"As long as they've got something that doesn't feel like wearing a garbage bag," Olivia mocked. With a slight sigh, she dropped her hand, allowing Moretti to continue past her. She waited a few seconds for him to leave the room and march down the narrow hallways beyond before allowing herself a deep breath. She raised a hand to her shoulder, running a finger over the cobra token attached to her suit. You'd better do your job. Then she took off herself, striding down the corridors in the opposite direction, towards the equipment storage she had spotted on her way to Moretti's quarters.
Damian hadn't been lying. Most of the gear on offer was old and thoroughly worn, bodysuits and armor covered in patches, guns so badly maintained they could serve as little more than ill-designed crowbars. The vendor looked her up and down, sizing up her measurements and turned away, digging through piles of what, even to Olivia's frugal eyes, should have been considered garbage. Miraculously, the outfit he produced, however, seemed of decent enough quality and maintenance. A reinforced vest and various other bits of armor once belonging to an LPI riot squad, steel-capped boots sourced from a DSE mining operation, and several straps and holsters to accommodate a generous variety of weapons of all shapes and sizes. He piled it all onto a table and strode off behind a tower of boxes, rummaging for further gear.
A few moments later, he returned, cradling a number of firearms and melee weapons in his arms, dumping them onto the table.
"Thanks," Olivia muttered as he silently wandered out the door to give her some privacy. The moment the door shut behind him, she walked over to the table and inspected the collection of equipment piled up onto it. Minutes later, she had stripped out of Moretti's flightsuit and donned the armor over her undersuit and slipped into the boots. To her surprise, it all fit snugly. She proceeded to strap every holster she could find to her body before taking a look at the provided armaments. A large caliber kinetic handgun, similar to her own - left behind on Ames. A modular energy rifle with variable power settings. She whistled in admiration as she read the output numbers on its energy cell. At full power, it could easy melt through several inches of steel. Then there was a range of knives and daggers, of which she slid two into the sheaths strapped to her thighs. She holstered the sidearm and attached the rifle to the magnetic plates on her vest's back, rolling her shoulders to properly distribute the new outfit's weight.
A smile played across her face as she looked down at herself. Oddly, she was excited. A criminal investigation combined with undercover work was not the sort of job she was accustomed to and she looked forward to the new experience. Satisfied with her gear and reattaching Moretti's mark to her shoulder, she strode out of the storage room, nodding curtly to the vendor leaning against a wall outside before heading towards the small canteen she had passed on her way here. She was curious to see how she would be treated by the Xenos around the hideout in her new getup.
Just as Morreti had implied, the mark had made her appear as if she were one of the many fighting for the cause, the Xenos here treated her with a fair degree, although not overly abundant degree of respect and friendliness. While nobody was going out of their way to be nicer than they might have usually been if they knew who she truly was, they were surely making her feel welcomed. It was the small things, such as a greeting when passing by somebody or even a mere nod, no doubt better than piercing glares or threats which were far from subtle.
The canteen sported a fairly large screen which displayed news broadcasts for the Xenos to watch and keep themselves informed of planetary conditions that they could take advantage of. Having been over an hour since Morreti had departed to do whatever he sought to do, the news quickly changed feed and began showcasing a piece about how a local man's residence had been targeted by what was no doubt indiscriminate terrorist activity on the planet. The fifteen minute piece went on to detail how the suspect was still at large, committing to only a single, almost taunting hail of gunfire to send a message of fear rather than do any damage. Almost in perfect unison with its conclusion, Morreti's eagle descended down through the hideout's bay doors.
It didn't take Morreti long to figure out where Olivia was and to go find her. His entrance to the canteen didn't prompt any special treatment, except a few respectful nods from people that likely were supporters of his among the Movement. Without asking, he joined Olivia at whatever table she might have occupied, resting his arms and helmet on the surface of the cold steel and ordering himself a meal. "I take it by now you've seen the news, that's more or less your cue." He looked genuinely fatigued and not like his usual self, even if there were moments where his true nature got the better of him. But the impact of what had happened to Sal was beginning to abate gradually, as if he was at least somewhat assured by the progress they were making.
"Your little show out there sure got the ball rolling," Olivia replied as she tapped her finger on the screen of a PDA lying on the tabletop before her. She scrolled from a news article to a neural net forum she used to frequent in her early days as a mercenary, a sort of job exchange for hired guns. "Price already posted a job offer, looking to add a few more guns to his detail." She chuckled to herself. "There won't be a lot of credits left for him to retire on at this rate."
Finally, she glanced over at Moretti, her eyes locking onto his tired features. "I need a ship to get to Price's. He wants his new hires interviewed in person. Once I'm in, I'll contact you." She leaned forward in her chair, coming as close as the table between them allowed her to. "You look like you need some sleep."
She rose from the table, patting herself down to ensure that all her new gear was in place and properly secured. She looked down at the man across from her, raising her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for a response regarding her transportation.
He recoiled from her quite visibly, not wanting to entertain any close observation of his appearances let alone allow someone in his personal space. His guard was clearly up and very rigid for the time being.
"There's no way you can be allowed to know where exactly this hideout is. So giving you a ship to take with you and potentially document the location is out of the question. There are shuttles which handle discreet exchanges with some of our supporters living under the law. I'll forward the schedule they follow and you can board the next one. Should be easy enough to get to Price from one of the central ports, you might want to conceal the mark while doing that though, or give it back to me before you leave." Just as he said he would, he'd forward all the pertinent information she needed about the shuttles and their schedules to her over the NeuralNet, causing her PDA to buzz and notify her of that occurrence. After that, he just focused on his meal, which didn't look particularly appetizing considering it was just a can of paste.
Olivia rolled her eyes sarcastically. "Sure, shuttle service it is. Haven't used public transportation in a while." She chuckled lightly and strode off towards the hangar, reading the information on her PDA as she went. The next shuttle to the nearest civilian outpost was scheduled to depart in twenty minutes - twenty minutes she planned on killing by reading up on the other individuals that had replied to the job offer on the neural net. Having at least a vague idea of whom she was up against would grant her at least a slight advantage during the interview with Price.
Sitting down on a bench in the docks, she scrolled through the candidates' resumes. Most of them were just more locals from Pittsburgh, mostly former miners and security guards looking for a quick buck. A few others were actual mercenaries, probably down on their luck and stranded in Liberty, hoping to gather enough cash to get back out into the great dark yonder. Compared to them, Olivia was more than overqualified. One potential rival, however, caught her eye.
His alias on the job exchange was 'Beige'. For a second, Olivia hesitated. Then she tapped her finger on his profile to view its content.
"Damn," she muttered under her breath. The username had rung a bell but she had hoped it wouldn't actually be someone she knew. She was disappointed. Arthur 'Beige' Beaumont, a former colleague and wingman of hers during her time in the Omegas. For whatever reason, he - an accomplished mercenary with all the options in the sector - had applied to some ill-paid muscle job on a backwater world for some unimportant police employee. She had no idea he had come to Liberty and even less of a clue why he would be interested in this kind of business. But he could be trouble, at least as far as competition was concerned.
Before she could start seriously worrying about her acquaintance's presence on Pittsburgh, however, a blast of fresh air - as fresh as air on the planet could be - rushed through the hangars as the bay doors opened, admitting a small atmospheric shuttle craft into the cavern. Cursing under her breath, Olivia tucked her PDA under her vest and jumped up from her bench, hurrying towards the shuttle.
Morreti couldn't allow himself to be idle and simply rest as Olivia had suggested. He passed the time with endless follow ups with various informants and supporters who occupied some of the lowest rungs of Liberty's society. Using this incredibly wide support net the Xenos had cultivated over the centuries that Liberty had spent running its people through the grinder had to yield something, and the fact that it hadn't yet was beginning to aggravate the otherwise enviably calm man who was the Alliance's Commander.
Eventually, it was the very same mole that came through with a piece of information that sent Morreti sprinting from one end of the hideout and back into the hangars. A convoy was due to leave Pittsburgh within the hour, it would be making the trek to LPI Sugarland and offloading a fresh batch of 'resources' into the system. The mole claimed Sal's family was part of this convoy, something Morreti didn't simply take his word on. Multiple other sources claimed to see people among those being processed for transport matching descriptions that had been put out by their local 'freedom fighter'. With orders being barked over various Xeno channels of communication, ships sporting broken stars began to quietly assemble in the East Dallas field ahead of time, these would be Alliance pilots stationed on Barrow, now under express orders to get in position with their Commander and to cover a liberation attempt at any cost. To keep his accomplice in the loop about this, Morreti would send Olivia a simply worded message while flying to the rendezvous point. "LPI prison ship. Bound for Texas. Sal's family onboard. Going to ambush it." The mole, having been wrongfully entrusted by Price to act as an escort for this shipment of prisoners kept his 'benefactor' of sorts up to date with the convoy's location as it traversed New York. They had been conveniently delayed long enough to give Morreti a sufficient head start. If the Pelican holding Sal's family made it to Sugarland before "Cobra" and his crew could stop it, then they were never coming back out.
The next few hours dominated by tedious and tense preparation would be the deciding factor.
It was a bumpy ride from the hideout to St. John's Outpost as the rickety old Xeno shuttle struggled through a dust storm that had descended over the area. Olivia was relieved when she boarded the slightly more modern DSE craft that would ferry her and several dozen miners from the small settlement to the mining 'city' of Venango - which so happened to be where Sergeant Price had hunkered down. It was a long trip, the shuttle making several stops along the way to load up additional workers. Olivia sat in the back of the passenger compartment, trying to keep as low a profile as possible while clad in full mercenary gear. She had stripped the serpent token from her shoulder, letting it nestle instead in a small pouch on the inside of her vest.
After two hours that had felt like an eternity, the ferry finally touched down at the town's small port. Disembarking, Olivia was immediately assaulted by the stench typical of a strip mining operation. Chemical fumes wafted through the already heavily polluted air, making every breath a chore. How anyone could stand working, much less living here was beyond her. But then again, the people that did end up residing in locations like these likely didn't have much of a choice. According to what she had heard at the hideout, working for the corporate operations on Pittsburgh was more akin to being enslaved than being a contracted employee. Pulling a scarf out of a pocket of her undersuit and wrapping it tightly over her nose and mouth, Olivia hurried towards the nearest air cab.
A brief ride later, during which she had ample opportunity to admire the utter devastation of the surrounding landscape by the aggressive, reckless mining conducted by DSE et al., the taxi came to a stop on a narrow but surprisingly well maintained road, rows of squat apartment complexes interspersed with a few single houses lining either side. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, Olivia glanced around cautiously. There was some light pedestrian traffic, workers returning home from a hard day in the mines and administrative offices, a few families out for a stroll, seemingly oblivious or maybe just accustomed to the awful quality of the air. She herself stood out like a sore thumb in her combat gear - however, no one seemed to take notice.
The job posting had not provided an exact address, omitting Price's house number. But identifying it was not difficult. No other building had several black air cars parked in front of it and half a dozen armed guards patrolling its front yard. Squaring her shoulders, Olivia marched towards the front door, nodding at the hired men as they noticed her approach. One held out his hand, beckoning her to stop.
"Can I help you?" He asked in a gritty tone, his voice probably ruined from years of inhaling dust and ashes. Olivia reached into her pockets and retrieved her PDA, showing him the job post on the screen.
"Here for the job," she replied casually. The guard eyed her closely, letting his gaze run up and down her body, inspecting her armor and assorted weaponry. With a subtle nod of his head, he directed her towards the door, already opened for her by one of his colleagues. "Boss'll see you in a few," he muttered and returned to his post, letting her pass.
The trap was sprung, caught a lane away from Sugarland, the armored transport would come under heavy fire from multiple assailants. Despite being under escort, they were not prepared for such a display of brute force, criminals fought with desperation to free their brethren from hard time, but this was more than just desperation. The mole, conveniently positioned in his Liberator at the rear of the convoy stood by as his fellow officers were all surrounded and slaughtered. Slowly, he pulled away from the site of the engagement, intending to break from standard patrol routes and make his escape to the nearest Freeport. But a cruise disruptor to the engines, and the sight of an Eagle sporting an all too familiar Cobra on its hull put an end to that clever idea.
There were to be no survivors of this other than Sal's family, and the mole had outlived his usefulness, he'd also been part of Price's entourage. Something he initially neglected to inform Morreti about, from that point onward he was a dead man as far as the snake was concerned. With the Pelican disabled and Navy reinforcements on the way to disperse the rabble, the Xenos had to be quick with their boarding operation. There was no sense sparing anyone in police uniforms, especially not when time was of the essence. With the Pelican finally under their control, the raiding party split up and made a run for it in three different directions. One fled further into the field, one for Hudson and one for Virginia. Unable to consistently track the retreating terrorists given their seemingly disorganized formation, the Navy pursued pursuit the first until they stretched dangerously far off the grid. At which point they turned about and abandoned the chase, seeking to instead return and repel any further assaults which might opportunistically occur after this display.
Despite the overall success of such an effort, it was hardly without cost for the Xenos. Even if they vastly outnumbered the Police convoy and worked quickly, the retreating wing bound for Hudson still took losses and suffered harassment from Hunters that had caught wind of their antics. Of the five ships their formation initially consisted of, only two would make it back to Barrow. The primary force intended to board the ship bore the brunt of things, the Pilgrim liner that spearheaded the charge was on the cusp of decompressing if it endured any more punishment and even Morreti's own eagle was trailing an unhealthy amount of sparks. The operation's success kept morale at an acceptable level, breaking even with the losses sustained. Still, some pilots questioned the necessity of an operation like this on such short notice. If the various cells had been given more time to prepare and stock up on the supplies needed, they might have sustained no losses at all.
With Sal's family almost entirely accounted for, save his eldest daughter, the Pilgrim and its fighter escort made way for Fontana. A rest stop was very much necessary before proceeding back to base. There was also a discussion which need to be had in person on where the girl was, Morreti had assumed she'd have been part of the family and his sources on the ground confirmed that much. Something must have occurred last minute to warrant any changes on who was being transported. Despite the success in getting the others to safety, a lack of any idea of the girl's current whereabouts frustrated him even more. He was tired of this, tired of chasing leads and turning up short.
He had to hope Olivia would come through on her side of things and help put an end to this.
It was dark in the lobby, the lights dimmed to a minimum and the - apparently recently - shattered windows covered by plates of steel. Clearly Moretti's 'spook' had had its desired effect. Her eyes adjusting to the low light, Olivia glanced around the lounge. Chairs lined the walls, a few small stands with magazines interspersed between them. Apart from a few bullet holes in the walls, it almost looked like a waiting room at your average dentist's office. Only a few of the seats were taken, most by burly men, clearly of backgrounds involving intense physical labor. Some stared straight ahead, ignoring their surroundings. A few instead gazed at her, mustering her up an down. None of them looked like serious mercenaries to her; instead they just appeared to be miners-out-of-work looking for some source of income.
Her observations were interrupted by a loud, single-note laugh. Olivia turned to face its source, sitting in the far corner of the room. There sat a man, dressed in a long tan trenchcoat, legs crossed over each other, his hands clasped behind his head. A huge grin was plastered over his face, his eyes gleaming at her.
"Hah!" He laughed again. "If it ain't the brown mouse herself!" Lithely, the man jumped to his feet and, with a slight skip in his step, strode over to where Olivia remained standing, glaring at him.
"Sables aren't mice," Olivia replied, her voice far less jovial than his. "What are you doing here, Beige?" Stopping short just in front of her, the man spread his arms out wide, as if to invite her for an embrace.
"Come now, Olivia! We're all friends here! Hah! Isn't that right, Bill?" He shouted over her shoulder at the room's other occupants. No one reacted. Accepting that she was not about to give him a hug, he dropped his arms and laughed again. Olivia stood and stared at him, waiting for him to finish, annoyance plain in her face. The man - Beige - swept up one arm again and clasped her by the shoulder, giving her a friendly shake that made Olivia want to draw a knife and sever his hand. "I'm here for the same reason you are!" Olivia involuntarily raised an eyebrow in surprise. Beige laughed again. "Boredom!"
"For God's sake," Olivia muttered and brushed his hand off her shoulder, stepping past him to take a seat in an empty chair. The man followed her, dropping into the seat next to her and throwing up an arm across her back. She rolled her eyes and shifted as far away from him as possible.
"What would Kelly think if she saw you like this?" Olivia asked matter-of-factly. "Or did she come to her senses and leave you?" Beige guffawed at the jest, slapping his leg with his free hand. A strand of his blond, slicked-back hair fell into his face, bouncing up and down in step with his laughter.
Quieting down again, he replied. "No, no, she's still quite mad! Hah! In fact," he scooted a little closer to Olivia, closing the distance she had tried to maintain between them, "we're married!"
Olivia raised a hand and grabbed the arm he had put around her shoulders by the wrist, lifting it off of her with mock gentleness.
"Please send her my condolences," she replied, sarcasm virtually dripping from her lips.
The Pilgrim swung in alongside the hollowed out rock to moor and receive much needed repairs, while Morreti was promptly cleared to dock with the station and did so hastily. Flinging his ship in through the bay doors and then down onto a free pad with an audible thump. It was quite clear the he was angry, but he put on a relatively well composed facade for the sake of keeping the family inclined to talk to him and provide information. They had to have known something on where the girl was, they had gone through the trouble of tying up all their loose ends and wouldn't have just let her go.
The family were all huddled up near a food stall on the station's interior, with its very tangible iciness someone had done them the courtesy of purchasing them all something hot to drink along with various packages of food rations. All of them look mortified, but Sal's wife, now a widow stood up and met Morreti halfway down the hall from the rest of her folk. She looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and disappointment, it was obvious she didn't know about his criminal affiliations. And if she was honest with herself, she believed that was why Sal came under such malevolent scrutiny. "Sandra, where's Stevie? She appreciated that at least the first thing out of the strange man's mouth was a question about her missing daughter. "They took her from us just before we were forced onto the transport. Two men came, said she had to come with them.. I tried to offer myself up instead but they just shoved me away. There was some other vile man giving them orders, he mentioned taking her back to the ship.. but I don't know where my girl is anymore.." The shock was helping her stay lucid and less emotional than she otherwise might have been, but it would only last so long before she needed to break. Morreti, being who he was, did not offer her consolation and instead took a step back and waited for a few moments. "It's very important that you try and tell me what the man who took her looked like. Every second wasted on grief is a second more of the trail running cold. Eventually, I'll have no trail to follow." Despite her best efforts, her composure would not return. Her sobbing attracted the attention of her young son, who did what Morreti would not which was to console the grieving widow. The boy seemed to be clutching something in his hand, a small tablet quite popular among people who pursued art as a hobby. The image caused Morreti's brain to click like a bullet being loaded into a barrel and he immediately pulled the boy aside. "The man that took your sister, can you draw what he looked like?" The boy, barely tall enough to stand at Morreti's waist level simply looked up at him confused, and obviously traumatized. "I'll find your sister if you can focus and do that for me." The words finally got through to the child, and with a tearful blink of the eyes, he nodded and sat down to dig through his mangled thoughts for the specific memory required.
It was a painful thirty minutes, but when he'd finished, Morreti forwarded the result to Olivia in the hopes she might recognize whoever it was. They certainly didn't look like anyone he'd be familiar with, but Sandra was right when she described him as a vile man. Definitely sleazy in every sense of the word. With what he needed in terms of a new lead, Morreti left the family under the protection of the combat liner's crew who had been instructed to keep them safe until this whole ordeal was at its end. He had no intention of wasting time here trying to console any of them, it was simply counterproductive and pointless. Instead, he got back in the seat of his mostly repaired Eagle and took off, setting a course for Pittsburgh.