7726/Lunching the Alien

Lunching the Alien
Date of Scene:	07 September 2021
Location:	Katz's Deli
Synopsis:	Eager to establish his own small circle of agents against alien threats, Michael recruits a young, troubled Hand assassin - blowing her mind about the galaxy's true scope in the process.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Erickson, June Connor

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Michael Erickson has posed:
    So she called him back.

    "Katz's Deli, ten a.m. tomorrow." His simple response. And then, the next day, he's waiting on her. Sitting in a corner booth, reading the Times. Paper copy, even. Ancient. But he sits, coffee on the table, corned beef on rye half finished on the plate next to the cup. Taking his time, and his expression one of stony, distant concentration where he was so friendly the other week while tossing those nice young men thirty feet across a parking lot. A real head-scratcher of a sphinx. But he /is/ here. And in public. So that's at least a point for safety.

June Connor has posed:
    10:00am. As in morning? That's way too early, she'd have to wake up by 8:30am to make here way there? So she's late. Because screw these super early birds. She shows up about fifteen minutes late. She didn't text to say she was running late either. The opens, though she's another face in the dozens that fill a place like Katz. A shredded black tee shirt with the Strokes advertized, and a pair of shredded black jeans to match. Her belt has several chrome studs along it, and she frowns, glancing at the long crowded deli. It takes her a moment, but she spots him, and plods her way over to the corner, sliding into the opposite side, unceremoniously the way a small child might plop carelessly in her seat, and she takes a single scoot to move the rest of the way in. "Wow, where did you even find that?" she asks, rather than saying good morning. "An actual newspaper?" They still have those? Not that it's ever been something she was looking for.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Without looking up, Michael closes the paper and reaches into his pocket, producing a small hexagonal device made of dull black metal, no larger than a Zippo lighter. He places this on the table, pressing a tab on the side. A small red light, some kind of indicator, begins to quietly pulse there. "Cone of silence generator," he informs her then, finally putting the paper away. Looks at her with those sharp blue eyes, tracking her face before speaking further. "Anything we say in its field will come off as indistinguishable murmuring. No recording will take place. It's just you and me and however far down each others' personal rabbit holes we decide to go. You hungry?" No mention of her lateness is made. So that's something, right?

June Connor has posed:
    June tenses, despite the claim that it's a harmless device. "Right. Alien stuff," she says skeptically. "She glances "Yeah, sure," she says, not one to turn down free food. "I could go for a Reuben." She slouches back against her seat, hardly professional. "So you say you don't wanna get between my legs, which is good and all, but what do you really want? Nobody just reaches out to be nice. There's always something they're lookin for. So let's cut through the altruistic bull shit part. You're not gonna freak me out whatever it is. Unless you're here to take over the world or somethin'."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Here to keep people from taking over the world, actually." She gets a quick smile and he's gesturing to the counter for her to go snag it - self serve here at Katz's after all. "How honest of a picture do you want here? I am going to be as forthright as possible, but I'm going to let you set the tone. People like you and I don't get to to that much, I find, once we've turned our backs on those we once served."

June Connor has posed:
    "So some Matrix shit, huh? Red pill or blue pill." She gets up to go grab the Reuben, and sits back down, unwrapping it. "Saving the world is hardly something that's in my skill set, you're better off with the boy in blue or a Green Lantern or somebody like that. Justice League. I guess my biggest question is what the hell is a girl who dropped out of Jr. High going to be able to offer you that they can't?" she asks, and then takes a bite out of the sandwitch.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    It takes a moment for the reference to sink in; he gives her a long, slow blink as she mentions pills, but nods. "I'm more of a theater person," he replies, "But yes." He waits for her to get her sandwich and return, then, and checks the status of the generator before continuing."

    "Well you worked for the Hand," he points out. "Trained in more than fighting I expect. That is useful. And yes, to your first point, if I am ever in a world-endangering crisis I wouldn't be putting you in the middle of that. However..." His brows lift. "Alas, my original question stands. How much do you want to know? My answer and its informativeness will hinge upon that."

June Connor has posed:
    June shakes her head, "I dunno?" she says, as if she doesn't even understand the question. "I'm a grunt," she explains. "I don't get that kind of question. People just tell me what they think I gotta know, and keep the rest to themselves so I don't fuck anything up," She shrugs, taking another bite. "I mean," she says around the bite, "Wha should I shay to shome queshon like that?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Because I don't believe in grunts anymore." He smiles faintly. "I was a grunt up until lately. It sucks. I'm offering you the agency to ask." He waggles a finger at her then. "So, 'tell me what I need to know' or 'tell me everything' are acceptable answers. I'm prepared for any fallout from, as you put it, fucking up."

June Connor has posed:
    "Well," June shrugs, as if surrendering. "Fine, tell me everything," she pulls one leg up, resting her arm on her knee as she wedges it in the booth between the seat and the booth table. She says it as if she just flipped a coin more than that she has a particular desire to know everything. Like a curiosity she's willing to explore.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Well, there you go. Michael, apparently having expected this, reaches to take a bite from his sandwich, chewing and swallowing before putting the sandwich down again. "...you remember I told you," he says, "That I wasn't like those people who were in orbit not long ago? That wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the entirety, either - it wasn't the proper time to discuss the situation. What I meant by that was that I, myself, no longer represented the government that they belonged to. Much like you've turned your back on the Hand, I've turned my back on my government. My people." Cleaning his hands with a napkin, he offers one to her. "My name is Michael Erickson, at least on this planet. We didn't get introduced before. And you're...June, I believe."

June Connor has posed:
    "Yeah," June confirms. "So you're what? A terrorist? Freedom fighter? Mercenary?" She shakes her head as if to suggest any other label could be inserted at his discretion. "Are those aliens gonna come enslave us or somethin'?" she asks, looking slightly unnerved at the idea of an alien invasion. "Because my life sucks, but that sounds like it would suck a lot worse."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I don't know what I am, really," he says, shrugging. "/Who/ I am is this: my name is Cal'hatar of Chandilar, formerly a military officer of the Shi'ar Empire - which exists in a different galaxy, but has special interest in Earth due to galactic politics. I was sent here in 1975, you see, to monitor another race that operates on this planet. Since then I've ended up watching people, interceding when alien technology would get in destructive or government hands, that sort of thing. That was my job until the other week, when they asked me to kill a young woman for the crime of having a psychic being from my neck of the proverbial woods within her as a host. Totally innocent. But, like the CIA, my people have no problem killing people for the greater good." He makes a faint face. "I used to be like that quite happily, when I was much younger. But forty years or so on this planet, I've come to like you all. And realized that all that expansionist militaristic stuff is bullshit."

    He pauses, reaching for his cup, and takes a sip. "With me so far?"

June Connor has posed:
    "So...you went AWOL because you were told to off one person?" June asks, a skeptical wince on her face. "I mean, it's not like the end of the world. So why pick that moment? Was this psychic thing some kind of boost that made her strong or something?" she shrugs her hands, apparently the argument isn't quite as stirring to her as it might be to some people. "Or was she like a single mom or somethin'?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He grins faintly. "I know, I know. Why throw it all in the air over one person. Nah, it was more...years and years of it, you know? And before I came to this planet I killed a /lot/ of people in the service of the Empire. I knew that they'd likely be coming someday, and they don't..." Michael pauses. "Hey, how are you on ancient history? You know anything about the Roman Empire?"

June Connor has posed:
    "They...liked to wear togas and were all balemic," June says. "And... I think one of their emperors burned it down or something?" Yep, there's the extend of her knowledge. She didn't even make it through high school.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael chuckles, shaking his head. "Something like that," he said. "Basically your Roman Empire - that is, 'your' as in 'human' - expanded. The Romans believed in a sort of inherent superiority to other people. So, if you're better than everyone else, why not expand and take over? 'The Light of Rome' cleansing away the darkness of lesser peoples, that sort of thing. Well, in a very real way, that's what my people are like. The Empire spans a galaxy."

    He pauses to take another sip of coffee. "Frankly, that's bullshit. It just took me a couple of decades away from home to get it out of my system. And when tested..." Michael shrugs. "And morality aside, the Empire needs punched in the face and told 'no'. They're bullies. Frankly, aside from the people you mentioned, there are a number of massive alien governments who all like this planet for one reason or another and there's a good chance that they're going to try and take this world at one time or another. Throne knows that some already have tried. So! You're between jobs, I'm in a transitional state, and on top of all that there are plenty of people right here on the planet who are busy causing trouble with all sorts of offworld technologies and the like. So. Want to help me keep people from taking over, or generally messing with, your planet? Plenty of things to be done from the aspect of espionage and smaller-scale operations like you've likely been trained in."

June Connor has posed:
    June's smug demeanor starts to slip as she's given the rundown of how precarious Earth's position is. Even with some of the most powerful heroes on the planet, the span of the galaxy makes it feel very small. "Yeah," she frowns, looking off into the middle distance. "That, uh..." She laughs nervously. "You know how to make somebody feel like a speck, you know that?" she says. Perhaps she shouldn't have asked to know everything. She grabs her sandwich up again, and takes a rather aggressive bite to chew. What is she supposed to say to all that?

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He nods once, equal parts understanding and sympathy in his features. "Yeah, I can see how you'd feel that way," he replies. "It's a ridiculous vastness. But look - before you start feeling that way too much, remember that my people sent a fleet here and cause trouble, with ships and technology thousands of years in advancement of humanity, and Earth's heroes handed them their ass. So the potential is there. Just gotta stay vigilant. Which is where I come in. And, hopefully, you too."

June Connor has posed:
    Suddenly, June takes a rather suspicious appearance. "You're actually fucking with me," she decides. "You're good, like...I actually believed it for a sec." She gives a grin and a wagging point of a finger. "Damn, you should be a con man, you'd shake people for everything." She laughs, as if deciding that this can't be real. "I'm fucking eighteen years old, never finished high school, my only major accomplishment in life is managing not to be dead yet, but you might have noticed that there's a little more luck than skill involved on that front. What the actual fuck do you think I would be able to do to be able to do ANYTHING to stop shit like that? What are you REALLY selling? Just shoot it straight."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "When I was your age I was already in the Imperial military cadres for three years," Michael says placidly. "Leading troops across the lava fields of Kan'theeru. I know potential. And I've been a spy and saboteur for the better part of six decades. Part of spycraft is being able to size people up: you're good at manipulation, you're good in a fight - not as good as you could be, but I can help you fix that. I'm going to tell you a lot of things you might decide not to believe, June, but I'm not going to lie to you. Lying to anyone but the enemy is entirely counterproductive. More people need to learn that."

    He reaches for his cup again. "Look. You don't want to help me, that's fine. I will understand it. But please, don't do us both the discourtesy of pretending I'm feeding you a line. Not in this world we live in. Not with what goes on in plain sight every day." He looks at her from over the rim of the cup as he takes another sip, blue eyes piercing. "And frankly, I think you know very well when someone's bullshitting you."

June Connor has posed:
    June clearly doesn't WANT it to be true. It's a remarkably uncomfortable thought. "Look, I know aliens and shit are real, we had them on the news and everything," she confesses. "But you're tellin me that you're like a hundred years old and now you want me to help you." Math apparently isn't her strong suit either. "You're seriously fucking with my head, and I already felt small enough, okay?" she says. "I really don't have anything to think about this. I'm from the street. People like me don't fight aliens. We have gang wars and shit on each other instead of doing something more constructive with our lives." At least she has an awareness of her own nature.

     She stands up, maybe a little out of range of the cone of silence, and looks around the busy cafe. "I mean, look at this?" she says, "This is a step up from my 'everyday' routine." She paces a little, unaware of whether she's in range, and it seems a little beyond her concern for the moment. She finally sits back down, having given herself a little breathing room. "Okay, so say a second that I bought into this, right?" she asks, holding her hands in front of her as if they were a guide to keep the conversation on track. "Just what the hell kind of espionage do you need?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael's quiet, watching her pace about without much reaction - after all, he saw this coming the moment she started to question. He reaches over to touch the side of the device, perhaps expanding its range of effectiveness, and then again once she returns to sit down. "Nothing you haven't already done," he says. "Watching from afar, planting bugs, hat sort of thing. I wouldn't ask you to kill someone, and I wouldn't ask you to...well. Sleep with anyone." He makes a faint face as he says that. "I'm from the military end of spycraft - I don't like doing the deep cover thing where people end up hurting innocents or whatever. We're talking more 'don black balaclava, rappel through a vent' at most, not 'sleep with the target's wife and get her to turn against them'. When I wasn't watching the metahuman and alien community for my people, I was largely working on dismantling much more street-level operations. Stealing offworld relics from the homes of wealthy assholes, that sort of thing."

    A beat. "Also? I'm not a hundred. I'm seventy-one. I was born in what your calendar would mark as 1950. And if you were small, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You might /feel/ small right now, but you aren't small in the slightest."

June Connor has posed:
    June shrugs. "That's pretty much what I do already. Are you gonna be a bitch if I have to kill someone?" she asks, the question inverted. Someone her age probabl shouldn't be so callous alread to such activity, but she is. "And really, the one thing I do pretty good is I can figure a way into just about anywhere. So what's the pay?" she asks. Yeah, there's that.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Like I said." He chuckles. "And I'd prefer you not kill people unless it's absolute in self-defense or to protect innocents. I know shit happens, but I'm not in love with just popping people off." His brows arch. "As for pay, I'll draw up a contract. Likely we'll be looking at a per-assignment rate, plus a monthly retainer. Do you have problems signing on for regular security work with my firm as well? It would make a regular cashflow easier for me to provide. We can tailor assignments to fit your skillset and how much bullshit you're willing to deal with." A grin. "Which I imagine might be fairly low, but if you can keep from biting the clients I'm sure you'll do fine."

June Connor has posed:
    "Sure," June says hesitantly, but behind her eyes, there seems to be a great reservation about the idea of paperwork. "Uh, but I never done anything that has a..." she's looking for the word 'onboarding', but only comes up with, "Paperwork." Surely she's never had employment in her life that was on any kind of record. "And like, you don't ask questions about my background and stuff, right?" she clarifies. "Because, if you do, I'm gonna have to hard pass."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael's brows arch very slightly. "June," he says, "You're coming out of a clan of shadowy ninja assassins and you're what, eighteen? Nineteen years old? I'm pretty sure you've got a whole closet full of skeletons. I'm not interested in counting bones. Besides, it's possible I might be able to get all that nonsense wiped so you can actually breathe without worrying about them falling out an drowning you."

    Michael's quiet a moment, then, and goes to drain his cup. "Look. I said before I was in the military by the time I was your age. I was actively helping conquer planets. Interrogating prisoners. I got the 'bad background story' down, so I understand - or at least I do to a point. I can't claim to be directly in your place of experience. But even if you decide not to do this with me, I'll see if I can help you. Because regardless of bullshit, it's nice when you can get a real blank slate, right?"

June Connor has posed:
    "Yeah," she admits, avoiding eye contact. "I guess it would. Okay, well, fuck it, let's do this. You only die once, right?" She slaps the table. "Probably another shit decision going somewhere to happen, but hell, it's not like I don't have those on a daily basis. So what now?"