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[Brenden]

... ... ...


"What is an old, SHD-1R, doing here in New Avalon?"
"I have heard you are someone, who can help 'mechs with their particular...problems."
The Grey and Dark Amber Atlas swirls on his Rolling Chair and props his legs on his desk, a cigar rolled into his Protein Shute.
I have been known to help those with their particular problems... If, they can, incite me.."
"Eh trust me," said a rustic voice. "I can pay."

"It has to involve... Someone you might know."
"Oh? Who." He said said, prepared too turn around and just ignore him.
"Clan..." He seemed to tremble as he spoke these words from his voice-box. "... Jade, Falcon."

He pulled his legs, freshly glazened with a new coat of paint, leaned forward on his oaken desk and laid his head on his fingers. A puff of air blowing into the old, faded Navy blue Shadow Hawk's cockpit. The smoke was drawn into his exhaust ports and he stifled - "coughing" out the smoke that came in and blew it out.

"What's the problem."

[Brenden]

In hindsight, this was awful.

[Brenden]

Now featuring the exploits of AS7-D "Atlas Detective" Blorine J. Tuak, a hardboiled Private Investigator who doesn't play by the rules.
Expect black. Lots of it.