Ano’s words echo incessantly in my head. “MoonFall will be invaded. This is the opportunity they need to break the Seal.”

And here I am, big dumb goof of a deluxe whore, who a short while ago helped the Stormbreakers cement their plans of invading MoonFall. And to think that at the last possible moment, I was provided the opportunity to throw a wrench into said plans.

So then, what do? What do indeed… It might be a huge mistake—certainly wouldn’t be my first; certainly won’t be my last—but perhaps good ol’ Greg, uncouth he of repugnant personality and cringeworthy spiked attire, could prove a balk to the coming invasion by imperial forces?

Last time I saw him, Greg intended to acquire the Seafoam Throne, whose significance would surely help him rise to greater power in MoonFall. To Dockside the girls and I go, to tell Greg we’ll help him in his endeavor.

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Ugh. So annoying. But fine, fine. We go to a warehouse wherein, if Greg’s information is true, the Seafoam Throne is housed.

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A fine plan; we brothel girls are quite skilled at hitting it from the back. Greg then explains there shouldn’t be much more than nobody guarding the back entrance. This said, he hands us some ‘face scramblers’, mask-like devices in case should we like to play it on the sly, I suppose. Then after asking us to wait for his signal, he leaves, to circle around the warehouse and start things on his front end.

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Diana dearie, Greg is a tool in more ways than one. At no point was trust involved in all this.

Shortly after, Greg gives the signal; but warns that a little shack some way in front of us girls supposedly houses a number of patrol droids in their charging docks.

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Ever keen of eye and mind both, I notice the door only opens outward. A fatal design flaw, which we promptly exploit by heaping against it a lot of random debris strewn about the area.

But strikes me the notion that metallic-thewed droids might nonetheless prove able to ram the door open. Thus I climb the nearby ladder, in a not merely impressive but in fact frankly spectacular display of athleticism (with a little boost from my companions, since my Athletics stat is actually very low); then once up there Kaywin the electro-mechanic prodigy gently throws me an improvised remote explosive, which I let roll into the shack’s climate control vents. Clang – clang – clonk – thud; and now I am sure the remote explosive has landed inside. I’ll detonate it if need be.

Quick and quiet, we try to make our unseen way into the warehouse. We see no one.

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A couple of steps forward, and:

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Begad, invisible guards! This is Degrodel’s home all over again. We are inevitably pulled into combat:

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Attacked by guard who weren’t there. Didn’t get to use our face scramblers to try and pretend we are sexy plumbers called for an emergency. Didn’t get to see or hear a super cool explosion in the droid shack. 2/10; would probably piss in the dev’s beer if I had the chance.

But no matter. Quick work is done of the puny guards, then the warehouse we enter:

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Perception check! These men… they’re of the Iron Cartel. Did Greg just kill his brothers-in-crime?

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Short hair, light brown skin, playful eyes; I voice my thoughts, admitting s/he’s kind of hot like that. His answer of course is crass, and dries me quicker than a Maxi Pad.

But what’s this I descry faintly shimmering about Gregarion’s neck, and his men’s too? Little chains, suspended to which are Stormbreaker badges. Just what is happening here? I have not the time to ask:

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At the mention of this Gray name, I sense Zafra tensing; and so too does Greg remark this. Then, prompted by the latter, one of the two kids—willing himself brave—makes a show of braggadocio:

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At this Greg laughs; a genuine, hearty laugh. After which he—still currently in the faceguise of a Stormbreaker—puts on a play for the two kids, claiming he was invited here by men of the Iron Cartel, to finalise some business proposition. But said Cartel men tried to renegotiate a formerly agreed upon accord. And look around, now; consider how rich, their idea.

An instant later, the two kids yell in unison as Greg shoots them in the ankle, before allowing them stumble away in a red trail. Then:

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Okay but seriously: what is going on? A simple yet cunning plan, says Greg. The old Senhor—who heads the Iron Cartel—will soon designate for himself a successor; and how terrible, should that position be handed to the wrong person. Now, following today’s events in this here warehouse, the two boys will report that Gray’s crew—rival to Greg—stole the Seafoam Throne and attempted to sell it to the Stormbreakers.

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This whole thing is going to come back and bite me in the ass, I’m sure of it.

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