Chapter Text
The Black Lung wasn’t anything to admire once you were inside it. The floorboards were of long extinct spruce, split and groaning with age. Its concrete walls were laid bare, all semblance of color or murals already long chipped away before its current occupants took over. This emptiness was broken only by a few dingy tables and chairs. That was all that the bar really had to boast of. But its shelves sagged under a generous collection of all sorts of liquor for those that found themselves unfortunate enough to be in the ADZ.
While an Exo doesn’t need to drink, a Risen needs work. Work, Valdrik had long learned, lived in spots of misery like this.
In the back right corner, Valdrik’s table had a view of the whole establishment. Exits, entrances, the bar, even the boarded up window. Keeping watch was a habit he hadn’t remembered learning, but one that he kept to it all the same. As he leaned back in his chair, he silently surveyed the rest of the bar.
Those he assumed to be the local Lords were clustered near the bar itself, laughing and harassing the poor waitress charged with delivering their glasses. Among them was a large Awoken, wearing gold trimmed armor lined with furs. His wolfish grin revealed a golden tooth.
With a dart, he reached over and grabbed the waitress by the arm and brought his face to hers. Whatever he whispered into her ear sent the rest of his gang into louder laughter. The girl’s face flushed a deep red as she tried, unsuccessfully, to pull away.
Those he presumed to be mortal dispersed themselves out, eyes cast down in their mugs to avoid even glancing at the heavily armored posse. A few shoulders tightened. One man slowly slid his chair back, inch by inch, trying to put more distance between himself and the bar. None wanted to risk the ire of a Risen.
Under the deep orange light of the flickering incandescents, Valdrik shifted in his chair. His hand caught his head in its crook, eyes lazily watching the scene unfolding before him. The barmaid had made the wrong choice this morning coming to work. Mortals always were distracted by simple things such as glimmer or morsels of food. It was her fault, really, and-
The door to the bar swung open harshly. All heads turned to look at the new arrival.
Flowing from the figure was a faded blue poncho, complete with a hood. The hand still on the door was shining platinum, digits crackled with Arc Light. They left behind streaks of blue on it as they took their first steps inside. Underneath the hood of the cloak, deep red iris optics burned and scanned over the gathered crowd before landing on the Awoken. As the two’s gazes met, the Awoken let go of the waitress and strode to meet the Exo.
“Another tin man! Looking for a posse, stray?” The Awoken’s tone was anything but cordial.
The Exo met the gaze evenly as his mechanical face broke into a grin. “Work for you? Not in a million years! Nah, I’m here for another ‘tin man,’ Garrick.”
Valdrik leaned back in his chair. It wasn't like this hovel got many Exos still sane. So, someone was looking for him, huh?
“What’s to say I just scrap you, tin man?” The now-named Garrick sneered as he towered over the Exo.
“I’d not recommend it. Unless you’d like to talk to the ol’ Knight,” the Exo’s grin never faltered.
Knight?
The title seemed to get more recognition from the Warlords than it did Valdrik, at least. Garrick's sneer faded for a millisecond, before coming back in full. His posse was quick to rise, but a raised hand brought them back down.
Huffing, the Awoken shoulder-checked the Exo on the way out, and left the dingy bar with the rest of his men.
Disappointed, Valdrik watched the Exo approach him. In the blink of an eye, the stranger had his arm around Valdrik’s shoulders as if the two were old friends.
“Valdrik! Oh, I been looking all over for-”
Valdrik jostled the arm off him, and grabbed the offending limb. With one hand holding the other Exo steady, his knife was quick to meet the stranger’s stomach with a slight poke.
“Who the hell are you?”
The Exo chuckled as he strained, “Oh, right! Should start with that, shouldn’t I? Name’s Richter-2, and I heard you’ve got yourself a working sh-”
Valdrik hissed, stopping Richter, who tilted his head for a moment before his mouth went into an oval shape.
“Ooooh, yeah, yeah, got you,” the wink that accompanied this line did little to assuage Valdrik.
With a scowl, Valdrik whispered harshly at the other Exo, “The hell do you want?”
“I’d like to use your, uh, skill! Yeah, your skill for a job, ‘escorting’ something! Over the pond, if you catch my drift.”
Valdrik’s eye darted over to one of the few armed groups that he presumed loyal to the local Lord. Yet, their attention had long since drawn away from the two Exos and back to their harassment of the barkeep. “It’ll cost you.”
“Oh, of course, we know!”
“We?”
“Yeah, me and my friends! We’re the merry M.A.R.I.E!”
“The who?”
Rolling his eyes, Richter-2 let out a sigh. “M.A.R.I.E, only the baddest fireteam on the continent!”
“Uh-huh,” Valdrik’s tone was flat, like the beer in the mug before him. “The hell you want transported, anyways?”
“Refugees.”
At that, Valdrik finally blinked. Pulling his knife away, he took another look at the Exo before him. The abundance of Arc Light had stopped Valdrik from noticing the scorch marks that littered the man, and the dented metal bat on his back.
“You serious?”
“Dead serious,” Richter-2’s jovial tone finally dropped. “We want to take them to old Europe. Heard tale of a settlement over there, and Wu- our other guy hasn’t responded in weeks. The other guys said we should wait, but I knew you had to be here.”
Valdrik finally matched Richter’s grin. “Well, you found me. And the price is non-negotiable.”
Richter’s face would’ve split if he’d grinned any harder. “Whatever your price, I’ll meet it.”
Idealists were always so easy to con.
Valdrik let go of Richter’s arm, replacing it with his hand. If the strange Exo’s title drop had gotten the local thugs to back off…
“It’s a deal.”