Treia Bracken's Story

Treia frowned as Ichiro entered. Kamala had been about to tell them something, rather, was thinking about telling them something, until the newcomer had arrived. He managed to cover up his frown and turn to the man with an acknowledging nod before responding. "I haven't used it yet, let me get off a few shots and I'll return it to you."

With that, he set the gun and fired off a few shots, not knowing exactly what to expect. After all, in his mind, it was a glorified laser gun. Turning back, he offered the gun to Ichiro before checking how his aim had fared, in addition to what kind of damage it had done. "Thanks, Mouse. I think I'll stick to my own pistols, but that's a pretty nifty thing you got there."

"Got it, Res." Treia nodded solemnly at Rescha before a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "What, no goodnight kiss for me?" He winked at her, laughing, before turning back to Kamala and Ichiro. "So, any plans for the rest of the night?"

"As long as you buck up, and survive, you'll be fine here." Treia said, shrugging. The story was a bit far-off, but it was so far-off that he probably wasn't lying, or was one hell of a storyteller and liar. Either way, it didn't matter much, since none of them could do anything, supposedly. It wouldn't hurt to confirm, though. "Anything we can do to help?" he offered.

He turned on Kamala with a critical eye. "Well, spoilsport. I was trying to lighten the mood, kill some boredom. But now that you mention it, maybe we should act out some Broadway shit. I bet you're secretly a hell of an actor." he joked, giving his friend a light punch on the arm.

Treia broke out into a yawn, shaking his head. He spared a glance to Ichiro's neck though. "I'd love to hear about your planet and stories, space-Mouse, but I'm going to have to ditto Kam here. I'm tired, man." he said. "I'm also gonna head back to the bunker with douchelord here." With a disappointed shake of his head, Treia dryly commented, "He doesn't even enjoy my company. What fools these mortals be, eh, Mousey?"

With a quick wave, he started off towards the bunker without a glance back.

As if by some psychich force, Treia walked into the bunker, catching the last few words from various people. "We going on a mission?" A quick second passed, and he walked over to the shared chest between him and Kamala, grabbing his pistols. "I'm in. You can brief me on the way."

At Samson's words, Treia quickly nabbed his communicator before stepping past the remaining people and heading towards the plane. "Dude, I like the teleporter."

Treia even had enough sense to have buckled down, and simply felt his stomach rolling around, similar to Patchi. As they approached the observatory, he bit back his previous meal, and commented, "And this was better than the teleporter how?"

At least that method of transportation was near-instant.

"Hey, so..." Patchi awkwardly started, "Does anyone else ever get the feeling that our squad used to be like... Twice as big?"

Two and a half words into the next persons sentence, Samson walked into the room and immediately said, "Alright maggots, we've got three missions for you to pick from today, so gather 'round."

Kamala started off with an insult toward Patchi, as he usually had, but was soon interrupted by the Commander. He rolled his eyes, stood from his bunk, and gathered around Samson. He was unkempt as he usually was before a mission, laden with a beater and military pants.

"Suicide squad story time?" He half-mocked, though he was prepared as ever to listen to what Samson had to say.

"What have you got for us LT?" Shields asked in her usual flat tone of voice. She never really was one for emotion aside from annoyance, at least around this particular group or people though Patchi was improving to the say the least, perhaps that time on the range helped him out.

"We've got three missions. The first is a convoy mission. There's some convoy transport and we have to stop it. The second is... We have more information on the whereabouts of Frank Ziebens and some of his labs. We want people to go there and just investigate. Not shoot or sabotage or anything like that. The last is... A suspicious guard duty between twelve-hundred and fifteen hundred hours. Specifically that time."

He frowned. "Reach a consensus."

Kamala looked between Patchi and Shields. If he was going to reach a consensus, it had better be in his own interest. As if he were some sort of voice of authority on the subject, he piped in almost immediately after Samson had uttered the last syllables of his speech.
"The NeoNazi, then. I got a score to settle with that stupid prick." He said.

"I can't help but wonder why guard duty for just a specific three hour shift. That doesn't make any real sense to me. And Kam, it's just a recon mission, if you are going to get an itchy trigger finger I wouldn't want you with to screw it to hell." she said.

"Now, suppose that during the recon, the Nazi just had an accident. Y'know. Someone was shooting at...birds..and a bullet just happened to hit him. Or...maybe twenty-six bullets. Would that be okay? I mean, that guy had some bad karma stored up. It wouldn't be too far off for him to accidentally die, right?" Treia chimed in, almost cheerfully.
"Either way, I'm totally good for it."

"Yeah, I'd say Shields is on the mark there with the guard duty. It's suspicious as hell. Sounds like they know an attack is coming and just want some cannon fodder there. If you want my advice, convoy or lab," Samson agreed.

Patchi scratched his head idly. "Yeah, but... It's like... What if they need us to defend the building... And we do? We could be heroes, man. Heroes."

"It's not about heroism kid, it's about doing what we are told and getting it done right." Shields grumbled. "I don't like the idea of going after Dr. Psychopath with some one in my group gunning for his head. That would get in the way of the real reason of why we are there.

Kamala piped in, aggressively as ever. "Jesus, you gotta be fuckin' stupid, Princess. I'm not up for fallin' into a trap because you want to be a hero." He hissed, glaring at Patchi, before switching his gaze to Shields. "Say Trei and I agree not to go gunnin' after his head, will you take the stick out your ass, come off your high horse, and agree to go on the recon mission?"

He had crossed his arms across his chest, as if he were a toddler that hadn't gotten his way. "Believe it or not, you ain't the only good soldier here."
"He's right. The chest is the center of mass, and I'm not good enough to hit the head at 40 yards anyway. My left arm still burns like a motherfucker anyway. So, I won't go gunning after his head," Treia said with a straight face. Shields could make of it what she would.
"I don't plan on taking another mission."

Patchi's mouth hung open. "Aw but c'mon man! We need you!" He was obviously making an effort to flat ignore Kamala.

"Shut up. If he's hurt, he doesn't have to come. Better to not have a liability on board. You're all right and wrong to an extent uh... Except Shields," Samson said with a sheepish shrug, "This is a recon mission. Find the tech, steal some if you can. Don't kill anyone. Don't cause any trouble. Just in and out. We can't have people who want revenge or want to be heroes."

"So are we really going on this grab mission?" Shields asked, looking around the room. She was more concerned about the guard duty's timing, that was definitely out of the ordinary and that didn't happen in the military, not as long as she had been in it.

"'M all for Ziebins'. Trei's all for too. Unless you and Princess team up, it looks like popular opinion is reconnin' with Nazi and Friends, part two." Kamala replied toward Shields, before his eyes rested on Patchi again. "I just want to come to an agreement before we all die of old fucking age."
...And he wanted the agreement to be in his favor. There was no disputing that.

"I said it once, and I guess I'll say it again. I won't take another mission until this is over with. So, yeah. What Kam said. Besides, even if you team up, it's two for two and tied. So why not just go with us, and we can be back sooner? Faster if Mr. Nazi has something unfortunate happen to him...but either way. Let's just decide."
He rolled onto the balls of his feet and back down, as his arms tingled with anticipation. Finally, here was a chance to get some payback.

"Alright, pick. I'm not going to lie to you guys, the Zieben's mission could provide us some good intel." Samson paused. "Also, he's not a Nazi. Most Nazi's are more than seventy years old."

Patchi shrugged. "I don't mind whatever. I just want to get out there into the action. Uh... I mean, into the... recon?"
"To hell with it, Recon it is, but if either you go and pull a stupid stunt I won't be happy about pulling your asses out of the fire." Shields replied crossing her arms. She wasn't happy with it but she wasn't going to win so she might as well go with it.

There wasn't much Kamala could say after that. His gaze scanned the current crowd, before resting on Samson again. "Looks like we got a consensus, then."
Treia didn't have much to add, aside from amending slightly, "Sorry, Cap. Neo-Nazi. Politically correct enough for you? I thought we didn't do that here, but I guess this is just one of those things, huh?"

"Consensus. Let's roll."

The sun shined brightly above, causing the water of the lake to sparkle brightly. Nearby, a man dressed in casual garb sat on the sand of the beach. There were the bulges of two pistols underneath his jacket. He stared out into the water, looking vaguely bored. And as all bored, lonely people were prone to do, he began talking to himself.

"I never thought I'd miss all that shit. Taking it easy is kind of boring," he mused loudly, "And I kinda miss everyone. Hear that, water? I'm never saying this again, so listen carefully and listen well. Life is fucking dull without friends and a fight."

The voice surprised him and he blinked a few times before turning towards the source of the voice. "Wow. I mean, no problem. I'm pretty sure this is everyone's beach, so you're not intruding much."

The man ran his fingers through his very normal brown hair, taken aback. Part of it was from the surprise that he hadn't noticed someone nearby, and part of it was that the woman was beautiful. There was difficulty in determining which was prominent.

Slowly getting to his feet and recovering from his shock, he commented, "Well, it's more about the friends than the fighting." He paused, then spoke again, a bit mournfully. "But it's much more fun when they're around. So what brings you out here?"

"Well, pleased to hear you're pleased," he said with a chuckle.

His eyes followed her out to the lake, also watching the light dancing on top of the water. When she spoke again, he turned back to her, nodding. "Actually, though. I prefer it at night. Under a moon, of course. But it's much nicer then."

A smirk spread across his face and he inclined his head in agreement. "Yeah, I guess, but it's not that I can't find new friends. It's that I don't know where my old ones went."

This person, however, was not particularly observant, though it could be said that his perception was above average. He didn't notice these men, instead repeating his question. "Well then. What brings you here, Miss....?"

"Oh, before I forget whatever manners I have, I'm Treia," he added hastily.

"Well, you can come back anytime," he replied.

Though that may or may not have been true. Her clothes stood out even amoung those in Wing City, but then again, standing out was normal too. The normalcy of the city itself was quite tussled. He was taken by surprise by the curtsy as well, hastily bowing to her.

"Well met, Veyenne." The formality seemed to be throwing him off, but he agreed to her invitation. "Oh, right. That would be great."

A few brisk strides brought the man alongside her, at a comfortable distance.

It took him a moment to realize that yet again, she had mostly avoided his question. For now, this was set aside. Instead, his feet shuffled him forward, alongside her. When they stopped near the water, he thought about kicking off his shoes and walking into it, but decided against it.

"It's not that big a deal. We all split up a while ago, so I didn't exactly expect to just walk over any of them again," he answered, then shook his head. "Nah, I'm from somewhere else."

However, he had yet to get any kind of personal information from the woman aside from her name. "Well, your clothes don't look native to the place, though, Veyenne. You're not from Wing City either, are you?"

As she spoke, his eyes slowly drifted towards the lake again before glancing back to her. Somehow, the water seemed to be a compliment for their conversation. Or, he was just easily distractible. Either one.

Treia gave a light laugh, commenting, "Sounds like tough work. If it makes you feel any better, you're the best looking ambassador I've seen, so I'm sure that helps. How're negotiations going?"

Luckily, this wasn't personal, which meant things wouldn't get too nosy. However, he couldn't refrain from asking another question. "Something on your mind?"

"That I do, miss," he replied cordially.

The conversation was a bit strange without eye contact, but it seemed to be working out just fine. Similarly, he would still occasionally look at her and nod to express that he was also paying attention to her words.

"Well, that's a surprise. I hear diplomatic relations generally aren't as smooth as that. But hey, good for you. A good negotiation is a good thing for everyone. It means there won't be war. Well, not proper war, at least."

His eyes widened slightly at her statement, and the man also turned to her, looking worried. "That doesn't sound good. Isn't there any way to get something to them? And doesn't that mean...well, that you might be in danger?" He was unable to drop the topic so easily.

"Well," he began slowly, scratching his head, "Unemployed now. But I guess you could say I used to be a soldier, or something like that."

There was a bit of discomfort at advertising himself as a soldier. After all, he had never had any formal training. There was a reason his unit had been called a suicide squad, after all. Their experience could be compared to survivors in a zombie apocalypse: makeshift and incomplete.

"Well, I suppose that's a good thing. I hear those ambassadors get targeted all the time, so I'm glad you have some security. Can't be easy being so far from home," he mused, the last words more to himself than her.

Following her hand, Treia finally noticed the two men who had been accompanying her. His wrist smacked lightly against his head, and he made a face. "I'm kind of surprised I didn't notice them. Then again, I was never the most observant," he admitted, inclining his head towards her in acknowledgement. " 'Guarding you,' huh?"

"Less praying, more working is what I say!" the man exclaimed, "Besides, they'll be happy to hear about all the progress you've made, I'm sure."

Her excitement only served to humble him, making him feel bad for saying so straightforwardly. "Well...I mean.." He trailed off. However, at the physical contact, a flush came to his cheeks, partly due to surprise, partly due to embarrassment. ""Well, I guess I could give it a shot. I wouldn't ask too much. I'm a "stay full, stay clothed" kinda guy, you know?"