All I can say is that it sounded like a good idea at the time. The group decided we needed to check out the Tarsis facility in Cairo, since that’s the last place that Stephanie saw her sister. The question was how to get there. We were given a lead on a pilot named Tripper, who could help us out. Word was that if we did him a favor, he could do us a favor. He hung out at a joint in the zone called the Dreasel Pit. Steve, Pete and I went down to the place to check things out. Corey was too busy providing Mama Cass with some lovin. In other words, he was the smart one.
The Dreasle Pit was every bit as lovely as you can imagine, but then it fit in so well with the rest of the neighborhood. We went in and ordered a couple of Dreasel burger, which I have to admit weren’t too bad. They tasted a little like chicken with sort of a fishy undertone, sort of like frog or turtle. We found out later what was in them.
Tripper was in the back, arguing with his girlfriend. We went over to talk to him, and I noticed that a lot of people seemed to be heading down into what looked like the basement. Tripper himself seemed more or less OK. He told us that the basement was where they held fights of some sort, and he had placed a lot of money on one of the fighters. They weren’t human fighters. They fought dogs, cocks and, you guessed it, dreasels. They were what was left over from an old bioengineering experiment, and the sewers were full of them.
Tripper had bet on a dreasel called Thunderbird, and he wanted us to eliminate the competition. We agreed, and since Thunderbird was a 3 to 1 underdog, we put some of our own money on him. Since everybody but me is broke, when I say our money, I mean my money, but it seemed like a pretty safe bet. The other fighter was being kept nearby in a tenement building. Tripper said there was security, but we figured it would still be a pretty quick in and out. Wrong.
The front had armed guards and the back was surrounded by an electric fence. Who puts an electric fence around a tenement? We called Corey to see if he could bypass the security on the back fence. He showed up about a half hour later, but it quickly became apparent that this lock was beyond his pay grade. With that, we gave up on subtlety, and Pete took out the front guards with a grenade. We went in, and that’s when things started to go south. The elevator was gone, like it had been completely destroyed, and frankly, it wasn’t that big a grenade, so something else must have done it. There were also no stairs that we could find. Instead, there were ladders leading from one floor to the next. The apartment number we had been given was 2B, so we headed up the ladder to the next floor.
We took out a guard on that floor but he was still alive. I might not be the noblest guy in the world, but I couldn’t just leave a human being lying there to bleed to death. I tried to stop the bleeding, but before I could do much else, Steve shot the guy. He executed somebody in cold blood who was essentially our prisoner. He keeps trying to play up that he’s the one with the combat experience, but what he did constitutes a war crime. I’m becoming more and more convinced that he’s completely out of control.
Unfortunately there wasn’t anything more I could do for the guy, so we went in search of 2B. The problem was that all the numbers on this floor started with 3. While we were pondering that little difficulty, somebody with a 50 cal. sniper rifle shot me. If that weren’t bad enough, the other guys went outside to find the sniper, and they got opened up on with an auto turret. By the time everything was said and done, everybody was bleeding. Of all of us though, Corey was looking the worst.
We wasted a lot of time searching for a way to the 2nd floor. Eventually we tried going down the elevator shaft, but couldn’t get the door open. In order to find 2B, I ended up going through an air shaft. You should have seen Steve and Pete, all beefed up, trying to follow me. Sometimes being the little guy is not a bad thing.
What I found was a room full of cats with something that looked like a lizard man in a cage. I figured that this was a dreasel and wasted it, but not before the scaly little bastard spit acid on me. After that, we headed back to the Dreasel Pit to let Tripper know we had completed the job. When it came time for the match they announced that the fighter Thunderbird was scheduled to go against was a no show, and they were substituting another dreasel in his place. We thought we were all set, but even with our help, Thunderbird got his ass kicked. If that weren’t bad enough, it turned out that Tripper had bet his plane, so now we had a pilot but no plane, a bunch of bullet holes for our trouble and I was out three grand plus a boat load of medical bills. So much for favors.