Adenovirus 423 Hart Workshop

Fishman

Fishman

Broseidon
Benefactor
Written by Script

The Hart Workshop is the domain of Casey Hart and his partner, Robin O'Quinn. Previously owned by Casey's mother, Sarah Hart, the workshop is a mechanic's dream come true. Fitted with a relative abundance of good-quality (if several-times repaired) equipment, the workshop is laid out with a sizeable open floor-space for larger projects like vehicles or heavier machinery, as well as an array of workbenches and more sectioned-off areas for smaller ones. Almost anything commonly available in an old world mechanic's/chop-shop can be found here, although some more specialised machinery has had to be reinvented from the ground up.

Sectioned off completely from the main workshop floor, in an office-like room, is where Robin runs Old World FM from. Soundproofed to the best of his abilities to shield from the hubbub of his partner's work, an improvised soundboard, a couple of computers and some fairly basic transmission equipment with a few hacked-together modifications form the base for his show.

The boys live over the workshop in their own small living quarters, and when they're on base, they can almost be found either on the shop floor or up there.
 
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The hallways never felt so small. Every footstep sounded like a bomb, and she swore that the walls were watching her, judging her journey to the Hart Workshop. Some called her paranoid before, but now she was going to figure out if she had a good reason to be. Hopefully they didn't all get caught before they had a chance to strike. As she opened the doors to go outside, she shoved her hands in her armpits in a shiver, cold air washing over her small frame.

She was dressed light, just like anyone roaming the halls should be. Cargo pants and a vest that hid her revolver within were all the things she needed here at headquarters. At least, that's what she kept telling herself. Nothing bugged her more than that naked feeling that vulnerability gave her, and oh, especially now, she was feeling quite under dressed.

After what seemed like an unreasonably long trek, Asha opened the doors to the Hart Workshop and called out for the boys. She seemed casual at first, looking around for any other members besides herself and the company she sought.
 
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The workshop was relatively quiet, today. None of the heavier machinery was active, no buzz-saws, sanders or drills working away at one part or another of Casey's latest project. When Asha walked inside, Casey was stood over a workbench, one of the headquarters' heating units half-dismantled in front of him, and one arm halfway disappearing into its guts. His face was twisted in frustration, but the scowl broke into a strained smile upon seeing her. "Asha!" he called though gritted teeth. "Just give me a-"

He cut off, and apparently succeeded at twisting something inside the unit into place, because his arm shifted around and he let out a relieved sigh. Pulling back, he grabbed a dirty-looking cloth off the bench and wiped the worst of the grease off of his forearm as he walked around to meet her. "Sorry about that! Stubborn bolt." As if sensing her concern, he offered a reassuring smile. "It's just me and Robin right now. He's in his radio room."

The mechanic nodded his head towards the small room in the corner of the workshop. "I think he's found what you're looking for."
 
Asha's eyes closed as she let out a small breath. "Thanks, Casey. And hey, don't get your pretty face injured: I'm the one who needs Robin's attention today," she teased, hurrying past him and toward the room.

She knocked on the door several times, sweeping the curls from her face. "Hey, Robin. Got a moment? I need you, man."
 
It was a few moments before the door opened, and Robin greeted Asha with a tired smile. "Yo," he said, suppressing a yawn under his hand. "It's about time you showed up." Nodding his head to beckon her inside, he turned and went back into the room. The radio room wasn't big, but there was enough space for two people to sit comfortably and for a couple more to squeeze in if there was the need. Wires and transmitters were scattered over a number of tables, along with an improvised soundboard, a microphone and a couple of computers.

Robin slouched down into the well-used leather seat at the main table, on which a few old books lay open. Pages were missing and the text was worn, but it was just about possible to make out "-rse cod-" on one of the covers. A few pieces of notepaper with scrawled dots and dashes were scattered adjacent. He gestured to them with a grimace. "So, I set up my receivers to scan the waves for anything that wasn't static. Picked up a bunch of walkie-talkie chatter, but nothing involving Jacob. But I diiiid pick up this..."

He hit a key on one of his keyboards, and a tapping sound started to play out of the speakers. "It's a recording. Originally played out not long after the details of the next salvage op were worked out. Might not sound like much, but it's actually morse code. It's a way people used to communicate back in the old world. Could do it with sounds or with visuals, like flashes of light - it was pretty cool! If the people you don't want listening don't know it, it means you can communicate without anyone knowing what you're saying. But mostly it was used for communicating when the signal was too scrambled for clear speech." Robin sighed. "What's not so cool is what this recording means."

He pointed to the notepaper, showing a string of letters and numbers. "Coordinates. It's where the salvage team is going to be tomorrow. Now, there's only one person on base other than me I can think of who's got access to radio gear, who I've yammered the ear off of about the possible applications of morse code in the past, and who knows where the salvage team is going to be."

Sighing again, he looked up at her. "And that's Jacob. I'm pretty sure you were right."

Casey had followed Asha to stand behind her, leaning against the doorframe with a frown. "So what do we do now?" he asked. It was apparent by his lack of reaction that Robin had already told him what he'd discovered.
 
"Son of a bitch," breathed Asha. She had been right the whole time. "We can't let him do this again. My squad was slaughtered out there. I can't believe he would turn on us like that!"

Ashe turned around, moving past Casey to lean herself against one of the counters in the workshop. Her eyes were trained on the ground, glassed over in concentration. A million things went through her head at once. After a few moments, she looked up at the two boys before her, the fire of determination alight in those eyes.

"I need to know how far you're willing to follow me. It's high time for Jacob's retirement."
 
"We're obviously not going to let him get away with it," Casey said, folding his arms. "But we need to be able to prove it was him. We know that it is, but we don't really have enough proof to take it public. It's kind of we-said he-said right now... circumstantial..."

"Like anyone's going to believe you're making it up out of malice," Robin frowned, having gotten to his feet to stand in the doorframe himself. "I say we take it to him. Tell him to 'fess up or clear off."

"And if he does neither? He could accuse us. I don't know, most people trust him, even if they don't like him." Sighing, Casey shook his head and looked at the ground. "We do have to do something, though."

"Casey, you're like... one of the most likeable people here. If you're accusing him of something, everyone's going to know that you have good reason to believe it." Robin grinned. "Hey, your nice guy cred is finally paying off!"
 
"That's all I need, Casey. You're well respected, well known. If you and Robin have my back, I can take the reins to dismantle Jacob."

Asha's confidence was unwavering. Though there was a small, squirmy part of her gut that felt nervous, it seemed the woman had already thought this through. She looked between them, expression stern. "The Obsidian Knights needs a new leader. I've been here a long ass time. I've been leading every mission Jacob's sent me out on for a year until he tried to get rid of me. I know what I'm doing out there and I know how the Knights are supposed to be run. You guys need to know that when we take Jacob down, I'm stepping up. I don't want you following behind me if you're not okay with that idea."
 
"As if one of us would have your back without the other," Robin pointed out with a grin. Casey laughed, and nodded his agreement.

"We're with you," he said. "There's not anyone else I can think of who's better suited to the job. You say I'm respected, but you've been the face of the Knights for a while now." Casey smiled. "We just need to make it official."

Robin nodded and gave a thumbs up. "So let's bust this guy! What's our next move?"
 
Asha looked between them again in what was almost disbelief. She had two of them now. No, three. She had been attempting it for a while, now

"I've already instructed Art to meet us here. I'm not sure there's anyone else I trust right now to follow me to the end of this. As soon as he gets here, we're storming Jacob's office. Take a weapon with you just in case. These days, I don't know what that man has planned. There's a chance he's expecting us. Clear?"
 
After Asha finished her briefing, Art stumbled in the room, holding his right arm wrapped in two bloody cloth wrappings, still reeling in dizziness from the pain. If only he had more time to field treat himself instead of pouring booze all over his wounds. Art wiped and tucked the bloodied and alcohol coated screwdriver into his utility belt before saluting lazily. While he was obviously in extreme pain, his face radiated confidence and a need for vengeance.
"I'm here," he began, stating the obvious, "I'm not going in first unless you want me to gouge out the bastard's eyes and shove them down his throat."
With that, he white-knuckled the suntetsu pair after spinning them to the blunt side before clearing his throat, continuing with strained innocence,
"We're going to interrogate him right? Mind if I handle the punis- harsher portions of the questioning?"
 
Both boys' eyes widened slightly at the suddenness of action, but after briefly exchanging a glance, they each nodded. Casey stepped across to one of the benches and picked up a pair of pistols, handing one off to Robin. They were holstering them up when Art walked in.

"Fuck, Art," Casey's eyes widened. "We're not going anywhere with your arm looking like that! Did you use that ..." he stared dumbly at the screwdriver for a few seconds. "What did you use that for? Was it cauterised? Was it even washed?" With a sigh, he stepped over and grabbed the other boy by his uninjured arm. "I'm going to try and undo whatever damage you've caused and then patch you up properly. I have medical supplies over here. Robin, boil me some water?"

"On it," Robin replied, following them as Casey made to drag Art across the room. "What even happened to you?" he asked, shooting the younger boy a look that was equal parts disbelief and concern.
 
Art followed the two with a surprised look on his face before it morphed into a scowl. His blood boiled at the thought of losing the opportunity to end that foul rat that slinked his way to the top. Although he wanted to slam his fist into the nearby wall, he silently wrenched his arm away from Casey and Robin, staring into their eyes directly with a passion burning in his own tired pupils. Quietly, yet full of anger, he whispered to them,

"There will be time when this is all over. I'll rest when he is gone. Until then, these stay for what he did to them."

His fists clenched the air as he sighed and released an agonized breath. His injured frame walked towards an empty wall near the door, leaning against it.

"I washed everything in alcohol."
 
"This isn't the time to be an idiot," Casey glowered back at the boy. "He doesn't know we're coming, he's not going to disappear in the twenty minutes it'll take me to stop you doing yourself permanent damage. So stop being stubborn and melodramatic and let me help you!"

"I'm not hearing an answer, either. What happened? For all we know you could be about to keel over." Robin pointed out.
 
"They have a point, Art," began Asha sternly. She was using that voice- Art was very familiar with it- the one that meant she wasn't playing around. It was something between a mother's chide and the tongue-lashing of a military general. "You've got tunnel vision. Don't think for a second that I don't want to be there any less than you do, but I ain't having you backin' me up while you're bleeding like a gored pig."

She gestured to Robin while gazing at Art, magnifying the importance of the electrician's question.
 
Art sighed, impatient with the questioning, but otherwise walked back towards them, submitting his injured arm and story to the three. They would probably not like this, nor the wait if he continued to resist.
"I was scavenging at uh," he quietly scratched his head in embarrassment, "that place, and at least hoped to bury the dead bodies and bring back their rifles. Its been a few days, so I thought it was safe, but I got ambushed by a small group. They were inexperienced and sloppy, probably not among the North or South."

He continued with a guilty grimace,
"They pincered me with 2 on the left and 3 on the right. I brought back a rifle from the scavenge team... the same one I used to kill the left flank, before I ran. But, now I'm here... with nothing again."
 
"You shouldn't be wandering around out there on your own," Robin frowned as he spoke, shaking his head. "It's dumb, even for good reasons. As you appear to have found out..."

Casey said nothing at first, focusing on unwrapping the bandage and starting to tend to the injury, cleaning it more thoroughly. Only once he'd rewashed the wound did he look up and offer Art a sympathetic smile. "It's not too deep, which is good, but this is still going to hurt, so..." He took a clean cloth and offered it to him. "You might want to bite down on this." After the cloth was taken, he brandished a needle and medical thread, and once Art was ready, set about stitching the wound.
 
"If Jacob had heard about that, I'm sure you'd have something worse than a gunshot wound," scolded Asha. "Did you meet up with anyone on your way in? Do they know you're injured?"

She didn't flinch as the needle was presented, but Asha knew the pain of getting stitches without anything to numb it. Though she hoped it would teach Art a little caution, she knew the boy might be too hard-headed to learn.
 
Shaking his head before cutting himself off by biting down onto the cloth, he made no sounds as the needle passed through his skin despite feeling agony wash over himself. He tried to stay as relaxed as possible, knowing that any sudden movements could potentially hurt even more.

As soon as the stitches were finished, he took the cloth out from between his teeth with slightly shaking hands.
"I don't take anything from Jacob, nor any of the powdered wigs up in command. Worst he can do is expel me from East territory and I doubt he has the balls to do that. You guys know my deal. Solo and out at night, escort dude in daylight."
He shrugged to himself while making a light gesture at his wound.
"Everything is treatable... except death, sometimes."
 
"And you know my opinion on your 'deal'. The buddy system exists for a reason," Robin said, sighing. "Anyway. You're not gonna listen to me, so it's whatever."

Casey just grimaced, finishing up on the injury and stepping back. "Try not to put too much stress on it, if you can?" He smiled faintly and rubbed at the back of his head. "Even though I know that's like asking the wind not to blow. Just be careful."

Robin glanced across at Asha. "So... what's the plan, exactly?"
 
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