World Tree MUSH

<<SYSLOG COMM: 1707 LOCAL TIME>> 

 "AWACS Devil Dog reporting skies clear at this time. Bravo Zulu. Paldean Helo asset callsigh Espada is approaching operational airspace at this time and are ready to deploy footsloggers. Thunder flight, what's your status?" 

 "Thunder One, Devil Dog. We're still holding station at angels ten. All systems are runnin' green and we've got approx three zero mike 'till bingo. Easy money." 

 "Eaaaasy money. Be advised, we've got the Paldean whirlybirds squawking on this frequency too. Espada One-Two, Devil Dog. How's it going?" 

 "Espada One-Two here. Rubber's on the road and the kids are in the back seat. What's the view like from up there?" 

 "Thunder flight is maintaining air superiority and is about to start scanning for terrastal signatures at this time. They will be available to provide top cover for another half hour if needed and will tag potential hotspots to your ERS tacmap. Thunder One-Four, you are go for sweep." 

 "Thunder copies, Devil Dog. We've got our sensor pods live and buzzing. Let's have a smell." 

 <<SYSLOG SENTINELPOD/ARM>> 

 "Ruh oh. Thunder, Devil Dog. We're picking up radiologicals here. Way above expected background. Tagging it now." 

 "Copy, we see it. That sure ain't uranium dust. Devil Dog to all, Devil Dog to all. Looks like we might have found our bomb. Thunder, can you give us a better look?" 

 "Standby dub dee, we're dialing it in. Gotcha. Thunder confirming terrastal signatures at seven zero miles bearing oh four eight off our nose. They're geting hotter by the second, we might be in trouble here." 

 "We see it. Devil Dog relaying telemetry to Espada and Baseplate now... Oh f-... All units be advised, we're picking up a large radiological buildup. That device is armed! I repeat! Device. Is. Armed! Get the hell out of there!" 

 "Don't have to tell us twice. Thunder, let's get out of dodge-out of dodge-out of dodge:- (^((*!$(*&=========== 

 <<SYSLOG UNAVAILABLE: FILE CORRUPTED>>

    The familiarity of one environment drains away while being replaced by the visage of another. Rapidly shifting, visually morphing perhaps faster than can be actively perceived, it changes. It all changes. Arid rocky landscape extends as far as the eye can see. The atmosphere itself is thicker -- not by much, but enough -- and the density keeps rolling dust clouds closer to the ground in a way that might obscure patches much as fog might obfuscate a road before a driver. 

    The result of some explosive detonation? Maybe not, for the ground isn't entirely a desert wasteland. Besides, the distant mountains weren't there before and the dots of building infrastructure and worn paths, for as little as one might call them roads, scar the broad alien setting with the notion of ground vehicle activity, although there seems to be no immediate movement. The place is almost completely vacant of signs of civilized life...but it's NOT. 

    This is almost exactly the opposite of a hot zone.

The sky shattered. One of the pilots clamped her eyes shut, raising a gloved hand from the throttle to shield them even further as the searing nuclear flash threatened to burn them away. The jet shuddered, heeling violently over, alarms and buzzers blaring away before... 

 Nothing. 

 Not the nothing of death, or the void, as she was expecting. She could still feel the Martin Baker ejector seat under her, the AS-31's sidestick in her clenched fist. She could even feel that the craft had levelled itself out. 

 Slowly she opened her eyes. It wasn't a burning Paldea she was met with, perhaps that she wasn't was a small comfort, but instead something altogether stranger. 

 She tapped at one of the many MFDs festooning the cockpit. Nav was out. GPS nonresponsive. No signals from the Hammerpoint datalink network either. She keyed her comms. 

 <<"All Hammerpoint air assets in the AO, this is Thunder One. Please respond. Repeat. All Hammerpoint air, please respond." 

 Nothing. Then another voice. <<"Awful nice ship you got there Thunder One. Why don't I just take that off your hands?">>

    There's movement in the distance. Some kind of vehicle streaks along an industrial rail from one place to another -- a cargo train -- but that's not the source of the trasmitted reply. Rather, that comes from the mobilization of other aircraft. These craft look nothing like the jet being piloted. They don't even give off familiar radio signatures, but... They do, however, register through basic instrumentation. Fighter ships, no doubt, seating between one and two people, take to the air from well-hidden entrances along the stony range. Former large-scale mines make for great hidden hangars. 

    <<"Howsaboutit? Land your craft and disembark, Thunder One, and 'maybe' we'll see about giving you some water for your hike to Carlsbad Int.">> 

    It's clear that the aggressors have nothing bu violence in mind otherwise. Five ships. They don't even fly in formation, but they DO seem to be coordinated enough to suggest experience. <<"Have some respect for your vessel, Thunder One,">> comes another voice, deep and sibilate. <<"Don't make us break it. It looks expensive.">> 

    <<"No way they do the smart thing,">> follows a third transmitted voice, laughing manically. <<"This one is gonna fight. Gonna squirrrrrm.">>

The pilot frowned. The craft were obvious on IRST. Big blobs of heat against cold background cutting through even this denser atmosphere. Her computers couldn't make it out, her HMD pinging them as Sukhois one moment and airliners the next. She took stock of the situation. They were lower than her, their lack of altitude would certainly be something that'd play into her advantage should this get hot. She pulled up further, making sure to at least be outside of a direct visual contact as she launched a decoy drone, sending a tight beam transmission to it to mask her location instead of just broadcasting in the open, while in the meantime she pulled the stealthy craft around to an attack position a good ways from them. 

 <<"Unidentified aircraft. This is Major Joanna Jenna of Hammerpoint Global Security's first tactical fighter squadron, operational callsign Thunder One. My intentions are peaceful and I am attempting to vacate your airspace at this time. Break off immediately or you will be fired upon. This is your only warning.">>

    <<"Told you so.">> 

    <<"We didn't sssay leave. We said land. Jo-ah-nah.">> 

    <<"Well, 'Major', this is Rykel Wilms of the Bladed Sharks. Amazing professionalism. Almost Cornerian. Our territory doesn't extend to mere airspace, darling, so even if we let you go you'd still be traspassing. This is blood in the water now, you see, and my Sharks are ready to frenzy.">> 

    The craft spread apart as they seemingly chatter, the craft widening their field of scans, perhaps perticipating in a sense of hide and seek before changing things up to play tag instead. <<"Steady. Wait for my mark...">> It's almost a passive play for such an aggressive squadron. Amateurs, perhaps? Or is there something else at play? 

    Meanwhile, a relative distance away, two figures talk: 

    "What the heck do you mean somebody poked the nest already?" 

    "Just what I said. Our bait wasn't deployed yet." 

    A frustated pace back and forth commences, but is short lived. "Get the craft ready. I want to be in the air three units ago."

To the bandits, it'd likely seem that the skies were completely empty, their scans showing up nothing but air. For Jo though, the flight actively and merrily banging away on their sensors might as well have been draped in glowing neon and holding bullseyes to their heads. 

 "Display stores." 

 With a quick *be-deep* one of the display screens brought up an outline of the munitions slung in the AS-31's concealed weapons bays. Four AIM-9Xs, flanked by a pair of longer reaching Meteors. Her HMD printed out the first target. It's type was still listed as an unknown, though its location and airspeed weren't anywhere near as elusive. 

 Fox-3 

 A Meteor snapped off the rail, its seeker head, quickly pitbulling on the first mark.

    <<"We 'know' you're still there, Thunder One. How long are you gonna keep-">> 

    <<"Projectile incoming, bearing-">> 

    Perhaps this is why they kept from flying in tight formation. There is an attempt to evade, in a sense, as one ship pushes their nose downward with an axial shift starboard. It doesn't seem to be enough. There's a garbled transmission from some other voice as this sudden onset of Mach 4 death on wings screams through the dense dusty atmosphere and makes contact with a point outside the immediate signature of the ship. A ripple of light crackles around the craft just before the flash of a fireball rolls around the sudden silhouette. 

    Crippled, but not destroyed, the craft continues its downward vector seemingly without the ability to steer. The remainder of the small handful of ships scatter in a defensive pattern as the smoking trail of the one craft veers uncontrolled into a rocky embankment far below. 

    <<"Cowardly. Smart, but useless.">> 

    <<Ha ha ha hahaha!>> 

    <<"More blood for the water.">> Small devices begin peeling away from one of the craft, like flower pollen in the wind, spreading upward and outward. Drones. <<"Sharks, uplink with Sat Devlin Alpha Romeo Six. The Major's toy may be able to hide from us, but let's see how they handle our eye in the sky.">>

Scratch one. 

 The impact made for odd readings. The burst of heat trailing into the dirt wasn't unexpected at all, the meteor's large warhead laced with smouldering shards of tungsten left very little behind, but the sudden flash screaming into the EM band as soon as the weapon delivered its payload was. Jo chalked it up as some sort of ECM system and switched her focus to the second craft. 

 The readings were strange here too. A cloud of heat signatures surrounding the main one. Not enough to elude her weapons especially while the hostiles were still insisting on transmitting, but more than enough to give her pause before selecting her second Meteor. 

 Wasn't a long pause though. Acquired. 

 Fox-3 

 As for what the drones would see, it was mostly nothing. While sure if they got close enough they'd see the Wraith, its sleek angular dark grey form slicing through the dusty air yet something about its geometry, even its very materials, was eluding sensor readings.

    The ships may be scattered, but they still seem to be flying blind. They could retreat, and they seem to be too much of an easy target for the stealthy jet to be much of an immediate challenge, yet they persist. The satellite-assisted serveillance combined with the ever-spreading drone cloud creates a wider and wider net as the seconds tick preciously by. When a second missile winds in toward the small group, the drone-deploying ship seems to vanish -- at least mostly -- for a few seconds as data scattering is dispersed through the machine-populated airspace. 

    The pilot quietly cuts off his shields and rolls in time with the incoming warhead so that the trail of its propellant lights up what might pass for the aircraft's canopy. Eyes from within are barely distracted, even as the missile 'still hits' one of the other ships behind. Lucky. While the toy jet might be hard to track, the analytics of the missile's path are not. Energy-based particle beams track and fire in quick bursts in a variety of possible positions. The light beams are highly charged and superheat the air to produce what might sound like thunder from the ground. A fizzle of plasma evaporates in the wake of each blast. 

    <<"Sensors crippled. Disengaging. Returning to base.">> The struck craft also seems to emit a crackle of energy from around it when hit, but the strike is less direct...and that seems to make enoug hof a difference that it's not a total elimination.

Jo pulled around hard, the vision greying at the corner's of her vision as she heard the airframe creak around her, straining under the force of the high G turn. The particle beams played electronic hell on her passives, the IRST artefacting before having to reboot. Seconds passed, the pilot relying only on her mark one eyeballs while being put on the defensive for the first time. The move also revealed her position, if just for a moment, the hot flare of the afterburning turbofans burning bright orange-white against the cold atmosphere. 

 To make it even worse, she was out of Meteors, though at this closer range they wouldn't have done her all too much good. Her thumb flicked over the selector again even as she was still pulling 15 Gs, her suit squeezing to keep the blood from pooling into her extremeties. 

 She still had the altitude advantage. Altitude meant speed. Speed meant energy. She banked into a dive, swooping on the third craft. 

 The sidewinder growled in her ear. It turned to a solid snarl. 

 Fox-2 Fox-2. 

 As if to make doubly sure just in case the AIM-9's smaller warhead wouldn't puncture whatever electronic barrier she'd seen so far, she spooled her cannon, ready to follow up with a burst of 20mm rounds.

    The voice of Rykel Wilms transmits once more. <<"Frenzy.">> A single word. There is no glee or sadism or taunt to the voice. It is but a single word. A command. The image is much like mosquitos rising from a pool of hidden water when prey is nearby more than any sort of shark symbolism. Fighters. On standby. Waiting for the moment of direct confrontation to be made known. Another voice cuts in. The laughing guy. And then the ssssibilant one. Engines blaze leaving behind afterimage streaks as real speed is finally demonstrated. Was this all some sort of trap? 

    A clash of technology and style, more hostile signatures begin populating the airspace. It's by no means an army, but the pirates -- for what better describes their actions -- might be a serious challenge. At the very least, they're optimized for the atmospheric conditions. 

    As for the seeming 'lead' craft being aggressively barreled in upon with an intense display of firepower, it makes a correction in course to begin a physical interception with the jet by lifting its nose to climb. Energy blasts powered by predictive algorithm intend to harry and harass where they may not harm. In fact, one sidewinder gets countered before they can both make their mark. 

    There IS a strange discharge of energy upon impact, much like the other direct hits, although this one seems...tougher? That kind of hit would take out just about any craft, too! However, the spooled up guns behind the blast are ready to chew as viciously as any shark, but why then does it seem so intent on playing high-speed chicken? 

    It fails, though, as the slugs chip away and carve into the unprotected vehicle and it falls away just short of the Major's approach...but not before a figure jettisons with intensity high above. 
    The pilot is some sort of...bear! Not the other definition of it, but the actual mammalian animal. The potential Ursaring has ejected. And is armed. With some kind of shoulder-mounted missile launcher.

Jo banked again, rolling underneath the crippled craft before gunning it skywards again, condensation flashing into brief clouds as the deafening whip-crack of a sonic boom ripped past the bear. At this speed Jo only was able to get the briefest glimpse of a sillouette. A large man, maybe even a 'morph like her, and a MANPAD. 

 Really? 

 She popped off some flares just in case, mixed in with glittering radar confusing chaff as she continued to pull skywards. Then once again. Nothing. 

 The Wraith had gone dark, save for the decoy drone deployed at the start screetching microwaves into the air, pretending that she instead went active on her radar instead of using her craft's low observability to try and slip away again. 

 She watched from above as the interceptors climbed. Trying to get a count on them. There were easily more than she had the ammunition left for though, she could at least tell that much.

    What even is that? 

    The pilot hits his apex and begins to fall backward even as he raises the device to take aim at the hauntingly quick craft. A single burst issues forth from it, small compared to the other aerial armaments, before climbing to give chase. The launch tube falls away from the bear's hands before he rolls around to dive in freefall. No parachute deploys. Instead, the flight suit expands into a shark-themed wingsuit allowing for a speedy yet controlled decent. 

    <<"Better run so we can give chase!">> taunts local comms. In fact, local comms blow up with a cacophony of actual frenzied chatter. Engines designed for exiting planetary gravity engage and energy shields seem to help provide foil and reduce drag. At the very least, the ship serving as a central control for the drone cloud is downed, but there might still be orbital observation in play. The pirates may not know exactly where the Major may be, but they also don't seem disinclined to give up the chase for such a unique piece of tech. 

    As for Jo's protective measures against the otherwise silly last-stand shot from the bear, they would certainly combine to be a very effective counter, but it seems to defy technological logic. The ships are unable to track the jet actively, their predictive computing only adds up to so much (especially with the drones crippled), and yet this tiny 'thing' seems to slowly but surely be able to track the jet. It's not as fast, but it's persistent. Some tiny red thing sheathed in mutliple layers of shielding seems to be directionally powered by some kind of gravitational effect. 

    However, perhaps even in Joanna's view from her craft, another energy beam cuts through the air despite the daylight to intercept the device. It detonates. Ungodly yield for such a thing, the atmosphere itself in a small radius is ejected to project a wave of turbulence before the air itself rushes back in to fill the gap with a loud CLAP, and energy rather than any sort of pyrotechnic effect swirls about in the air. Somebody shot it. 

    Two other jet-like craft blast by beneath Joanna's altitude to intercept some of the newcomer fighters.

So that *wasn't* a javelin. With countermeasures seemingly not eluding the alien weapon system, she accelerated hard away instead, turbofans roaring as the afterburners spat shock diamonds a good third of a plane length behind. That thing had to run out of fuel eventually right? 

 Wshhht... *KRAK!* 

 Jo's cockpit went dark, screens fizzling out, a shockwave sending the fighter tumbling end over end. Ten thousand feet. Nine. Eight. The screens and her HMD fizzled. Then started to reboot. Seven. Six. She prepared to pull the ejector handles. 

 It levelled out. She breathed a sigh of relief. Altimeter still showed she had a good bit of air before hitting the deck below. Still, it shaved off a good margin of her altitude advantage. Her speed too. It'd take some time to get back up there. A luxury she didn't have spotting one of the more intimidating looking alien craft barely a mile ahead. 

 She snapped off another sidewinder, continuing to close the distance to engage with her cannon. 

 Click... VSSHHH... *BRRRRRRRRRT!*

    <<"Stack and cover. Delta. Thunder One, maintain course,">> transmits a new voice, gruff and weathered. 

    <<"Roger. Delta position on Thunder One,">> says another, smooth and charming with a Latino accent. 

    The two craft joining the fray take up a flight formation just below and slightly ahead of the Major's stealth machine. <<"This is Wolfen, Thunder One. Paint your targets, we'll cover and assist.">> 

    <<"This is Black Rose. May as well offer such a pretty voice a helping hand.">> 

    <<"Especially since you butted in on our sting operation.">> 

    It might be sudden and confusing, but the duo of fighters dominantly insisiting on forming up on Joanna offer more benefits than one might think. The scrambled fighters are already shooting. A number of those shots are already striking what seems to be forcefields around them, allowing them to be a jet-version of a riot shield while Joanna opens up in a most brutal way. Gimballed guns blast away at any projectiles and offer help stripping any enemy shielding so that her munitions can punch even harder. 

    <<"Ha ha ha, are you joking right now?!>> laughs the manic pilot whose style of flight is as eratic as his demeanor. <<"The Joanna person is working with Star Wolf?! Ha hahahahaha. Boss? BOSS?!">> Impacts both energy and sidewinder affect his fancy flying and a partially clipped wing sends him into a lateral spin. Merciless rounds punctuate and perforate without impedence at the opportunity. <<"BO-">> Comms from that fighter cut out, the canopy pops, and the exposed hyena activates his own ejection, but not before taking a hit from a single slug. 

    The ship breaks apart in the air while the broken pilot spirals off into the dusty void.

At least these ones weren't shooting at her. She formed up alongside, turning her head to get a better look at the newcomer's aircraft. They were strange looking. To her eyes not aerodynamic in the slightest, yet, from what she'd seen of their performance envelope thusfar that wasn't slowing them down a jot. She hesitated before keying her comms, checking just to make sure that the rest of the bandits were well and truly fleeing the AO at this point, talking only when she was satisfied enough that they were in the clear. 

 <<Thunder One to Wolfen flight. Appreciate the assist. Nav is down, where exactly are we and who was shooting at us?">>

    The two pilots assisting Joanna know things they don't immediately say. Instead, the smooth talker speaks up for both of them. <<"We're just East of Carlsbad Interplanetary's mining center. Largest processing and shipping location on the southern continent. Believe it or not, they have an impressive indoors cafe that's worth visiting at least once while you're in the area.">> The other one remains silent for the time being. 

    Unseen, the pilot of the Wolfen is communicating with the local corporate municipality over the raid on the local pirate gang along with coordinates of the area where the bear from before, Rykel Wilms, was last detected in freefall. There is a serious effort to recover the criminal before he can get away again. This was, after all, a planned sting op built up over a few months. 

    <<"You can call me Panther,">> chimes in the talkative pilot. <<"Panther Caluroso. Do you need an escort to the local refueling station? You seem a bit lost and some of the Bladed Sharks might still be roaming the area licking their wounds.">>

Southern continent? She looked out over the horizon. From her reckoning that didn't track. The view outside didn't match to any landmass she knew, hell, it might as well have been Mars out there. Wait. 

 Interplanetary? 

 She took a moment to bring that on board, interrupted only by a low fuel chime from her jet. Five minutes at current engine settings. Maybe ten if she was really careful, though the readings were looking strange. Oil pressures too low, temperatures too high. She silenced another beep-beep warning. 

 <<Thunder One, Panther. Unsure if I heard you correctly. Interplanetary?">> 

 Another low fuel alarm. It was draining faster than it should have been. <<"Engines are feeling sticky and I'm running out of fuel. Gonna need directions to that station or at least a place safe enough to set down."

    <<"Thunder One, we'll get you back on the ground in one piece,">> says the gruff guy. <<"Let's discuss the stupid corporate names after we get paid.">> 

    Get paid. Directions first, though. An escort, even. That's a generous offer from strangers from the sky. They could be anybody, after all. At least it's easy enough to communicate relative bearing in order to adjust their heading to change course for the nearby facility. It's not that far out as the plane flies. 

    <<"Don't mind the boss. He's just upset because you stole most of our bounty,">> explains Pilot Caluroso. <<"But I agree, we should touch down and debrief before we discuss anything else. How's that sound to you?">>

It wasn't that Joanna wasn't suspicious of the strangers, after all, the last "alien" craft that showed up were shooting at her. It was more that right now her options were rather limited. Fuel might have been just abuot enough to get to wherever the runway they were talking about was, but would barely last thirty seconds under combat power if the engines would even still hold. Ammunition was limited too. Only one missile left and less than a hundred rounds left in the belt. Given how much the "shields" seemed to take, that probably wasn't enough. 

 If all else went wrong, this fight'd have to be on the ground. Not exactly an advantagous position. 

 Still. Potential gift horse. Best not to look it in the mouth, even if she was preparing for the possibility of it sticking a dagger in her back. 

 <<"Thunder One copies. Ready to head down when you are.">>

    The place doesn't have a name other than what is built there, but Carlsbad Int's mining center is more than just for mining. The complex is easily as large as a small city. There are clear residential, commercial, and industrial zones seen from above. Smaller vehicles are just as common as larger transports and a lot -- absolutely a LOT -- of large robotic constructs move around in a state of near-constant labor. There isn't a ton of air traffic, but there is a designated port and strip. At least one transport seems to lift off and heads pretty much just 'up' until it disappears. The dust has kicked up just enough so that the waning daylight actually makes the sky more purple than azure. (At some point after landing the Major might be more likely to take notice that there are actually two suns with one far brighter than the other.) 

    The strip and port are clear for the jet pilot, shared comms allowing proper communication with ground and space control in a way that is likely comfortingly familiar despite the difference in styles of tech, allowing Joanna the freedom to land precisely as she needs to do. There's a directed hangar available, as well, if the strip is selected, while a port landing would require precision verticality and not require a hangar at all. 

    There are any number of facets of the scene that might confuse or confound. That is, of course, unless the nature of the population doesn't hit hardest first: These are animal people. Normally that seems to bother humans from Earth and Earth-adjacent universes more, but it doesn't change the fact. The two pilots that helped land at the port and already have some of the corporate authorities in tow as they head to where they'd find the Major. 

    One is a wolf man, tall and muscular with many scars on his face and ears and a HMD covering his left eye. The other is a black panther with a scar over his left cheek. Panther wears a flight suit. The wolf does not. He looks more like a biker than a pilot. 
    "So, you're telling me that a solo mercenary took down the gang boss without your help?" says a ferret tagging along, wearing a suit, looking flustered. "That severely impacts your payout. We simply aren't in the business of giving out credits where they aren't earned." The wolf looks annoyed. The panther looks...very pleased upon approach.

This sure ain't Kansas. 

 The animal people were less strange to her than the environment itself. She'd taken a moment to take it all in, leaning on the ladder as she unclipped her mask and pulled off her previously face concealing flight helmet. The twin suns put paid to any theory she might've had that this was a somehow terraformed Mars. Then again even while feeling the ground under her boots and the polluted air through her fur her most likely theory is that she's probably going to be waking up in Hammerpoint's infirmary before too long. All this being the result of an overactive imagination and a good crack to the head rather than anything magical or mystical. 

 It felt strange to her though. On the surface, the woman wasn't sticking out like a sore thumb as she would be amongst humans. In fact unless one looked too close she could have easily passed for one of the natives. People weren't worrying either. Or staring. At least outside of what would be warranted in this given situation. 

 She pushed herself upright upon seeing Wolf and co approach, helmet still under her arm. Even with the helmet-hair this pilot certainly looked like a professional. Advanced olive drab flight suit, a patch on her shoulder identifying her as part of Hammerpoint Global Security, and a small nametag with a service number and her name. "Haven't seen anything like this before."

    "And neither have I," interjects Panther. "The drabness of Macbeth is certainly vanquished by the talent and excellence before us," he muses, arms crossing while the fingers of a hand play with a rose idly. The ferret looks jerkily between the two pilots he followed and the one before them. 

    "Panther," complains the wolf with a sigh before pointing a claw-tipped finger half obscured by fingerless gloves at Joanna. "This person practically stole our bounty. She gunned down Rykel Wilms and Kastinov, the latter with some help, along with a number of his cronies before they scattered. Gunther Himes is still out there, though, but it'll take the Sharks some time to regroup." 

    The ferret looks to Joanna. "Is this true?" A critical gaze falls upon her from all present, but only because everyone seems to be waiting for an answer.

Blink blink. 

 "Ok so how long were you holding that one in?" She taptapped one last time on a data tablet she was holding, the screen going blank before she put it back in the leg pocket of her flight suit. "Seriously. The rose? You were *prepared* for that." 

 Her attention then turned to the biker, raising a finger to make a point after his. "Unintentional theft." Clearly emphasising those words. "I'm not sure how I got here, but your 'sharks' tried to take a shot at me as soon as I arrived. I warned them. They tried to shoot me. I wasn't exactly left with many other options. Who are they, insurgents?" 

 Then finally to the ferret guy! "It is. I can make the guncam footage and flight data available to you if you need it. I'm hoping to review it myself, with any luck it'll at least tell us what happened here."

    "That would be most excellent. We'll contact the technicians and discuss your payment after review. Yes, yes, I believe that would be amenable. We'll calculate the exact payment for each of you then." The office mustelid wrings his hands a bit before being so bold as to step forward to offer Joanna as firm a handshake as a paper-pusher can. "And, if I may say so, thank you on behalf of Carlsbad Interplanetary. This reprieve should boost our sales favorably for the next quarter. I am very impressed." 

    The wolf all but rolls his eye at this display shrugging his shoulders by pushing his shoulderblades back while clenching his jaw. Panther simply smiles. "I always keep a rose with me." That simple, it seems. At least on the surface. 

    Wolf grumbles until the ferret leaves, wherein the accountant eventually scurries off to do paperwork things, allowing the lupine to exhale deeply in a groan. "Finally. Okay, let's address the most obvious thing first: You're using Terran technology."

Handshake accepted! It was a firm one too. Polite. Well practiced. While sure, normally such business was left in the capable hands of corporate in their big office tower you never know when you might end up having to talk to the client in a more formal capacity yourself. Had her mind not been on other matters she might have even tried to hand him Hammerpoint's business card too. "Thank you. Glad to hear whatever happened helped out." 

 She waited as he walked away. Making sure he was out of earshot before muttering something about suits and how that detail hasn't changed a bit. 

 "Terran? Uh-" She looked back to her aircraft for a moment before giving a slight nod. "Yeah. Yes. I'm from Earth. You've heard of it?" She almost let out a laugh at the absurdity of the line, ending in a long sigh. Sounded even dumber out loud than it did in her head. "Hooooh boy. Just what fresh hell have I gotten myself into here? Has this happened to anyone else before?"

    For as annoyed as the wolf seems to be over the bounty thing, he seems to soften a bit once conversation turns to personal awkward matters. His shoulders slightly lower, his ears lift just a bit, and his thumbs hook into his pants pockets. A glance is shared with Panther and the feline simply nods before saying, "About that cafe I mentioned, it's a short walk away, and it'll give us a chance to get inside out of this dusty air." 

    The lupine inhales deeply before slowly exhaling, then turns with a jerk of his chin. "Come on, then. You're fine right now, but the newness and adrenaline are gonna wear off and you'd be better off sitting when that happens." He pulls a hand away from his pocket and gestures neutrally. "You aren't the first 'in general'. Not from Earth. Whichever one that might be. And you sure picked one hellova time and place to introduce yourself." 

    Panther, instead, offers to walk a little bit closer without fully intruding on personal space. "This is planet Macbeth, heart of our industrial resources here in the Lylat Star System." A finger points in the direction of the twin suns. "Lylat is the big bright one. The other one is Solar." There's a beat, then he adds, "Are you okay? We can call a transport instead if you'd rather."

Dust was a fair point. This whole time she'd been almost regretting removing her mask but naturally more pressing things had been further to the forefront. "Just what's in that dust anyway? My engines were cooking when I was on final. If it's acting anything like volcanic ash I dread to think what those compressors look like right now." The idea of a cafe certainly did seem better than discussing over the roar of aircraft, and, what she could only assume were *space*craft engines mixed with the heavy fug of aviation fumes. Though that came with another potential problem. "It's not exactly like I packed any other clothes. People aren't going to get all worked up about, well-" she gestured to herself, and the very militaristic looking flight suit. "-This?" Either way, she stripped down the top of it, tying the sleeves around her waist to look at least a little more casual what with the similarly drab coloured top underneath. 

 She left her helmet, tactical rigging and the like in the jet's cockpit. It made her look just a *little* less battle ready though, not by all that much. "So a binary system? That's uh, that's something." She paused, looking out over the alien landscape again before being snapped back to attention. "Hrm? No no, I'm fine. Just uh-" She trailed off. What the heck do you even say here? "Just the obvious."

    "You'll be fine. Aside from the color difference, the Cornerian Alliance has a presence loosely throughout the system and it's fairly similar," explains Caluroso with a lowered tone. "We'll answer what we can, but let's try to take this one step at a time." He politely gestures with a hand to allow Joanna to go first, for what all that matters. "For the record, that's Lord Wolf O'Donnell. He's my boss and I trust him with my life." 

     "It's not volcanic," answers Wolf. "The planet has a collapsed hollow core. The dust is mostly silica and a few other solid precipitates. It gets everywhere and in everything, but it's not as bad as the deserts on Papetoon. At night the sands settle and the sky clears, temperatures get comfortable, and it allows for a rather healthy night life from the locals and workers." 

    The path onward leads to a covered walkway that shortly intersects with a building entrance. No frills here. It's not that things are spartan; they just don't have a lot of signage or advertising that you find in many other places. There isn't even a ton of company propaganda to be seen. The air within is positively pressured and rather obviously filtered, but also partially recirculated. It's almost like making a really big warehouse and turning it into an indoor city. 

    "So, while we're on the way, ask what you want and we'll try to answer, or you could talk a bit about 'yourself', or..." Panther hesitates. 

    Wolf finishes, "We could just rip the bandage off and dump the whole thing on your plate, but that doesn't always go well. Yes, you're alive. Yes, this is real. There 'is' a multiverse. No, it's not always one way."

She actually paused in her stride for her moment, clearly having to take a moment to process that. Not being dead that was a relief at least but of course there were all the other things. There was a look of confusion on the pilot's face at first, trying to muddle through teh events of the day, what could have led to this, how it could even make sense. Soon enough she was following again though, speaking up. "Ok." 

 That's all she had, at least to start with. 

 "Well, I appreciate you just being upfront. Bad intel isn't going to help anyone. You said it's not 'always one way', right? So how do I get back? If I got out of this, good chance my wingmen did too. Dub dee, Gunther, all of them. I-I need to know." 

 She felt her voice waver a little. She choked it down, pushing that same even tone from before back up to the forefront in its place to cover. "Yeah. No idea how I'm going to report this back to central. Yes sir another universe sir. No sir I'm not on acid."

    One of the main corridors traversing the length of a section of the local complex is somewhat resembling that of a passenger airport hall. It's broad, lined with various rooms of assorted purpose, has a moving sidewalk moving both ways lining the outside of the centermost path, while the center itself is designed for robots of differing shapes to traverse. While the machines do make some noise, they are surprisingly quiet in such a broad space where sound gets to bounce around a lot. 

    The current sample of the population of the mining city includes a wild assortment of differing animal peoples. Some are dressed in coveralls or jump suits, others more business casual, while others still sport very civilian-casual outfits. Every person there has their own job, their own purpose, their own lives, social groups, responsibilities, cares, and worries. Some have conversation together, others are fixated and quiet, and some tap away on digital pads. Notably, however, there is one detail that might be a touch offputting for the unaware: 

    Not only are robotics fairly advanced, even accompanying the use of synthetic intelligences for broad scale uses, but that technology even extends to the people. Animal people are one thing, but these people sometimes have...mechanical prosthetics. Arms and legs probably don't seem that strange, but metallic plates and crafted ear replacements or inset mechanodigital eyes (that sometimes glow) very much can stand out. There may be other unseen applications of this use of technology. It can make the mind wander. 

    Panther Caluroso continues to walk in close proximity to Joanna Jenna while Wolf O'Donnell walks a few paces ahead. "I know this is a lot to take in at once and finding out more about your loved ones is important to you -- that says a lot about your integrity and character -- but right now it's important to focus on you. Yourself." Using his rose, he gestures up and down his chest in turn. "Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel the recycyled air blowing over your fur from the overhead ducting. Feel the pressure of your feet touch the floor in each step. Hear the sounds around you: the talking. The delivery bots. The faint squeak of the moving panels. The gearwork beneath them. Smell the machine oil. The fried vegetables from the nearby kiosk. The faint ozone from air decon. My scented oil." 

    "No matter where you are or what you are up against, no matter how your situation shifts or the world around you changes, you are still 'you' and your self-sense and senses are key to coping with the unexpected."

Jo was still following along. The assortment of animal people while certainly strange wasn't as much of an uncanney valleyish shock to someone with already relatively similar features. Albeit the species they resembled matched only with things that she'd seen in books or heard about on television, what with the arrival of pokemon to her world making much of the Earth's original biosphere extinct. Bears, lizards, dogs, the catman and the wolfman she was following right now. Even foxes which shared quite a close resemblance to herself. 

 She continued to try and logically break it down. Her leading theory was still 'strange dream', but, just in case it wasn't it made sense to at least take stock of it all. Space travel. Heavy use of advanced robotics. Cybernetics. If she was just seeing pictures she'd have presumed it was taken from the set of some sort of cheap sci fi movie. 

 "Right. Yeah. If this is a strange dream it's the most *real* feeling one I've had. Hang on." She checked her watch. Old trick she learnt. The face and hands were steady and the time read 5PM, still set to Paldean local. "Right right. Resource extraction world. Multiverse. Space travel. We're in the future or, uh, relative to me anyway I guess. First how the heck do people end up here and if it's the future and everything's this far ahead, how come my equipment was still combat effective?"

    Up ahead, not too far away, is a sign labeling an establishment as a cafe. The doors to enter are closed but, like many along the way, seem to open automatically. Were one to enter they would see the theme of the cafe to be much like a Terran English Pub; that is to say, it's designed to look like the inside of somebody's cozy home. There are bookshelves along the walls, paintings on the walls, something similar to a grandfather clock although the face of the clock is holographic and shows a circular measure of one thousand instead of twelve. A fireplace takes up one section of a partitioning wall. The fire, much like the clock face, is holographic, although there is a modest amount of heat generated from it, for the effect. There is a serving counter, a door leading to a small kitchen area, and a door that seems to lead outside. Only, it's not actually outside. The real Macbeth outside is rocky and dull of color. This isn't that at all. 

    The Outside room has a ceiling just as high as any other, but decorations and holograms and room atmosphere manipulation allows for just the right amount of humidity and warmth and breeze to feel like the temperate comfort of planet Corneria. Trees, grasses, tables with umbrellas, distant city sounds, and a display that shows what looks to be traffic traversing above-ground roads that don't disturb the relative peace of the people's run paradise below. It's just a room, but it's a room with a view. 

     "It's a bit more complicated than that. You may have crossed here onto Macbeth by wormhole, but it could have been anywhere. Wolf's crew and I have seen some pretty fantastic places. Most involve a variation of primate called humans. Usually from a variation of planet Terra, or Earth. We have one of those in our galaxy, too, but it's almost an impossible distance away closer to the rim. Lylat is closer to the galactic center. They're pretty big into racing, I hear. As for your gear? Well, violence is always destructive if you use enough of it." 

    Reaching the doors first, Wolf steps to the side to allow the others to go first. "Gonna step next door to grab something else. You seem to have things in hand, so I'll be right back," he says to Panther before nodding to Joanna and turning away. 

    Panther insists that Joanna go first, of course, asking simply, "After you. Inside or outside?"

More things taken note of. The clock first of all. Different time system. Odd. Were they measuring it in some sort of metric system? Yet despite that the rest of the device looked far more familiar than she would have expected from an alien world. Then again, so did everything else. "This looks like Galar." She was saying that more to herself than anyone else, before speaking up to the others. "A country where I'm from. The books, the paintings, the uh, the decor. It's all very Galarian. Apart from that clockface. You guys are measuring time in metric or something?" 

 She found herself thumbing through one of the books, being careful not to mark or crease it. Probably shouldn't have been too much of a surprise given they were speaking but the fact that it was written in English, or at the very least something recognisable to her as such. She gently put it back. "Most of the population on Ea-" She cut herself off. "Most of the population on *my* Earth are humans. About eight billion of them to uuuh, about a couple million people like me I'd say? Not all Jolteon-y like me of course. All sorts of different types but we tend get lumped in together." 

 She was about to say something else when the hologram room stopped her in her tracks. Whatever she was about to say, probably some snarky comment about how going outside in those dust storms wouldn't be great got cut off, replaced with just a quiet "woah". She stepped out into it. She paused, all her senses telling her that they were no longer on this Macbeth planet. Instead, well, at a glance this could have been Castellia. Albeit even fancier. As if to add to the effect a holographic butterfly fluttered over. She raised out a hand, only to see it flicker and phase on through. "This is somethin'."

    Panther follows along quietly, listening, allowing Joanna the time she needs to have a look around. One of the staff catches his eye and he breaks his observation long enough to give them an affirmative nod in acknowledgement. They have nno rush to order. It's designed to be a laid back place on purpose. "Most of the workers are from Corneria, where most of the system's population resides. This is a bit excessive, yes, and romanticized to an extent, but people miss home and this place offers a little piece of that, even if for only twenty units of the day. Besides, what's wrong with a bit of romantic notion to keep spirits up?" Time measurement is a real pain in space. "Planetary rotation measurement divided by a thousand. It's about seven-ninety units Macbethan now. A unit changes length depending on the planet, while orbital stations stick to planetary time even though they orbit far faster than rotation, so the units may cycle faster or slower but the time is the same relative to a given day. It's pretty customary to stick to units Cornerian when in interplanetary space and most timekeeping devices offer units Cornerian as an aside even if you're on a different planet." 

    Complicated? Kinda. Sounds like it would terrible for natural sleep cycles, though, if you travel often. "If you'd like a seat out here," he says, meaning the Outside room, "one of the staff should be with us shortly."

"Man this is crazy. Holograms right? Gotta be. How's it-" she pauses to observe the butterfly again, walking around it to see if anything flickered or got confused if she changed up the angle "-How's it even tracking all this? I'm not seeing any projectors or cameras or-" The thought soon hit her that this was probably just as mundane as a television to the people around her and going on like this'd probably just make her stick out even more than she already was. "Yeah. Definitely don't have this back home. Or this uh, metric space time. That tracks I guess just uh, just strange you know? All real strange." 

 She soon came back on over. Exploring what these people'd consider mundane'd have to wait until later. After all, wouldn't be right to make this Panther fellow wait. "Right right, uh, sure. Sorry."

    Now, some realities out there have VERY advanced holographic technology -- even hard light tech -- that is completely indiscernible from real things. This stuff is pretty and it's advanced in comparison, but if you scrutinize it well enough it's not hard to see things are fake. That doesn't mean it can't be impressive or pretty. It's a more peaceful use of it than a holographic HUD in an assault craft, certainly. 

    Caluroso stands near a chair, hands on the back of it, offering. "You have no reason to apologize to me. I 'did' say you should take the time you need for yourself." He offers a little more commentary on the decorations and theme: "Not everything is this fancy. This place is an exception. Don't take this is an example of what everything is like. Take this as an opportunity to relax, for what you can; create a safe space for yourself, physically and mentally, to give yourself a solid core from which you can ask questions. Corneria has an excellent program for helping those that have become disconnected from their own universes, by the way. You could have wound up in far worse hands."

Jo'd go ahead and sit down, occasionally her eyes still wandering to the decor making out what was familiar and comparing that to the more futuristic trimmings. "Yeah well you said you like this place, didn't want to keep you waiting." It was at this moment she realised that damn, she really needed a smoke. Of course she hadn't packed any ciggies with her. She'd gone for a good few months so far without lighting one up, but if any situation would excuse breaking the streak this'd be it. She pushed the craving back down, or at least, did her best faith effort at it. After all, sparking one up here probably wouldn't be seen as too polite. What with all the effort to keep the fresh air recirculated and recycled. 

 "Yeah, just glad wherever I got pulled through has an atmosphere. Or it didn't just dump me into space. No idea the odds of that, probably best not to think about it. So uh, Corneria's some sort of homeworld I take it? Where everyone originally came from?"

    The feline takes a seat at the table to Joanna's left and settles in, getting comfortable. His eyes offer contact, but not the coldness of a stare. He shows interest, but doesn't crowd. His whiskers splay out just a little bit. "That entirely depends on how far back you want to look. The easy answer would be yes, but...it depends." He places his rose upon the table and offers a spreading of his hands in gesture. "Various planets have shown historical evidence that individial Lylatian peoples developed independently on a few of the planets. Many might find your appearance close to that of those from Papetoon, for example. If they were originally all from Corneria, it wouldn't have been by our own hands. We have historians that think the ruins found on planet Titania might hold clues to just that, but we don't have the technology to really explore it yet." 

    A staff member comes over, but doesn't want to interrupt. The husky-like canine simply smiles. "Can I... I can get you something now or I can come back in a bit?" The husky gets a sudden firm slap on the shoulder from behind as the wolf guy rounds the group and the table and places a tall glass of amber liquid on the table. 

    "Best to order now," vocalizes he in that gruff voice. "We might be here a while, though. Just a heads up." In contrast to Panther's careful seat-handling etiquette, Wolf scrapes his chair a bit across the floor and sits heavily into it before glancing between the two. His HMD has been remmoved, tucked away, and instead he simply bears an eye patch instead. "You two seem to be friendly enough already."

She leaned forward in her chair slightly as she listened. She was about to say something else before the dogman showed up. Thoughts of just what to order crossed her mind. She wasn't exactly hungry, what with everything that's happened so far she figured she'd probably not be thinking of food for a while but a coffee wouldn't go amiss. 

 They have coffee here, right? Do 'aliens' drink coffee? 

 She looked up towards the server, managing a friendly enough smile. "Sure, could I just get a coffee?" She figured it was a safe enough bet. Besides, if they hadn't heard of that, she's always got an excuse of 'not being from around here' loaded in the chamber. That'd probably work right? 

 "Oh hey there." Another smile, this time directed the wolf's way. "Panther was just filling me in on how things are around here. Can't say it all makes sense yet but it's starting to get there."

    "Plain coffee? Okay." Multi-universal convergence is a mind trip. The husky looks from Joanna to Wolf. "You, sir?" O'Donnell taps a claw against the glass he brought with him with one hand while holding up the other to signal he's not ordering. This makes the staffer look to Panther instead. 

    "You cannot go wrong with the house blend, dear Joanna," Panther affirms. "I'll have a spiced tea with steamed milk and a slice of mousse cake. Could you bring us some of those wonderful almond cookies to share, as well, just in case our lovely friend here finds her appetite at the bottom of her mug?" It would seem Panther is trying to think ahead even without a word about it aloud from the Major. 

    There comes a nod, confirmation, and then the husky is off to deal with just that. Wolf, on the other hand, takes a draw from his glass before wiping the side of his muzzle with the back of a hand before immediate jumping into things. "Good. All right. Got a message from the dockmaster concerning your ship. Simply put, they don't have the stuff they need to refuel it or perform any kind of maintenance, at least not here since they'd need to fly it over from Corneria unless a supplier has some this side of the system -- they don't know yet -- and the mechanics aren't comfortable poking at it without you there anyway. Docking fee is postponed until you get your slice of the bounty, which should easily pay for fuel, repairs, fees -- I dunno, maybe a few upgrades, travel services, or craft rentals -- in due time." He puts his glass down, takes out a datapad, and slides it across the table to share the electronic message. "Maybe a room. Probably won't sleep very well, but you'll have your own space." 

    Panther frowns, just a bit, in disapproval.

Another mental note taken. Not just the decor, not just cultural elements, but even the food was similar. That was a relief at least. She thanked the server and almost regretted making her choice so conservative. The tea thing sounded pretty great. Still, talks were soon seemingly back to the more business end of things. 

 "It didn't seem to like all the dust here. I'm no technician but I'd wager they got sandblasted pretty good. Smelled like they were burning oil too. Not sure if they'd be flight certifiable even with a complete rebuild. Guess I'll just have to play it by ear." She looked down at the tablet, eyes tracking over the text. "Speaking of bounties, who exactly are these shark guys? They were talking all crazy over open comms."

    Caluroso speaks up to answer this, being a reliable reconnaissance specialist for the group he works for. "The Bladed Sharks. An immensely dangerous gang of pirates that has been harassing the Macbeth orbital space for years. Ran by a bear named Rykel Wilms, criminal with a rap sheet stretching from here to Fortuna, has been detained multiple times by various system authorities, has broken out or been broken out of detainment just as many." For such a gentleman and smooth talker, the cat certainly talks about this stuff like it's old hat. Rykel was actually approached by Wolf to be hired as part of his group and the resulting fight left more than verbal scars. 

    Wolf adds, "Two appointed generals of his quote-unquote Shark Army, Kastinov the Spotted Hyena and Gunther Himes the Komodo Dragon, are almost just as bad. Larceny, arson, robbery, murder, trafficking, aggravated-" 

    Panther interjects, "Not very pleasant people to run into. Thankfully, Rykel was shot down and is subject of a massive hunt right now. We helped you take down Kastinov and comms haven't heard from him since. Mister Himes and the remainder of the gang have gone dark and the Cornerian Alliance is set to raid their hidden base. Well, not so hidden." 

    "We'd planned this op for months. I'm barely making back half of what I invested into it, but Gunther is on the run and we'll find him soon enough," states Wolf confidently. 

     "Been raiding Carlsbad Int for a while now and nobody could figure out how they appeared and disappeared like ghosts, so the company was happy to put up an offer to stop them. That makes you a bit of a local hero, Joanna," rumbles Panther. 

    "Corporate superhero, ha ha ha ha." Wolf takes a verbal jab with this, impishly.

"They were talking like seperatists. Drones, combat aviation, they were talking about a sattelite too. Must have had deep pockets, makes me wonder if they had outside help to fill them. Does anyone have anything to gain from targetting Carlsbad? Rival corporate interests, territorial or resource disputes, what have you?" Jo's tone was laced with a similar level of experience too by the sounds of it. "Yeah, sounding awful familiar. Not just the decor that matches I guess." 

 She actually gave a small chuckle at the mention of 'corporate hero', shaking her head. "Well I'll take it. Reputation like that's a useful thing have. Knew I should have given that guy my business card. Although I guess most of it wouldn't make much sense given it's just little ol' me out here."

    "Stolen tech. Unauthorized sat-link hacking. They probably bought a lot with liquid assets from people just like them." There's a beat of silence that follows those accented words. 

    "This is going to come as a real shocker, I know, but space is big. If you know what you're doing, there's always somewhere to hide or work from the shadows," admits O'Donnell with a slight shrug. "This is no different and it's not the only place they have to work from, but they're sloppy. They leave a trail. And they'll be found again." 

    The dog returns with a tray and the orders, placing himself between Panther and Joanna for sake of ease. "Here we arrrre," he offers with a smile. "This is your coffee, house blend," is stated alongside a saucer and large coffee cup. Low acidity, low bitterness, medium roast. "And your spiced tea, steamed milk, and mousse cake!" The tea is in a tea cup, the steamed milk is in a separate pouring container, and the mousse cake looks rich. The combined smells really all bring out the nature of true delicacy of a hidden gem like this inside the rough of the complex itself. Almost symbolic. 

    The husky also hands over a small plate of long almong cookies that look very crunchy before tucking the tray underneath an arm. "If there's anything else, just let me know, or I can get you the bill whenever. I just want to say, you know, that it's one thing I really love about working here is seeing all sorts of people. I keep saying I want to visit Papetoon to see all the kinds of foxes there and this really reminds me why. But, for now, you know, like, I get to see Cornerian Alliance and regular people like you three just enjoying some time here like this and it's really nice. You know. Okay! Enjoy~" 

    The dog leaves, Wolf and Panther exchange glances before looking to Joanna.

If Jo was thinking she should have gone for the same order as Panther before, this'd seal it. Still a simple coffee was good enough as far as she was concerned and playing it safe was definitely a fair enough bet. Trying to order in other countries'd sometimes trip a person up. Let alone another planet. She thanked him, before taking a long sip. 

 Yup that's was pretty dang good. These aliens know what coffee is. Another mental note chalked up. 

 Papetoon. Another mention of it, and with what Panther said earlier there was more than enough for the Jolteon woman to put two and two together at least. Unsure of quite what to say and figuring another 'thanks' when she gave him one earlier'd just be awkward she played it off with a smile and nod. Only speaking up once the dogman was out of their earshot. "Well, not gonna correct the guy if you don't. Probably useful that I blend in that well anyway. Not sure what the deal is here but all this-" she gestured vaguely to herself "-tends to get people a bit spooked where I'm from."

    Wolf seems to be watching Joanna in a way that Panther refuses (at least directly), being very critical in the way that one purple-colored eye takes note. "You haven't caused trouble yet and the corporate authorities think of you as a benefit, so there's little more to consider." The lupine shifts from side to side in his chair and his tail brushes against the upholstery as it changes position. "Dog thinks you're Cornerian Alliance from your outfit and I wouldn't expect a civilian to know the difference otherwise. Also seems to think the same of Panther, so shows you how little the average person knows." 

    The cat simply smiles. 

    "But you aren't C.A. and neither are we." Wolf keeps staring. "If the C.A. were here, right now, in this room, things might get awkward, but as far as Carlsbad Int is concerned, we're reliable contractees -- which is true -- so that's where that ends. As the pencil pusher surmised of you and knows of us, we're mercenaries. Good ones. The best, I'd say, but I'm a bit biased." Caluroso did refer to O'Donnell as his boss, after all. 

    Panther gingerly raises a fork to test the texture of the cake. Were one to watch, it'd be something straight out of a food advertisement. Clearly he knows how to enjoy the fine details of nice things. Wolf drinks more of his own beverage before reaching up with his free hand to scratch over his cheek with his claws. "You are a capable pilot with a respectable ship, especially considering taking on a group of pilots alone instead of legging it, meaning you're also serious about your skill but also shows you're in over your head. I've also relented on the bounty, for your sake, because no matter how much it irks me I know when something is deserved." He sits up straight and leans in, elbows on the table; here it comes. 

    "So it would be incredibly dishonest and dishonorable, considering these circumstances, for me to not tell you I'm one of the Most Wanted in the system." Panther doesn't look the least bit shocked. He slowly eats cake. "This is how the cards fell, kitten, and you wouldn't be the first I've turned loose into the wild after bandaging your wings." 

    "Just...let me finish. I know I'm saying a lot. Look, the C.A. is gonna come knocking to verify an apprehension or body identification with a handover from Carlsbad and we're not going to be here. You probably will be. We have time, but not more than half a day, so it's a very good time to think about what you really want answers to from us that won't get from others."

What might have been a little surprising was how *unsurprised* the other pilot seeemed at the reveal. There was a slight raise of the brow sure, a small shift in her posture, yet the wolfman saying that she was in over her head probably caused more of a reaction than talk of the bounty on his. 

 Another coffee sip. Then another. Longer this time. 

 Yeah it was pretty good. 

 "Alright, first question then. Why are they after you? It sounds like they're the biggest player on the board. Was angering them this much business or pleasure?" 

 She gestured towards the two of them with her mug, the steaming drink threatening to splash over the side for a second before she tilted it back. 

 "Not trying to accuse you of anything, just trying to see what this Corneria is like to deal with and if they're one to avoid. Did you pick the wrong client and now they're after your head on a platter, ooor, do they have a habit of stabbing contractors in the back? Given your friend was talking about how they had facilities to assist people who've ended up in my situation I'm guessing you're not about to jump into some spiel about them being this great evil empire."

    Wolf O'Donnell simply replies with a dry, "What does it even matter? It doesn't change the facts." 

    Panther shrugs a bit. "I am a professional hitman and assassin, dear Joanna." This line comes without the slightest break in composure, grace, or etiquette. The feline puts down his fork and lifts his teacup and saucer together. "But, you won't get Wolf's story from me. Besides, I joined on well after the fact." 

    O'Donnell looks away with an exhalation before leaning back in. "Look, kitten, every world you may encounter out there is going to have complex history beyond your full understanding. You're going to find similarities that betray you and differences that will shock you. And yet, in the end, it's only ever about people just trying to get by the best they can." 

    "Corneria means well, but they only have so much ability to keep people safe," Panther quickly adds after a sip. "You can trust their military as much as you can trust the will of the people they serve. So, don't be afraid of them. We certainly aren't." Both look to the other pilot, quiet for a moment.

"Facts have context around them. In this business those facts tend to get very muddy very fast." She placed the mug down, the ceramic clinking slightly against a saucer. "You ask one group and my organisation are war criminals, you ask another and we're heroic defenders of freedom and democracy. The fact that I just fired a million dollar missile at a thousand dollar techincal didn't change but the context just did." 

 Still either way, the Jolteon seemed to take the other part on board. Nodding slightly at the mention of how other worlds may vary and the Cornerian military. "What other players are at the table? Macbeth seems like it's primarily a corporate outpost. Whoever's running it must have a lot of scratch if they're handing out contracts like this, and a lot of well motivated well equipped enemies if their friends have that sort of a welcoming party."

    "Lylat has a lot going on, yes, and not just Macbeth," Panther begins, "with a lot of places to be, entire star system and a-" 

    The cat is interrupted by the lupine, however, whose claws click against the glass he grips in hand. "That's entirely the point, but you can't argue opinionated context purely objectively like you can discuss facts and their relation. We've already said you can trust the C.A. and that they have things available to help you make an honest living if you can't or won't move on from here." 

    Panther holds up a hold. "Perhaps we should try approaching this a different way, boss." Wolf lifts one side of his muzzle in a lopsided expression, but relents to finish off his drink. With a barely visible sigh, the dark-furred one settles his attention on Joanna. 

    "Wolf is trying to protect you from association with a known criminal and his infamously successful mercenary team, you see. He's also not in the habit of telling his life story to a perfect stranger, or even close coworkers, so let's just say that his association with the Cornerian Alliance is complicated. You have skills and a ship and some spending money -- barely 40 units into a first day in an unknown place -- and the Cornerian Alliance may be interested, you see. In you. As an asset. You have a blank slate here, after all, so it's best to not dirty it before you can find your way home. In case you want to come dazzle us with your brilliance again."

Another pause, and another mental note. This time regarding how the mercs opposite her were reacting while still doing her level best to remain hard to read. That poker face had barely lifted this entire conversation, her tone not shifting far from a calm, serious and level baseline. "Right. Sorry if it seems like I'm prying a bit much. I've been in this career long enough to know that there's usually far more going on under the surface with any potential employer. The fact that you say there might not be, well, that's as new as there being two suns shining out there." 

 She gave a nod, following on with what Panther had to say next. "Right. Yeah that's fair enough." Another coffee sip. "Don't want to burn potential bridges before they're built. That last part though, finding my way home. How would one typically go about finding their way back?"

    There is a gentle clink-clack as the teacup and saucer are placed atop the table; the feline's gaze diverts instead to stare at the dynamic wall depicting a view out across some particular landscape on planet Corneria. The grey and white lupine moves a hand to his mouth to rub along the short whiskers there, thin black lips slightly parted, allowing for a quiet moment to pass. And perhaps another. That 'is' a very important question to ask and one Wolf would expect first from most. The pointed questions and tinted clues around Joanna's part of the conversation were telling, too, even if she played a mean hand of emotionless professionalism. He could do that, too. He simply chooses not to at the moment. 

    It 'is' a game, after all. In its own way. 

    "I don't know," Wolf eventually says. "The wormholes between universes come and go. Some are steady and rpedictable -- almost mappable -- and others not at all. Sometimes multiple wormholes across space lead to a single where and when and you wind up in a situation with other strangers that needs resolving, like it or not. Some are one-way and there's no way to actively communicate through them other than crossing through to broadcast news." 

    The cat speaks up, though softly and without his typical masculine flair, as if to clue in on the nature of what is being said. "Sometimes you'll wind up in a universe that might be home, but it's a different time. Different events may have happened. It may seem like home in every possible way but have one thing off that you may not be able to put your finger on." 

     Wolf casually admits, "It's easier for me to map spacetime and ride the wormholes formed near our own black hole to different places in this universe than it is to predict interdimensional openings."

Wormholes. Black holes. Jo was no astrophysicist, though something about that seemed to track at least a little. "Before I got here, I was on contract with the Paldean government. Team Rocket activity had increased recently and there was intelligence to suggest they were even holding a nuclear device in an old uranium mine and modified it to create a salted terrastal warhead. They detonated it early to avoid capture by the Paldean spec ops we were clearing the way for." 

 The Jolteon drummed her fingers on the table, her own claws occasionally clacking against it. "Terra crystals interact weird with spacetime. Doesn't quite sit right in it or something. The mine would have contained most of the blast, no risk to civvies fortunately which means we still did our job right, but I was probably closest to ground zero." She looked back to the two sitting opposite her. "You said you've seen this sort of thing happen before. Does that series of events track with how this sort of thing typically works?"

    Team Rocket? "No matter the universe, that group always seems to really get up to horrible things," comments Wolf before casting a one-eyed glance to Panther. There's history there. "As for the why of it, I couldn't say. I think you'd be looking for patterns where there may not be any. From the people I've met doing business interdimensionally, when people get 'kicked out' suddenly it just happens when it happens. Could be wee woo powers, could be explosions, could be...a walk to get groceries." 

    That's when O'Donnell's gaze settles onto Joanna's face. A hard-worn scarred face with nicked ears, a scar hidden by that eye patch, a cold directness behind the purple iris of his visible eye, a tautness along the jawline of a set jaw but without clenching, as the artificially humid breeze tussles the wild white mane-like fur running between his ears and back. He anazlyzes, thinks, calculates; he takes in Joanna's appearance, her demeanor, broadcast etiquette, training, equipment availability, fired ballistics, explosives yield and delivery... 

    Wolf's good eye lightly squints. Panther chews his last bite of cake.

For a moment there was a crack in the armour. The balling of a fist, the slight sweep back of the ears, a twitch of a snarl in the woman's lip. It was still subtle for sure, not quite reaching the surface yet a certain level of rage could still be seen, if just for a second, bubbling beneath it. "The bastards are here too?" She could have almost spat those words. She took a moment, disguising it with another coffee sip, her tone levelling out a little when she spoke next. "Do you know which cell? The main one we've had trouble with has been The Hand of Giovanni. They're well equipped, fanatical, and have strong financial backing from *somewhere*. Hell they managed to get their hands on a nuke so you probably get the idea how dangerous they are." 

 The concept of wormholes just opening up whenever and wherever didn't seemed to make about as much sense to Jo as everything else had today. Not really saying much. "Einstein would be spinning in his grave. So these wormholes just open up whenever and wherever? Doesn't even always need a trigger? This has got to be extremely rare, otherwise surely we'd have heard of this happening to others." 

 As for Wolf's analysis, it was probably still fairly hard to place. Even when being directly stared at like that she wasn't really giving much of a read. Especially when compared to the mention of Rocket earlier. Still, that in itself probably said something when taken in combination with everything that had come before. She looked sharp, her fur well groomed and her uniform sharp while the gear she carried certainly seemed both almost exclusively Unovan in its make, very high end, and very expensive. 

 "What?"

    "...Team Rocket doesn't operate around here." Wolf doesn't specify which version or anything. He gives a blanket statement. He says nothing else immediately. No 'so relax' or 'not on my watch' or 'the Cornerian Alliance polices that kind of activity'. Just a basic fact. 

    The merc boss stares for a bit longer, clearly thinking about things, what he's noticed or heard or put together. Posture, body language, smell; the wolf guy can even see a measure of heat thanks to unseen cybernetics. He slowly inhales, nostrils widening a little, while his claws lightly click against the tabletop one at a time. The discussion of the nature of the wormholes between dimensions is a good topic, but not one that changes the nature of anything in not understanding right this moment. 

    "Joanna, do you place greater value on the loyalty of following orders within a chain of command or the tactical validity of given objectives?" For most soldiers, this is a no brainer reply. Isn't it?

"Right. But you have encountered them?" If those cybernetics were sharp enough they'd be picking up some fairly substantial pins holding the Jolteon's left shoulder together, not to mention what looked to be shrapnel, no doubt old and left in there from years back after being deemed more trouble than it was worth removing in her right leg. As for the other things, her posture was firm and upright though right now as tense as anyone would be. Hard to relax when you're on the wrong side of a multiverse. 

 "Both are critical, but some leeway of the former is important. Sometimes you have to bend the rules to ensure the safety of those serving under you, or to actually get the job done properly in the first place." She'd mostly gotten to the bottom of her coffee by this point. Another sip taken. "Tactical flexibility. Orders come from above, and it's my call how to properly execute those orders within the framework provided. If there is something severely wrong with them I'm well within my rights, hell, obligated really, to post an objection if the situation allows. Be it if the order is unlawful, unsound, or otherwise puts people at unneccessary risk. Same goes for anyone who's under my command." There was a slight nose exhale, not quite a chuckle but about a quarter ways to it. "You probably don't have time for me to go over all the ways Hammerpoint operates but, I agree with the structure of it."

    "No, probably not," agrees O'Donnell regarding time constraints. "And I'm not trying to interrogate you on your service, exactly, though how long have you served for this military organization?" He'll gladly discuss his records on his Team Rocket encounters later, though. For a small fee, perhaps. 

    Panther senses the question that wolf isn't asking. Joanna may not even be aware of the possibility, but that doesn't mean just brutally asking is going to be any sort of help. The cat stands up, carefully collates his dishes, and offers to take Joanna's mug if she's done, or perhaps he can get her a refill. The counter staffer is busy with other customers at present. He simply extends a hand and offers a soft word so as not to break too much of the conversational focus.

"It's been a few good decades now. Pretty much all of my life really. There isn't really anywhere else for someone like me to go and I don't seem to be ageing out in the same way most people do. Yeah I'm a little sore in the mornings now but as long as I can keep going I'm going to do just that." Worth noting that the woman sitting across from Wolf and co didn't really look a day older than thirty-odd at most. 

 The offer of a refill was met with a small shake of the head. "Nah I'd better not. At least not for now anyway. Wired enough as it is."

    There is a low grunt of acknowledgement before the wolf leans back in his seat once more. The answers help assauge some immediate concerns, but there is some bias in his preconceptual engagement that keeps him from dropping that nagging detail completely. Instead, he puts it on the back-burner, so to speak. 

    "I praise your control and cognizance despite the situation, but the reality won't really hit you until after you manage some sleep." The tip of the middle-aged mercenary's tongue briefly plays across the fuzz of his muzzle just beneath his nose. "Can I offer you some advice?" While his gaze is still direct, it's not as piercing or as critical as it was.

Jo definitely noticed the shift. "So were those the answers you were looking for or was there something else on your mind? Looked like something was bothering you there for a moment." She looked down to the mug in her hand, swishing the last of the coffee around in it for a second before finishing the last mouthful. "Look, if there's something you need or want to ask go right ahead. Not like I haven't grilled you enough." 

 Clink. She placed the now empty mug down. "Honestly I'm still not quite sure what I'm seeing right now is real or part of some dream, but, if it *is* as real as it somehow looks then I'm just going to have to deal with it like anything else. Break it down, find a route forward. Getting all worked up helps nobody. You're, uh, you're probably right that I haven't had time to think yet though." 

 Her response wasn't exactly complicated or lengthy when Wolf brought up the advice thing, her reply being a simple nod and a "Sure."

    O'Donnell sits there, waiting. It's not an impatient action or demeanor. He simply waits. Joanna has a lot to internalize and talking aloud usually helps with that. However, once that prompt is reciprocated, there comes an affirmative nod. 

    "All right. My advice. First, don't treat this like hopping universes, at least at first. Think of these locations you visit as different nations. Ground your experience in what you know and understand. There's been an accident and now you've had to land in an unknown country for resupply, repairs, and information." 

    He lifts a fingerless gloved hand and displays two clawed fingers. "Keep a journal. Don't rely completely on your memory. Take notes so that you can maintain informed decisions. Until such a time that you can make contact with your operator, consider yourself your own agent." 

    Another finger. "Make your own contacts and establish business relationships. It doesn't matter where you venture, you'll need things to barter with and it won't always be tender money. You've got a sizable chunk incoming to get you started, but it won't last. Tech and supplies are expensive and you won't always be in a land that allows immediate repair or refueling. Find a way to make a living. People will hire people like you and you shouldn't undersell yourself."

    Panther Caluroso walks back over into the Outside room after placing his dishes away into a bin for self-cleanup and pauses near O'Donnell. When he speaks, he speaks in a quieter tone. "C.A. comms. Seems the 145th was stationed at Argusson." Planetary ring orbit. Supply. "They'll have a rep here before sunsdown. Maybe top brass." The gentleman looks from Wolf to Joanna. 

    "It's been a pleasure, oh radiant Joanna, and may the spark of your presence illuminate my day once again all too soon." He's leaving already? "For you, my rose. A token." 

    Wolf lowers his hand. "Well, you're welcome to ask about me, my group, from officials or the like. You get that ship of yours travel ready, keep what I said in mind, and maybe I'll have a job for you myself someday. Trust you know the way back from here." He pushes his glass closer to the center of the table and does the low-class thing of simply leaving it as he stands, heavy boots thunking against the cozy floor. "Be safe. If you can't be safe, be the danger."