Ryker pushed aside the tarp and led the way into his workshop, his boots crunching on scattered bits of wire and cracked circuitry.
The sharp scent of oil and scorched plastic clung to the air. Iora and Ryn stepped in behind him,their eyes flicking around the cluttered space as tension hummed between them.
They had done enough looking around at the market place and now they had a location: Sir Gordon's space. It was going to be difficult to get to Karl but they would try. They had to.
Ryker looked around the space that used to be a home. It was scarred, burnt, scattered. His equipment and tech were burned, and some vandalized.
Without a word, Ryker moved to a dented chest tucked into the far corner. He typed in a code on the battered keypad, waited for the soft hiss, and then lifted the lid. Inside were weapons, gear, and dark clothing meant to pass for surface-wear. He tossed a cloak to Iora and one to Ryn, pulling a thick pistol and a curved blade for himself.
