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Full Version: Come On, Pick Up
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Ouray was, by all metrics, not a pleasant place. A former mining station turned Xeno base of operations, it was cramped, with low, narrow hallways hewn straight into the rock, uncomfortably compact quarters nestled between air ventilation fans incessantly whirring and exposed power generators unnervingly buzzing and sputtering. Loud men - and, occasionally, women - ran down the corridors, shouting and boasting. Occasional klaxons blared, causing the station to erupt into chaos as crews scrambled to their stations and pilots hurried for the hangars.

It was, by all accounts, not an easy place to get a good night's sleep.

Damien Morreti, the Xenos' infamous Cobra, was nonetheless trying his best to do just that. Tucked into his cot in relative comfort, he had successfully blended out the ceaseless cacophony that Ouray put out and fallen into a pleasant slumber after a day's hard work managing Liberty's premier insurgency. He needed the sleep desperately. And so he peacefully dozed, likely dreaming of quieter days and more comfortable mattresses.

...

...

...

His neural net link buzzed. Quietly, at first. Then loudly. Then it rang with determined insistence. It would be answered or die trying.

Eyes burning, a sign he'd be woken well before the hour he actually desired to wake. For a moment, he fumbled in confusion, struggling to find where he'd left his communicator, cursing aloud before he'd actually found it and pulled the accursed thing to his ear. "Hello..?" He sounded different, coarse and dull when compared to the bloodied velvet that was the expected standard.

This definitely wasn't his wakeup call either, the simulated lighting in his room that he programmed to simulate a day/night cycle was still dim. If he had to guess, he had a few hours left to sleep, a span of time he wished he was still enjoying rather than being woken for whatever this was. He hadn't even bothered to check who was calling, just wanting to get this out of the way or deal with it quickly if urgent.
"Morreti. Got a few minutes?" A voice on the other end of the line spoke without introduction. Female, aggravated. A slight accent that revealed a foreign origin. "There's something I gotta talk about to some-"

The caller's rapid-fire monologue cut off. There was a brief pause.

"You sound like shit. Did I wake you?"

He sighed, realizing who this was after a few seconds. "Yeah, it's.. either really late or early." Grunting, he dragged himself out of bed, he felt he was going to need a coffee. "What is it, wife?" This did make him curious, of all the people she knew and reportedly liked better than him, she'd called him anyway. Had he been given a sudden promotion in the hierarchy of this friendship tree? And if that was the case, why? Their pretend relationship couldn't have been it, that was just a joke to see how gullible Alliance personnel were when it came to rumors about their Commander.
"Oh. Sorry." The response lacked any sincere remorse. The line went quiet for a moment, nothing but background static filling the silence. Then, the caller cleared her throat and continued. "You know Haze, right? Jennifer Haze?" Even over the neural link, the venom with which the name was spoken could not be missed.

Again, he groaned despite being on his feet and in front of the coffee machine. "Haze, the perfect embodiment of what it means to be vapid." Through the connection, she'd hear him fidgeting with cups and plugging in settings with audible beeping sounds. The constant drone of ships in transit, people walking around and cargo being moved about were persistent as background noise.
"Not vapid anymore," the caller replied, "but wasted." There was another brief pause as the caller let the words sink in. Then, just to be sure Morreti's groggy brain comprehended, she clarified. "She's dead. The bitch is dead." Her tone was strained, as if she couldn't make up her mind on what emotion to display. Anger, relief, enmity, glee, disappointment - all thrown together in a jumbled mess.

There was a sharp series of beeps, alerting him to the fact that his coffee was ready. While she asserted the fact someone he didn't think much of was dead, he let the steam from his cup wash over his face to refresh him. Taking a sip before figuring out what he wanted to say. "How tragic, anyway. Mhm." He was busy enjoying his preferred blend and assumed Olivia would move on to talk about why she'd actually called him.
"Oh, for god's sake, Morreti," Olivia snapped back, sounding thoroughly irate. "I know I just woke you, but could you at least pretend to be interested?" She huffed over the comm line. "I don't have anyone else to celebrate with," she continued more calmly, ostensibly trying to sound cute but doing a poor job.

Putting the cup down and feeling some semblance of actual consciousness now, his tone gradually returned to normal as he spoke up again. "You're right, I'm sorry. I honestly thought I might have been dreaming. Who was the lucky triggerman?" Secretly, he hoped she had details on how this happened, maybe there was something to take inspiration from here.
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