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>The whole shebang
>48, 62, 54, 49 vs. DC 80 — Failure
>Spendy
It's true you only really came here to blow up Headspace, and investigating Casey, who in a few short hours will also be blown up, might be a pointless endeavor. That's what Richard would say if he were here. But he's not, and Mr. Kurz, whoever that is, <span class="mu-i">is,</span> and if you can dig anything up on him— or the Headspace deal with Jean Ramsey, she of the grinning Super-M.A.N.S.E. carton— it'll be more than worth it. Even better if you can make your retainer happy. Retainers?
Whatever. The caterers wheel straight past you, too harried to pay you and your rucksack any attention, and you breeze past them in return. "Hold on," Gil says, as you near the door. "I-I-I can feel... um... could you unzip the backpack? I-I can't get out."
You do, and when the beetles flood out you body-block them from view. Any onlooker will see a woman standing uncomfortably close to a door, no bugs in sight— or that's the idea, at least. "Are you him yet?"
"Hold on! I-I-I almost... I... uh... aw. Ow. ...Hi."
"Gil?"
"Yeah. I-I-I'll get the door. Gimme a sec."
The beetles on the outside stay exactly where they are, no sign of movement, but a second later they glow— and fall to the ground as a severed arm. You stare. You prod the arm with your toe. It's not bloody or anything, which you could've predicted from the lack of agonized screaming, but you still... oh, that's the door, and that's Gil, with one arm and two shoulders. "Um, hi. You wouldn't happen to have...?"
You kick the arm in his direction, and he snatches it up and squishes it on. "Thanks. Sorry. I-I-I guess I— that's what I get for— sorry. Sorry. Come i-i-in, quick."
He presses the door shut behind you and turns. At a glance, Casey's penthouse bears a marked similarity to the one you just came from, barring the massive table of what must be "light refreshments." There's way too many of them for two people, but maybe wasting food is the point? Or it's not real food, so it doesn't matter. "Did they catch you at all?"
"Didn't even look at me." With the arm snafu resolved, Gil's sounding awfully smug. "I-I-I just wish they had more interesting shit to say. I-I-It was mainly bitching."
"About?"
"Not much useful. Being understaffed. I-I-I guess a lot of their team was deemed 'redundant,' or 'below par,' so they got axed. God knows what being 'axed' means i-i-if they can't actually leave."
"We'll know in a little bit, I think. Maybe we'll see them." You're patrolling the refreshments. "Is any of this actual food?"
"Um, I-I-I couldn't see it very well. Let me look." Gil follows. "Aw, shit. Ha-ha. Of course this i-i-is what they'd serve. Circles."
"<span class="mu-i">Orbs,</span> Gil," you say mock-primly. "And... foam?"
(1/3)
