insusurro | OPEN/MINGLE — SMASHING GARDENS

OPEN/MINGLE — SMASHING GARDENS

[ Meanwhile, in the middle of the desert......

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object? Who knows. This is more like two old, rusted Chevys trading flirting touches at low speeds. Galbadia Garden and Balamb Garden are careening into one another in a way that some of you might find all too familiar.

Maybe this happened years ago for you, maybe it hasn't happened yet, maybe you had no business being in these crazy hoverships in the first place, but regardless. You're here now and it's time to brace for impact. This one will be an even bigger problem, because there's no one at the helm of these ships. It's as if they've developed a will of their own and driven themselves into one another, sending both vessels careening into the boiling sands below.

Luckily, these things are as hardy as they are ancient. They'll both need new paint jobs and extracurricular activities will be out of the question for some time, but when the dust clears, everything is mostly intact. The Gardens will fly again. Someday.

Anyway, this is your chance to mingle somewhere that isn't Midgar. Both Gardens are smushed together, accessible through Galbadia Garden's basketball court. Maybe you want to organize a search and rescue. Or start doing damage assessment and making repairs. Maybe you wanna do some figure skating on the definitely not demon-infested hockey rink. Whatever you want, congrats, you're not in Midgar anymore. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ We were somewhere around Barstow... on the edge of the desert... when the drugs... began to take hold.

Not really. There are no good drugs in this desert. Tseng has investigated this matter thoroughly. But he does feel like he's high when his trusty chocobo reels back with anxious tension and he lifts his gaze to the sky to see two... ships? They're unlike anything he's ever seen before, no logical manner of propulsion, no mako-fueled conttrails trailing in their wake. They're simply in the sky, and then they're not. He watches their descent from afar and clicks his tongue to get the bird going again. She's not happy about wading through the dust storm, but hey. As far as he can remember, he's an assassin. What does he care about how comfortable a stupid bird is?

He makes his rounds and finds the Gardens mostly intact. But he's no slouch. He sees hardware for shuttle launches, spies the organized bustle of people moving within the vessels, and recognizes precisely what these things are meant to be. Mobile military operations.

He'll need backup, then. No need to bother Desk Tseng or Door Rude with this one; there's only one man for the job.

He pings Reno with his location coordinates and a simple text: ]

Hurry. Make yourself cute.

[ Reno's been busy. Turns out, taking over as stand-in(?!) director of the shadows of the free world's squeaky clean image isn't as boring as it looked from the other side of the desk, but that's also because everything that has anything to do with everything is Fucky with a capital Fuck. Not just Turk shit. Not just Shinra shit. Not just Midgar shit. Just shitty shit in general. Whatever, it's cool. He's fine. He's let his hair down, since that's literally, not metaphorically, what you do when you're the boss now, and he's running this flying trash can full of flaming baby diapers straight into the sun. As is his duty.

He wasn't expecting to hear from Tseng so soon. He has just finished cleaning up the fucking pathetic patrol that has left Junon unchecked since it became part of Midgar for far, far too long, fresh off the euphoric high of executing Chirpy in a manner so frankly disturbing, I dare not speak of it here in this meta text. When he gets the message, hurry, he doesn't hesitate for a second. He doubles up the detail on Rufus's quarters, puts Rude (Rude Who Remembers To Match His Socks Still Rude) in place at the helm and runs home to change. Trades the uniform for an outfit as if he's going to the Gold Saucer (these coordinates don't match that, but they do match the area), tight slacks and a tank top and a pair of oversized sunglasses that go on his head instead of the goggles and not on his face, naturally (and something cute underneath all that, for just in case). Ditches the rod for the sword strapped across his back and leaves in the boots Tseng gave him the day he left, then heads on down to the garage pits. Trades a favor for a kiss and peals out in the fastest thing on wheels he can comfortably drive to what he recognizes as the Corel area desert, which means offroading, which means a fucking dirtbike, baby.

In retrospect, he should have tied his hair back. Pthtpthtthppththhppthptht.

When he gets close, he hardly needs to be told what it is he's looking for, because he sees it. He sees it from miles away and if not for the fact that it's Tseng who called for him, he would be getting on the horn to deploy what are now his men (more or less) to get the hell out here and survey. But instead he approaches alone, bike motor humming as he bumps along across the dunes and circles wide around the area, surveying with one eye, following the gps to Tseng's spot with the other. When he stops, straddling the bike, he lights a smoke, sticks it in his mouth. And then a second one, which he holds onto. ]

[ Tseng has fashioned a makeshift forward operating base with what he's got, which isn't much. There's a hastily put-together fire pit to make it through the night if he needs it, a haphazard and yet astoundingly sturdy lean-to for shelter, but mostly, he's working with a base of nothing. If he could remember what he's forgotten, he'd feel at peace out here like this, like he's getting back to his roots. But he doesn't, so mostly he just feels uncomfortable.

It's been a solid week and some change of roaming the world and discovering what lays beyond the boundaries of the things he's always known. So far, not a single disappointment along the way. And this one, he's hoping, will be a huge win. Imagine, bringing this kind of tech back to Shinra? Reno would be a fucking legend. Scarlet would eat her own fist. That Turk autonomy he always wanted would be all but bought and paid for. They just need to work the right angle and the sky's literally the limit.

But first, the hard part.

By the time Reno rolls up, Tseng has his shirt soaked with water from his canteen and tied around his forehead to ward off the sun and heat. He'd traded the suit for desert-printed fatigues before his jaunt into the desert. The flak jacket and tech belt are laid out beneath the lean-to, which he's thinking will make a suitable enough presentation for what is obviously a militant operation. The chocobo warks in alarm when the dirt bike comes roaring in, and Tseng automatically reaches for his gun until the figure on the bike resolves itself as Reno.

Even then, he doesn't put it away. ]

The garage isn't trading kisses for choppers anymore, I take it.

[ He smirks, eye on that cigarette. Gimme. ]

[ Give him a moment to free his hair from his face. Oh god, it's everywhere. It's in his mouth. Pthtpthtptht.

Alright. Down goes the kickstand, over goes the leg, and to Tseng goes the second cigarette. He might be smiling a little wider if not for the chocobo—you know how he feels about chocobos—but he gives it no attention as he makes his way over, taking in the details of what he can see of this makeshift operation from this angle. Good. Then this is exactly what he thought as he rode up here. ]

I didn't want to make too much of an entrance.

[ There's time for niceties and shit later. He's very interested in the job, and not in flinging himself at Tseng and begging for stories of how freedom is treating him. Well, alright, he's interested in that, too, but he's been so focused lately, might as well keep riding that high. He traps his hair in his hand and lets it go once it's all gathered aside, so the whipping desert wind keeps it over his shoulder and not in his eyes. ]

When did this happen? Fill me in.

[ And to think, all it took for Reno to achieve complete focus was two deaths on his part and a full-bodied corporate shakedown. If Tseng had known it'd be that easy, well.

He takes a slow drag of his cigarette, letting the dizzies wash over him. There's tobacco out here, sure, but his last stop was Cosmo Canyon, and their version of it has a bit more kick. It's nice to have something mellow and chemically processed again. ]

Around 1500 hours. By the time I'd arrived here, they'd already made impact. I took a look around, but...

[ He shakes his head. ]

There are a lot of people inside those ships. All of them look armed. I have a theory.

[ He slings his arm over his knee and squints through the glare of the sun at the vague mountain the grounded vessels make upon the dunes. ]

I think they're military carriers.

[ Hmmm. Reno shields his eyes with his arm placed strategically in front of the glare of the sun and surveys the shape of their quarry again. Never seen... the fuck are they? Ships? Whatever they are, never seen anything like it before. To the side of him, the chocobo grumbles. Reno blows his smoke in the opposite direction, rolling his eyes, and then turns back around. Goes to take a seat, because staring at it from far away isn't going to help any. ]

From where, though? Who's got that kind of tech?

[ Reno looks serious. Reno is utilizing the Notes app on his phone, organizing his information. Reno has about twenty different tabs already open and full of shit on there as it is. ]

Did you see if they've got uniforms? That'd be our in... I doubt they're gonna start walking around asking the friendly locals for directions.

[ Now would you look at that. Good for Reno. Tseng flips open one of the pockets on his vest and tosses Reno a pair of binoculars to help him with that. He still shakes his head in the aftermath, as if to say didn't bring a pair of your own? But still. We stan a note-taking king. ]

They do. Same uniforms on both sides, even though I get the impression they're not friendlies.

[ For now, it seems, a tentative truce has been called between the two. But Tseng knows a powderkeg when he sees one; he can sense the conflict in the air from here.

He fixes Reno with another grin. ]

Just let me know where you want me, director.

[ Man, he has to take notes. There's too much going on all at the same time to keep it all straight in his head. Mostly, honestly, thanks to all the duplicates. He's got an app for each one of them, assigned them code names, given them cordoned-off areas to work in so they don't cross paths and start getting all fucking confused... arghghughguhg. Whatever. He takes the binoculars and hangs the strap around his neck, pulling the sword strapped across his back forward so it doesn't get caught, and then sets to typing up a new file, flicking his hair out of his face every so often. Then he turns to raise the binoculars and take another look, snorting under his breath. ]

Not even. I'm just standing in until we agree on a re-org plan, which is mostly only held up thanks to the boss having a fuckin' shit fit... dunno how hard it is to sign a fucking paper...

[ ok so maybe muttering that last part. Hey, would you look at that—uniforms. ]

Heh, you'd look cute in those skirts they've got on over there. What kinda army dresses like that? Military school, wouldn't you say? That's a whole boatload of fancy tech for a bunch of stupid kids to keep all to themselves.

[ More notes. He looks up, smirking, but only just. ]

You sure you wanna get involved? Ain't even been cut loose a whole two weeks.

[ Honestly, they need to keep this on the DL as much as possible. God forbid Shinra's academic board catches wind that there's a military school getting away with dressing young girls in scandalously short skirts; those idiots are already only too happy to debase their students every other way. ]

One of the ships is a school, I believe. The other...

[ Unlike the first, their people move in tight formation. Tseng hasn't seen a single child roaming its decks or glimpsed one through the windows the few times he's gotten close enough.

Which makes him wonder if this isn't a rescue situation or something like it. Luckily, he doesn't have to wonder too hard. It's not his job. How cool is that? Now someone tell Tseng that. ]

I'd be more than happy to watch you do your thing from the sidelines, if that is what you'd prefer.

[ Yeah the fuck right. Like Reno is getting anywhere near those ships without cover. Gotta tease the newbie, though; it's tradition. ]

Well, technically, I'm not supposed to be doing shit the fuck all but looking pretty anymore. I get it now. You wear your hair down so you can rip it out more easily when everyone else gets on your nerves.

[ Boy fucking howdy. Except he hasn't torn his hair out yet. Or dyed it, but he's sure wishing he'd brought an elastic today. Whatever. He's raising the binoculars for one more look, scanning across one and then the other. Troublesome... won't interlopers from the Gold Saucer and surrounding areas be snooping around to investigate, too? Not for the first time, he considers calling in his people to get this shit covered so no one else can barge in. Maybe the nosy civvies will actually be of some benefit, though. Besides, he doesn't want anyone from the office involved if Tseng is going to be. That kind of defeats the purpose of being free. ]

I want to go around the perimeter and then infiltrate the one on the left. Get our hands on uniforms and whatever access keys they have, talk to a few of them, figure out how to get to the real good shit on the right. I wanna know who's in charge, what makes those things move, and whoever steers 'em detained. Start on either side and meet in the middle. I want exits mapped out. And what are they armed with? Just guns? Do they got Materia? If they do I want that, too. Heaven forbid they got espers, or somethin'.

[ He's typing all this as he says it. Look at him go. ]

[ Tseng snorts. If only that was his job description in this past life he's allegedly left behind, maybe he wouldn't be out here, baking in the desert sun, discovering new and innovative ways to keep sand from infiltrating every corner of his person. ]

We don't quite have the benefit of cover out here. Performing a perimeter sweep is going to be quite the feat. It might be pertinent to lure out a sortie.

[ There is a canyon up above with a good view of the blue ship. Seems they're at a tactical disadvantage in more ways than one. Tseng considers it with a brief look. ]

From what I've seen so far, their armaments vary. Plenty of guns and swords, but that's not quite all. The red ship had someone on deck with a gunblade.

[ Who uses those, even. ]

[ mm hm. guns, swords, gunblade?? Wait what the fuck? Reno makes a face. ]

Hm. I dunno if I like that.

[ That's more a thought to himself than anything else, but he lowers his phone and the binoculars and considers for a moment. Just the two of them against an unknown army with unknown tech? He'd rather know the ins and outs first. Then again, he's not especially concerned about taking on kids. ]

Then I'll leave making a splash to you. You know how to get just enough bees outta the hive. What've you got? Anything fun?

[ Because all he's got is that sword, a pretty little piece of a gun under the back of his shirt, and a few of his EM mines, which he pats his pocket for, considering. Probably more useful inside than out, really. ]

I just might.

[ He's fresh outta Cosmo, so. Not a bad haul tucked away inside that duffle that he cleared out before he left. He reels out a string of firecrackers, sets a lightweight mortar down in the sand. This is more juvenile acts of mischief than top secret special agent shit, but look. He's not on the payroll anymore.

He does have vague memories of stringing together forty of these over the course of one night (against a strange and foreign backdrop, but that's an aside) and scaring half the village into a panic with the resultant boom. He's already started making ties in the string, linking their wicks with rocket tubes and projectiles. ]

What's Turk SOP these days? Lethal, non-lethal?

[ Because he can put together a rifle like that, don't even try him. ]

Non. Info, not bodies.

[ That's rich, coming from him, but listen. Different times, different measures. They know enough (more or less) about how death works. It's no longer a particularly useful tool; in fact, it's detrimental. They need live worms that wriggle, not cockroaches that roll over on their backs and then skitter when the lights are out.

Some more sophisticated individuals might raise their eyebrow at Tseng's Macgyvered method of distraction, but Reno finds it precisely to his liking. Juvenile acts of mischief suit him just fine, thank you. Nobody expects a sophisticated and efficient job to come from the motherfucker that draws them out with shitty firecrackers, after all, and that'll be their downfall. Reno grins like he couldn't be more proud. ]

If we can get 'em to squawk, it'll save us some time. I'm not ringing anyone in until you're clear of the scene, so we might as well have some fun with this until then, huh?

[ Tseng grins at that. ]

I see your new station hasn't turned you into a duplicitous bastard yet. In due time.

[ He ties a few loose ends (literally) on his souped up contraption and starts stuffing canisters into the mortar. The awesome part of all these ties? Means they'll all go off, one by one, crackers first, big booms last. It's just going to get worse the longer it goes on, and Tseng knows for a fact that there are patrols out there watching. He's seen one or two himself, tracked their prints in the sand, and that's about all he needs to know.

And here it is. Tseng's magnum opus. He's even rigged it so those little parachute men will come fluttering out in the midst of all this wild noise. Remember when you used to do that? And it never went the way you intended? Tseng's actually fucking works because he's a professional goddammit. ]

Ready to deploy. Got a site in mind?

Mmmm...

[ Perfect. It's beautiful. Reno actually pretends like he's going to think about it beforehand; he makes his way over to the nearest outcropping of rock and scales it in a couple simple leaps and bounds like some kind of fucked up squirrel, perches low at the top and scouts with the binoculars again. Really, does it fucking matter? Just as long as the bangs and booms and blazes are sufficiently attractive. Back down he comes again in one solid hop. He lands on his toes, light as a feather in the sand. ]

Let's just take a stroll and throw it wherever feels right.

[ He'll need to head off, anyway, and get himself into position to either sneak in or bring down hell, whichever presents itself as the more generous opportunity. Might as well go in the same direction. ]

They could be trouble. Like, SOLDIER-trouble, for all we know. You got enough in the chamber to keep you on your feet?

Don't worry about me.

[ Just worry about yourself, is the sentiment. Tseng isn't sweating this no kill order too much. If shit hits the fan, it's better them than Reno.

Especially now that he knows what he knows about this 'gift' of rebirth. What a joke.

Anyway. Time to suit up. He throws the jacket back on, clips the belt around his waist. Gives the gun in his holster a quick check and slings the fireworks over his shoulder. Then, he nods at Reno. ]

You take point. I'll watch your back.

You got it, babe.

[ The time for being a follower is over. Tseng says he's got it, so he's got it. Reno decides on his course, which is around to what he assumes (or hopes) is the flank of the Galbadian garden. He cuts a wide breadth, using the landscape of the desert dunes to aid his approach. There isn't really any way to lay low and keep out of sight, and the closer they get, the easier it'll be to aggro whoever's out there watching. What he doesn't want is a guns-blazing frontal assault, and that's not what he's going to get, keeping to the sloping sand until they're near enough to hear voices from their position.

He feels his opening before he sees it. A stack of crates a few uniformed individuals are working on creating, lugging them out two men to one crate at a time. There are also sacks of things and other hodgepodge supplies, none of which strikes him as very valuable, otherwise why put it out here, even in the back (or is it the front? who knows, honestly)? Probably just getting it out of the way while they work on something else, who knows. Who cares. He wants those crates blown up. He nods his head toward them indicatively, points to his eyes and points to the goons that've just dropped off the latest box and are heading back in. As soon as their backs are turned, he goes dashing off across the sand, one hand up over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his sword. He closes the distance so quickly that he has to wait for them to come back, and boy are they surprised. And willing to give chase, as it turns out.

That's good. That's what we want. These aren't the ones he's after—there's bigger fish that'll come running once these two are out of the way. ]

[ Tseng is off the moment that Reno gives the signal, stalking soundlessly through the sand, crouched low. He's played hide-and-seek a few times with this crew since their high-impact arrival; this is the easy part. Getting all the gear in check before somebody notices? Now that might be an actual challenge.

He runs the line over one crate and around the next. A mortar is positioned like a flag on a sand castle, rising triumphant from the topmost crate. For good measure, he tucks a few sparklers into the nooks between each wooden slate of a box, then steps away, appraising his work.

Gorgeous, if he's allowed this moment of shameful egoism. Not that he remembers why egoism is shameful. All the better—he beams with unadulterated pride. And then he scurries away and tucks himself beneath one of the loading ramps, snapping his fingers to bring forth the energy for a big, roaring lash of Fire.

The crackers go off first, a few whimsical pop-pop-pops that call over a couple curious soldiers. Then come the rockets, shooting into the air. The mortars spew vivid flashes of color into the sky. Sparks and wheels of flame are sizzling and spinning in every direction. Dozens upon dozens of little green men are falling from the sky, drifting peacefully upon their pastel-colored parachutes.

He hears someone scream, "Fire!" and the ramp above him quakes with footsteps. A few men pass, not the ones he wants. He removes his knife from his boot and readies himself.

At the first flash of red, he strikes. His blade chews through a boot and the officer tumbles down, seething. By the time he starts kicking, Tseng has his helmet off and the point of his knife hovering a scant inch away from his eye. He whispers: ]

I'm okay. Just fell.

[ "Sir!" one of the soldiers is shouting. His hostage gets the message.

"I'm okay! Get a move on! Go go go!" And then to Tseng: "Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't call the whole cavalry over here to smoke your ass."

Tseng covers his mouth and tucks his arm under the soldier's neck until he stops moving. And then, ugh. This part. ]

[ This is the part he was looking forward to. Why he brought the sword instead of the stick, hoping he'd have a good reason to use it (and not on or at Tseng, otherwise fuck this shit). Cutting down the two that chase after him is easy, leaving them bloodied and injured but not dead. Truth be told, it's actually a little bit of a struggle not to apply too much force. He's practiced, but not on any people other than, like, himself, and the real thing is so much... sexier. God, this is great.

You know what else is great? That fucking lightshow! Reno cackles as it goes up, stops to appreciate the absolute majesty of it all with complete and utter unrestrained delight, and then kicks off with a spray of sand to head back the way he came, headed straight for the center of the chaos. His option to scramble inside is halted by a cascade of uniformed soldiers headed straight for him, and he feels the sand fly up in bursts at his feet as he diverts, dodging bullets. Where has Tseng gone? He can't spot him from this vantage point, but it doesn't matter. He cuts down the battalion down, one and two and three and four, kicks five to the ground, dives under six. These he toys with, just to see what he's up against. He's much too fast for them, and that tells him enough: not SOLDIER stock. They can't land a hit on him, but tragically the one that comes awful close is run straight through and if he dies, he dies, sorry 'bout your luck. The last one, number six, he captures and drags along with him.

Ah. There they are. And he caught an even bigger fish, perfect. Always good to have an underling to torment to get the big dogs barking. ]

You've really outdone yourself.

[ He comments as he hauls his quarry struggling and coughing against the flat of his bloodied blade through the smoldering wreckage. ]

There'll be more, let's move.

[ Tseng is halfway through peeling this musty ass uniform off his mark when he hears someone shout, "What the fuck is that!?" It's a little too late for someone to be bawlking at the fires he's started; something's up. He peeks over the edge of the ramp.

There's Reno, dancing with bullets. See, he's the asshole here who figured that the point of creating a distraction was not to immediately run into the epicenter of it. Oh well.

Tseng throws himself on to his belly on the sand and starts taking potshots at the guys who look like they have the steadiest aim. It's not many of them. No sign of SOLDIER here... Not yet, anyway. This is more like a carnival game than a shoot-out, with a bonus display of Reno whooshing around with that sword. By the time Reno drags his guy over, Tseng is already all twisted up about it and hissing as he pulls Reno into a hard kiss. ]

We're fine. I'm a lieutenant.

[ He's got the badge to prove it, freshly plucked from the comatose body behind him. Tseng admires it for a second before he gets to removing the rest of the uniform, nose wrinkling as starts to change. ]

[ Listen, he had intended to sneak around, but how could he help himself with all this fun? The point of a distraction like that is to stand right in the middle of it and get blown to shit right along with it, right? In two years, both he and Rude will learn this lovely lesson once again and be none the worse for wear (kinda) for it, so fuck it. He's on the right track, baby, he was born this way. No one he fells, save for maybe that one guy who gets Jeffed right through the middle of his spine, is gonna die tonight if they're smart enough to seek attention for their injuries. And maybe this guy he's got hostage, too. This guy, who he's strangling with the flat of his blade, whose struggling goes oddly slack when these two lunatics kiss each other. To be fair, Reno's grip does a little, too, and it'd be the perfect opportunity to escape otherwise, but the moment passes much too quickly. Just as quickly, Reno's blade pulls tight against his captive's throat again. ]

What was that for?

[ And in almost the same breath, he relinquishes his victim and slams the hilt of his lovely lovely sword into the back of his neck. Down the poor sap goes like a sack of rocks, and Reno flips him over to remove his uniform and pull it on over his getup. His clothes are all so tight, he can get away with it. It's fine. As he's pulling the outfit on, he has a realization: ]

Oh, it's Tsukuyomi, isn't it. You can kiss the sword, if you'd rather.

[ he named it. of course he named it. the serpent-slayer's moon-kissed blade. ]

[ Tseng is curious by nature, so his first inclination is to glance at the sword, head tilted in thought, and ask what that name means. But.

Reno must have picked the name because it means something to him. Tseng can guess that that meaning is one that he would likely know as well, considering how long they've known each other, how well-acquainted with Reno's interests he is. To ask would likely be to admit that something is missing.

It's enough to be broken irreparably. The burden of those specifics is his to shoulder alone. ]

No thank you.

[ In the end, he's glad for the helmet, musty and humid as it is. It offers him the shield he needs to get past that minute hitch and focus on what really matters. ]

Follow my lead. We can begin by...

[ Oh yeah. Reno's the director now. He smiles coyly once he catches himself. ]

Pardon me. Your orders, chief?

[ In that brief moment that Tseng considers, contemplates, and deflects, Reno observes the minutiae of his reaction carefully. He has close to no doubt that this sword came from him; it couldn't have been Rude, because he'd never keep a secret from him like that (he's not great at surprises, at least not big, fun ones, he always gives it away by telling him first), and he by no means buys Roche's story about lifting such contraband from some operation out at the railyard and deciding, all willy-nilly, to gift it to him, no matter what they may think or feel about each other. There's no way. This sword came from Tseng, it had to have. But he has no proof, and he's curious, too—but Tseng is good about not giving too much away. No recognition, no questions.

Maybe he'll come right out and ask later. We'll see. Instead, he gives the sword in his hand a lash to flick the blood from it and removes the sheath from his back to affix it to his hip the way these soldiers wear theirs, and stows the blade away. His hair he gathers up and conceals inside his helmet, pulling the visor down past his eyes. ]

Ugh... stuffy...

[ Yep, hate that. But he's sure it probably looks pretty cool when he's nothing but a big, toothy grin, cocking his head at Tseng with a hand on his hip. ]

Pretty fuckin' ironic that you're in the boss's uniform again, then, huh? After you, Lieutenant. Primary objective is to find whoever drives this thing and capture them. Barring that, we find our C.O. and squeeze him 'til he sings. Secondly, we map the layout, find out who the hell these people are and where they came from. Tertiary objectives—

[ He pulls on the gloves, switches shoes. The extra layer of bulk actually makes him look like he's got some muscle under that uniform. And yeah, he is really pleased with himself to be using a big, professional word like tertiary. ]

—Are to case the place and make off with anything that looks fun and shiny.

[ Tseng is too. He's pleased as punch, even with the sting of Reno finding all this hidden potential for professionalism after he's effectively exiled himself. Would have been nice to have that around back in the day. Whatever. All that is soundly overridden by the deep satisfaction of seeing the pieces fall into place like this. At least in that, there is some peace to be had.

He nods deeply. ]

Understood.

[ He stands, adjusting to the added weight of the metal plates, the viewscreen through his helmet. No wonder why the soldiers who'd come for Reno were such bad shots; visibility is poor and these crystal screens are cheaply made and projected through imperfect lenses. He's reminded unpleasantly of Heidegger and his less than thorough hand with military equipment.

He's also reminded that the best part of being cut loose in the desert is no Heidegger. He's almost giddy at the excitement of it all—in his own diluted way, of course. The smirk remains as he steps out of cover and offers Reno a hand. ]

I want one of those gunblades. I've never seen one up close before.

[ He's sure he'll love them. Surely there is nothing tragic that has to do with a gunblade in his future. Not a chance. ]

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