Star Trek Woes

Orlok walked into his Sewage Plant and immediately fell to his knees, screaming in rage.

Everything was covered in Justin Bieber Memorabilia.

"KREEGEEEEEER!!!" He yelled out.

"Godammit I knew killing all her Gimps might piss her off but fuck me this is just cruel."

Harsh banging on his door sounded and he turned with a sigh.

"Hey! Orlok! We know you're in there! Rowan's not happy with you. She sent us to demonstrate." A thug with a Justin Bieber mask on popped his head through the doorway.

"Oh, motherfucker! Go away! JUST FUCK OFF!!! Seriously, HOW EXPENDABLE ARE YOU PEOPLE THAT THIS IS THE ONLY REACTION ROWAN GIVES ME AFTER I FUCKING GAS-BOMB HER HOUSE?!?!"

"I mean, that's pretty much every Tuesday for us..." The man began awkwardly.

Orlok sighed aggressively into his palm.

"Fucks sake. What do I have to do to get some respect around here?" He moaned to himself and then casually pulled a lever he'd strategically placed EXACTLY IN CASE OF ATTACK BY THE BEEBS.

The entire front of the sewage plant burst into flames. He idly wondered why Rowan's people hadn't disable all the traps he'd set up when they came in to remodel but decided Rowan probably had left them there on purpose.

He sighed as the bits of charred goon flew past him.

"It's just not the same if they're fucking used to this kind of treatment. No, okay, no. I can't work in these kinds of conditons. I. Eegh." A camera drone, one of Rowan's came buzzing at him angrily.

"ugh! Ugh! UUUUUUGH!!! UNACCEPTABLE CONDITIONS!!!!!! SOUND SWORD!!!!" He yelled out shrilly and pulled a revolver he'd stolen from some guy out of his pocket and shot it down.

"Hmm. I'm actually not bad with this thing." He sighed as he grabbed his emergency 'Flee To Mexico' briefcase and his Fedora, stolen off a hobo.

"I feel so unappreciated down here where everybody is crazy and full of crime. This is bullshit. No, no, no. Not going to entertain Rowan's bullshit anymore. Fucking not give me my cut while she sends goons to smash me. AND she even doesn't even respond to my blatant acts of flirting. Fuck this. No." Orlok sighed and pulled the revolver out again.

It was a heavy black magnum model. If he recalled correctly he got it off of one of Rowan's people.

He held it to his head briefly. Rowan wanted bastioCorp data? She could fuck off. Good luck getting into his head WHEN IT'S OFF HIS SHOULDERS.

Het let it fall down a moment later. Okay, so he clearly was not in a position where he could out-crazy Rowan. She clearly wanted what he had in his head and frankly HE WANTED TO KNOW WHAT HER STORY WAS TOO, but she was in a position where she could wait much longer than him.

If he couldn't out-crazy her just at this moment...

Pfff. This place was smelly anyway. He'd come back and smash Rowan in the face later when he actually stood a chance and wasn't just alive because he amused her.

He holstered the revolver and sighed, reaching into an unexploded desk and pulling out the yellow pages.

Mind-wiper, mind-wiper. Fuck... all there was was some guy that did AR maitenance... Sam Bridger. Maybe he could at least point him in the right direction.

Orlok hit a switch on a console and a countdown initiated. His final trap activated and he chuckled. This entire neighborhood was about to erupt in a chemical attack that'd make the Maternity bombings look tame. Amazing what you could do with the chemicals down here and enough time.

He estimated a killcount upwards of five thousand. If he couldn't get Rowan's attention he'd at least get OSEC up her butt about not letting her pets cause too much trouble.

He hailed a hover-taxi and sped off five minutes before his entire plant erupted. He couldn't build a nuke, not enough parts, but making chemical weapons out of the stuff in there wasn't hard.

A cloud of ugly yellow missed that smelled of mustard followed behind his taxi.

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