Sylvester sits with his back to the door. A tactical no-no, but the seat allows him to see their ‘Mr. Johnson’ and the other occupants of the table. Really, if a threat is going to present its self, he imagines that it’s more likely to be from one of the people he’s meeting, rather than from some outside force.
He is satisfied that the perimeter has been secured, and he’s got a surprise escape route memorized well enough that he could run it even blinded by Neurostun. Sylvester is still idly fiddling with the manager’s key-fob, spinning it lazily around the pinky finger on his left hand. He kept it as much to keep the manager from setting off the nerve-gas, as to secure his own exit out the roof. If all goes well, he can hand it back with a smile and a thank-you, the manager none the worse (and slightly more rat-protected) for his precautions.
To those looking on, Sylvester is a well-polished, if tired looking worker-bee. His uniform is clean, and the tears and holes have been patched professionally and cleanly. His dry-cleaner is probably well-paid and oft-visited. The dark circles under his eyes are counterbalanced by an easy smile framed by a well-kept ‘devil’s goatee’. His uniform, a dark red ‘urban explorer’ ensemble has the company patches on the shoulders and back, as well as his name stenciled ‘sly’ over the right breast pocket. The uniform is utilitarian, sporting more pockets and “D” hooks for equipment and gear than is necessary for most professions.
As far as equipment, He is loaded for bear. The laser rifle, a rarity even in this day and age, is slung over his right shoulder running the length of his back, from shoulder blade to utility belt. It is sheathed in a custom molded holster fitted to his uniform, and in a matching red color. To those in the know, the matching red work gloves casually clipped on a D-ring at his left hip reveal the metallic conductive pads and battery packs native to the ‘shock-glove’ line of defensive armaments. A sword sheath is also attached to the belt, situated for cross-draw from his left hip. Again: the leather with its external warnings alerting passersby and casual users to the dangers within: is naturally dyed to a matching red. Sylvester’s helmet, a ‘pith’ styled number, popularized by the old ‘nam videos of yesteryear, has a set of goggles situated on top, and a gas-mask that dangles precariously to one side. It appears that the ventilation kit is halfway between being completely strapped in, and completely taken off.
A single set of empty rat-traps, their McHughes logo emblazen on the tops are clipped to yet another D-Ring. This, combined with a returned nod to Roger the security guard walking by their table as Sylvester drinks his coffee, indicates that Sly has found acceptance and comfort in this environment; despite his ‘extra’ equipment setting him apart from the usual clientele.
Sylvester removes his helmet, setting it in his lap and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back into its would-be slicked-back style. Or at least it is as close as someone can manage to ‘style’ after wearing a helmet.
”So, Mr. J, I assume we are waiting for a few others to arrive? Before we get started I’m curious as to how you got my number, I don’t mind the work, I just want to know if I owe anyone a referral bonus?”
Sylvester will make small talk with his fellow fortune-hunters, or anyone else that wanders close and seems to take an interest in him. He will readily hand out business cards to anyone who seems interested in his work, never one to shy away from legitimate enterprise to supplement the less-steady shadow-y income sources.
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Topic: Scenario 2 - Foxtrot - Romeo - Alpha - Golf (Read 30299 times)