New Dornalia
25-07-2005, 16:31
Somewhere in London, Earth SSR-
"What a bloody mess."
Joe MacAllister was wondering who left the tools out now.
Damn cats. Must have been the mechanic.
He wandered about the headquarters where 4 Commando Securities, Ltd., was based. He took a drag off of his cigarette, and put it out in the ashtray. He went to his desk, and looked at the reports. So far, so bad.
4 Commando was technically illegal, but a little loophole kept them alive. The Workers State had forbidden its citizens from organizing their own mercenary companies for some reason, but they let private security companies, like rent-a-cops, go. So, many mercs, when the law was enforced on the planet on the 24th of June with the reunification of Earth, many mercs and militia nuts abroad had simply changed their names and filed incorporation writs. After all, the law was awfully sketchy on what private secuirty companies could arms themselves with.
Of course, since then, there wasn't any business. In the old days, Joe MacAllister, ex-Colonel in the Territorial Army during the Imperial days turned mercenary, had led 4 Commando well, doing tough jobs no government could do would dare do themselves. They had led missions that owuld have made new Apocalypses, they had done things that would have made it into the history books. But now....they had nothing. The best paying job they had gotten so far was a gig guarding some pampered movie-star who didn't think her security got it done. She paid them peanuts, barely enough to buy new lasguns, slugthrowers, and AFVs-those ex-Army Spartans were awfully pricey.
The office itself resembled a grimy machine shop, at home more in Tijuana, Mexico, rather than the East End of London. An old firehouse, it held fifty men and women, who cleaned their machines, guns, and mostly sat around, watching old animes and surfing the internet for decent hentai and for anybody that needed mercenaries.
Good thing that was about to change.
The phone rang. Joe picked it up, and said, "Hello?"
A voice came over the line. Thickly accented with a Chinese lilt, the voice, a woman's, said, "You are 4 Commando?"
Joe said, "No this is Bob's Pizza. Of course its bloody 4 Commando. What do you need?"
The voice said, "Ah yes. Send a representative to Liverpool Station. I have a job for you."
The voice hung up the phone. Joe was suspicious, but the prospect of a job, any job, seemed to be good enough. He picked up the phone again, and called on the intercom for one of his employees, Callsbury. He came, saying, "yes sir?"
Joe said, "Mike, I want you to go to Liverpool Station. There's a Chinese woman there, she says she has a job for us."
Mike raised his eyes and said, "Wouldn't she have contacted us personally? I'm not quite sure about about this."
Joe said, "Look, a job offer is a job offer. So....go."
Mike then sighed, and said, "Fine."
He put on some decent clothes, and holstered a slugthrower, an old Ruger SP-101, loaded with .38 Special +P. He walked out to his car, a new Toyota Hover Express, and got in, driving out of the place.
He sped past the rows of apartments, clean and seedy, businesses, respectable and hole-in-the-wall, and other spots, good and bad, in the city. The Apocalypse had done a number on the area. Parts of the East End still looked like a DMZ, though new buildings were going up and some signs of life still emerged. Construction crews and HAZMAT teams were still picking up the mess, be it new trash or Apocalyspe-era UXBs, or even the odd radioactive mess.
Having driven past this area everyday, he learned to numb himself to his surroundings. But things still looked very bleak.
"What a bloody mess."
Joe MacAllister was wondering who left the tools out now.
Damn cats. Must have been the mechanic.
He wandered about the headquarters where 4 Commando Securities, Ltd., was based. He took a drag off of his cigarette, and put it out in the ashtray. He went to his desk, and looked at the reports. So far, so bad.
4 Commando was technically illegal, but a little loophole kept them alive. The Workers State had forbidden its citizens from organizing their own mercenary companies for some reason, but they let private security companies, like rent-a-cops, go. So, many mercs, when the law was enforced on the planet on the 24th of June with the reunification of Earth, many mercs and militia nuts abroad had simply changed their names and filed incorporation writs. After all, the law was awfully sketchy on what private secuirty companies could arms themselves with.
Of course, since then, there wasn't any business. In the old days, Joe MacAllister, ex-Colonel in the Territorial Army during the Imperial days turned mercenary, had led 4 Commando well, doing tough jobs no government could do would dare do themselves. They had led missions that owuld have made new Apocalypses, they had done things that would have made it into the history books. But now....they had nothing. The best paying job they had gotten so far was a gig guarding some pampered movie-star who didn't think her security got it done. She paid them peanuts, barely enough to buy new lasguns, slugthrowers, and AFVs-those ex-Army Spartans were awfully pricey.
The office itself resembled a grimy machine shop, at home more in Tijuana, Mexico, rather than the East End of London. An old firehouse, it held fifty men and women, who cleaned their machines, guns, and mostly sat around, watching old animes and surfing the internet for decent hentai and for anybody that needed mercenaries.
Good thing that was about to change.
The phone rang. Joe picked it up, and said, "Hello?"
A voice came over the line. Thickly accented with a Chinese lilt, the voice, a woman's, said, "You are 4 Commando?"
Joe said, "No this is Bob's Pizza. Of course its bloody 4 Commando. What do you need?"
The voice said, "Ah yes. Send a representative to Liverpool Station. I have a job for you."
The voice hung up the phone. Joe was suspicious, but the prospect of a job, any job, seemed to be good enough. He picked up the phone again, and called on the intercom for one of his employees, Callsbury. He came, saying, "yes sir?"
Joe said, "Mike, I want you to go to Liverpool Station. There's a Chinese woman there, she says she has a job for us."
Mike raised his eyes and said, "Wouldn't she have contacted us personally? I'm not quite sure about about this."
Joe said, "Look, a job offer is a job offer. So....go."
Mike then sighed, and said, "Fine."
He put on some decent clothes, and holstered a slugthrower, an old Ruger SP-101, loaded with .38 Special +P. He walked out to his car, a new Toyota Hover Express, and got in, driving out of the place.
He sped past the rows of apartments, clean and seedy, businesses, respectable and hole-in-the-wall, and other spots, good and bad, in the city. The Apocalypse had done a number on the area. Parts of the East End still looked like a DMZ, though new buildings were going up and some signs of life still emerged. Construction crews and HAZMAT teams were still picking up the mess, be it new trash or Apocalyspe-era UXBs, or even the odd radioactive mess.
Having driven past this area everyday, he learned to numb himself to his surroundings. But things still looked very bleak.