Future Scene: Axel, Biggs, Steve and Travis Poole

PREFACE: This is a future scene that may or may not be used, but is meant to be part of something that happens between 3 of the guys on the mission and the supplier they are meant to be gathering intel on for Manticore.

Supposedly, this guy is selling information on their buyers with the highest bidders. The group is meant to infiltrate his base ops and find a way to manipulate him – not hurt him or give any indication that manticore knows anything. it’s all about playing the player and manticore wants the dirt on Poole.

NOTE: Travis is NOT European. He is an American who moved to Europe after the Pulse hit because it afforded better prospects to a young man (at the time) and he could always make a nice life trafficking drugs to the States while it was/is in chaos.  So he will not be European, no accent, etc. but he will have use of some locals and their…skill.

NOTE #2: Travis Poole is “played” by Kevin Gage

NOTE #3: This scene takes place some time during the mission in which Max sleeps with Lyle.

Okay, here is the bit of the scene that I have.

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The bar wasn’t quite upscale but it didn’t fit the description of seedy, either, not by a long shot. Dalek’s Tavern was the neighbourhood boozer, catering to upper-class and lower alike. But what all the patrons knew and understood was the little old man with the crooked jaw and slightly rheumy eyes may own the place, but it was the rich clientele that really owned the place.

People like the man standing in the doorway to the VIP lounge in the back, the same man who hadn’t hesitated a second after learning that two of his right hand men had tried to kill a handful of strays just because they didn’t like foreigners.

The Boss had problems with his men’s attitudes and rather than try and instruct them otherwise, he chose to teach everyone a lesson.

Breta’s face blanched and he paled as cold, hard realization overtook him. His boss was greatly displeased – no, he was outright pissed – and Breta knew that it was useless to beg, pointless to plead. He knew the score when he applied for the job and now he would pay for his folly.

And all for a handful of Kurva, he thought in disgust. Yet Breta watched his employer’s face; outwardly displaying a cold, calm apearance that most could never achieve, while his eyes burned with fury and offense. He met his gaze head-on and did not blink; his would not be a coward’s end.

The shots fired were loud. The Boss hadn’t wanted a silencer; the point was to make it a public execution, Already, he could see that Pavel and Karol were standing up that little bit straighter, looking at him with that respect that had been faltering, or even lacking before.

Sometimes it was important to make a show of power. It kept people in line.

The three boys looked up from their drinks as the sound of gunshots reverberated. Each Transgenic’s hand went for their hidden weapons, eyes wary and sharp. The crack of ammunition breaking the afternoon in a busy tavern was a shock, even to seasoned soldiers. One shot, barely heard above the din of the crowd, the second ringing loudly in the suddenly silent bar. Heads bowed, fingers drew crosses over hunched torsos. The boys continued to stare as the patrons acknowledged the shooter with an inclination of the head or the tip of a hat, before returning to their drinks, the noise level quickly rising to its former high pitch.

#  #  #

The boys followed the townspeople’s lead and lowered their heads back to their drinks, pretending like there weren’t two dead bodies across the long room lying in a pool of blood and brain matter.

“He creeps me out,” 511 admitted quietly, rocking back and forth on his chair and taking a swig of his beer. “This whole place creeps me out.”

“Don’t be such a pussy, Biggs,” 980, or Steve, his alias for this mission, razzed at his friend. “You’re starting to sound like 708 during field training; ‘Ugh, worms, they’re just so slimy. I really hate slime.‘”

Biggs snorted. “That’s because he’s totally gay, okay? But I’m nothing like 708, alright? Besides, this town is really weird and you know it! It wigged you out, too.”

“Just shut up, you two, and hear me out,” Axel broke in exasperatedly. “This Poole character? He’s our guy. Look, we did our job… Besides, he confirmed as much last night at the bar. It has to be him.”

980’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “You had drinks with the guy? When did this happen and why would you be so stupid? That wasn’t the plan, Fi-,” he caught himself quickly, “Axel.”

“We each bought a round, shot a little pool. I was blending in,” 572 defended, “At least I got some intel. What were you doing last night, Steve? Or should that be a who?”

980 grinned fondly at the memory but before he could confirm 572’s suspicions, 511 pushed his chair away from the table, sending it toppling to the floor. “Wait, are you shittin’ me? You’re just gonna hand over fifty large to some nobody you had a few brewskies with? That was not the plan.”

A long bladed knife pressed into 511’s neck before the Transgenics even realized they had company. 511’s hands flew to the thick arm with the intention of removing the restraint.

“Careful, boy, I might slip.”

511 immediately ceased all motion save for breathing, and even that he did shallowly.

The boys studied the newcomer. He showed no emotion though his eyes hinted at amusement. “If I’m nobody, it’s because that’s who I want to be, understand? I am no one and everyone. I’m The Man in these parts. Always know ev’rybody, always see ev’rythang and always in charge; you want somethin’ in this town, you come to me, y’dig?”

511 mumbled inaudibly, “Great, redneck Joe got one up on me. How the hell…?”

The man rose to full height, hulking over 511 by a good few inches and displaying a broad, hard frame. Something about this Ordinary was different; he actually gave 511 reason to worry about his strength. “Mind your manners, boy! And the name ain’t Redneck Joe. It’s Poole. Travis Poole.”

511 blinked. He hadn’t mumbled that loud, had he?

“And as for the grip? Family secret. It keeps me sharp and alive and always on top…and if you ain’t careful it’s gon’ be what kills you.”

Poole released him and 511’s quick reflexes were all that kept him from falling. He massaged his neck and stepped closer to 572 and 980.

572 kept a safe distance and made no sudden movements. “You’ll forgive us then if we don’t quite trust you; you just killed two of your brothers – what’s to keep you from taking our money and killing us?”

“My brothers?” he guffawed loudly, banging his fist on the table to accentuate his amusement. “Not blood brothers, kid. Brothers in arms, or they were until they tried to use ’em on my guests. Only I get to kill my guests,” he grinned, “Hosts prerogative.”

511 smiled tightly, glancing between the man and his dead comrades who were still sprawled lifelessly on the floor in the corner of the room.

Poole clapped 980 on the back. “Don’t worry, kid, I stand to gain too much from this deal, and long term. I would not jeopardize that.”

980 half-laughed nervously. “That’s comforting.”

“I like you,” Poole said after studying the redhead for a moment. He poured a finger of liquor into a glass and slid it across the table to Steve before topping up his own drink and raising the glass in toast. “To the start of a profitable business relationship.”

Steve dipped his head in acknowledgement and then swallowed down the foul tasting liquid in a single gulp, his eyes tearing quickly and almost bulging out of his head as a result.

“That packs some punch, huh?” Poole asked, banging Steve on the back as he tried not to cough up a lung. Steve nodded wordlessly. “It’s an acquired taste; a strong drink for strong men. Locals here, though…drink it like water. Even the women. But damn, them women…” he grinned again and feeling it was required, Steve managed a slight smile of agreement, one that did not quite reach his eyes.

Poole inclined his head at the two boys who stood off a ways to the side. “You,” he called, “Axel, was it? We got business. Why’ncha meet me at my…office tonight at eight,” Poole scribbled an address on a paper napkin, slapped a hand down on it and then smiled up at the younger man. “Then I’ll show you some real Czech hospitality; my Marina will whip up a five-star feast.”

Axel balked at the suggestion, catching Biggs’ worried gaze and Steve’s almost imperceptible shake of the head. “While we appreciate the offer, we’re going to have to be leaving as soon as our business is concluded. So, thank you, but-,”

“Nonsense!” Poole dismissed with a wave. “Surely you have a little time to indulge the best cook this side of the river! Marina would be insulted if you declined; you know how women get.” It was obvious to the trio that the insult wouldn’t be felt by the girl, but rather by the man himself. The dangerous glint in his eyes was the deciding factor.

“We’d be honored,” Axel agreed, finally.

Poole smiled and nodded. “Good, good.”

The three stared at his retreating form before turning to each other in worry.

“We are so screwed,” 511 commented, stating the obvious while rubbing his throat again.

Steve shuffled nervously in place. “I don’t like it, either. This isn’t how the mission was supposed to go. This is where we’d normally call Command for our orders.”

Biggs looked at his watch. “Guys, this isn’t the place. Why don’t you let me pay the tab and I’ll meet you out front in five. We can continue this discussion back in our room.”

They sheepishly agreed, having forgotten for a brief moment that they were still in the middle of a crowded bar full local who looked upon strangers with a wary eye. Their newly formed ‘friendship’ with Poole didn’t carry much weight, it seemed. 572 and 980 exited the premises and quietly waited for Biggs.

When he rejoined the others outside, Axel turned the fur collar up on his coat and burrowed into the warmth it provided. The trio began the trek back to their hotel in distracted silence, broken from time to time by sighs and frustrated exhalations from their Commanding Officer.

“Forget it, 511,” Axel said, puffing a cloud of breath into the cold. “It’s no use. Calling Command for new orders just isn’t gonna fly, man. I don’t know about you guys,” he stopped, causing the others to run into his back, and turned around. “But my gut instinct is telling me to call 494. Command isn’t here, they can’t possibly tell us anything worthwhile unless it’s to abort. And I’m not excited about telling Command that I fucked up. You saw what they did to 494 after the Africa mission a few months back – and he had a good reason for breaking protocol. Think what they’d do to us.”

511 glanced between 980 and 572 and nodded. “Man’s got a point. Okay, change of plan. 572, contact 494 and see if we can’t salvage this operation. 980, I want you to check out the location and get the layout and a feel for the area. I’m going to load up on ammo and put a call into Base to let them know we’re still on schedule. We’ll meet back at the hotel at 1800.”

980 gave a short nod and took off, disappearing quickly into the softly falling snow. “When it start snowing?” Biggs asked, suddenly, snorting a stray snowflake from his nose and pulling his own collar higher on his neck.

“Halfway between the fifth and sixth woeful sigh, I think,” Axel teased, swaying to the side and knocking shoulders with his C.O. playfully.

Biggs just shook his head. “Whatever, dude. We’ll catch up later, alright?”

“Wait,” Axel called softly, laying a gloved hand on his friend’s arm. “I’m sorry, you know. I’ll take the blame if-,”

Biggs stiffened. “No ifs,” he interjected forcefully. “We’re going to fix this and no one but us’ll know we deviated from the original plan. You have my word.”