The Reveal
WHO: Motoko Kusanagi and the Dependables
WHERE: Mexico
WHEN: Wednesday, late afternoon
WARNINGS: Probable cussing, possible violence
SUMMARY: Motoko's big reveal
FORMAT: Any
It was a motley crew that faced her over the plateau the interrogation table made between them. They spoke in hushed tones in other rooms, or else openly in front of her, or not at all. The aural acuity of this shell was such that she didn't miss much of the conversations, but it was all fairly typical. After all, this wasn't something she'd been invited into, not by them. Arguably, this particular breach in security was an act of disloyalty on the part of her would-be employers as well. Then again, the Major had never met anyone she liked well enough not to eventually skip town on them, so it all amounted to an even ledger. Motoko stood because none of the chairs in the hotel would bear her weight, in the middle of the room because she was the threat and they were 'in charge.' She waited for silence, ignoring questions and accusations with equanimity until she had quiet in which to speak.
When they'd all settled enough to wary stares or silent threats, she opened her mouth.
"I am Major Kusanagi, classified as an imPort. I caught wind of this meeting on the net," technically not a lie, she continued smoothly, all polite, iron-clad professionalism, "And pulled a few strings with my Japanese connections in order to be invited as a high-ranking member of the Yakuza delegation. I made contact with Sarah Connor in the city after realizing that the local security nets had been tampered with by her son."
Subtle work, that, especially for a natural human, and the flick of her eyes over the offending party was more a compliment than an admonition. She launched right into it with no further preamble.
"The meetings at this juncture, as I'm sure you've realized, are mostly for fairly typical business for these kinds of organizations. However, my cover has allowed me access to information you should know before proceeding. These discussions aren’t about whether or not to prepare a strike, but how to carry out a strike using something that is already ready and already present on the resort. These groups have been in contact long before this meeting, collaborating on developing some kind of weapon, colloquially referred to as the ‘Package.’"
There was a pause, "No, I don't know what it is, exactly. There's no way of finding out without compromising my cover," a fatal move, with only the dubious manpower of the Yakuza as backup, "Their meetings have been for the purposes of deciding how best to use it. Primary targets include the housing provided by the city and the Porter itself. I have men under my command in there, but they're soldiers at best, not specialized fighters and all of them are natural humans with no augmenting abilities."
She did not sit back; the Major was too composed for so overt a 'read 'em and weep' gesture, but the cant of her head changed, tipping slightly upwards so that the light spilled across it more fully. She looked like an ordinary Japanese woman, as much as ever she did, in the sharp white resort-wear, the dye and contacts-but her smile was predatory and did not reach her eyes.
"The question is, what are you going to do?"
WHERE: Mexico
WHEN: Wednesday, late afternoon
WARNINGS: Probable cussing, possible violence
SUMMARY: Motoko's big reveal
FORMAT: Any
It was a motley crew that faced her over the plateau the interrogation table made between them. They spoke in hushed tones in other rooms, or else openly in front of her, or not at all. The aural acuity of this shell was such that she didn't miss much of the conversations, but it was all fairly typical. After all, this wasn't something she'd been invited into, not by them. Arguably, this particular breach in security was an act of disloyalty on the part of her would-be employers as well. Then again, the Major had never met anyone she liked well enough not to eventually skip town on them, so it all amounted to an even ledger. Motoko stood because none of the chairs in the hotel would bear her weight, in the middle of the room because she was the threat and they were 'in charge.' She waited for silence, ignoring questions and accusations with equanimity until she had quiet in which to speak.
When they'd all settled enough to wary stares or silent threats, she opened her mouth.
"I am Major Kusanagi, classified as an imPort. I caught wind of this meeting on the net," technically not a lie, she continued smoothly, all polite, iron-clad professionalism, "And pulled a few strings with my Japanese connections in order to be invited as a high-ranking member of the Yakuza delegation. I made contact with Sarah Connor in the city after realizing that the local security nets had been tampered with by her son."
Subtle work, that, especially for a natural human, and the flick of her eyes over the offending party was more a compliment than an admonition. She launched right into it with no further preamble.
"The meetings at this juncture, as I'm sure you've realized, are mostly for fairly typical business for these kinds of organizations. However, my cover has allowed me access to information you should know before proceeding. These discussions aren’t about whether or not to prepare a strike, but how to carry out a strike using something that is already ready and already present on the resort. These groups have been in contact long before this meeting, collaborating on developing some kind of weapon, colloquially referred to as the ‘Package.’"
There was a pause, "No, I don't know what it is, exactly. There's no way of finding out without compromising my cover," a fatal move, with only the dubious manpower of the Yakuza as backup, "Their meetings have been for the purposes of deciding how best to use it. Primary targets include the housing provided by the city and the Porter itself. I have men under my command in there, but they're soldiers at best, not specialized fighters and all of them are natural humans with no augmenting abilities."
She did not sit back; the Major was too composed for so overt a 'read 'em and weep' gesture, but the cant of her head changed, tipping slightly upwards so that the light spilled across it more fully. She looked like an ordinary Japanese woman, as much as ever she did, in the sharp white resort-wear, the dye and contacts-but her smile was predatory and did not reach her eyes.
"The question is, what are you going to do?"