A Conversation for The Minos Front

The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 1

Mystrunner

*The safehouse is a low-slung warehouse, half-filled with empty crates and shipping containers. The other quarter is filled with filled crates, and the last quarter is sulking, empty. The interior is brightly lit, and smells of sterilizer.*


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 2

Dizzy H. Muffin

[Yar] [looking out the car window] Kinda reminds me of that place where I went up agaqinst Ray, who's sort of an evil twin of mine ...


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 3

Apollo

*brings the Jag to a halt, and turns off the engine*

Well... here we are. *draws Oracle out of its holster* Let's have a look around, shall we?

*opens the door, gets out, and begins inspecting the warehouse*


Let's keep the convo here for awhile, shall we? We're going to start losing and confusing people with all this thread jumping smiley - winkeye


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 4

Dizzy H. Muffin


I second the motion.


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 5

Mystrunner

Same here. We need a place for the new recruits to show up... and I think we lost about three in the flight from the SWAT Team.


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 6

Apollo

*cracks open some crates*

A-ha!! A crate full of rubber bands!!!

Now we're in business...


Does anyone know exactly how one goes about setting up a command post?


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 7

ED-E42

*There is a loud bang as the side door falls inward. Before anyone reacts a dozen or so multi-limb robots clammer through. They vary in size and details, but all move in a precise unity with eachother. Within moments a heavy steel door has been welded into the doorway and the droids are scampering off to some other task. Carried upon thin spidery legs one of the droids approaches the group, a thin lcd display folds up from its torso and a stately face materializes on it. Resembling very much the stereotype of an english butler it clears its virtual throat.*

Alfred: I do hope it is of no inconvenience to you, but please stay clear of any area currently under construction. Feel free to relax in this general area until other portions of the building are available for use. Oh, watch your heads there.

*A pair of very large droids lumber through the main doors carrying the silver Jag above them. Setting it down upon its wheels and apologizing to the very unsettled AI within, they retract their pronged hands and turn to help a third carry in stacks of grid iron. Smaller droids crawl along the wall burning away the rough edges of the large doorway. All along the walls thick armor plating is going up in a rapid piecewise fashion.*

Alfred: In fact, please stay away from the walls too. The main entrance port should be complete withing the next fifteen minutes, until then use the side door if you must leave. It will remain unlocked until security clearance can be established for all of you.

*Stepping carefully around the still uncertain humans the large trio of droids begin to hold various pieces of machinery and armor onto the frame of the doorway for the smaller ones to weld into place.*


I'm sure Alfred will be kind enough to explain what they are doing to anyone that asks, but he tends to be a bit uppity. Of coures the obvious question is where they came from, feel free to prod him about it. I'll try and check in more regularly.


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 8

Queex Quimwrangler (Not Egon)

*a quiet rapping is heard on the side door*


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 9

friendlywithteeth

I hope you swept the floor before hand smiley - cross


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 10

Queex Quimwrangler (Not Egon)

*rap rap rap*


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 11

friendlywithteeth

Opens the door then!


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 12

BobTheFarmer

*Drops from the rafters, and starts removing two intricate frameworks of impossibly delicately looking metal from his hands. The contraptions seem to be able to aid climbing and fighting, as they provide each finger witha hooked claw.*

The rafters are clean...

I dont like all this machinery though, how does it communicate, surely Daedalus can crack it?


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 13

Dizzy H. Muffin

[Yar] [to Alfred] Okay, Weisenheimer, what the hell's going on??


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 14

Mystrunner

*Leaning on a crate*

As long as we don't draw too much attention, Daedalus shouldn't find them. And draw too much power.


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 15

Queex Quimwrangler (Not Egon)

*saunters through door, appraising the chaos*

No wonder the bar was in such a mess. Where in all this machinery could I find a bite to eat?


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 16

BobTheFarmer

*Sits on a crate cross-legged. He removes his knives, and takes a whetstone and a strop from his coat. He sits sharpening the butterfly knives.*

And enough of the Keanu jokes, my stereotype was around long before that charlatan took hold of it...

The one, indeed, haha.

*He holds one of the knives in front of him, and it appears to emit a spectrum of previously unseen colour.*


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 17

Queex Quimwrangler (Not Egon)

*examines knife politely*

Interesting. But what kind of range do you get on it?


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 18

BobTheFarmer

None. Thats not whats there for.

*He carefully places the knives upon the crate, and reaches both hands to the small of his back. The soft slide of metal on leather is heard, and he presents his twin gold-plated, monogrammed Desert Eagles.*

Thats for range.

*Spins the guns and replaces them in the barrel-to-barrel holster.*

I prefer to work close in anyway.

*Returns to sharpening and polishing his Chinese butterfly knives.*


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 19

BobTheFarmer

None. Thats not whats there for.

*He carefully places the knives upon the crate, and reaches both hands to the small of his back. The soft slide of metal on leather is heard, and he presents his twin gold-plated, monogrammed Desert Eagles.*

Thats for range.

*Spins the guns and replaces them in the barrel-to-barrel holster.*

I prefer to work close in anyway.

*Returns to sharpening and polishing his Chinese butterfly knives.*


The Safe House on 42nd Street.

Post 20

BobTheFarmer

Doh


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