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originally posted in:The New Dojo
originally posted in: THE DOJO
1/28/2018 9:40:10 PM
1
"...It's a rare enough thing." [i]At that moment, a smile, one of a darker intention, formed across Isabella's scarred, young face and she nodded towards Mason and blinked, before continuing.[/i] "A man who lives up to his reputation, and a businessman who doesn't hide behind lies that he spoon-feeds to others. Course.. you could always be a liar. But I'm taking this bait anyway, Cartier. After all of that.. well, you've really done some work, haven't you? Very well, very well." [i]Isabella knew that it would be best to keep her illegal affairs hidden from Rubicon and the rest of those "vigilantes" that roamed the Dojo in search of justice. Rubicon because they would be a legitimate threat, and the vigilantes because they were just annoyances.[/i] "...Since war helps us both, you more than I.. any conflicts that you would.. perhaps, wish to initiate? Not these Hawkwind mercs, they seem rather frank and honest with their intentions. Rubicon.. we could talk about, though. Any others though.. well, I'm sure that we could reach an agreement."
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  • After a short while, his eyes began to cool. The fire of spite that lit behind them faded, yet kept their coals still hot in his eyes. For Isabella, there was no need to hide his true thoughts of the place anymore. The Dojo was disgusting, a clever facade that hid the lawless anarchy beneath. The place that produced someone like the man who took her away from him. "Hawkwind Contractors are branches under my operation. As for Rubicon and the others, no need to instigate anything yet. But updates on their technology and any info they give you as allies will be valuable to the both of us." It was no surprise that he knew about their partnership with Rubicon. After all, it seemed that Rubicon was very vocal about it. "Allow me to continue stressing what type of person I am. I used to be an agent of sorts. I specialized in making technology, weapons, armour, gadgets and all. I was so good that they began calling me L'Artisan. I lost my leg in a simple op gone sideways. I was scheduled to have it taken care of and fully healed after a month or so. But during that month, my wife was murdered in the crossfire. The massacre of a dirty corporation that had gotten the attention of the wrong person - they call him Alex Wilson, the Courier. He used to be a local around here. I went AWOL. Wiped myself off the records and just... existed, for a while. I had no reason for field work, so I let myself go. Fighting didn't give me any pleasure either, because I learned sometimes a knife or a bullet doesn't go as deep as alternative methods." His tone seemed to get chillier upon mentioning "alternative methods". "Nowadays, they call me the Bookkeeper. Who I keep records for is none of your concern. Some days it's for myself. Other days it's for people like you. You see, Isabella, everything in my books have an account. Assets like money, weapons, buildings, equipment and such. The same for liabilities. But there's also accounts for blackmail, lists of loved ones and family members who are to be killed to punish others, sterility serums for aspiring business owners, and genetic codes that can render any heir debilitatingly autistic or otherwise unfit for inheriting businesses. And no, the irony is not lost on my that I have indeed "weaponized autism"." He smirked. At least he had some sense of humour. "Everything has value. So I don't need a good leg to hurt people anymore - there are ways to destroy a man or woman that go beyond any torture or execution." His reasoning for telling his story seemed pretty transparent: a promise to Isabella if she ever chose to go back on their deal. "I trust that you're professional enough to not go back on transactions. But now, I like to make the terms and conditions very clear for the sake of whoever's sitting across from me. In exchange for all the resources listed, specific assets will be requested of you from time to time. This will range from samples of your infamous negation domes, or information gathered on an opposing faction."

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