Orlok and the Great Escape

Orlok had gotten bored of waiting for Rowan to come find him so he'd escaped the Flesh Pits.

It wasn't really as hard as he'd expected, her security was kind of... undisciplined. He chuckled a little as he tossed a few credit chips up and down in his hand, stolen from their pockets.

The slums around little Oracle or the blue room or whatever this place was called weren't particularly pleasant but a few of the shitty bars around had holoscreens. He grabbed at the black trenchcoat he'd stolen and drew the hood up over his head. A bandage was used to cover his lower mouth as a bandana.

So, Rowan wanted to hear about Bastiocorp. He'd not overheard her conversation with that Red lady but he could lip read. Something in Rowan's eyes had spooked him and he'd decided to cut his losses.

He'd had one fingernail pulled out and while it didn't hurt he was injured and wasn't about to pursue bullshit with the wrong kind of crazies.

"Heyo. Mead. Keep the change." He threw a chit at a surprised bartender who curried to quickly fill a glass and pour it for him.

"That's very generous of you, sir. What's the occasion?" The man asked, seeming to be in a better mood now that he'd gotten a very generous tip.

"I got my ass handed to me in an exceedingly brutal fashion and learned a few lessons about how things run around here. To knowledge. Cheers!" he grinned and threw the glass back.

He slammed it back down and discretely scratched at his wounds. So, in the short term he'd gotten some new injuries and would have Rowan gunning for him, having not only failed to entertain those shits in her arena but bolted before anyone could open him up.

He felt at the back of his mind and grinned. Not even the best mind sleuths could cut him open in the hour or so he'd been unconscious, he'd made sure to check the dates and times as soon as he got out.

Still, he'd have to see a neuro-doc about getting screened for viruses, he wasn't going to take any chances with Rowan. He ran a hand through his now-ruined pom.

So, he'd lost a fingernail, his pom, his sunglassed. But he'd have gained trouble on top of what he already had by reneging on a deal with Rowan Kreeger. He'd also outed himself as shit in a fight by getting his ass kicked in full view of everyone. Oh, and he was injured and possibly brain-compromised.

Orlok thumbed through the chits. Menials didn't get bank implants so he'd need to pay in cash for shit. All in all he had about three hundred credits on him. Enough to  maybe  buy a gun and some ammo or enough spare bandages to last a few days.

Orlok drew a napkin and motioned for a pen. the bartender tossed him one and he started to scribble.

OPERATION LICK-WOUNDS

Objectives?

Long Term. Fuck up Bastiocorp, Gene Wilder. Takeover? Fuck up Rowan Kreeger. Extract blood price for stolen fingernail. Later. Can Wait.

Orlok liked to mindmap shit, his Da had taught him how it could be useful. He'd make sure to get rid of the map once he made it though.

Problems/obstacles?

Pretty much everything that could go wrong. Nuff' Said.

Orlok drew a line and sighed, tapping his fingers against the bartop. Hmm, being poor and injured was very rarely a good thing but he might be able to work with the latter. Being perceived as a weakling was far more dangerous though, people caught wind of him and the perceived slight for not entertaining them he'd get beaten and killed for chuckles.

He started writing again.

Immediate problem? Lack of respect. Regarded as lunatic, weak. Find solution. All on hold.

Off gang boss N take over? Possible. Unlikely. Mafias wouldn't take it and street gangs wouldn't follow a sissy unless lots of cash for them.

Orlok sighed. He knew a lot of things about a lot of things. Robotics, Medicine, People, psychology, law. That was all He did in the mines, was tinker and browese through data in his spare time. On an unregistered connection his bosses didn't know about of course.

Rowan had developed the look of a woman with a vendetta when she talked about Bastio and he was the only thing she could use to get her hands on whatever revenge she was after for whatever Bastio had done to fuck her off.

He had to get the fuck out of dodge. He couldn't go to the upper levels and Rowan knew everything that went on down on this one. He had at best a week before she got hold of his ass.

He couldn't go down, because Bastio corp would off him if they caught him sniffing around any of the entrances to those parts of the place.

So, can't go up or down or stay still. When in doubt, go left. Orlok downed another shot of mead and eyed the holoscreen.

The name Logos kept flashing all over them. Along with the feed that he'd... shit. Guy had bombed a maternity ward. it looked like Osec were shitting themselves over this guy. Apparently he was one dangerous motherfucker.

Hmm.

Good to know.

Orlok crumpled the paper up and ate it, chewing thoroughly and swallowing. He kept the pen and slipped it into his pocket. He tossed another credit shit at the bartender, dropping him down by forty or so.

"Hey. Taking this. Cheers." He grabbed some expensive vodka off the wall and waved on his way out, slipping it on his coat without opening it.

He was shit in a fight but there were ways around that. As he left his hand slipped into a man's pocket and grabbed a packet of cigaretts and matches. He nimbly rolled them up his sleeve as he passed.

Outside the building, he started off in the opposite direction from Rowan's joint. She may have controlled the sex, the drugs, the information, the money and the arena around here, not to mention a sizable portion of the dumb muscle.

One thing he could tell Rowan Kreeger had a shortage of, by the way she handled her goons, was  quality  muscle. Someone who was comfortable offing her own people and sending them into the arena on a whim obviously didn't value them much.

And Rowan wasn't wasteful, therefore meaning she wasn't offing people she couldn't easily replace. It made sense not to surround herself with people smart enough to challenge her and live.

Orlok's hands moved in rapid patterns as he formed a pattern in the air, calculating and mumbling to himself. He came to a conclusion and chuckled to himself.

There weren't any people that would help him out right now. He just couldn't make it worth their while. Still, who said the only people he could rely on had to be  people?

Orlok went into a drug store and over to the counter. The clerk looked afraid at his appearance and then irritated when he realised he wasn't being robbed.

"I don't have any money for you, you bum." She snarked and her hand inched towards a gun under the counter.

He rolled his eyes. Luckily for him what he needed could be bought on a kid's allowance.

"I need all of the things on this list." He grabbed a piece of paper and started writing down exact numbers of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus.

As an afterthought he added potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, and magnesium.

"Oh, and I'll also need some powder for athlete's foot. He grinned and handed over the money.

He'd have to work fast if he was going to survive the week.