The Drunk Director
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Tratos Skarn unhooked the helmet of his Power Armour and dropped it to the desk, staring at the small box of items in the chair before him with glazed eyes he took another swig from the mainly empty bottle of Jack Whiskey which hung limply in his hand. Sighing he placed the bottle on the desk and threw another few bits and pieces into the box and finally dropped his helmet in the top, grabbed the bottle from the desk and turned to leave.
Placing the box under his arm he began to slowly trudge towards the door way stopping only momentarily to adjust the laser rifle clasped to the back of his armoured suit and to take yet another swig of Jack Whiskey.
The lift door juddered quietly open, stepping in Tratos bashed the interface with the base of his bottle mumbling drunkenly and began his desent to the streets of the Dome. As the lift came to rest at street level with a small thud Tratos shook himself back to reality from the small drunken daydream he'd been enjoying in the lift and stumbled out causing an empty bottle to fall from the small cardboard box he was carrying, swearing he kicked it aside and wandered off into the dark cold streets of the nearby abandoned sector.
Just moments later a small group of Phoenix employees wandered towards the lift from Fallen Angels HQ and entered chatting happily about the fight they'd just been involved in.
On entering the appartment Brammers noticed the the smell of whiskey was somewhat faded and on further inspection that a small amount of credits and equipment had gone from the desk Tratos has been slumped over for the past few weeks.
"Computer, who was the last person to access the appartment?" he asked and after a small increase in whiring from the appartment's computer system a soft digital voice replied..
"Runner: Tratos Skarn, Affiliation: Unknown, Clan: None Applicable, Location: Unknown, Tracker Disabled"
As the voice finished speaking Brammers noticed a small chip lying on the floor by the desk, picking it up he realised it was a Phoenix Ltd tracking chip used by the clan when members went missing on missions.
After a long silence Brammers turned to the rest of the group. "Well, it looks like he's.... gone.."
Placing the box under his arm he began to slowly trudge towards the door way stopping only momentarily to adjust the laser rifle clasped to the back of his armoured suit and to take yet another swig of Jack Whiskey.
The lift door juddered quietly open, stepping in Tratos bashed the interface with the base of his bottle mumbling drunkenly and began his desent to the streets of the Dome. As the lift came to rest at street level with a small thud Tratos shook himself back to reality from the small drunken daydream he'd been enjoying in the lift and stumbled out causing an empty bottle to fall from the small cardboard box he was carrying, swearing he kicked it aside and wandered off into the dark cold streets of the nearby abandoned sector.
Just moments later a small group of Phoenix employees wandered towards the lift from Fallen Angels HQ and entered chatting happily about the fight they'd just been involved in.
On entering the appartment Brammers noticed the the smell of whiskey was somewhat faded and on further inspection that a small amount of credits and equipment had gone from the desk Tratos has been slumped over for the past few weeks.
"Computer, who was the last person to access the appartment?" he asked and after a small increase in whiring from the appartment's computer system a soft digital voice replied..
"Runner: Tratos Skarn, Affiliation: Unknown, Clan: None Applicable, Location: Unknown, Tracker Disabled"
As the voice finished speaking Brammers noticed a small chip lying on the floor by the desk, picking it up he realised it was a Phoenix Ltd tracking chip used by the clan when members went missing on missions.
After a long silence Brammers turned to the rest of the group. "Well, it looks like he's.... gone.."