SEVEN FLAGS is simply not gelling, so let’s try something else. The RPG needed some vignettes anyway.
We all met in a bar.
You do that, for the informal jobs. Which are not the same as the cheap jobs, let me tell you. There was some serious money behind this one. It was just shy money, too. The kind of money that’s happiest when there’s no pesky paperwork involved with it. I like happy money. Who wouldn’t?
In time-honored tradition there were six of us for this job. I had Bob to hit things and handle the army, Yuna to sniff out and/or cause trouble, Irene to heal us up and keep us on the right side of the Christian god (always smart, when you’re out in the Cold-Lands), Oren to use his gadgets on our behalf, and XuMai to sweet-talk any problems away. Then there was me. I’m here to make sure we found the right loot. Oh, and cast a spell, here and there. Don’t expect fireballs, though. Fireballs are bad for salvage archeology.
This was a working meeting, so I covered the first pitcher of beer. I didn’t worry about it slopping down on the papers, either: these were magical copies. The real ones were safely locked in a bank vault. “The job’s out in the new territories,” I explained. “There’s an Old American military base that’s been opened up for salvage — but quietly. The Alliance doesn’t want just anybody poking at the place.”