After finishing his meal Marcus took his daily dose of G3, and thought back to his career as a soldier while Vlad spoke. "All the shit I went through and survived it'd be fraggin' tragic if I went down to a mild infection. Let's hope this stuff works as advertised." he thought as Vlad finished up.
"Ain't that the truth, friend. All this sneaking around, making the job look like a setup is not exactly my usual MO, but if the Johnson is willing to pay double for it I'll at least give his way a go. Like I said, worst case we go loud and you can kill as many of the fraggers as you like. Either way I'll be right there in the thick of it; I'm geared more towards close-quarters combat in any case." As he spoke, Marcus rolled up the sleeves on both arms to expose the oversized gunmetal grey cyberlimbs underneath, then rapped his metal knuckles on both his torso and thighs, the limbs giving off resounding clangs that should provide clear indication to anyone that the vast majority of his body had been cybernetically enhanced.
"Long story short, I've got some idea of what 'ware is worth..." he said quietly as he briefly remembered what Katherine's hands had felt like resting on his then-natural chest. "More machine now than man" he thought, and shook himself out of his reverie. "Above all else, though, I'm a professional. I don't know what you've got against these guys, and quite frankly I don't care; we're being paid to complete a mission, and that's all that matters to me.
He looked around the mess hall to see if anyone had overheard the last of what Vlad had said, and what he himself was about to say. "Listen, chummer, I'm a bounty hunter by trade, not an organlegger. You want to go in and clear house after we're done I sure as heck won't stop ya, but I'm not going to help you either. You'll want to keep drek like that on the down-low; most people don't exactly take a shining to folks who're willing to go that route, Borg or no Borg. I for one don't want my name associated with Tamanous or whatever the hell passes for those guys up here; even if you're just taking their 'ware that's grim business, but by all means do what you gotta do. Just save it for later, wiz?"
Marcus had seen folks carrying assault rifles openly on base, but as military and/or security personnel they would be licensed for it, something a civilian like himself would be unlikely to obtain, and so he decided to leave his dismantled custom rifle in the smuggling compartments in his legs for now. "Might need an edge against these fraggers if it all goes to hell, though." He'd recently done a job for the Vory which included dropping off live cargo at a warehouse where they stockpiled drugs amongst other things, so he prepared a message to Anatoly Ireshkova.
>> Send Encrypted Message
>> Omae, I need a couple doses each of Jazz and Kamikaze, and I need them yesterday. I know this isn't ideal because you and I both know this drek is fraggin' dangerous, but one way or another I've got a payday coming up. Tell you what, I'll pay you twice again what this stuff is worth after the job is done if you can get me the goods by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Spasibo, tovarishch!
