xamotomax: (You thinking what I'm thinking?)
[personal profile] xamotomax
Two men. One bar. Nothing unusual. Businessmen will frequent bars now and then, it's just something people expect them to do.

And they're doing it.

Making their way past all the patrons this establishment has [no ordinary pub we have here], they head towards the bar and place their orders for hyper-distilled spirits [standing policy about intoxicants], a handful of business magazines, and possibly some light edibles as well.

That in hand, they make their way towards a table.

Here their breast pockets [on one man it's on his left, the other, the right (who happens to have a scar on his face)] begin to wriggle and bulge slightly. Something is in them.

One head pops out. Then another. It's an animal. A very small animal. Two. A pair of stoats, to be exact, eagerly waiting for the men to sit down so they can get out of those stuffy pockets and get some fresh air, thank you and please.

Request granted as seats are taken and the two animals begin to wrestle about on the tabletop, much to the amusement of the men.

Just another day at the Bar at the End of the Universe, where company might come from....

Date: 2009-12-11 04:16 am (UTC)
acts_of_gord: (Default)
From: [personal profile] acts_of_gord
"It wasn't something that ever came up," Gordon says. "The procedure was an extreme emergency action."

Date: 2009-12-11 04:25 am (UTC)
acts_of_gord: (Sati)
From: [personal profile] acts_of_gord
Gordon inclines his head a moment. "And vice versa," Sati chimes in.

Date: 2009-12-11 04:43 am (UTC)
acts_of_gord: (headbutt)
From: [personal profile] acts_of_gord
"Her," says Gordon quietly. "Her daemon."

And it's not the only thing, but... well, the rest of it is too complicated to explain. Gordon's not entirely sure he understands it himself.

Date: 2009-12-11 05:43 am (UTC)
acts_of_gord: (Combine)
From: [personal profile] acts_of_gord
"Hm?" Gordon glances up. "Oh, well- it's 2021, where I am. Earth's been under the rule of an alien empire called the Combine for the past sixteen years or so. Trans-universal raiders. Conquered the planet in seven hours."

Date: 2009-12-11 06:08 am (UTC)
acts_of_gord: (Default)
From: [personal profile] acts_of_gord
"Something like that," Gordon says. "The humans they've taken for 'upgrading' into their Overwatch soldiers... no one's ever seen an Overwatch with a daemon. Or an Overwatch who does anything except what the Combine tell him. Most of their armies are synths- bionically upgraded and controlled organisms from half a dozen universes. The Overwatch is their way of testing whether we'd make good synths ourselves."

Date: 2009-12-11 06:50 am (UTC)
acts_of_gord: (yes well)
From: [personal profile] acts_of_gord
"Not many," says Gordon. "I'm told there's maybe twenty million humans in North America in general. I don't know how it stands in the rest of the world. The people I'm with tell me it's pretty bad overall, though."

Date: 2009-12-12 04:28 am (UTC)
acts_of_gord: (blood)
From: [personal profile] acts_of_gord
"Unfortunately," Gordon says. "We've managed to cut them off from their home dimension. Just barely. But they've still got their forces on Earth... and that's a lot of forces."

Date: 2009-12-12 04:55 am (UTC)
acts_of_gord: (Sati)
From: [personal profile] acts_of_gord
The disturbing part is that it represents more hope than the human race's had in sixteen years.

"I don't expect it to," Gordon says quietly, glancing down at the test tube.

"I don't know, Gordon," Sati says. "If anyone's going to live to see this thing through it'll be you."

Gordon just shakes his head and reaches for his beer.

Date: 2009-12-12 05:18 am (UTC)
acts_of_gord: (contemplating)
From: [personal profile] acts_of_gord
"That," says Gordon, "sounds like it'd be a step up. How bad do they get?"


xamotomax: (Default)

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