I'm gathering an elite force of eight mech pilot
s in a secret hideout under the Last Gasp Cafe
in the middle of the post-apocalyptic desert. We communicate with each other via puns involving obscure (possibly fictional) mathematicians, and each message sent is signed with a thumbnail picture of the sender's face, a la Lunar
. Once all eight are assembled, we will stage a coup
. I don't know why we want to stage a coup, or what we'll do once we've staged it -- presumably we'll just play it by ear
I was right on my way to pick up the fifth member of our team in a tunnel somewhere, near a bar sporting the sign no miners allowed, when I had to wake up to go to the bathroom and Jeska switched beds with me while I was gone. Well, no problem, I think, I'll just go right back to sleep and continue the story in lucid format. Which never happened, ah well.