WAR: Sock of Ages
by Liz the Lucky
Tuesday, July 30, starting at 2:00 pm.
Headquarters of the N&NPackers, the Vaquera/os, the Natpackers
and the IBs.  Toronto.


At the headquarters of the Nick&NatPackers, the doorbell rang.

"Pizza!" cried Rebecca.  She ran to the door and opened it.

It wasn't pizza.  It wasn't even a cute pizza-delivery man.  It was a
red-head in a purple wheelchair. 

"Hi.  I'm Liz the Lucky.  Mind if I come in?"  She didn't wait for an
answer.  She just wheeled herself in, barely missing a few toes. 

"Sorry, the Purple Death's heavier than I'm used to.  I'm still having
trouble handling it." 

Soulseek entered the room.  "I know you.  You're a Merc.  What are you
doing here?" 

"A Merc?"  Said Kevin.  "We're getting attacked this early?"

"No, you're not.  I'm not even working for anyone right now."  Liz lied. 
I just thought, since I was in the area, and since I don't post very much,
that I'd go and introduce myself and see what I could scrounge up." 

She rolled around the place, looking.  "So this is you headquarters, huh? 
Nice.  Anyway, so here's my card.  Let me know if I can be of any help. 
Bye." 

Liz wheeled herself over to the door and left.

For a minute, the 'Packers stared at the open door.

"What was that?"  Soulseek wondered.

"What was what?"  Judy asked.

"We just got visited by a Merc and she didn't try anything.  What's up?"

Rebecca shrugged.  "Maybe she was telling the truth.  When's that pizza
getting here.  I'm hungry." 

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From around the corner, Liz the Lucky took a remote control out of her
backpack, pressed a button and smiled.  Nobody had noticed her sticking
little cans of knock-out gas around the place.  Totally odorless and
colorless and best of all, totally harmless. 

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They looked around the place, but didn't find anything.  Finally, they
decided to put it out of their minds and forget about it.  Until, that is,
one by one they started dropping unconscious to the floor.... 

The door opened again and Liz the Lucky rolled back inside, this time
wearing a gas mask.  She looked around and checked the 'Packers, making
sure they were still breathing.  Killing your perspective employers was
not a good way to start a business relationship.  She gathered up what she
had come for and left. 

Back on the street, Liz took out her list and crossed off the first name. 
One down, three to go.  Next up, the Vaquera/os. 

Liz sat outside Vachon's church and pondered.  Rumor had it the Vaquera/os
were a little skiddish around Mercs these days.  Like it was our fault. 
We're just in it for the chocolate. Still, the little miss innocent
routine probably wouldn't work this time.  And she hadn't had an
opportunity to try out the rocket launchers yet.  It was a simple matter
to trade the garlic capsuls for sleeping gas bombs.  She stuck her helmet
back on, aimed at the windows and fired. 

A trip around the church, spreading sleeping-pill stuffed raisins (hey, I
read it in a book somewhere) took care of the geese.  And gave her time
for the gas to work. 

She put on the gas mask and headed for the door.  The retinal scan proved
difficult, but not impossible.  The only possible complication left was
Vachon.  Well, she hadn't had an opportunity to try her crossbow, either. 

Apparently, Vachon was still sleeping in the basement.  He never even
heard her. 

It was over too soon. 

Two down, two to go.  After the church, the Natpackers (good thing she
remembered to pack those gloves) and the Immortal Beloveds were a piece of
cake. 

Soon screams were heard in the vicinity of the four places as they all
realized that nobody had any socks.