Defender’s sensors detect nothing out of the ordinary among the wreckage. Our heroes are the only living things in the vicinity of the crash site, and whatever killed the dropship’s pilots has gone elsewhere.
“So we chat up NEST and see if there’s a Gabriel on their hitlist,” Leslie suggests. “I can get in touch with my sources back in Sol, too.”
“What of the Romulus Mercenary Company?” Overgrowth asks her. “They may know more about this person, yes? Where are they headquartered?”
“Lupa, Alba Longa system- but good luck trying to get anything out of them,” Leslie warns her. “The UHP’s been trying for years to make them answer for a whole lot worse than what’s happened here on Cybertron.”
The mercenaries all scramble away from the door as it opens. In just a few short hours, Firestorm and Dark’s plot to make their incarceration as miserable as possible has been proceeding wonderfully. Maximus had torn up the room so thoroughly that there has been no comfortable place for the humans to sit or lie down for long periods of time, and the harsh lighting has forced them to squint almost constantly. Starving and sleep-deprived, they fear that their captors have come to add to their torment.
But then Honeycomb speaks, and the dozen-or-so mercenaries all seem rather confused. What did she mean, ‘what are you guys doing here’?
“We, uh… we tried to kill you and blow up your ship?” a man with a cybernetic eye says, looking around at his comrades as if any of them would understand what was happening better than he did.