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Shark Strife

Shark has come in his disguise as the crazy Cubricon civilian to follow up on things with Strife, right now he's talking to his imaginary friend, "Yeah.. yeah you are right."

Strife is busy at his desk. He hunches of a monitor, the corpse-blue light illuminating every line on his long face. He occasionally taps at the screen, frowning in deep concentration. He doesn't look up right away when he hears Shark - he simply waves his hand, beckoning.

Shark moves further inside, "So you wanted some information in exchange for what I was asking for, and I'm ready to offer you as much as I know about the Decepticons, but I have to inspect the parts that I need first to make sure the trade is even."

Strife finally looks up. His expression barely changes. The screen before him dims, but doesn't shut off. "Ah yes. The...multiple mech. Come in, please. Sit down. I have the parts." He stands, holding up one thin finger to tell Shark to wait before he disappears through a curtain behind him.

Shark takes a seat, only after making sure it's not set up to trap him somehow, "Good, hope you got the gyroscopic system too. Turns out old El Captane here is falling down all the time." he pauses and peers to his left, "You do SO." he snorts.

Strife reappears pushing a large silver case. "El Captane," he hums, "I don't suppose you'd ever care to tell me who exactly you mean - who you're talking to?" He wheels the case over to Shark and keys it open. It contains a well-ordered array of parts - including a gyroscopic system in fairly good condition.

Shark chuckles to that and points to his left - which is empty air, "That’s El Captane, his name of the cycle at least. Probably be something else tomorrow, he don't like folks knowing who he is and all that. Sort of has a bounty on his head and all that." he notes, then looks at the part, inspecting them carefully. "Hmm?" he glances to his left, then a nods, "Right. He wants to know that these are legit and all."

Strife looks incredulously to Shark's left, seriously doubting Shark's sanity. "I assure you," he says, unsure exactly whom he is addressing, "They are all in working order and have been obtained legally." He steeples his fingers. "Perhaps, while he inspects the parts, you could provide me with the promised information."

Shark moves the container off to the left, as if the invisible friend of his is about to inspect said parts. "Sure, thing. Anything in specific you were seeking?" he asks, "I've been gathering information about the Cons since we last spoke, but you may not want generalities."

"Perhaps generalities are a good place to start," says Strife, stroking his chin and looking at the case with an increasingly disturbed expression, "If you hit upon anything I have particular interest in, I can stop you." Strife doesn't care WHAT he learns. He just wants intel to pawn off to Jazz so that he can get an ear and, thusly, intel to pawn off on Starscream.

Shark kicks his feet up onto your desk and leans back on the chair. "All right then. In general, the Cons think they own the entire planet. Some parts of it they guard more fiercely than others. Especially around their base. Also I understand there is something they are protecting underground somewhere." he pauses, "There are rumors they are involved with the Cubricon mobs in some way or other. Haven't really got anywhere as to if the rumors were true of course since the mob gets really nasty if you get up into their business."

Strife hmms. "From what I have heard, conquest is indeed their main aim - for better or for worse." He looks at Strife's feet on his desk with a sneer of disdain. "Guarding something underground, you say... What do you know about that?"

Shark waits to see what you bite on or not, "I heard that one of the Cons lost a arm wrestling match at the local bar here. Also they have been seen hanging out at that bar off and on. I was at a match at the gladiatorial games a few cycles back, interesting stuff going on there. Whispers about some of the fighters are just Con prisoners being forced to fight. Couldn't prove that without looking suspicious." then he pauses and hmms, "Not a lot. They are guarding it really carefully. I got as close as I could. Whatever it is, it's big."

All of this is good, and warrants further investigation. But Strife wants to maintain a position of control, here. "All well and good," he says, "and of merit, my friend. You've earned your pay. Where did you say this underground secret lies? I may have heard of it fairly recently...

Shark ahs softly to the question, "Ever been underground near the volcano around Polyhex. That's where it is." he replies, a glance at his left, "He wants to know how good that gyroscopic system is, doesn't want a nasty surprise if it glitches up on him and all."

"I know the place," Strife replies, "though I've not been there myself. Rough trade there, I hear." Strife hears lots of things. "As for the gyroscope...It is last season's model, but in perfect working condition. I have tested it, and that is the only time it's been used to the best of my knowledge. Your 'friend' will find no fault in it." He wonders just how badly a non-existent entity could hurt himself anyway.

Shark nods to your words, "Rough period down there." he replies, "If you feel this information is good enough, then I shall take these now and arrange for the local medic to install them. Appreciate doing business with you."

Strife nods. Everything said here goes into his memory banks. He will download it into his database once Shark has left. "Yes, indeed. I believe this is adequate. More than adequate, really. Take the parts. If you need a replacement, come and visit me." He extends a skeletal hand. "I do hope we can do business in the future."

Shark glances at that hand, "No offense and all, but last time I shook someone's hand I got that nasty disease." he gets up from his chair, taking up the box of parts, "If I get more information and need something more, I'll be in touch."

Strife drops his hand to fold his arms across his chest. It's a defensive gesture, and if Shark is observant he may see that Strife doesn't entirely trust him. The coroner dips his chin, his narrow, violet optics on Shark's face. "Indeed. Do be in touch, friend." He looks to Shark's left. "El Captane. Well me, sir."

Shark nods, "Later then, Coroner Strife." then turns to head out, "C'mon Captain, we got some parts to get installed."

Strife watches Shark leave, his hand on his chin. The crazy Cubicronian reminds him of someone... he looks vaguely familiar, but Strife can't put a finger on who Shark reminds him of.