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Ricker Brackwall

"A revolution? Not much of a change here."

0 · 342 views · located in Twilon

a character in “Revolutionary”, as played by Zalgo

Description




Ricker Brackwall
"Tyrants come and go. What people do with their spare time is what shapes the future."







Image
❝ Mᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ. ❞


Role
Bronze

Age
21

Gender
Male

Physical Description
About average height, weighs deceptively more than what shows. He's slim with long muscles built from working on the factory floor most of his life. As such he bears calloused hands and is usually spotted with oil, grease and other mechanical fluids. He has straight black hair and somewhat light brown eyes. Generally he prefers to wear cheap dark clothing so stains don't show as clearly. He does however have a white coat he keeps relatively clean in case of a rainy day or if he needs to look somewhat respectable.




❝ Bᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪsɢᴜɪsᴇ. ❞



Personality
Ricker does not understand the revolution. In one sense he can understand the logical progression. In another he himself has lived the life of a bronze class citizen and has witnessed the cruelty of the golds rule first hand. Despite knowing the plight of the revolutionaries too well he has never thought of this tyranny as anything other than the inherent nature of civilization itself. The bronze revolution may have his support, but they might never have his sympathy.

This being said, Ricker himself is not all bad. He can be quite relaxed, even when tension is high in the moods of everyone. Generally he is rather insightful and can be quite pleasant around good company. He rarely gets angry and even when he does he prefers to ignore it and move on rather than act with a hot head. The worse traits of his personality are most certainly related to his sense of amorality which goes to further blur the line of his already tenuous allegiance to the bronze revolution. His reasons for what he does are quite self-centered, looking to further his own goals before others.

Ultimately, he is a tinkerer. He is at his happiest on the job with his tools, building interesting new things and modifying already existing machines to his liking. This, although helpful to people who can use a mechanic, makes him difficult to relate to. Unless somebody else likes machines then there is little common ground to form bonds with him. Once a friend of his though he will not sell out those he cares about. There is little anyone can do to persuade him or even threaten him into betraying people he likes since he lives mostly in his head, the outside world taking a backseat to his constant imagination.


Thoughts About The War
Ricker serves his own cause. If the gold members hadn't exiled him from the city in the first place he wouldn't of gotten involved to begin with. As it is he sees the glimpses of the conflicts to come as an opportunity to do what he was unable to do before. With flying cities and biological manipulation on the chess board the possibilities are endless. He needs only time enough to see what he can make of them.

Skill(s)/Abilities
Technological intuition: Ricker has a knack for dealing with any kind of technology. From simple mechanisms and basic construction to more advanced technology and devices as intricate as fine clockwork he can adapt to most technology faster than most other people.

Mechanic: A majority of Ricker's experience has been repairing and building machines both during work and on his free time. He possesses a great deal of practical knowledge when it comes to dealing with large machines in particular. This experience can come in handy when reverse engineering technology that is larger in scale.

Pilot: Simply working with machines is one thing. Ricker takes his work with machines home and plays with it when he can. He has learned to drive an assortment of different machines from a simple chance to joy ride the fruits of his efforts. Additionally this experience in piloting new and exciting machines has taught him a method of approaching new controls which best helps him learn it without crashing violently.

Jury Rigger: Being from the poor neighborhood has taught Ricker how to make do without always having the tools he needs for the job. He is able to take ordinary household objects and turn them into the tools and components he needs at the time. It might not be pretty, or even safe to use all the time but it usually works.

Effective Searcher: A mechanic needs a lot of tools, often times so many that some things can get lost with relative ease. Ricker has had more than a fair share of practice looking for things he needs amongst all the other junk he has. This practice can come in handy even when looking for things that don't always belong to him.

Tough: Being a mechanic can be hard work, both mentally and physically. Living with little to no luxuries and working almost all the time at the factory has made him tougher over time. He's no hardened soldier but he still has formidable strength and constitution.


Likes Dislikes
Machines Close Combat
Good Tools Unwarranted Self-Importance
Learning Mechanical Abuse
Exploring Ruins Ignorance
Coming up with Solutions Idealism
Owing Anyone Anything




❝ Rᴇᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛ. ❞



History
All his life Ricker has had a fascination with technology. He could not help but take things apart and see if he can put them back together again but better. This calling was answered in the form of the closest thing the golds would allow a bronze like him to take as a job: a factory repair man. Unlike his begrudging co-workers he put up with the daily toils working as a repair man at the automobile factory. One thing he would do to on the sly was occasionally pocket unneeded parts while he worked and take them home so he can make something of them. Among his many projects, his latest and by far his favorite was his prototype for a helicopter. With it he could fly down to the surface to search the ruins of the old civilization, learn about them and search for parts to take back up to the city and construct new devices. His little job benefit went unnoticed for quite a few years but eventually fate caught up to him.

The manager, a man from the lower rung of the golds society, caught Ricker pocketing a worn fuse he had just replaced. The manager took no pity in having Ricker fired, arrested and consequently exiled from the city. He didn't even get a chance to bring any of his machines or tools along. Those all got taken by the police and locked away as evidence. This disappointed Ricker but not for long. He is not the kind of guy to simply sit and mope about his losses. He scavenged what he could from the wreckage of the old society below the flying city and built himself a workshop so he could start building again. Now at the present he works for the bronze exiles, repairing their machines and building new ones for them to use. Some day he hopes to get back up into the city and get his stuff back.


Sexual Orientation
Straight

Love Interest
Nope. Too busy to bother.

Relationships
Gold:

Besides the manager at his old job he cannot say he has any connections to the gold class.

His thoughts:
"I cannot say I have any fondness for the golds whatsoever. I do not harbor any particular hatred for them either. All in all I'd rather not have to see a single one of them if I'm lucky."

Silver:

He knows as much about them as the rest of the revolutionaries would. Any of them on the revolutionaries side would most likely be using something he made for most missions.

His thoughts:
"Scientifically fascinating yet totally impractical in my opinion. Whoever thought it was a good idea to hand such random biological mutations to a bunch of youngsters instead of actual soldiers should not be allowed to even have this kind of technology in their hands. Despite all the stigma surrounding the silvers themselves though I don't judge whether or not they'll get along with me based on what they are but rather who they are."

Bronze:

He builds a lot of things as well as repairing whatever breaks to aid the exiles. Someone needs something fixed up? He's the guy to go to.

His thoughts:
"I don't particularly care much for them either. Sure I have less of a reason to dislike them like I dislike the golds but I do not have much of a reason to like them either. Bronzes are just people. If I don't like the person, I don't like the person. If I do like someone it doesn't matter whether they are bronze, silver or gold. I might be a bit more careful with the gold though."


Other
He usually carries his toolbox around with him. The toolbox is padlocked and the key is hidden underneath the sole of his work boots. He also carries a pencil and a small notebook on his person most of the time.




So begins...

Ricker Brackwall's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ricker Brackwall
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#, as written by Zalgo
Location: Bronze district, the Slums, Twilon.

Time: 11:59 AM
___

He was standing on top of a hill.
Or was it a mountain?


Ricker awoke from his dream to the violent rocking of a large van. He was dressed in what he was wearing yesterday: black cargo pants; steel toed work boots; a discarded black band taken from an abandoned factory and fashioned into a belt with a metal clasp affixed to it and a black shirt with long sleeves.

How the heck did I get here?

Was the first thought to cross his mind. He had no recollection of what happened between the time he was just walking down the street delivering a freshly repaired water heating unit up to now. Sitting up he noticed his hands were bound behind him.

A fancy pair of metal cuffs linked together.

Ricker deduced while He analyzed what was holding his hands together. As he attempted to move his hands forward they stopped no further than a small few centimeters from the wall of the van.

Seems they're also linked to the wall as well.

He concluded, giving the cuffs a couple more good tugs before settling down and sitting himself up against the wall. His head was throbbing with pain, the cause currently unknown to him although a few obvious answers did come to mind. It made it difficult to concentrate too hard as the pain was very distracting, but not enough of a distraction to stop him from making a few more deductions. As he looked around he could tell that this van was from one of the gold sectors of Twilon. This ride was well built and had all the expensive toys the police force had to offer, a good departure from some of the models he had seen from his sector's police department which were little more than re-purposed beaten up cargo trucks. He was able to stand up just enough to see through the barred window to the drivers compartment, his two captors chatting as they drove onwards to take him back to their headquarters. From their equipment and the state of their attire it was obvious that these men took no pains in hiding their social status as golds. Ricker would of listened into their conversation but the bars were not the only divider between him and them. There was also a plate of bullet resistant (because nothing is truely bullet proof) glass behind the bars as an added safety feature.

Not being one to give up that easy he began his plan to try and escape the van using his technical prowess. He knew that the first thing he needed to do was to liberate his cuffs so he could still have limited use of his hands. In order to do this though he needed to be able to see what was holding him to the wall and he knew that the solution to that would not be fun. He would be able to have his hands in front of him however he would need to contort himself and, inevitably, dislocate both his shoulders. Without much hesitation he began to slump down the wall, bringing his arms up behind him when an unexpected event suddenly interrupted everything.

A round of semi-automatic machine gun fire erupted near the van, several rounds piercing the wall of the vehicle in a line towards Ricker. In a stroke of luck on Ricker's part since he was low to the floor at that moment the rounds passed over him. One round just barely grazed the top of his head leaving his hair standing on end, his heart beating like an excited drum circle from all the adrenalin that was flooding his system at this point. Ricker was just barely collected enough at this point to hear yelling coming from the two police men who were currently under fire as well, likely from the same gunman. If Ricker didn't know what was going on to begin with he certainly didn't know what was going on after that.

Who would be firing at a police van? I'm almost certain there wasn't an operation planned for the recent future and I don't know of any bronze operatives if there are any up here. Even it was a member of the revolution I don't think whoever it is would be coming to rescue me or else they wouldn't of been filling this damn thing with bullets!

Ricker's mind spun around trying to figure out what the heck was going on. The adrenaline of the whole situation was drowning out the pain in his head for now. The whole van made a sudden sharp left turn, slamming ricker back against the wall he was still bound to. It was obvious that this vehicle was making a drastic detour considering the change of situation. Taking the opportunity he stood up as high as he could with his wrists stuck low to the van to see what the situation was like up front. The driver was unhurt but his partner seemed to had taken a round to the leg. A more important detail he noticed was that the radio was shot making communication with their station impossible. "How convenient." Ricker quipped to no one but himself at the moment. The gunfire in itself served no particular help to him however he did notice that the new holes in the van gave him a small window to the outside. Looking through he observed the buildings they were passing through this convenient aperture of his. Plenty of run down buildings, people wearing ratty clothing and looking generally disheveled and unwashed, all were signs of what part of the city he was currently being driven through. One detail that was quite telling was a sign that quickly passed through his field of vision. "That sign... We're on Poor street. That means we are in the slums! Seems I'm not too far from my old hole in the wall I used to call home." Ricker was talking to himself which was more like him thinking out loud. It was a habit he picked up a couple years ago early on in his banishment when he was completely alone. From this point he could name each other the locations they rapidly past by memory. "There's the old baker shop, there's the new baker shop which looks awfully like the old baker shop, the playground, the industrial waste water treatment plant... Bad memories." Ricker named location after location as a kind of game. He was too caught up in nostalgia to remember he was supposed to be trying to escape.

Suddenly a wall cut into Ricker's view, the interior of the local police station. Outside the vehicle he could hear hurried voices, all sorts of questions being asked as police men and women came to receive him. He looked up from the hole to see the two rear doors swing open, police stepping in with him to unhook him from his current bind so he can be moved into a holding cell. "Why hello there. I take it my arrival wasn't expected?" He asked the female officer who was detaching the wall clasp from his handcuffs. He knew this was the bronze district police station closest to the slums so the question was more merrily rhetorical than anything else. As expected, none of the officers responded. He was grabbed roughly and dragged from the van to the halls ahead. He looked over to see the driver relaying details to some of the higher ranked police men while his partner was being pulled out of the van on a stretcher, doctors rushing to the scene to tend his wound.

"I need to call my station and tell them to send someone over to pick up the revolutionary so get me to your closest phone quick! I will be taking enough of the blame for this detour so I will suffer no incompetence from any of you. Is that understood!?"

Ricker overheard the driver barking at the policemen he was currently speaking to in the way most golds usually do when communicating with bronzes. He simply rolled his eyes at the arrogant idiot before he was pulled through another door into a long hallway. Ricker couldn't say he disliked this entirely considering the officer holding his right arm was a cute brunette. A small silver lining in the raincloud that was this entire ordeal he was just put through. If there was one thing Ricker had going for him right now it was his ability to keep positive.

On the far end the long grey hallways was another metal door which they forced him through, leading him into the hall with all the temporary occupation cells. It was the guy on his left who produced the keys, unlocking the cell door and holding it open as the brunette threw him inside in a manner not too kind. With a click he was locked in. With little else to do but wait for his verdict he sat on the wooden bench they called a bed and kicked his feet up, resting back and giving a pained sigh, rubbing his temples with his middle and index fingers as his headache made a return after the frantic mess he was subjected to. "I don't suppose I'll be getting a city appointed lawyer any time soon?" He asked to anyone who might be listening, wondering if anyone was even listening to begin with.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ricker Brackwall Character Portrait: Deputy Commissioner Harrod Schliecher
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Harrod Schliecher




Location: Bronze District Police Station

Time: 12:10 PM

Harrod pushed through the press of bodies crowding around the entrance to the garage. The clamor of voices ceased as he arrived.

"Well, what the hell's goi-"

Before he could finish, a flush-faced patrol officer charged up to him. Within a split second, Schliecher took an account of him. He wore the badge of the Market District Department, so he was obviously a Gold. He wore the three inverted chevrons of a sergeant on his shoulders, and wore his automatic pistol prominently on his hip.

"Are you in charge here? I need a phone, now! That man is a dangerous revolutionary, and my arrest! These damned idiots are just standing here gaping like monkeys, I need a phone!" The sergeant shouted.

Harrod grimaced, this was going to be troublesome, he could tell already.

"We were waiting for you to arrive before taking any sort of action, Deputy Commissioner, given the circumstances." Officer Kingsley, a pretty, young brunette explained; placing slight emphasis on his title and giving the Gold Sergeant a venomous look.

"And what circumstances were that?" Harrod asked; enjoying a healthy amount of satisfaction from the look of incredulity on the Gold's face as he noticed the single gold star on either side of his collar.

"The Sergeant, who refuses to give his name or number, swerved into the garage a few moments ago. His vehicle held one prisoner, whom the Sergeant refers to as a "revolutionary", and one wounded officer in the passenger seat. They appear to have come under fire in-transit. The suspect is currently in a holding cell, and the wounded officer is in the infirmary." Kingsley rattled off, with prim and concise enunciation.

"You... You're Deputy Commissioner Schliecher?" The Sergeant asked, his voice belying his uncertainty of whether to speak with respect or scorn.

"Indeed." Harrod replied. "Now, Sergeant, you will give me your name and badge number, as well as those of your partner." He ordered.

The Sergeant's face flushed a shade darker; he took another step forward, and shoved a finger at him.

"Listen, you Bronze scum. I am ordering you to release that revolutionary into my custody, and give me a phone. This is a matter of Internal Security, and you are harboring a terrorist! If you do not comply, you will be committing an act of blatant Treason!"

Harrod didn't take a single step back. He looked down his nose at the Sergeant, an act which he knew would infuriate him even more, which was good. The angrier he got, the easier this would be.

"You made an unlawful arrest, in my district; which I'm sure is why you refuse to give up your name and number. I'm sure you're not really from the Market District, you're accent is from one of the Gold districts. You aren't really a Sergeant either, are you? Any Sergeant would recognize the stars of a Deputy Commissioner in an instant. You might not even be a real police officer for that matter." Harrod announced, making sure that all officers around him could hear. '

"I don't care which aristocrats' pocket you're in, boy, but I will not tolerate you making a mockery of my brothers and sisters. Still, I don't want to get descend into your filth either, so I'm not going to throw you into a cell. You take your friend and get out of here, and don't ever come back." He finished, turning his back on the man.

"You'll burn for this, Schliecher. You hear me? You're done, you rebel lover!" The faux-Sergeant bellowed. "You've no idea the storm that's about to come down on you! On all you Bronze filth!"

Harrod turned back and gave him a shrewd look.

"Well, I do now, thank you. Tell your master that he needs to tighten your leash. If I see you, or any other "officers" in the Slums that don't belong to my Department, you will be detained and prosecuted." He turned on his heels and strode back to his office.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Gold and his partner, with his leg bandaged and the bullet removed, fled the scene in their unmarked patrol vehicle. After they left, the station erupted in a cacophony of voices. Some shouted derision at the fleeing Golds, some praise towards Harrod, and some asking why he hadn't detained them both. With a hand gesture, he managed to lower the roar to a constant murmur. They were too excited to be completely silent, the energy that had built up in the Station during his confrontation with the Gold had to be released somehow. He would let them have their fun for now.

"Kingsley." He said loudly.

From the press of blue-uniformed bodies, the lithe young patrol officer emerged again.

"Sir?"

"Take me to our revolutionary, let's sort this mess out. I don't want to detain some kid who walked where he wasn't meant too any longer than necessary."

"And what if he is a revolutionary?"

"Well then, he might be quite useful."

He turned towards the crowd of officers.

"What are you all standing around for? This isn't a zoo, get back to work; and if I hear people talking about this little incident on the street, I will be more than a little upset. This stays within these walls, understood?"

"Understood, Sir!" Came from every mouth.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________

As Kingsley led him down the hallway towards the cells, Harrod began to wonder if he had handled the situation correctly. Perhaps it would have been smarter to just let the Gold operative, police officer or not, take this suspect. Without a doubt, he was in for another "Investigation" by his superiors. Still, they hadn't found a way to legally dismiss him yet.

"Permission to speak freely sir?" Kingsley suddenly asked.

"Always Kinglsey, you know that. Unless I specifically command otherwise."

"Of course, Sir. Why didn't you detain both of those Golds, Sir? They performed an illegal arrest, breached their jurisdiction, and you had reason to believe that they were impersonating police officers."

"None of which could be definitively proven, unfortunately. How long have you been on the force now, Kingsley?"

"Two months now, Sir."

"Ah. Well then, I'll teach you a lesson now. When it comes to Golds, you can only go so far. You have special privileges as a police officer, but never forget that there are still lines you cannot cross. For instance, if I had detained those men, I would have brought down a rain of fire and brimstone on this whole department. Gold news media everywhere, Gold police officers swarming our station, going through every file and taking whatever evidence they pleased. Before the end of the week every Bronze officer ranked Sergeant or above would be convicted of treason and exiled."

He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in.

"Its happened before, and it can happen again. What I did today was like putting one foot over that line, and then bringing it back. To be honest, it was incredibly stupid of me. I put you, and all the men and women under my command in jeopardy."

Kingsley said nothing in reply, until she stopped in front of the cell which contained the suspect. She inserted the key into the door lock, and looked up into his single eye.

"But it was still the right thing to do. I'm proud to serve under you, Deputy Commissioner." She stated.

Harrod's face softened, and he gave her a sad smile.

"I appreciate that, Officer Kingsley."

The door to the cell was opened, and Harrod stepped inside. Inside was a young man, laying back on the wooden slat that jutted out from the brick wall. He looked composed, and his eyes held a light that belied intelligence. That was a relief, the last thing Harrod wanted to deal with now was a terrified child.

“Well, it seems you’ve had a full day already.” He began, a cordial expression on his face. He motioned for the door to be shut behind him.

“Your friend out there says you’re a revolutionary; if that’s the case… Oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself, I apologize. My name is Harrod Schliecher, I am the Deputy Commissioner for the Bronze District Police Department. You’re currently inside a temporary holding cell inside our Station. I’d like to ask you a few questions, but I also feel I should make it clear to you that you aren’t obligated to answer them.

"You may wait for your friend outside to call in backup from his department, in which case you will dragged off to god-knows-where, to be interrogated by god-knows-who. But I can promise you that no matter what you do or say, you will be convicted and exiled or worse by them. Or, you can work with me, and I give you my word that you will be placed under the protection of my Department. So, what’s it going to be?”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ricker Brackwall Character Portrait: Deputy Commissioner Harrod Schliecher
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#, as written by Zalgo
Location: Bronze district, Police station, Twilon.

Time: 12:15 PM
___

It was quite baffling to him. Ricker pondered about just how much time had past since he got incapacitated. Why he was taken was pretty obvious, at least on the surface. He was the go-to guy for the revolution. Everyone who needed something made or something fixed came to him. From broken heaters and new rooftops to transportation and high end gear, he's made it all though some of his earlier stuff could really use to be replaced as he was branching into new fields of technology at the time. As a result of this symbiotic relationship he has with the other revolutionaries he pretty much knows who's who and what's where and why. If there was one thing he knew he didn't know it would be the password to Juniper's specialty weapons vault. Her specialty is programming and while Ricker knows his codes he has less practical experience in the realm of software than her. His train of thought derailed as the door to his cell closed shut.
Oh goody, looks like they're finally ready to interrogate me. He mused in his head, slowly peeling himself off the wooden bed as the tall mustached fellow began to talk.

“Well, it seems you’ve had a full day already.”

Right away Ricker could tell this cop was going to go on and give him the whole speech. He rolled his eyes and sighed a bit. He had no doubt that there were redundancies and veiled threats coming his way. That was simply the nature of this process. Still listening to what the man had to say, he stretched his neck to the left side, giving the reaffirming crack of his neck in the right side, then the left as he stretched to the right.

“Your friend out there says you’re a revolutionary; if that’s the case… Oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself, I apologize. My name is Harrod Schliecher, I am the Deputy Commissioner for the Bronze District Police Department. You’re currently inside a temporary holding cell inside our Station. I’d like to ask you a few questions, but I also feel I should make it clear to you that you aren’t obligated to answer them.

You may wait for your friend outside to call in backup from his department, in which case you will dragged off to god-knows-where, to be interrogated by god-knows-who. But I can promise you that no matter what you do or say, you will be convicted and exiled or worse by them. Or, you can work with me, and I give you my word that you will be placed under the protection of my Department. So, what’s it going to be?"


The Deputy Commissioner did not say anything that Ricker wasn't already aware of, although it was nice of him to offer his word to protect him. Ricker, looking up at Harrod with a bemused smile, responded to his proposal in his usual casual and often times humorous manner.

"Great! That answers a lot of my questions, although not all of them. I can tell no one has told you a single thing since I've arrived or you'd know I was already exiled from this city a while ago. Those gold guys didn't drag me up here from the streets way down under just to charge me and exile me twice. No, if there's two things they want it's my knowledge of the bronze revolution and the circumference of my neck for the noose they're probably tying for me already."

He gave Harrod the news which probably shouldn't of been news to a guy in his station but apparently was. This guy didn't seem to be particularly stupid to him. Why this man didn't seem to even have Ricker's file was confusing to say the least. Perhaps there are pieces to this puzzle which were missing before I even knew this puzzle had so many pieces. Confusing. He figured. Taking a second to look over he saw the cute brunette from earlier standing outside the temporary holding cell, waiting for them to wrap up this interrogation it seemed. He gave her a wink on the sly and, looking back up to meet the eye of the cyclops who tried to look cordial to try and sell a false image while in closer actuality retaining a hardened gaze fixated on Ricker himself that belied his intent, Negotiated Harrod's offer with a more serious tone yet still retaining his relaxed mannerisms.

"I should probably introduce myself as well. I am Ricker Brackwall, repair and maintenance technician and main tech guy for the leading force behind the revolution as a whole. I can't say I'm not a little surprised that the police department here sent an esteemed Deputy Commissioner such as yourself to do the interrogations.

Now do understand, I don't mind cooperating with you, especially given the circumstances of not too long ago. If you couldn't guess by now what happened not a minute ago on the streets wasn't anyone I knew."

He tapped the still stinging part of the top of his head. Putting his right hand forth he turned it over to show fresh blood on his fingers from his near miss of a bullet wound on his scalp.

"Just an inch lower and I was looking at a rough afterlife myself. Now, if I may make this even clearer, I am not like the other revolutionaries. You'll never see me crying war and putting bullets in the heads of every bloody gold in this city just to fulfill some kind of longing for revenge, justice or just to make a point. Heck, I don't even agree with the methods they use as it is. If you are asking if I have aided the revolution in any way though then I am no liar. I have helped them many times in the past, as I had with many exiles and not just in taking revenge. I've spent most of my time in exile improving the lives of other exiles in general. I help people, plain and simple.

Now if I understand correctly you probably want to know what I know. Why else would you be talking with me, am I right? Well, I plan to add a few modifiers to this exchange. Before you remind me again, I do understand the situation I'm in. You are well within your right to hand me over and you'd never see me again." Ricker paused for a macabre chuckle to himself.

"Anyone who's important enough to be in the know would know why too. My problem is golds tend to make information their business, the more sensitive the information the dirtier they're willing to get their hands to hide and/or steal it. If you would want this information I do feel it's in our best interest that absolutely no one hears this information, present company excluded of course. After all..." He looked back over his shoulder at the plain stone wall of the cell behind him for a moment then back at Harrod.

"You never know if the golds haven't already sent silvers to spy on us with telepathy or super hearing or many of their other creepy crawly ways to defy regular boundaries. Heck, somebody could just phase through the wall behind me and pull out both my lungs the moment both of you turn your backs..."

He scanned the expression of the Deputy Commissioner, judging his reaction to the icky situations he had conjured into their imaginations. Considering how little Harrod had been told about him he started to wonder if anyone told him about the silvers as well.

"... You do know about the silvers, don't you?"