[H3][color=gray]The Dreadnaughts[/color][/h3][hr] “Here’s your Strawberries and Cream Deluxe Swirl with extra sprinkles, miss.” A man said in his gruff voice. He bore a stocky figure, and a mean face adorned by muttonchops and a goatee. A pink polo shirt was covered by a white apron, and he wore a propeller beanie on top of his head. He leaned out the window of a large white van with a logo emblazoned across it that read, “The Candy Shack”, and it had a large neopolitan ice cream cone model on its roof. The older man handed the pink and white ice cream cone to a girl barely older than ten, and thanked her without so much as a smile. “Thank you for visiting the Candy Shack.” The girl’s worried mother hastily ushered her away from the man in the ice cream truck as she excitedly began enjoying her new cold treat by the boardwalk “You could try smiling, you know.” Said a voice from the man’s side. The gruff and stocky one turned to face his compatriot in the passenger seat. A tall man with black, slicked hair, wearing the same ridiculous outfit, and sitting with his chair scooched all the way back so that he could sit down with the brace on his leg. The man by the window glared at him. “Baron.” He said simply. “Washe.” Baron replied half-heartedly. He knew where this was going. “Shut the fuck up.” A lazy voice called out from the back. “And [i]finally,[/i] someone else gets the face of the old man’s ire! Alert the press, because a story worth coverage has, at last, emerged.” “I swear to God, Grit, I’m—“ “Hey, hey, hey,” Grit interrupted, “don’t you say the Lord’s name in vain! I get that you ain’t a believer, I know, but just entertain me on this one.” “Hi mister, can I—“ “I ain’t gonna entertain you a God da—“ [i]“Washe.”[/i] Baron interjected. He looked out the window past Washe. The older gentleman immediately turned around and looked down out the window. “Hi, lil lady. This is the Candy Shack. What do you want?” “Snowball!” The girl cheered. “Sure thing.” Washe said. [i]’Fuck coconut snacks.’[/i] He turned around and looked at Grit who was laying down in the back, beside the freezers and coolors, communications, storage trunks, and weapon racks. “Snowball.” He said to him. Grit rolled his eyes and lazily sat up before opening up one of the coolers and stuck an arm inside without looking, staring instead at his phone. Feeling around for a round shape, he found one, and as barely paying attention as he handed it to Washe. Washe felt both dumbfounded and furious as he watched their squad’s sniper carelessly attempt to give him a M68 hand grenade. “Snow. Ball.” Washe repeated. His anger was seeping into his voice. Grit looked up and saw what he was holding in his hand. Mouthing the words, “oh shit”, he deposited the explosive back where he found it (underneath the stock of sweets in the cooler) and came back with an actual Snowball this time. He gave it to Washe, and Washe handed it to the little girl in exchange for two dollars. Watching the event, Baron could only pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his face in second-hand embarrassment. “Well, let’s look at the bright side.” Said the psychologist in his attempt to lighten the mood. “This cover job can at least buy us a moderately priced dinner at a local dinery.” “Di’nt expect you to be the family dining environment type.” Washe said judgmentally. “Of course I am not,” Baron responded, “but the whole reason for this silliness is to subtly gather information, am I wrong?” “No, you are not.” “Of course I’m not.” And of course he wasn’t. Baron was a very cautious man, he didn’t like to be blind sighted by anything or anyone, and that cautiousness [i]did[/i] have consequences, but that was a minor price to pay. For instance, between installing themselves into Verthaven’s daily life, Maria’s eyes, and the information and codes provided by NEST that the Dreadnaught had never returned, they knew a lot about this city and what was happening in it. He knew all about Vuhong’s ordeal and he regretted that he was unable to help her, but that was a huge risk. It was already made clear that NEST has been compromised, so they could not be trusted. If the director had a hand in the conspiracy, so could powerful council members. So for the sake of the Dreadnaught’s presence in Verthaven being kept secret from the enemy, they had orchestrated their departure. For all anyone knows, the mercenaries were gone after removing the Fiends from the city. The only would who would reasonably believe otherwise was of course agent Vuhong, who was present with Baron upon discovering the conspiracy, and who is also aware that the Dreadnaughts [i]already knew[/i] that the Fiends weren’t the only problem. He just had to trust she wouldn’t out them and stir suspicion. “Anyways…” Washe said, rolling his eyes at Baron’s hauteur, “as for the current events revolving NEST, Big Hoss, and napping, I suggest that’s a fight we stay out of. Clearly, the bitch can’t keep track of her own children – this is the second time it has happened to her. But more than that, we don’t know enough about the enemy, and we don’t want to out ourselves so early in the game. We’ll let them war with whichever organization it was that did it, and we’ll just watch it unfold and siphon all the intel we can get from it. Once we get enough intel from all eligible threats, [i]then[/i] we can start the last operation and fuck ‘em all up in one sweep.” “Sounds reasonable…” Baron muttered. Sounds like Lihua is suffering through hell what with all that has happened in the past month. He was no soldier, so even if Baron was allowed to, there still wouldn’t be anything he could do to help in that fight. So instead, he must have his and Washe’s brain work together and execute the endgame plan that will finally make this big mess go away like it should. “This is going to be so boring!” Grit complained.