Ace sends everybody home, then settles in to clean up after the party, including himself in the process. Good timing. The GM ignores the opportunity to wreak havoc in the guise of Ace's home AI, in favor of cooking up a much more interesting situation. As Block makes his way toward home, his commlink rings up, from an unrecognized number. In today's world (and under everybody's current circumstances) that doesn't mean much at all. It rings again, and Block's natural curiosity (and impulsiveness) struggles against his common sense and natural paranoia. Block answers the call on the third call. Before the other person gets a chance to say anything, Block lets loose a loud beer and hot wings driven belch directly into the microphone. "Aw, man. That wasn't even close to a record." he muses aloud.
The connection is rough and static-y, as if patched in from a long way away. In the depths of that static and noise a strong, tenor voice can be heard from the other end. "Weeping Lotus is down! Repeat: Weeping Lotus is down!" Which is strange. As far as anyone can remember, Block has never heard of this "Weeping Lotus", or why he/she/it might be feeling low.
"Extraction point has been moved to <<indecipherable static>>," the tenor voice continues, "Due to unforseen circumstance. Assume our intelligence has been compromised! Repeat: assume our intel has been compromised!" The signal appears to be fading. Curious.
The voice erupts from the noise and static long enough to say something about "601 Lexington", which you *THINK* might be a reference to the old Citigroup Center located at 53rd Street between Lexington Avenue and Third Avenue in midtown Manhattan. The line drops, which is weirder still, because you notice that the location codes and all of the other effluvia that comes with a comm call are missing.
Curious, Block wonders what that was all about.
Block gets up and wanders away from the table in order to place a call to Mr. X. "Hey, boss, is the, uhm," (pauses to try to remember) "'Bleating Lotus' at St. Pete Luther'ns' one of your things?" he asks, carefully. "Cause somebody misdialed ..."
Mr. X. calmly responds that he doesn't. It doesn't even sound vaguely familiar, even. But it *is* curious, after a fashion...
...and oblivously Ace continues on his mission of personal cleanliness... |
