HUB 360

[robotdick]

This merry little haunt wasn't familiar to Nick, but the address was correct, for what it was worth. There weren't many buildings with penthouses intact, but Hancock had told him to show up here, so here he was. Honestly, as he came up the stairs, Nick wasn't entirely certain what to expect.

Was it a stash house? No, Hancock and he had a tentative understanding about chems. Nick didn't comment and Hancock didn't do them right in front of him if he could help it. It was about the best the synth could hope for, and a fair improvement on their previous arrangement of: nothing.

Was it a new settlement? Bit of a stretch but Evaris did have ecclectic moods.

Maybe he...Nick came up blank. He didn't have a clue or a chance in hell of divining one, so he shouldn't waste the breath (figurative) trying to hash it out. He just stuffed his hands in his pockets, kept his revolver at the ready in case this locale wasn't secure yet, and trudged up more flights of stairs than he cared to count.

At the top he stepped out of the stairwell and through time. One second he was in the Commonwealth and the next he was standing on fine plush carpet in Boston, MA. This place was an absolute time warp, like walking into a photograph, and Nick was entirely thrown as he let the door behind him close and cautiously wandered in.

No turrets...so that was a start.

Cameras? Didn't spot one, didn't see any mics either but he was sure there were a few. This place had electricity and...was that hum an airconditioner?

"Where the hell am I?"

Comments

[chem_break]

The Noir Penthouse is all that and a bag of chips, dig? The place had been sealed Not Quite Vault Tight for-- hell, longer than Hancock can remember. Once in a while, like clockwork, folks would try to bust in; but there was always somewhere more assessible to crash, especially when one wise guy or another started laying old mattresses on the street.

Three Guesses who eventually came long and popped the cork (cracked the puzzle) on this place? Yeah that's not important right now.

The first moment those elevator doors swished open so smooth, the Ghoul already had Designs. Schemes, even. If 'show off sweet new real-estate because it's so rad' can be called those things. That's the patron thought anyway, never-mind all the smaller ones that run in subconscious neurons underneath. Nope, there's definitely no hidden agenda here.

Okay, maybe he does wanna neck the guy a little, but nothing more.

... Not like The Noir Penthouse has office space, or anything. No, it does have a huge empty floor. Not like it could be an office, or like...

Okay back on track here.

"Hey Nick!" The Ghoul calls from across the apartment. Since Nick took the stairs, they're now on the second floor, featuring the flashiest amenities in the whole building. It's all chic greys and blacks, blue neon edging lights and a full set of furniture that looks pristine save for the dust. Hancock comes striding through the center of the space, a large lavish Livingroom, just a touch of extra zeal to his typically exuberant smile.

"You finally made it! Get a'load'a this place, huh? Ain't it wild?" he's caught a bit awkwardly between wanting to show off everything at once and-- well, basking in the mildly awed look on Nick's face.

Interrogation - Good Cop/Sexy Cop

[robotdick]

[Nick's repurposed his upstairs room, moved in a security table he pulled out of the Boston P.D.'s holding rooms. It's a relic, as is the spotlamp he's got hooked up and placed on it, but it paints a surprisingly accurate image of what detainment was like back in the day. Nick had offered to replace the fixed cuffs with something a little less official, but Hancock had assured him that the old double locks would work just fine. They were heavier duty than the pair Nick carried with him, had longer chain on them too. They didn't seem particularly alluring to the synth but something in them seemed to get the ghoul interested.

He'd taken a few other things on his little shopping trip: the corkboards, at least the salvageable ones, detainment benches in processing, and he had planned on pulling the bars and benches from the drunk tank, but those required a few more tools than he'd had on hand. Some of it was expressly for this, like the table, but the majority was for work. Good Neighbor was largely peaceful but, before he'd moved in, the standard way to address grievances was good old fashioned stabbing. He didn't like to ruffle feathers in passing, but now that he was in the roost a slight shift in policy was in order.

So, here he is, with Hancock seated in a metal chair, hands cuffed, tethered to the recessed divot in the center of the table and secured with a welded bolt. With the lights off, rooms in Nick's place were dark. With that one spot on, everything was high contrast, including the file he'd set up just for this. That might have been going overboard, admittedly, but Hancock had wanted realism.

Still, Nick wonders if he's missed the point of this exercise.

The scene wasn't one that he generally thought exuded sexiness, but Nick was a sucker for Hancock. The ghoul probably could have talked him into a french maid outfit if he did it while they were goin' at it, so getting Nick to set all this up wasn't too much of a stretch. When he throws down the file onto the table, lets the "evidence" fall out so the perp can see it, Nick's pretty sure he's lost him to distraction the way he cranes his neck to read the rap sheet he conjured up.

Definitely overboard.]

Alright, Johnny, I've got you dead to rights.

[Nick announced, leaning into the circle of light and slamming his hands on the cool steel table.]

Your pal, Jimmy--yeah, ol' Jimmy the Snitch--turned on you faster than you can say plea bargain. I know all about the embezzling, the racketeering, the funds siphoned from your campaign--it's all here.

Give me one good reason I shouldn't throw you behind bars and lose the key.