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"I wish they were just stories," Shep says as he regains his composure and focus. "There were no other incidents by the time I left, but we never did figure out why it happened."

"Sooner or later, those ley lines will spill something nasty out," his eyes flicker distance for a moment. Shep swears that he begins blinking back tears as he smiles and deflects with, "I know you were looking for gear back at the shop, but you should check the one of the more... local shops?" He leans in close, "It's a little black market operation but prices are cheaper on some things and it's a good place to find work for money."

Shep sees Hatch, Herman, Kip and Orin all jump and cheer at one of the tables. They must have won.

Shep glances over at Hatch's table in appreciation, but with little interest. He finds the alcohol and the direction of the current discussion have made him melancholy. He turns back to Monkey with thoughts of his father on his mind. "Some terrible things have already come through the rifts; believe me. We're in the frontier out here. Not many people are lucky enough to make it to my age. My life has been a blessing and a curse, and good people sacrificed themselves to keep me alive. I now do what I can to make that sacrifice worth something. I spent too many years in other worlds... other places... other times..."

He sees Monkey's eyes widen in wonder. [OOC: I took a small liberty with Monkey’s reaction for flow; feel free to adjust as needed.] "Books, my new friend. Books." His tone is reassuring and sincere. "I locked my mind away in a library, reading books to try to forget. Most of my companions were children who would listen to me read stories of fantastical places. That's why it hurt so much when things went bad." His voice fades as images of what happened to little Nova flash through his mind, as fresh today as they were months ago. He forces those memories back into the corner of his mind, once again sealed away. oO( But for how long? )Oo he wonders.

He straightens, and sets his now empty glass down and says "Enough of that. Let's let the ghosts rest in peace. Let me settle the bill here, and you can show me something more interesting than this cacophony." With a sweet smile, he tips the waitress well [OOC: 30% rounded up to the nearest 10 credits] and lets Monkey show the way to the "local shops."

Shep sees Hatch, Herman, Kip and Orin all jump and cheer at one of the tables. They must have won. Shep feels uninterested, yet appreciative for them. He finds the alcohol and the direction of the current discussion have made him melancholy. He turns back to Monkey with thoughts of his father on his mind. "Some terrible things have already come through the rifts; believe me. We're in the frontier out here. Not many people are lucky enough to make it to my age. My life has been a blessing and a curse, and good people sacrificed themselves to keep me alive. I now do what I can to make that sacrifice worth something. I spent too many years in other worlds... other places... other times..."

He sees Monkey's eyes widen in wonder. "Books, my new friend. Books." His tone is reassuring and sincere. "I locked my mind away in a library, reading books to try to forget. Most of my companions were children who would listen to me read stories of fantastical places. That's why it hurt so much when things went bad." His voice fades as images of what happened to little Nova flash through his mind, as fresh today as they were months ago. He forces those memories back into the corner of his mind, once again sealed away. oO(But for how long?)Oo he wonders.

He straightens, and sets his now empty glass down and says "Enough of that. Let's let the ghosts rest in peace. Let me settle the bill here, and you can show me something more interesting than this cacophony."

The waitress glides in to collect their empty glasses, but her attention lingers on Shep a beat too long. When he reaches for his wallet, she lifts a hand, politely stating as she flirtatiously brushes his hand, “Sir, drinks are free if you’re gaming or gambling. Would you like another?”

Before Shep can answer, Monkey is already placing five credits onto her tray, “We’re good,” he says, shutting down the offer with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She flashes a smile and slips away. Monkey watches her go, then elbows Shep lightly, “Well then,” he chuckles, “I can tell you’re new to this scene. Let’s go see if you like what you see. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find something new.” He flags down another waitress and murmurs instructions to notify him if any messages come through.

Monkey leads Shep out into the street, where the noise thickens and the crowds swell. Then, abruptly, he veers into a narrow alley, which is shady, damp, cluttered with broken crates and rusted scrap. The air cools as the lights dim and flicker. The sounds of the street fade behind them. It twists like a forgotten vein until they reach a set of concrete steps descending into a dank pit. At the bottom waits a rusted metal door, locked with a padlock that looks like it’s been beaten with a hammer but somehow still holds. The old urine stench hits Shep first like stale rot, the unmistakable reek of people using the stairwell as a toilet.

Monkey knocks. A metal viewing slit scrapes open, revealing a pair of dark, unblinking eyes. The gravelly voice behind them feels wrapped in muscle. “Yeah?” There's a short pause. Then recognition, “Oh, Monk! You brought a new guest. One sec.”

A magnetic lock thunks open. The padlock remains, but the entire assembly swings with the door, revealing an illusion of security meant to fool the uninitiated. Clever fabrication indeed. The man behind the door is massive, armored in black plating etched with skeletal motifs, like the armor Shep's seen on Lt. Mikado’s men. Without a word, he turns and leads them down a concrete hallway lit by naked bulbs that buzz like angry insects. They descend several flights of metal stairs, each step taking them deeper underground.

At last, the space opens. A hidden market hums with life, consisting of combat veterans, mercenaries and ex‑soldiers. Their movements are sharp and efficient. Their eyes track everything. They sift through catalogues, glass cases, shelves of used and nearly‑new books. The air smells of oil, metal, and old paper, blackpowder, munitions and some new smells.

“You two set?” the armored man asks. “I need to get back.”

“Thanks, Vern,” Monkey replies.

“Take care, Monk. Anytime you need a new job, we’re here.” Vern disappears into the crowd.

Almost immediately, a tuxedo‑clad older gentleman approaches with a straight‑backed, silver‑haired, and so polished he looks ripped from an old butler film. His voice is smooth as lacquer. “Good evening, gentlemen. Are you searching for anything in particular, or would you like to browse our job boards?” His gaze settles on Shep, weighing him. “We have delivery contracts ranging from five credits to five hundred thousand. For more dangerous work, we offer premium listings. They're costly to view, but worth every credit if you can complete them.”

He gestures toward a display of immaculate business attire, “And of course, our newest line of micro‑weaved super threads for protection in social environments.”

Shep lets his eyes rest on the rack of business attire for a moment before asking, "By 'protection in social environments', I assume you mean body armor. What kind of price range are we looking at?"

Shep lets his eyes rest on the rack of business attire for a moment before asking, "By 'protection in social environments', I assume you mean body armor. What kind of price range are we looking at?"

“Hey, I’m gonna go check some things out. Meet back here,” Monk whispers before slipping away.

The tuxedoed man steps up beside Shep, positioning himself like someone admiring a museum display. With a graceful sweep of his hand across the entire clothing rack; men’s on one side, women’s on the other, and a generous section for everyone and everything in between. Then, he begins his pitch. “These are the newest from the Barony outfitters. They’ll stop most conventional firearms, some lasers, and even light anti‑tank weapons. You’d survive a direct hit from a LAW, though you’d definitely need medical attention afterward.” He clears his throat and continues, “These garments are specifically designed to prevent assassinations, for example; stabbings, close‑range shootings. They’re not meant for frontline combat against rail guns or rockets.” He flips open a small notebook. “Prices range from 500 to 6,000 credits, depending on fashion, style, and designer.”

Shep checks his balance: 1,723 credits. Enough for three cheap business suits or one flashy rock‑star ensemble. Among the options, a respectable navy‑blue‑and‑white suit catches his eye, with clean lines, good cut, and only 1,200 credits. It even looks close to his size.

OOC: Each piece of clothing provides the equivalent of 5 MDC. A full outfit offers around 15 MDC, with some overlapping protection (e.g., jacket over dress shirt).

The salesman continues, “We also offer dress ties with a built‑in vibro‑razor. The blade sits concealed near the knot until activated. You remove the tie, press a hidden button, and the razor deploys and powers up. After that, the tie becomes a flexible cutting weapon. I've heard rumors that they're strong enough to slice through the bed of a work truck.”

The man has piqued Shep's interest. "How much for that blue and white suit with one of those ties in a white to match the shirt?"

The man has piqued Shep's interest. "How much for that blue and white suit with one of those ties in a white to match the shirt?"

"Well the tie would be about 175 credits, making the total 1375 credits," the man fondly smiles at the outfit, "I do like your style. As a bonus, I could throw in voucher to either view the entire job board or for a luxury suite in one of the many nice inns throughout Silvereno and Hope."

Shep glances down at his boots, then back up at the salesman with a pointed look. "I'm going to look pretty funny walking around in a fancy suit with these old shoes. Let me take a look at your job board, and throw in a decent pair of shoes to go with the suit, and you've got a deal."

Shep glances down at his boots, then back up at the salesman with a pointed look. "I'm going to look pretty funny walking around in a fancy suit with these old shoes. Let me take a look at your job board, and throw in a decent pair of shoes to go with the suit, and you've got a deal."

The old man smiles as though Shep has just revealed a hidden talent. His eyes narrow, studying Shep with the patience of a hunter confirming a trail. At last he nods, “Deal.”

OOC: Thanks to high IQ, you passed a barter check.

His handshake is firm, grounding. He pulls the outfit from the rack, the plastic crisply rustles with the new fabric smell. Then he selects a pair of dark‑blue leather shoes, inspecting Shep’s feet with eerie accuracy. When he leans in, his voice drops to a conspiratorial hush, “These are the last pair. And I want you to have them.” He flips one shoe over. “Tap the back of the heel, then promptly stomp the heel down. Then twist. Trust me.”

The shoes seem to intentionally match the outfit flawlessly. Monkey is across the room, examining welders with the focus of a man planning something. The old man slips Shep a card. “Job room access. Checkout’s with the girl.” He gestures to a sweet looking preteen girl with shoulder length hair, unbothered by the scarred mercenaries crowding her counter. She seems fearless in the presence of some of the deadliest looking men Shep's ever seen, “Thank you for your patronage,” he says, already drifting away, eyes scanning for the next soul worth sizing up.

Shep takes the card without looking at it too closely and tucks it into a pocket. "Appreciate it." He glances at Monkey across the room, then carries the suit and shoes over to the girl at the counter and sets them down.

He picks up the "special" shoe and examines the heel more closely. "Any idea what's special about these shoes?" he asks casually, treating her with the same respect he would one of his kids back home. oO( Another home, another time. )Oo he thinks sadly as the girl behind the counter reminds him, once again, of what he's left behind.