's in striking distance, she launches herself off the ground, arm pulled back to deliver a merciless punch to the side of Carolina's helmet with her entire body weight.
All she needs to do to knock Carolina off her guard is to make her feel a little too challenged. Fox is pretty sure she's up for the job.
for eames
It's kind of a challenge to steal something that's being featured in plain sight, and maybe if she were fonder of the idea of going to prison she'd try to actually snatch it in the middle of the event, but she doesn't think the orange jumpsuit is really her style, and the weakest point of any security is in transit. She'll get it when they process all the exhibits for storage at the end of the event. She's got the rest of the evening to get all her dominoes in place.
There's a weakness she can exploit in the security system through the building's electrical system, giving her just enough time to let her pass through the motion detectors and badge scanners to the back area while everyone else is wining and dining. Once she's back there, she can get into their closed system and reroute the statuette for outside delivery. It sounds like a cakewalk, but the exit strategy is the trickier part. Grifting really isn't her game, but she can knock a delivery driver out and steal his uniform. It'll work. This will all totally work.
York, says Delta in the back of her mind, the odds of detection are still higher with an HVAC system entry as opposed to appropriating a security badge.
"Yeah, I know, D," York mutters as she shimmies through the vents. "You mentioned that two hours ago. And a few hours before that. Call me camera shy, but getting my face caught would be bad for business. Besides, I'm totally fine as long as nobody decides to turn on the heat in the next ten minutes."
The forecasted low for tonight is forty-three degrees Fahrenheit, Delta informs her.
"Thanks, D. You're a real helper." The lights in the building go out with a hum for a long moment before slowly flickering back on. York grins. "And that would be the security system resetting. It's go time."
You have a three-minute window before all systems will be fully back online.
"Three? I can do it in one and a half. Time me, D." She wriggles her way past the security checkpoint and the motion detectors installed in this stretch of ducts, and once she's over the processing room she knocks out the grate with her elbow and drops down. The room is blessedly empty. "See that? We're ahead already. Wish I'd had a chance to snag one of those little glasses of champagne. This feels like a champagne moment."
for rhys
Which is why this job lit her right up. She’s worked for this client before, and they’re reliable with the payout, if a little hands off. It’s a grab bag job—they’ll buy as much as she can loot in a single jaunt—which means she can be flexible, and York always prefers flexibility. And to top it all off, it looks easy. Frankly so it’s almost a little boring, so York forgoes her usually rigorous homework on the mark and she decides, well against Delta’s suggestion, to wing it almost based purely on the information handed to her by her employer. She does a little joint-casing when she hits planetside, but once she confirms that the security really is as nonexistent as the reports say, anything short of a half-blind run would just be a yawn. So she’s on Pandora for less than a full day before she makes her move.
The place is obviously closed for business at night, and apparently unguarded, too. York can think of a dozen places she’d put guards if she had even the slightest inclination to protecting the place. Maybe they’re too broke for guards, she muses as she squints up at the high window that’s her best bet for a clean entry. Then again, who’s got high-value assets bored rich people would literally kill for and no security budget?
“Who’s got out-of-print Atlas tech and no security budget?” she mutters to herself as she bends over a shelf stocked with some very fancy-looking guns, some of which look like they might actually work. Delta automatically begins tallying their estimated values in the back of her mind as her eyes land on each item. He only adds in the little kaching sound effects because York insisted.
Would you like to know? he asks in the confines of her mind, a little too politely.
“Aw, come on, D, don’t tell me you cheated.”
I have not allowed the information to influence my tactical advice, if it makes you feel better.
York jabs her penlight up at the ceiling in emphasis for lack of a body to point it at, perhaps a little carelessly. “You still cheated. Not cool.” She points the light back at the very large rocket launcher in front of her, inspecting it carefully. “We’re gonna have a talk about this later. There are professional boundaries at stake here, D.”