Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25389303-20190215181425

"My men know their place, as you should know yours," Diaboli told Hazel's retreating figure. Had the stalker told him that a month ago, the words would have stung more than they were meant to. Now, though, it only brought a sense of satisfaction to the man, considering he had successfully purged the last of the rebellious remnants plaguing the Patched's sprawling network.

"As do I," Diaboli then said in response to Brunhilde's invitation. Then, muttering under his breath as he turned away, "...not that I would have accepted anyway..."

With a nod of farewell to Crim - the only person whose neck he didn't want to snap at this point - Diaboli made his exit; disappearing into the passing crowds as suddenly as effortlessly as he had appeared. Unlike before, however, Diaboli had a specific destination in mind.

---

Several minutes later, the mob boss found himself amidst a new breed of ne'er-do-wells, with the passing figures now more commonly donning some kind of lab coat or Dust-stained jumpsuit in place of raggedy combat gear or the clothes of pampered aristocrats. The crowds had thinned as he distanced himself from the more central areas, and he felt pleasantly at ease amongst the more industrious members of Mistral's underworld, who had sectioned off their own part of the facility in order to present their own technological marvels. Many were unique prototypes of weaponry, machinery and vehicles, almost all of which Diaboli doubted met standard safety regulations, while others were more familiar goods of dubious sourcing.

After a short discussion with a man selling what were clearly Atlesian Knight knock-offs, Diaboli heard a female voice calling him name behind him. Or rather, one of his aliases. Turning to the sound of the voice, his eye caught the gaze of a middle-aged woman dressed in a smart, if uninspired, black suit.

"Mrs Nubit, good evening," Diaboli greeted with a neutral tone, trying to distance the lingering thoughts of his previous encounter as he focussed on the task at hand.

"Good evening to you too, Mr Washington," the woman replied in an equally inoffensive voice. "I hope things have gone well for you since our last meeting."

"Well enough," 'Washington' replied, fingers instinctively tracing the edges of his empty eye socket. "I was informed that my order had been completed?"

"Indeed it has," Mrs Nubit confirmed, gesturing to a large, eight-foot tall metal container standing beside her. "As per your specifications, we have attempted to replicate the original's design, and I believe you will be pleased with what we have accomplished. Please, see for yourself..."

With the press of a button, the front of the container slowly opened up with the unravelling of multiple magnetic locks, revealing the valuable contents within. The mere sight of it made Diaboli's eye widen with delight, and he couldn't help a large grin spread across his face at the thought of seeing it in action.

"It is a thing of monstrous beauty," he said gleefully, allowing himself to marvel at the mechanical creature's armoured frame for some time before turning back to his companion.

"Your people have outdone themselves, Mrs Nubit," he told her with genuine admiration. "Still, it lacks one important component..."

From a small container clipped to his belt, Diaboli retrieved a small object. A silvery spherical device, roughly the size of a tennis ball, pulsated in the palm of his hand, while slivers of golden light escaped between the many shifting metal plates that formed its metallic surface. The mob boss felt his skin beneath the metal warm and cool with its every digital heartbeat, and for a moment he wondered whether this was what it felt like to be a parent craddling their newborn child. The thought of it was strangely pleasant, though he didn't know why...

"Come on, Trago," Diaboli told the dormant A.I.. "It's time we showed you your new home."