– So Doc, are my results in?
– They are. And they’re not good.
– Oh no. What is it?
– You have an Iron Gregarion deficiency.
That’s right baby, we’ve got ourselves more interaction with the totally-not-gay crime lord. You guys know why he has to wear an eyepatch, right? Yup. Took a dick in the eye.
Okay, so first of all you don’t call me a whoremonger, or I’m gonna call you Iron Gaygarion. But oooh, money you say offscreen! Iwis, milord, off we go.
Girls, ten-HUT! I want you perky, and moist where moist needs be felt. Diana, you take the lead.
See, Kaywin? You’re new to the business, but Diana’s a practiced pro of many years, she knows how to get resul…
I see. How unfortunate. Between me falling asleep on a guy during an orgy, and Diana who can’t even get a raise from a random guard, we’re not exactly killing it right now.
But fundamentally, the excess of information makes it more funny than threatening. Of course he’s going to ventilate us “with bullets.” How else would he do it? With a fan? 
Cartel enforcers? As in Iron Cartel? Girls, onward, we seize the moment; here comes the charge of the tight brigade! This is what we face:
And this is the foray:
Luckily only the first four bullets connected—though already inflicting a whopping 27HP worth of damage—for had the rest of the attack not been a succession of misses, Zafra would have been well and truly ventilated.
I cast Shield on Zafra, then freeze the second Thug Gunner:
Seeing how she’ll venture forth in front of the rest and probably play receptacle to a few more bullets, Zafra uses Disciplined Toughness on herself:
Then Fighting Spirit:
Then Run followed by simply moving, to bring her closer to the thugs:
And finally Charge at the robot:
But miserably, she misses:
The drone retaliates on his turn, after which Diana promptly re-applies Shield on Zafra:
And casts Memory Blast, to good effect:
Kaywin, discovering within herself manners of carnal turmoil she had thus far never suspected could exist, gently caresses Zafra, and it feels so good the latter is healed by a tiny amount; then the former, grown ireful with sapphic fury, brings a thug to within 1HP of death and at once manages to inflict Burn on him, sealing his fate:
I, on the other hand, suffer the conflagration caused by Incendiary Ammo:
Fastforward to the end, when Zafra gets the last laugh afore we can glory in the spoils:
The eventuation is partially spoilerful.
The room guarded by the thugs was a tiny one for storage, and I discover they were in fact Stormbreakers engaged in clandestine activity of undetermined nature. Ere long I am joined by Iron Gregarion who, trusting in my womanly instinct for self-preservation, knew it to be a good idea to use me as a distraction while he assaulted the Stormbreakers from the west.
Though greatly lacking in detail of any kind, enough so I can’t determine if it is or is not further manipulation on his part, he purports the Stormbreakers are “hankering to do something big, something bad for everyone in MoonFall.”
And he proposes an alliance. He wants to rise to the top, he says. Wants me to climb with him, he says.
Also, he wants to climb me.
Flattering, but… nah. I’ll pass.
In the end, when asking me for an alliance, he insisted I answer immediately. Considering the possibilities, I accepted. He’s a bastard, and I don’t like him one bit; but at least I know where he stands—in his mind: atop everything and everyone else—and thus know not to trust him but to serve himself and himself alone. That, to me, has a certain value.
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