Fulcrum

The Enigma

Species	Huvarin
Role	Face, Tactician
Identifying Traits	None

Fulcrum is a Huvarin - supposedly - of exceptional intellect and foresight. Middle aged at the least, Fulcrum is recognized most often by his older stylings in equipment and ever observant demeanour; but his reputation for an exceptional intellect has become almost a legend of its own.

The Rumour Mill

Shared over a pair of drinks, the local cop Maro and her ex-mercenary contact Fox, discuss the rumours, hearsay and intel caught amongst the conversations and peoples of Megastructure B7 from the comforts of their favourite restaurant and meeting place, The Mystery Deli.

"Couldn't find a damn thing." Maro started, palms shown and frustration evident - a double whisky signalled to quell the nerves.

"On the old guy, I presume. Come on I gave you every name, alias, even photographs. You're telling me even on your end you can't even find some sliver of truth."

"Nothing concrete. Every alias you gave me is incomplete - a person that never fully existed. A birth record with fictional parents here, arrest warrants with no identifying information that can match up to the database. I tried asking up the chain but was told there was nothing to be found. Why? What's got you so curious about the retiree?"

"You remember Expat, right? From the old crew? Might as well have been a doppleganger, and this, this is that plus knowledge that has one half of B7 thinking he's actually a dragon in disguise, and the other half wondering if he's a in with either your lot or the local mafias as some sort of information broker and confidence man."

"Well it's not Expat, he's dead, you confirmed that yourself. And look, he's a retiree whose identity has probably just slipped through the cracks. Between the collapse, the rebuild, Tark taking over, lots of data got lost. But he keeps to himself and knows a lot. Maybe he's just on the web alot."

"So I guess that would mean the fact he looks damn well like this guy from an old 'Wanted; Highly Dangerous' notification yet your bosses didn't tell you is just coincidence. Maybe it's good genes." Fox muttered, sliding over a picture.

"... Could be him, sure, if you squint after a few pints. Come on, the jawline, the nose is outright broken and your guy looks pristine. Look, the best I could find is that he's just a bloke who talks his ass off about anything and everything, and is good at sussing out info. He's a talker, he's Jackdaw's Huvarin Twin I'm sure."

"So it's a distant match in his face, but... Fuck me, maybe it is nothing. Still, you can't tell me he's not suspect. Even while talking up, he's got eyes on everyone and everything - you don't learn that on the street, you learn that in a room of guys telling you if you miss something, you're going to get shanked."

"So you think he's mafia, then? Organized crime?"

"All I know is, you don't get that wary, and have that much information, and have everyone thinking you're either crime or police, and get away with the coincidence of innocence. Thing is? All of that stuff, you can prove it all wrong. If he was a dragon, at least one mage would've pinged it - unless he's the fucking General which I doubt. If he was mafia, we'd have goons crawling the place. If he was intel, he'd have a detail that you, or I would've spotted. If he was most wanted, you'd have him."

"What do you have, then? You've got to have something, or you wouldn't be talking my ear off about it."

"He's got a piece, a weapon. Seraph Gunsmiths, right? Top of the line. I heard one thing, that might have a grain of truth - that he didn't buy that. It was given to him, a reward for saving one of the gunsmiths' lives." Fox cussed. "... I got that from fucking Takka. Blitzed out Nova could just be wanting an excuse to get his hands on it himself if he gave me intel I believed."

"So... What you're saying is...?"

"I have no idea what the fuck he is, and if you don't either - that makes him nothing short of an informational black hole."