"Bribe? Alright, You can leave with it regardless on how this conversation ends was my intention." She opens a few of them, placing them out upon the table laid out in dating order. Images of a familiar place, a dark and quiet place that not many would have graced their eyes upon. "Eight-Oh-One After Settlement, lots of explosions, lots of dying... Nomads took a proverbial kick to the nuts by a small raiding party; and per usual, none of it ever happened." She pointed out those 'things' out that sat within the drydocks that glowed their un-natural hue that almost illuminated the entire area. "I think you know how this one ends, but lets rewind a little." She points to the document on Erich's far left, namely not just one from the MND but held insignia from the upper tree of the BDM. The title read - Risk assessment: RFSC-827-Final - that donned the accompanying classification stamps and inside it was documenting a group of politicians, military heads and individual commercial figureheads. "These people... Well, they're not really 'people' at this point. But these were the ones that fell quickly, and gave the Nomads the edge they needed at pulling strings around Rheinlands resources. Any mainline political resistance, crushed or went missing. Re-militarization skyrocketed and expansion was something similar to blowing up a balloon to its limits... Military are sticking their fingers in every pie possible, Republican, Daumann, Kruger and even the police which was honestly once the shining angel of all our federal divisions. At this point I don't know if I'm talking about what happened in Eight-Oh-One or whats happening now." She gave him a moment to absorb their pair of documents she laid out for him, before placing an almost immediate clone of the latter one, just with different faces, different names and different dates. She sat back herself, seemingly also trying to think to herself. She was, she didn't know what to do beyond waiting this out to see if these risk assessment documents were becoming reality.
He'd only managed to just buckle up his triage of buttons, zips and belt before walking over to the sinks to was his hands. While scrubbing away nicely with what little soap remained from the dispenser, he looked up into the mirror just to give a routine look... But the Bartenders comments had re-drawn his attention to the scars creeping along his neck line. He stretched down his hoodie down a little to have a closer inspection. His wet hands slowly caressed over the scars that remained only to have the remnants of water channel themselves down the groves of his combat-souvenirs, he needed to let himself see the rest again. He unzipped his hoodie and placed its cheap fabric aside, lifting up his plainly branded t-shirt to see an collage art-piece of battle scars; Some more frequent that others. "Shit." It was the first time in a while since he'd given himself the chance to remember where each one came from. Some from Omicrons, but a majority from Weimar but all of that was apart from three that sat on his lower abdomen and two on his remaining arm... "Bundestag." He never liked where he got these. "This is exactly why I wear a helmet." He added on, finding humor in the situation.