NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: A few tiny rules first:
1. No elves, vampires, greek gods, etc. Only normal humans, no genetic augmentations or cybernetic implants.
2. No futuristic weaponry. I'll provide a list of what's common in the time period.
3. No futuristic gear, like vests that stop a .308, etc.
4. No Action Heros i.e. Guys who can fire two .50 Desert Eagles at once, etc.

The purpose of this RP/RPG is to allow you to enter the life of an inner city gangster, hitman, whatever. There are four different organizations that are looking to recruit, I'll list them after the weapons list. Simply create a character, drop them in 1992 New York, and go from there. There's no set plot line, I'm just seeing if people would enjoy such a thread.

Maximum Inventory:
Hanguns: Six (Concealed)
SMG: 2 (1 Concealed, 1 in hand)
Assault Rifle/Long Rifle/Shotgun: 1 in hand (Does not pretain to the Widowmaker)

Approved Weapons:


Melee Weapons:
Switchblade (various lengths)
Baseball bat
Brass Knuckles
Trench Knife
Kitchen Knife
Chain
Lead Pipe
Crowbar

Handguns:
Glock 17
M92FS Berretta
AMT 1911 Hardballer
Gangbanger .25
.38 Special
Berretta Mini-Cougar
.357 Colt Python
.357 Desert Eagle
.44 Desert Eagle
.50 Desert Eagle
Redhawk .44
H&K SOCOM (Happy?)

SMG:
MAC-10
MP5-PDW
Uzi 9mm

Shotguns:
Widowmaker 12 gague (Sawn-off, breach loader)
Mossberg Persuader (Pump action, tube magazine)

Assault and Long Rifles
AK-47
30.06 Hunting Rifle


Criminal Elements:

The Golden Star
Category: Chinese Triad
Run by: Mao Lee
Location: Back room of the Lucky Dragon resturant, Chinatown
Highly Technical

The Russian Mafia
Category: Russian Criminal Sydicate
Run by: Mikhail Pusneli
Location: Basement of Moscow Imports, 2nd Street
Brutal


The Low Riders
Category: Mexican Drug Cartel
Run by: Pablo Ochoa (KIA)
Location: Pier #12, waterfront district
Currently without leadership




The Sons of Freedom
Category: Chop Shop/Auto Parts Smuggling Ring
Run by: Darry Fauker
Location: Fauker's Guns, Downtown




The Hood Folk
Category: Inner City Drug Dealership
Run by: Luther Bigsby
Location: Luther's Liquors, Downtown
Vengeful

OOC: SNiff ... NO HK handguns? Sniff ...

ANyway, what do you want for a description of our characters?

OOC: Typically, H&K handguns, while effective, (I'm a huge SOCOM fan) are often too expensive for your average gangster. I'll add more as I find them and approve of the time period. Character wise, I'd like something like this:

Name:
Nickname:
Age:
Gender:
Height:
Weight:
Hair Color:
Eye Color:
Race:
Skills:
Preferred weapon:
Rough Description:
Distiguishing Features: (Tattoos, scars, etc.)

That kinda thing.

[ooc: So, you can be an independent agent or work for one of the Big Four? Hey, I'm up for this.]

Name: Alan Salvatore
Nickname: Salvo
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11''
Weight: 187 pounds
Hair Color: Light brown
Eye Color: Blue
Race: Caucasian.
Skills: Lockpicking, breaking and entering, small arms fire, hacking
Preferred weapons: Uzi

Description: A rough, embittered child of the inner city, it's ocassionally rumored that Alan suffers from some form of psychosis, though it's not wise to mention this while he's around. Long term experimentation with exotic narcotic cocktails has left him permanently angry.

Spending his youth as a petty thief, he also managed to swipe an excellent collection of computer peripherals, patching them together and skivving off other people's connections to get onto the internet - where he spent whatever time not spent stealing on hacking.

He freelances as a facilitator for the highest bidder, but he's open to recruitment - that would mean an improvement in his wardrobe, for one, which consists of ratty workboots, badly faded jeans, a stained t-shirt and businessman's black coat, badly worn.

Very lean bloke, something of a ratty goatee and a very angry gaze. Light brown hair that's always messy. He can clean himself if the situation requires it, though.

Distinguishing features: Faded scar down left cheek from earlobe to chin, several tattoos.

OOC: Let's keep this as real as possible, uno uzi, por fravor.

Name: Supposedly Laura Goth, as that's the name she gives people or prospective employers, but no-one's sure if that;'s her real name or just something she makes up to mask her trail.
Nickname: 'Chick' behind her back, although anyone who called her that to her face would find their ability to reporoduce permanently empaired.
Age: Unknown. It's speculated she's under 30, although she's pretty enough that she could be twenty-two.
Gender: Duh ... Female.
Skills: Passive intimidation (She scares people). She's incredibly pretty, meaning most men will do her bidding without even thinking about it, unless they know her. She uses this to gain information or extra money, or things she needs, such as a room for the night. She's a dead-on shot with a gun.
Preferred weapon(s):

Melee: Switchblade
Pistol: Glock 17 or SOCOM, whichever she feels like at the time.
SMG: May as well go with the UZI
Shotguns, mostly used for intimidation purposes: Widowmaker
Assault Rifles: never used

Current weapons: Switchblade or two, Glock 17, two SOCOMs. One concealed UZI. Widowmaker in her car, as well as extra guns and ammo.


Current employer: The Golden Star.

However, she's a freelancer, so anyone who pays her more money can buy her trust. However, she's very good at making her employers think they're the only ones (Or the highest bidders).

Rough Description: Black widow pretty. She has reddish-black hair (Unknown if the red is dyed or not), which falls back behind her neck, usually tied back. She wears leather, and a short leather overcoat, with black sunglasses covering her eyes. Usually wears black lipstick.

Distingsuishing Features: A scar underneath her hair, unknown as to what from. A tattoo on her right shoulder, of a dragon, wrapping around her arm halfway down her upper arm. Another on her stomach of the Japanese character for 'Love', 'Hate' right beside it, and 'Death' overlaid over both of them.

*TAG*

Ill post tomorrow.

Alright! I'll add a SOCOM dammit. You don't have to list prefrences for each type of weapon, just one.

Alright! I'll add a SOCOM dammit. You don't have to list prefrences for each type of weapon, just one.

I felt like it.

OOC: no Italian Mafia???

Idea: need any cops? Not saying I'm going to be one, just wondering.

Name: Valentina Pusneli.
Nickname: Val, Tina, Valentine.
Age: 23.
Gender: Female.
Race: Caucasian.
Skills: Seduction(AKA: Persuasion, she's very pretty), Invisibility, Poisons, Martial Arts.
Preferred weapon: Trench Knife.
Current Weapons: 2 Trench Knives, Colt Python.
Employer: Russian Mafia.

http://www.bragg.army.mil/history/IronMike/IronMikeEquipmentandUniform/Equipment/TrenchKnifesmall.gif

http://www.ne.jp/asahi/tao/so-sui/357-1.jpg

OOC: Invisibility means she has a way of moving around without being noticed very much.

OOC: It's aight, I need to be clearer. This is kinda the beta, checking to see what intrest I can stir up.

Here's a character for the hell of it. He's the recruiter for the Hood Folk.

Name: Jack Bray
Nickname: Hardballer
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Skills: Master Gunslinger, expert martial artist
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 185 lbs
Distinguishing Features: Six handguns, toned and muscular build, platinum chain with the letter 'J' hanging from his neck.

Weapon Choices:
Ranged: AMT 1911 Hardballer (6)
Melee: Fists, Feet, six inch switchblade
Martial Arts Styles: Shaolin Karate, Sambo, Hapkido

Rough Description: Jack is often seen wearing a trenchcoat, and favors the color black. Considered good-looking and 'cute' by most women he meets, Jack is a charismatic guy. Standing at about 5'11" and weighing in at about 185 lbs, he is in phenominal shape. Served with Delta Force for six years before retiring to enter the family buisness: Mercenary work. Jack is nearly legendary for his quick draw and razor-sharp wit. He's a smack-talker and a smart-alec, a combination that gets him into trouble, but nothing he can't handle. Prefers the AMT 1911A1 Hardballer, platinum plated for effect. Jack is also well-know in the downtown area for his gambling skills.

OOC: I'll flesh out the details when one of you guys meet him.
I'll handle the police stuff.

<deleted>

Name: Je Won Sung. Goes by Michael Yoo for public use.

Nickname: Reverend. Unknown on how he got the name.

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Race: Half Japanese - Half Korean

Skills: Tae Kwon Doe, Small blades handling, small explosives, auto theft.

Preferred Weapon: Besides concealable blades, the Berretta pistol.

Secondary: AK-47. Owns an MP5-PDW (rarely used).

Employer: Golden Star

Additional: Once part of the Black Circle before its disbandment, Je was picked up by a close associate within the the Golden Star. Generally quiet, he is sometimes referred to as Stalker and is seen by a few as an undesirable, possibly even working as an undercover agent but no action has been taken against him from these rumors.

http://kn.koreaherald.co.kr/SITE/data/img_dir/2001/10/23/200110230024.gif
OOC: Just a random image I pulled off from google. My character is the second one from the left.

OOC: Okay to clear a few things up....

I didn't add the Italians, because their main illecit activity was bootlegging. This is 1992, not 1922. In '92, drugs and guns were the stuff to sell. The Mob traditionally doesn't touch the drugs.

OOC: Driesden's got the idea.... That's the type of guy you'd see in a good cop flick nowadays.

OOC: Driesden's got the idea.... That's the type of guy you'd see in a good cop flick nowadays. Is my person OK for you MS? I intend to add a short history for good measure soon.

OOC: Driesden's got the idea.... That's the type of guy you'd see in a good cop flick nowadays.

[ooc: He's got a cool nickname.... How does my character look?]

[ooc: He's got a cool nickname.... How does my character look?]

*Reads the profile* ..Someone I do not want to meet, especially in the late night :shock:

OOC: I'm gonna start you guys off with a bit of an RP, targeted mainly at those who aren't affiliated with a particular group, then I'm off to bed, it's late here.

IC:
A man sits at a tattered old card table in the front of 'Luther's Liquors' in the downtown area. A black trench coat hangs off of the back of the chair he's sitting in. The coat would normally cover the tight-fitting black tee shirt and twin Hardballers that sit in underarm holsters. The shirt's tightness displays a set of washboard abs and well-chisled pectoral muscles. The man scoops up a pair of dice in his right hand, flinging them across the small table, the muscles in his large biceps rippling with the simple movement. He flashes a dazzling smile as the dice add up to seven, accepting a small wad of cash from the man across from him. He was well know in the area, called "Hardballer" by his 'brothers'. He seems to not feel out of place, despite the fact that he's a white man in a predominently black neighborhood. He rolls again, the dice adding up to seven again. "This is my night, dawg." He says in slightly accented Ebonics.

Name:Kyle Keat
Nickname: Kyle
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Height: 5.3
Weight: 198 Lb's
Hair Color: brown
Eye Color: Brown
Race: Canadian
Skills: sniper skills
Preferred weapon: AK47
Distiguishing Features: Pach on arm

http://images.google.ca/images?q=tbn:o2SKMXOhHCkC:www.starwars.jp/character/image/kyle_katarn.jpg


Discription:Born in Canada this person began his life as a Sniper in the canadian army then went rouge after ordered to set off a bomb that destroyed a 3rd world country, he was born in Kamloops BC.

this man is charged with Murder, assult with a deadly weapon and Breaking and entering

OOC: Just a quick note. I'm not on NS many times because of my schedule but I'll try to post and catch up as much as I can. *hopes that it doesn't end up getting 6 pages per day* :?

OOC: What I'm about to do I'd consider normal, I believe Gang Bosses often send "Scouts" into the territories of other Gangs if I recall right, plus I just want to RP.

IC: Valentina Pusneli walked swiftly in the Downtown Area, she was dressed in a pair of White Tennis Shoes, regular Blue Jeans, a White T-Shirt, and a Black Leather Jacket with a semi-large Russian flag on the back, normally most people would think it unwise of her to wear a symbol that so blatantly showed who she worked for into hostile territory, but this way most people left her alone for fear of reprisal from the Russians, her target was Luthor's Liquors, her job there, and along the way, was scouting, seeing if new drugs where being brought in by other organizations, if unsusually large amounts of money where being handed around, that sort of thing.

Kyle walks down the Street looking for a victum to Kill.

he spots a young man and he sneaks up to him and Covers his mouthg and Drags him into a alley.

then he punches him as hard as he can then takes his wallet.




Money gained:300 Dollors

Alan lounges inconspicuously in Luthor's Liquors, his haggard face occluded by the brim of his battered baseball cap.

He doesn't drink. He doesn't talk - he listens. Conversations diffuse into his ears, the drunk and inebriated betraying more than they'd care to reveal.

To pass the time, he watches the dice game absently, his ears still keenly listening to the general conversation.

IC: Valentina spotted her destination, she contemplated removing her jacket, but other things could give her away as well, like the fact that her English was laced with a thick Russian accent, or the fact that she didn't talk at all like the people who normally frequented this area, in the end she took it off and draped it over her shoulder in such a way as to conceal the flag on the back, then walked casually into Luthor's Liquors, her Trench Knives and her Colt Python still hidden.

Alan Salvatore notes the new arrival to Luthor's Liquors, her pale skin making her relatively easy to distinguish from the rest of the crowd.

Someone doesn't just waltz in here without protection... 'specially not a woman. Who's she work for.... the Ruskies maybe. Or maybe a freelancer who manages to keep 'erself out of everybody's bad books, but not quite in the good books.... like me.

A little unconsciously, he pats the uzi hidden in his bulk bomber jacket.

((See, this is the kind of time period Agent Nine would be in. And no, he's not Cap' Blasto anymore :wink: ))

Name: Unknowm
Nickname: Agent Nine
Age: Unknown, believed to be in the proximity of mid 20s
Gender: Male
Height: 6' 0"
Weight: 195 lbs
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color:
Race: Asian (Japanese, to be exact)
Skills: Swordfighting, stealth, firefights, lockpicking, assassinations, martial arts, offensive driving
Preferred weapon: Katana, MP5
Rough Description: Tall, thin, quiet, cold, calculating, and extremely deadly
Distiguishing Features: Constantly changes, no set features aside from a barely visible scar just below his left eye, gained in a competitive swordfight

Nine walks into Luthor's Liquors, holding the door open for a young woman. Making his way to the card table without a single sound. Sitting across from Jack, he loosens the black leather trenchcoat around him. He looks up at Jack with a gleam in his eye.

"Hey, how's your brother doin'?" He asks nonchalantly.

IC: Valentina walked over and sat down in a chair acrossed from Alan, seeming casually not to notice him, but from her posture Alan knew that she certainly did, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a silver Drinking Flask, opening it she took a swig, sighing as the burn of the Vodka settled in, she looked at Alan and offered it to him "Drink?" she said in her accented English.

Laura was sitting in a booth, her legs out across the seat, leaning back against the wall, her arms folded. A cigarette was slowly burning its way down in the ashtray. Her hat and sunglasses made her look asleep, but in reality she was very, very carefully monitoring everything that happened.

[ooc: Heh, everybody in the same room.]

Alan nods cautiously, unconsciously understanding that it wasn't your everyday friendly gesture. Not in this bar, anyway.

"Sure, thanks.", he says, his speech a mixture of Italian cadence and New York drawl. He accepts the flask, taking a quick sip before returning it, the fire of the vodka relaxing to him.

"So, what brings you to this corner of the city?"

Kyle thinks that he needs to get in touch with a crinimal element.

he goes to the nearest bar and walks up to the bartender.

Kyle:I need some work, RISKY work

puts 200 Dollors in USD on counter

Name: He doesnt give his real name
Name he gives: Tod Leise
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: Welsh
Weapons of choice:
Melee: Hands(martial arts, esp. Aikido and Capuera), throwing knives, switchblade, quarterstaff
Handguns:Berettas or .357 DE(Actually prefers longbow, but they are harder to keep inconspicous)
SMG: Uzi
shotgun: Widowmaker
AR: not used
Skills: Lockpicking, surveillance, disguise, hiding, marksmanship, computers (hacking, building, etc...)
Weight: 135
Height: 5'7"
Eyes: blue
Hair: black
Distinguishing features: Tatoos honoring the norse gods down both arms. Celtic dragon on chest, other celtic symbols in various places on bodies.

Rough description: A thin, yet well muscled man, in his mid twenties, he has a hardened look to his face, and his features seem harsh and unchanging. On the back of one of his hands is a Celtic knot, on the back of the other is Beowulfs dragon. He wears black silk clothes and a black leather trenchcoat. Sets of spring loaded throwing knives are concealed in his sleeves, designed to drop a knife into his hand, then to rotate, reloading the spring with a new blade. Carries 2 handguns, and curiosly enough, an unstrung longbow and a quiver of arrows.

ooc: yea, hes a bit of a freak....

Anhierarch: "My work brings me here" Valentine said, leaning back in her chair, her jacket still draped over her shouler so as to conceal the Russian flag, she chuckled after a moment "Yeah, I know, a woman shouldn't be here alone, but I'm no normal woman" she took another sip of Vodka and put her Flask away "I have friends for one thing, for another, I have a few abilities that make men want to leave me alone"

Nine silently eavesdrops on the woman with the Russian accent.

'Hmm, this place hasn't changed one bit.' He thought. 'Perhaps I'll see what else she has to say.'

OOC: A few things...
1. Is a katana listed as a melee weapon? I listed this stuff to make it realistic.
2. You guys can start your own sub-plot things, this thread is pretty much made up as we go along.

Sam idled his way through the damp, gloomy streets, trying with all his might to appear inconspicous. Evidently, as the two heavies dogging his footsteps would testify, it wasn't working.

Sam was around average height but appeared taller to due to his slim build, an attribute gained more from a lack of any real nutrition rather than regular excercise and good diet. He had a lined, angular face and was rapidly approaching the wrong side of 40. His hair was short, dark and greying at the sides, a fact he tried to conceal by wearing a brown, wide-brimmed hat wherever he went. The hat, together with his dark brown trenchcoat and general air of petty malice made him give the impression of a character out of some 50's detective show.

And detective he might well still make, that was if he survived the night. The heavies were closing in fast, and he was deep in Hood teritory...

Jack doesn't shift his attention. "Muthaf**ka joined the Marines about six years ago. I just left Delta a month or two back." His right hand nabs the dice from the table, then rolls again. "There somethin' you need?" The pair of worn white dice add up to seven a third time. "Pay me, dawg." He says to the large black man across from him. "You sure them things ain't weighted?" The man says, his hand shifting to the glock situated on the table in front of him. "Nah, it's all in the wrist." Jack says as he whips the pistol under his left arm out of its holster with his right hand, spinning it quickly a few times, stopping it with the muzzle aimed at the man's head. "Kinda like that." He says with a defiant grin. He spins it backwards into the holster. "Yo' turn, roll them bones." Jack says as he leans back in his folding chair.

((Oh, c'mon, you have to let me have the katana. It is realistic. Please... :) ))

"I see. You're a merc now, or do you have an affilation?" Nine asks further, seeing how much Jack would tell him, though he knew all the answers already.

OOC: How 'bout a wazikazi? Easier to keep hidden.

IC: Jack fixes the man with his unnerving emerald gaze. "Yeah. What's it to ya?" His left hand jitters under the table.

"'Cause I heard that the bunch you work for were low on men. I thought perhaps I found a job." He states with a winking smile. "You know me, Jack, right?"

Jack sets the switchblade he was toying with under the table on top of it and looks over his shoulder. "We got enough boys to hold the turf we got, but Big L's been wantin' to expand, possibly into Low Rider territory. Go talk to him, he's in the back." Jack says in a hushed tone. "If anyone follows you, just tap Montez on the shoulder and point 'em out. He'll deal with it."

Laura opened her eyes slowly as Nine talked with Jack. Her eyes slowly traversed the room. She could feel the eyes of several men on her. She turned her attention to one of them that wasn't Nine or Jack, and allowed the hat to fall from her head, letting her beautiful red hair fall down past her ears. She smiled, revealing a inner beauty no-one would ever have guessed from her usual behaviour. "Hey, handsome," she mouthed at the man.

OOC: For RP purposes, this is a liquor shop, not a bar. Kinda like the liquor barn, for you Americans.

IC: Jack listens to the conversations around him, taking note of the russian accent to his left. He turns his torso towards the woman. "You ain't from around here are ya?"

OOC: For RP purposes, this is a liquor shop, not a bar. Kinda like the liquor barn, for you Americans.

IC: Jack listens to the conversations around him, taking note of the russian accent to his left. He turns his torso towards the woman. "You ain't from around here are ya?" IC: "Oh boy" Valentina breathed to herself, she turned towards the man who'd spoken to her "No, I am not, I am from....elsewhere" she said, still hoping they'd mistake her for a Freelancer.

Jack makes a slow, downward motion with his hand. "Chill, I know you work for da Russians, but I ain't gonna start shit in here." He looks left and right quickly. "You lookin' for work?"

Jack makes a slow, downward motion with his hand. "Chill, I know you work for da Russians, but I ain't gonna start shit in here." He looks left and right quickly. "You lookin' for work?" "Something like that" she said, as she pulled on her jacket, she was cold anyway "Why, are you offering work?"

Jack nods. "Ivan ain't ambitious, Luther is. He's looking for new blood, ya know, the kinda new blood that's willin' to spill blood." He winks. "Can't tell ya much else unless you're a Hood."

Jack nods. "Ivan ain't ambitious, Luther is. He's looking for new blood, ya know, the kinda new blood that's willin' to spill blood." He winks. "Can't tell ya much else unless you're a Hood." "I am Russian, and a Pusneli besides" Valentina said matter-of-factly, "But I am perfectly willing to spill blood, I have done plenty of Red work in my days"

"You sayin' you're ex-KGB or somethin' like that?" Jack says, turning to roll the dice again, landing another seven and another twenty dollar bill.

"You sayin' you're ex-KGB or somethin' like that?" Jack says, turning to roll the dice again, landing another seven and another twenty dollar bill. She snorted "Not KGB, another Agency"

Tod walks through the door, and looks around. He is wearing a black, button up silk shirt, and pair of black pants. He has a trenchcoat on, open in the front, revealing this outfit. He walks over towards Jack and takes a seat. "Mind if I get in?", he says. As he speaks he reveals a heavy welsh accent.

Agent Nine grinned at Jack and the newcomer.

"Well, looks like you've got someone else to play out of house and home." He stated simply, and excused himself from the table.

Nine made his way to the back, approaching a large, intimidating man standing before a nondiscript door. He nods to the man, and enters the dim room beyond.

((Describe the room and Big L, please.))

To Cyberutopia: The man, named Montez, opens a heavy iron door. Beyond the frame, a massive black man sits on a velvet couch. He looks like he weighs at least 300 pounds, from the size of his belly. A beautiful black girl sits on his left, and a Puerto Rican one of equal looks sits on his right. A gold chain hangs from his large neck, bearing a massive 'L' made of gold and inlaid with diamonds. A cluster of more diamonds sparkle in the dim light from each earlobe. The table in front of him is made of a fine wood, and on it sits an ashtray with a joint of marijuana buring slowly in it. Next to the ashtray sits a .50 Desert Eagle. At either side of the door, a pair of rough-looking guards stand with Uzi's ready, daring someone to make a move. "Whatta you want?" Big L rumbles from the sofa.

To The Nation with the D name that I can't spell:
Jack nods. "Sure, but I wouldn't suggest it." He nods towards the stack of $20 bills in front of him. "Besides, I'm done for the night. If Mac here's got some extra money, he might play ya." Mac glares at Jack. "I ain't got none left...." He says as he rises, ths hasn't been his night.

Double Post

Triple Post

Anhierarch: "My work brings me here" Valentine said, leaning back in her chair, her jacket still draped over her shouler so as to conceal the Russian flag, she chuckled after a moment "Yeah, I know, a woman shouldn't be here alone, but I'm no normal woman" she took another sip of Vodka and put her Flask away "I have friends for one thing, for another, I have a few abilities that make men want to leave me alone"

Alan nods soberly, taking a moment to leisurely infer and extrapolate his own conclusions from what she said. "Friends in high places, hmm? A very important asset in this part of town. I don't suppose these friends have anything that needs doing?"

In the basement of Moscow Imports......

Mikhail stared angrily at the thin man in front of him. "You MISSED him?" The man nods carefully. "He was standing over Boris' corpse, in the middle of the street, and you MISSED him?" Mikhail snatches his old Makarov off of his desk. "This was your last mistake. You knew how much I wanted Bray dead. Now I must hand the responsibility to someone more.... competent." He fires the small pistol into the man's face, spraying blood and brain matter onto the far wall. "Get this mess cleaned up, and send for new recruits." He says over his shoulder to his right-hand man, Nicoli. "I want Bray's head on my desk, and I will pay well for it."

-Double Post-

-Triple Post-

((Forums being a bitch to you again, I see, MS. :wink: ))

"Mr. L, I take it?" Nine begins austerly. "But there's no need for formalities in this business. Your man outside, Jack, told me you were looking for someone to expand your territory. I believe I'm that man."

Anhierarch: "My work brings me here" Valentine said, leaning back in her chair, her jacket still draped over her shouler so as to conceal the Russian flag, she chuckled after a moment "Yeah, I know, a woman shouldn't be here alone, but I'm no normal woman" she took another sip of Vodka and put her Flask away "I have friends for one thing, for another, I have a few abilities that make men want to leave me alone"

Alan nods soberly, taking a moment to leisurely infer and extrapolate his own conclusions from what she said. "Friends in high places, hmm? A very important asset in this part of town. I don't suppose these friends have anything that needs doing?" "They always need something done, but they rely on their fellows do such things, I really must get going" she stood up "Just to be polite, my name is Valentina, Valentina Pusneli" she turned and walked out the door, heading back for Russian Mafia territory.

China Town, New York
Red Dragon restaurant
Lower Basement

He heavily panted each breath as persperation and blood dripped down onto the table, the ceiling lamp slowly moving left to right. He looked up at his surroundings, though his vision was majorly blurred from the immense beating he had gone through. Yet, he could still make occasional outlines of figures as they moved and talked amongst each other.

Dante Williams had been in the basement through two hours of baton beatings and verbal threats...yet he didn't break. Directly in front of him was a middle-aged Chinese man, his expression calm yet cold. The man readjusts his glasses as Dante tries to catch his breath,

"Dante..Dante..Dante..," The man said in a disapproving tone, "Such troubles should not happen...and yet you are persistent in allowing them. I am both impressed and disgusted...Now if you'll only tell me.."

"I <heavy breath> dun know..<heavy breath> nothin..."

"And if you were telling the truth, you wouldn't be here...Yet you're lying, I know it. All you have to do is tell me what we need to know.." Dante interjected,

"Please....I'm <heavy breath> telling the truth...I..I dun know what went..wrong." The man merely shook his head as he arose from his desk. Two other figures approached Dante but the man stopped them, turning toward another figure behind him. A few words were exchanged as the figure then moved toward Dante

"You may deal with him.." The figure approached closer to Dante, in his view that of a long, katana-style sword. Its make and details showed that it was a Korean-style blade, the blade gleams from the light. Je-Won stood for a moment as two of his 'associates' put a cloth then duct tape tightly around his mouth. Dante's breath quickened as his eyes gave away utter fear on what was going to happen to him. The two men stepped away as Je-Won stood near Dante's right side, the Chinese man then spoke up again,

"You have relations with many of the organizations here, Dante...This is the first and last..time you dare double cross us.." Je-Won raised the blade and, with cold aggression, slammed the blade as it severed Dante's right hand from the wrist. The agonizing scream was muffled by the cloth and tape as the man arched his back in pain, blood slowly pouring from his severed arm. Tears formed from his eyes, his body latched to the chair by chains and handcuffs, his cries of pain was the only sound in the basement and it went unheard by the outside. One of the two guards spoke up,

"And how will we dispose of the mess?" The Chinese man walked up toward a stack of barrels, patting the lids on one of them as to give the answer. Je-Won raised the sword again, the gleam of light shining just before it came down...

OOC: You are correct Cyberutopia. They are being an extreme bitch, and I will tear their heads from their shoulders and feast apon their hot, quivering flesh!!! :twisted: Sorry, had to let that out.

Kudos to Driesden, that is very well written.

IC: "Jack sent yo chinese ass in here? Fo' what reason?" Big L says with a sarcastic tone as he takes a draw from his joint.

Nine keeps the emotion from his face and voice as he looks down at the L.

"First of all, I'm Japanese. To answer your question, he told me that you wanted to expand your territory, and I thought that I could help you with such an action." He told Big L, wondering how blunt this man was.

"First of all, I don't really care. You want in, you go through the initiation, or you bring me Pablo's head. It's up to you." Big L says around his joint.

"Two questions. What is the initiation, and who is Pablo?"

"Pablo is the leader of the Low Riders, the mexican drug cartel that operates out of the docks. The initiation is standard stuff: You either get beat in, or f**ked in. Your choice." Big L sets the joint down in the ashtray and lays a massive arm around the girl to his left.

"Then," says Tod, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fifty dollar bill, "perhaps you could help me out." He slides the bill across the table towards Jack.

Kyle Walks out of the Bar after asking the Bartender about jobs then he goes into a weapons shop with the 200$ he stole and he walks up to the Gundealer

Gundealer:Kyle? so your outta jail eh?

Kyle:enough of the chat James, now i need that M-16 i told you to stash for me

James:ok, i got it right here, i thought that you would soon walk through my door again so i kept it close by.

Kyle:thanks james,and i would like to buy some Clips

James brings out 6 Clips for the M-16 and kyle gives james the 200$.

then Kyle walks out and saws off the butt of the Gun and slings it over his shoulder inside his coat where nobody will see it

"No dice, homeboy. I ain't rollin' no more bones tonight. Maybe Montez is up for a game?" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the angry-looking man guarding Big L's door. "Or maybe not." Jack says with a laugh. His tone turns serious. "So what are you here for?"

OOC: A thank you..thank you [/bow] I would like to thank all.. :roll:
IC:

Downtown New York, New York
Luther's Liquors Store

"Hey..hey, wait a minute n--ga. Pull on over, I need to get a drank."

"Man, can't you just wait? We gotta be over at Mao's soon!."

"Aite man, just chill fo a sec? Alright foo? It'll be quick." Victor Wu stepped out of the passenger seat of Jason's Honda Civic and headed toward the closest store had showed to sell alcohol, Luther's Liquors. Victor sported a baggy pair of I.S. blue jeans with the ends closed off with rubberbands around his ankle, a white pair of a.d.i.d.a.s., and a dark blue Yankees baseball jersey along with a matching Yankees hat that was over a doo-rag (sp?). He entered the store, getting a few glances toward him but ignored most of them as he walked on over to the bartender (correct?),

"Aite..Hey yo, you got any jack daniels or some sh-t like dat?"
=====-----=====-----=====
"Is that him?"

"Yea man. There was another one..Let's wait."

Jason leaned on his Civic as he waited for Victor to hurry up with his business. He glanced down at his watch, frustrated that he might be late...The two were to head toward the Red Dragon to meet with Mao about a certain job that was going down, they didn't know what it was, they were only told to go to the restaraunt and wait for him.

"Alright...I'll bring you Pablo's head." Nine said, choosing the obviously harder task to gain more of L's trust. "With your permission, I shall begin my hunt."

Big L shrugs. "Aight, it ain't gonna be easy, but that's your choice. Talk ta Jack for some more details." Big L makes a motion to the guards, who roughly push Agent Nine out of the room. Montez shuts the door.

'Alright, L, I let you get away with everything this time, but next time, I'm keeping the cards for myself. I'm the dealer here, not you.' He thought as he walked out of Luthor's Liquors and onto the streets.

"I need some wheels..." He told himself, looking around for the nearest car.

Nine spots a car and walks over to it. After inspecting it throughly, he jimmys the lock with a kit and does a quick bit of hot wiring. The car starts up with a cough, and Nine makes his way towards Low Rider territory.

"Dice? No." Says Tod, "Im looking for employment..."

I'm boring my ass off here.

Alan, Salvo to his professional acquaintances, tweaks the brim of his baseball cap as he surveys the interior of the liquor store for the last time. Abruptly he rises from his seat, absently picking bits of invisible lint off his worn bomber jacket.

Guess I'll head back to my place, work on that new virus. This lil baby'll fuck a 'puter up pretty fuckin' bad.

He leaves the liquor store, headed back to his apartment, a seedy, grotty affair in the notorious side of town. Along the way he browses through a corner store, procuring a few pocketfuls of candies and cigarettes through a touch of sleight of hand.

OOC: If you're bored, start your own plot line, like making your own gang or something.

Jack watches Nine storm out. "He'll be back, probably in a pine box." He says to the air. He looks at Tod. "You mean you lookin' to hook up with the Hoods?"

Nine ditches the car about 10 blocks from Pablo's position, and takes out some binoculars, scanning the area.

((Detail on what he sees, please.))

The docks are filthy and poorly lit. A neat row of jacked-up cars sit in front of a hangar-like building. Several mexican, columbian, and cuban gunmen are milling around the cars, wielding a collection of AK-47's, Uzi's, and various handguns. The door to the hangar-building opens, and a hispanic man in a white suit steps out. The left side of his face is misshapen, and his left eye is pure white. His flesh is chalky and speckled from years of Cocaine abuse. He says something to the gathered gunmen, who follow him back inside.

'That must be Pablo.' Nine thinks to himself as he observes the docks.

He sneaks further along the side of the street, easily mixing with the shadows. He circles the chain link fence surrounding the hangar, and silently climbs it once he is out of earshot of any guards. Landing in a crouch, he moves quickly to the front of the hangar and slips in as the gunmen listen to Pablo. He kneels behind a bunch of metal crates and withdraws the MP5 from within his trenchcoat. After checking the submachine gun and fitting it with a sliencer produced from another deep recess of his trenchcoat, Nine listens intently to Pablo's words.

Pablo sits behind a worn out table, on which sits a large pile of Cocaine and an M60 (Sound familiar?). He takes a deep breath of the white powder through his nose. As he looks back up, his good eye is wild, scanning the room. "Luther has been a pain in my ass for too f**king long! I want him dead! Dead dammit! What are you f**king waiting for? Go kill his f**king ass!" Pablo shouts angrily, waving the M60 around in front of him.

Nine waited for the gunmen to go to Luther's place so he'd have a free shot at getting at Pablo. He'd save Luther's ass later.

OOC: Jack's got that covered.

IC: Pablo freezes. He thought he heard something. He stretched his cocaine-augmented senses to their limits, keeping his M60 ready.

((Are the gunmen still around?))

Agent Nine felt Pablo tense. He slowed his breathing and his heartbeat, not making a single sound.

The engines outside roar, and Pablo jumps towards them, leveling his M60.

OOC: They're getting ready to leave.

((Ok. Tell me, do you like the more mature Agent Nine better? :wink: ))

Nine moved from his position slowly and carefully so as not to arouse suspicion, and halted behind his mark. Drawing his wakizashi and wishing he had his trademark katana with him instead, he flicks his wrist, sending the perfectly formed blade cutting through the air silently in a diagonal sweep, aiming to sever the stoned man's head effiecently and quickly.

Outside Luther's Liquors.....

Jack stepped outside for a moment, drifting into a back alley to take a leak. When he finished, he turned to see three thugs standing around him, each bearing a hammer and sickle tattoo on their forearm. "Mikhail wants your head, comrade." The biggest said, stepping towards Jack with a lead pipe in his hand. Jack ducks under the swing, grabbing the man's arm and reverse-articulating the elbow joint. He then twisted the arm around and hit the man across the back of the head with the pipe, shattering his skull Jack's switchblade found its way into his hand, and Jack cut the next man's throat with the speed and accuracy of a professional knife fighter. The third man drew a CZ75. Jack flung the knife through the man's eye. He smirks as he pulls the weapon free of the dead man's head.

In the Basement of Moscow Imports....

A letter arrived on Mikhail's desk an hour after Jack dispatched the Russian thugs. Mikhail opened it, it read.

I'm the Freestyle king, but I ain't been crowned,
I'm the diamond in the dirt, but I ain't been found,
I know that yo ass put a price on my head,
Better get your refund muthaf**ka, cuz I ain't dead!

Mikhail crushed the piece of paper in his enormous fist. "I want that bastard dead!" He shouted, startling everyone gathered in the small basement office.

Nodding to Jack, Tod says "Im new in town, and I heard the hoods were the ones to run with."

"That's correct." Jack says, sitting back down. "Sorry, I had to go take a leak." He leans on the table slightly. "What makes you think you'd be an asset to the Hoods?"

"Well, for one, I know and can execute 2327 ways to kill a person."

"Stuff like that ain't gonna impress me. I just waxed three of Ivan's boys out back." He sets his still-bloody switchblade on the table. "What else you got?"

OOC: Waiting on you, Cyberutopia.

-triple-

-double-

((Ok. Tell me, do you like the more mature Agent Nine better? :wink: ))

Nine moved from his position slowly and carefully so as not to arouse suspicion, and halted behind his mark. Drawing his wakizashi and wishing he had his trademark katana with him instead, he flicks his wrist, sending the perfectly formed blade cutting through the air silently in a diagonal sweep, aiming to sever the stoned man's head effiecently and quickly.

((It's right there.))

Pablo, somehow sensing the approach, ducks and starts shooting wildly with his M60.

'Strange...that shouldn't have happened. Well, so much for stealth.' Nine thinks as he moves from the line of fire.

Nine brings his MP5 to bear and fires three rounds into Pablo's chest, their sounds muffled by the silencer.

Pablo doesn't seem to notice, as high as he is. Blood runs out across his chest, the medical-grade cocaine and adreniline pumping through his veins and lowering his reaction time. He fires at Agent Nine again, raking the boxes with 7.62mm's. "Die ya f**kin bastard!"

"Oh, shut up." Nine says calmly as he drives his sword towards Pablo's gut with incredible speed.

Pablo seems unphased as he is torn open. He kicks Agent Nine. "I feel no pain, muchacho!"

Nine turns to the side, taking the blow easily.

"Very well then, there's no use torturing you with keeping you alive then." Agent Nine states matter-of-factly, and fires a round into Pablo's face at point blank range.

Pablo staggers around a few more seconds, still firing his M60. He finally topples forward into the pile of wrecked cocaine crates, his blood mixing with the white powder. The smoking M60 lies half-buried in cocaine, the belt completely gone. Sirens scream in the distance, heralding the comeing of the NYPD to pick up the pieces.

OOC: You might wanna grab that M60. It's the only one I'll allow to be used in the RP. You can sell it. In the game I got this guy from, I had to shoot him in the face twelve times with a pair of .50 AE Desert Eagles to bring him down.

((What do you think I am, an idiot? Haha, of course I'm going to take the M60.))

Stowing the MP5 back in his coat and sheathing the wakizashi after neatly severing Pablo's head from his spine, Nine slings the M60 over his shoulder. He grabs a nearby duffel bag full of cocaine, empties some of it, and stashes Pablo's head inside.

'A rather ironic end.' He thinks to himself as he walks calmly out of the hangar and into the shadows.

Coming back to his car -- using his in the loosest sense of the word -- Nine throws the bag and GPMG in the back. He gets into the driver's side, and pulls away from the docks, heading for L's place.

Jack watches a trio of expensive, jacked-up cars pull up in front of the liquor shop.

As Nine comes into view of the liquor shop, he sees the Low Rider's cars pull up. He stops the car and climbs the nearest fire escape, taking the M60 with him. He feeds a belt of ammo he found in the hangar into the machine gun, and takes aim at the cars.

Jack shakes his head in annoyance, then draws his pistols and hits the floor as bullets shatter the glass. Big L's men return fire, 9mm bullets plinging off of the cars. Jack takes fires at the shooters, his hollowpoint .45 bullets leaving quarter-sized holes in their heads.

Nine waits further, even as fighting breaks out. He wants to use the M60 only if he has to.

Jack jumps up and lands on one knee, capping another pair of Low Rider gunmen. Montez drops the last, then goes over to choose a car. Jack rises, then shouts at Nine. "Guess you got yourself a car, now!" He spins his pistols back into their holsters.

Nine grins and rises from his perch. Walking down, he checks out the various cars.

"Ooo, these are nice." He comments, and places his finger on the hood of one. "I'll chose this one, if you all don't mind."

http://www.fatima.k12.mo.us/striveK12/Luke/images/import/foreign/2001_lotus_elise-1.jpg

((Except in ruby.))

Jack makes a dismissive motion. "Nah, I already got one." He points to a '67 Silver Impala parked nearby. "Hydraulics and 200 spoke rims. I give you... The Pimp mobile."He beams with pride.

"The 'Pimp Mobile'. Interesting, very interesting indeed." Nine says with a grin. "Well, I'd better go talk to the Big L."

Agent Nine walks into Luthur's Liquors, brushes past Montez, and stops before Luthur's desk.

"Here you are, Pablo's head, and a spot of cocaine to go with it." He says, opening the duffel bag.

Big L sets the .50 AE back down on the table, and throws Nine a black bandanna. "Here's your rag. You earned it." The other guards show him out.

As Nine is shoved out again, he looks at the black bandanna, smirks at it, and stuffs it into a pocket for the time being.

'Now time for my own agenda.' He thinks as he walks out to his car.

Nine stows the M60 in the back of the Elise and places the MP5 on the passenger seat. He starts up the car and screeches off on a meandering route towards Golden Star territory, sure to throw off any tails.

Jack follows in the Impala, staying out of sight.

OOC: As much as he can with a silver car the size of a small boat.

Nine speeds around a corner, momentarily disappearing from Jack's sight, and pulls into a shady corner. He shuts off the car, and becomes practically invisible in the moonless night.

Jack rolls past, parking in the parking lot of a nearby McDonald's, his stereo blaring.

The Elise starts up again with a purr, and scatters the shadows around it with it's lights.

'So...I'm not all that well trusted after all.' Nine thought as he pulled up in front of a gun shop, making sure to be seen by Jack on his way there.

Nine parks the car and gets out. He walks into the store as the owner eyes him. After browsing, he walks up to the counter.

"Hey, I've heard you carry some heavy weapons in the back. Would you like another to add to your collection?" He asks in a gravelly tone.

Jack waits a bit for the car to show up again, then follows carefully behind it as it pulls up to the gun shop. Jack gets out and goes inside, watching Nine sell the M60. He snags a box of .45 ACP hollowpoints, and sets them on the counter.

"Heh, American ammo." Nine says with a short laugh as he looks over the .45 rounds.

Turning to the gun dealer, he says, "I'll take a box of 9mm Parabellum as well. And I'll give you an M60 with a full belt of 100 rounds for 8,000 dollars."

"There's no reason to be following me, Jack." Nine whispers to Jack, who is standing beside him.

"Ha." Jack laughs. "You think I'm followin' you? I got buisness with the Golden Star, just like you." He slides a twenty across the counter.

"What makes you think I have business with the Golden Star?" Nine asked cautiously.

The owner forks over the 8,000 dollars, and Nine hands him the M60. Nine watches as the man disappears into the back room, cradling his new weapon.

"Sucker..." Nine says with a smirk.

((An M60 is only worth about 5,000 dollars used.))

"Racial profiling." Jack says with a smirk. "No, it's the way you handle your rag. Most people around here would, and often do, kill each other for one of those. You treat it like it's just another bandanna."

"Racial profiling." Jack says with a smirk. "No, it's the way you handle your rag. Most people around here would, and often do, kill each other for one of those. You treat it like it's just another bandanna."

"I would like to set something straight. You tell your Hood friends, too. I'm Japanese. They're Chinese. I'm ex-Yakuza, they're Triad. As for the bandanna, I'm in Golden Star terrtory, and if people do kill each other for these bandannas, then I'd rather not have greedy fools swarming me." He says, letting his hand slip into a pocket, fingering the black cloth.

"True... Perhaps. Would you like to work for the Golden Star? Let's just say I've got contacts in just about every gang in the area." Jack crosses his arms across his chest. "Besides, where did you think I learned all that ninja bullshit?"

"I'm interested." Nine said, waiting for Jack to elaborate.

"We'll have to ask the Dragon Head about that." Jack heads for the door. "It's a tough game to play, if Luther finds out we're playin' for more than one team, we both wind up in a helluva lotta trouble." He gets in his 'Pimp Mobile'.

OOC: Seems like everyone else has left. Disappointing...

"True. So don't f--- up on me, Jack." Nine says with a smirk, heading for his car.

"ME?" Jack says with a mock hurt-look. "Hey, the switch cuts both ways, home boy." He says in a more serious tone as he gets into his car and heads for China Town.

Nine says nothing back as he enters the Elise and follows Jack from a distance.

((Hello?))

OOC: What?! My RL comes before this, home-slice.

IC: Jack parks the Impala in front of the chinese resturant.

Name: Vladislava Gogunov
Nickname: The Ural Rock, Vlad is the one mostly used.
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Height: 226cm
Weight: 114kg
Hair Color: black
Eye Color: brown
Race: Caucasian
Skills: Making faces look like stew, some karate.
Weapons:
-Melee: Baseball bat, Chain
-Handguns: none
-SMG: Ingram MAC-10
-Shotgun: Mossberg Persuader
-Assault rifle: none
-Uses mostly the melee ones and the Mossberg.
Rough Description: Boris is a very strong and agressive person. He's not too clever, but if you happen to be a member of a rival gang, he's not a nice person to meet. He loves hotdogs and mugging people. He hates cops and silenced weapons. You can't just walk past and don't notice him.
Employer: The Russian Mafia

((I know, it was just a bump, really. Oh hell, don't ask me.))

Nine parks near Jack, and waits for Jack to enter.

Jack enters the Lucky Dragon, and brushes past a few guards, leading Nine into the back room.

OOC: I decided to introduce my char, Vlad.
IC: Vlad drives in the downtown with his Volga. Someone is walking in a dark alley. Nobody else in sight. He parks his car to the beginning of the alley, so the victim cannot retreat that way. Then he comes out of the car, unarmed. He walks towards the victim, then grabs his throat and punches him to a trash pile. Then he kicks him into the balls and takes his money. Finally, he puts he in a trashbox and throws some planks and other junk on it. He walks to his Volga and drives to the chinese restaurant. He walks in and orders some noodles.

Nine follows, his hand continually hovering over the wakizashi in his coat.

Jack elbows him lightly, and whispers. "That toothpick ain't gonna help in here." He tugs his trademark black leather trenchcoat tighter around him, trying to conceal his pair of .45's from the regular customers.

Vlad sits around a table eating his noodles, and then looks at Jack oddly. Then he says with a normal voice: "Bah, pistols are for people who can't use their hands. Want me to show what i mean?" and stands up.

"How about you sit down and finish your food, so yo can grow big and strong like me?" Jack says in his typcial smart-ass fashion, then continues through the resturant.

OOC: Did you read the part where Jack waxed those 3 Russian thugs without his guns? He isn't someone you want to tangle with.

((But it says in Boris' description he isn't very bright...))

Nine gives Jack a small nod and lets his hand fall away from his sword, taking on the least threatening demeanor he could.

Jack stops at a very ornately engraved door, and speaks to the guards in near-perfect chinese.

OOC: This is gonna take a while...

((What is gonna take a while? The thing with the Golden Star?))

Nine smirks as he thinks about how close Jack came to saying he had stale ham in his throat at one point, but forced the smirk from his face. Smirks could be misinterpreted many ways.

The guards eye him oddly, but let him in. Jack seats himself, and motions for Nine to do the same. He nudges Nine on the arm with his elbow. "My Russian's better." He says with a quick smirk.

"I sure hope so." Nine said, seating himself in an ornate chair.

Nine's countenace took on a cold, detached edge.

Jack sits quietly, waiting for the Dragon Head to return to his office.

((Go on...))

((Go on...))

A short oriental man appears out of nowhere. "Ahhh... Mista Jack. What brings you to the Lucky Dragon? Another visit with my daughter perhaps?" The man says with a slightly angry edge in his voice, glaring through his coke-bottle frames.

"Shit..." Jack mutters under his breath.

Nine chances a glance over at Jack, slight amusment in his eyes.

"No, I am the reason he is here." Nine says in a calm voice. "I heard he had contacts in the Golden Star. I suppose I should have asked what kind of contacts first. I am here to see if the Golden Star is worth working for. I can get you anything you want out of the Hood."

"You offend me, young man. 'Worth working for'? I assure you I am better suited to your talents than Mista Bigsby. As for getting me anything I wish out of the hood, I believe Mista Jack is capable of doing that, if I do not have him tortured and killed first." Mao folds his hands on his desk.

"Grrr... You damn american kid..." Vlad says, stands up, smashes his noodles on the floor and throws the chair to the wall. Then he leaves, punching an innocent customer to the face at the doorway.

The Triad guards follow him out, each carrying an Uzi.

OOC: Jack isn't Chinese, he's American.

Vlad turns 180 degrees and shouts: "So what do you want?" and takes his MAC-10 from his Volga.

Nine smiled. He had thrown in the insult to see if Mao could handle it. And he did, very well. Yes...the Golden Star would be worth working for.

"Very well, what can I do for you, then?" He asked, keeping a confident air about him.

"You are no longer welcome here. Return and we will kill you." The lead guard says, his seven companions aiming Uzi's at the unruly customer. "Go now."

Inside the Lucky Dragon...
Mao grins evily. "It is not what I want you to do, but what you can do. I am interested in measuring your abilities. You have the demenor of a Yakuza. This does not please me, for our organizations do things in very different ways."

"I picked a few things up from the Yakuza." Nine says cooly. "I have many skills. Which of them do you wish for me to demonstrate?"

Mao steeples his fingers under his chin. "Do you know of Ninjitsu?"

"Yes, I do." Nine said, keeping his voice cool.

'Know of it...what does he take me for...' He thought to himself.

Vlad grabs the lead guard's throat and says: "But that ----ing kid insulted me! If i can't kill him, at least i can kill you. Or maybe I'll leave that pleasure to Mikhail. Be warned you bastard" Then he lets the guard go, steps in his Volga and drives away before the shooting begins.

A trio of Triad gunmen follow the Volga on motorcycles, each is armed with a MAC-10.

Inside the resturant...

Mao isn't impressed. "Then tell me its literal translation, and if it is or is not a fighting art. I am curious as to what a westerner like yourself believes he knows."

-double post-

"'Nin' means perseverence of endurance. 'Jutsu' means techniques. Ninjutsu means perseverence techniques or endurance techniques. It is not a fighting art, I believe, and is in it's bare essence, the art of capitalizing on your enemy's weaknesses and finding your own center."

Mao's unfriendly expression doesn't change. "I was under the impression that it meant 'Art of Stealth'. Let us go with my translation for the moment. Are you subtle, young man?" He asks, sitting back a bit in his large leather chair.

((Common misconception. You asked for the literal translation, and I gave it.))

"How subtle is subtle to you?" Nine asks Mao, leaning forward a bit in the chair.

OOC: Got it out of a Shaolin Karate book, I'm into the martial arts pretty heavy. It makes a bit more sense to me, seeing as the ninjas were assassins, who had to be stealthy. Yours works, too.

IC: Mao sees the outline of Nine's blade under his coat. "Lay your blade apon my desk, I wish to inspect it..." Mao asks sharply.

Jack nudges Nine with his elbow. "Lee's a bit of a sword fanatic..."

"Very well." Nine says, as he draws the blade and sets it upon his desk.

The carbon tinted wakizashi was of very fine make, folded well over 200 times, and laser sharpened to a monomolecular edge.

OOC: Does it have the square hilt like a ninja's, or is it a samurai blade?

((Square hilt.))

OOC: So it's a ninja blade.

IC: Mao's eyes widen behind his thick glasses. "Ahh... I have not seen a blade like this in a great many years... Where did you find such a weapon?"

"I recieved it upon finishing my swordfighting training in the Cyberutopian Special Ops. It was custom made for me by a decendant of Masamune." Nine said, smiling upon the sword.

Mao's rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Ahhh.... It is well made. Are you skilled in the use of this weapon?"

"Yes, but moreso with a katana." Nine says, remaining standing.

OOC: Don't katanas and wazikasis come in matched sets? With a dagger called a Tanto? You've got a car now, so you can stash a larger weapon in it... like a katana.

IC: "We shall see." Mao hands Nine a wooden version of his sword. "You will meet Lung in the sparring room. He will test your skill. Win and you will become a member of the Golden Star. Lose, and we will have to kill you, for you know who I am, and I cannot have that outside of our organization."

"Hey, I had to fight three guys at the same time to get in here. You'll have no problem with Lung, he can't spar worth a damn." Jack whispers as they head to the sparring room.

((Yes, but a tanto goes with a tachi.))

"Very well." He says to Mao.

He nods to Jack, and looks over the wooden sword.

OOC: Tachi?

IC: Jack opens another ornately carved wooden door. The room beyond has numerous styles of traditional weapons hung on the walls, and the floor is covered with reed mats. A set of three makiwara sit at even intervals on the far wall, and a pair of Golden Star spar with long poles.
A rather unimposing-looking man stands in the center of the room, holding a wooden sword similar to Nine's. "You are Mr. Nine, yes?" He says in horrible english.

OOC: BRB, gonna go eat. It'll take me about half an hour.

((Ornamental form of the katana, for show in the courts of Japan. Slightly shorter, goes with the tanto, which is a slightly shorter, more ornamental form of the wakizashi. Or so says my weapons encyclopedia.))

"Would you prefer we talk in Chinese?" Nine asks him in ((Mandarin or Cantonese?)) "And yes, I am Agent Nine. You are the one I am to spar?"

Nine looks him over critically.

Lung shakes his head. "No talk, not talk." He raises his weapon and takes a fighting stance.

OOC: I'd never heard of a tachi... Nifty.

((Hm. Oh well.))

Nine shrugs and brings his weapon up into a radically different fighting stance than Lung's

OOC: With me, the term 'go eat' means I'm going to throw a pizza in the oven and grab a can of pringles to munch on while I type.

IC:
Lung takes a swing at Nine, aiming for his midsection.

((Lol, effiency over satiation, I suppose.))

Nine easily dodged the swing and spun around, his wooden sword following his motion to intersect Lung's head where Lung's momentum would bring him, ending the spin behind Lung, and bringing the sword down on the base of his neck.

OOC: This is gonna take a bit longer than one shot...

IC: Lung brings his weapon over his head, warding off Nine's blow. He attacks again, slashing right, then spinning to the left to deliver a more powerful strike.

((I didn't expect it to.))

Nine flattened himself on the floor as both strikes went over his head, and delivered a low spinning kick to Lung's ankles.

Lung leaps into the air, bringing a leg towards Nine's head as he turns.

Nine brought the sword up to block Lung's kick, and pushed upwards with the wooden sword, to knock Lung off balance.

Lung rolls across the floor on his shoulders, using the momentum to bounce back up in a defensive stance.

Nine takes an offensive position and closes the space between the two quickly, bringing his wooden sword upwards hard into Lung's gut.

Lung swings his weapon to the inside, across his chest, knocking Nine's weapon aside. He spins, bringing the weapon at Nine's head.

Nine ducks, and brings a fist into Lung's solar plexis. He lets the momentum of the heavy sword carry it around, jabbing it upwards into Lung's groin.

Lung catches the sword with his free hand, then goes for a head-butt.

OOC: Impressive. Nearly quite painful, but impressive.

((Thank you, I try :) ))

Nine puts his free hand around Lung's neck before he can head butt him, and throws him across the room.

Lung rebounds, then dashes towards Nine with his sword held high, ready for a crushing blow.

((Perhaps some comments by Mao to spur the combatants?))

Nine steps to one side, and stabs him hard in the gut.

OOC: That's why he made such a clumsy attack.

"ENOUGH!" Booms Mao's voice from the door. "You are indeed skilled, Mista Nine. You are welcome in the halls of the Golden Star." Mao bows in respect, as does Lung.

OOC: Last time I checked it was a big loss of face to be beaten by an unknown opponent. Poor Lung. :lol:

Nine returned the bow, and placed the wooden sword back in a rack.

"Thank you, Mao, and thank you for the fight, Lung." He says, walking over to stand beside Jack. "May I retrieve my sword?"

((Heh, yes, poor Lung indeed.))

"By all means." Mao says, motioning for the door.

"Thank you." Nine says as he exits and goes back into Mao's office.

He picks up the sword, spins it once, and sheathes it.

"Well, Jack, what do you suggest we do now?" He asked Jack.

"I don't really care..." Jack answers.

OOC: Apparently we're the only people left in ths thing.

((That's unfortunate. We need a third party if this is really going to take off.))

"Neither do I." Nine mused.

"Let's get some food, the resturant is upstairs." Jack makes his way back into the resturant.

OOC: And hope this thing takes off again.

((Yeah.))

"Sounds good." Nine says as he follows, just now realizing how famished he is

OOC: I changed the title to 'open RP', now we wait. :x

((Yep, yawn...))

OOC: Still waiting...

Name: Darry Fauker
Nickname: Coyote
Age: 45
Gender: male
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: 175
Hair Color: brown
Eye Color: green
Race: white
Skills: grand thief auto pro, can pick locks
Preferred weapon: Glock 17
Rough Description: Wears a jean jacket, a Vienam veteran
Distiguishing Features: Has a tattoo of hawk ripping a rebel flag apart on his right arm.

He heads to his gun shop.
OOC: You can buy guns from me, but you CAN'T rob me.

OOC: This is the thread starter, Mercenary Soldiers, speaking: You're picking an odd profession, as the two characters in this thread already have their weapons, needing only to buy ammo every so often. You're welcome to stay, we're waiting to get a few more people. I'd appreciate it if you would stick around.

He is a leader of a street gang called the Sons of Freedom.

OOC: I'll add it to the title page later.

They are a anti-racist group. Their hangout is Fauker's Arms shop(the gun store).

OOC: WTF is anti-racist? You don't have to be a goody-two shoes crusader in here, this is for the purpose of exploring the darker side of urban life.

Ok, they are a car thief ring.

The gang meets at the gun shop. What will going to do, asked John a member. Darry respond "nothing until we know about the other groups"

OOC: Okay.

((Hmm, instead of an anti-racist group, it would have been interesting to have one of those white power gangs, but that might get us locked and....yeah. Well, you should send some guys out on a recon or something, if you want to know more about the gangs.))

((You guys want some one else? I would be willing to play a cop or a criminal.))

((Yes, we need many more people, any role will do.))

((Ok, can some one give me a run down on whats happening, then I will make a profile for my character))

Name: Tracy Miller
Nickname: Cutta
Age: 19
Gender: male
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 192
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Brown
Race: Black
Skills: former amateur boxing champ, seasoned robber, decent pusher
Preferred weapon: Glock 17, Desert Eag, trench knife, AK 47, brass knuckles
Rough Description: A teen boxing champ, Tracy turned to a life of crime at age 15, robbing people and selling small amounts of crack and weed on the corner of Lenox Ave Uptown. He eventually got arrested where he made connections and made his body the machine it is today. He's very independant and refuses to work for anyone for longer than he feels is neecessary
Distiguishing Features: Tattoos on forearms read DANGER(R) ZONE(L) after his hood in harlem. His upper left arm features a huge C. Usually dressed in a pair of designer jeans, tims, a white tee and a cap he blends with most other kids in new york.

((Ok, can some one give me a run down on whats happening, then I will make a profile for my character))

OOC: Just jump in! There's no real plot line, so come on in.

'Cutta' sounds like a real hard-core criminal. He'll fit in well. Does he have a particular gang in mind he wants to work for, or is gonna freelance for a bit?

OOC: Never should have to bump this thread, but here it goes... BUMP

Vlad takes his Mac-10 to his left hand and starts shooting the ones who follow him. Then he brakes and jumps to a trash pile in a side alley before the followers notice him.

I Want to join. Ill post my charecter:

Name:Mitch
Occupation:Mercenary
Age:29
Hieght:5' 9"
wiehgt:210
Car: 1969 Camero SS, black with 2 red racing stripes
Weaponry:

SIG 551 SD
M11 SD
COlt Python 6" 38 cal
2 9mm silenced
26" carbonless steal Bo-ken sword


Mitch works silenced. He wears a canvas cloak with a hood Normally as not to be seen. His pants are jungle camo, and his shirt is simply underarmor black.

He is well trained with his rifle. He is mainly a sniper, likes to kill from a distance. But if hand to hand is emplimented, he will draw his sword. For close quiet kills, he will use his 9mm pistols. Rarely does her use his python revolver, yet it is his faveorite weapon.

He can be bought by the highest bidder.His famous car, the '69 camero, is suped up and ready. He owns 3, incase one should blow up.

The pursuing Yakuza fire off their weapons into Vlad's car. 9mm bullets spark as they rip through the gas tank, and the vehicle explodes, sending flaming bits of metal into the street. The Yakuza speed off into the night, confident that they have destroyed the troublemaker.

Darry and two his men see a Benley parked outside of a buliding. Darry goes and breaks into it. He tells the other to come. Then they drive off in their "new" car.

I Want to join. Ill post my charecter:

Name:Mitch
Occupation:Mercenary
Age:29
Hieght:5' 9"
wiehgt:210
Car: 1969 Camero SS, black with 2 red racing stripes
Weaponry:

SIG 551 SD
M11 SD
COlt Python 6" 38 cal
2 9mm silenced
26" carbonless steal Bo-ken sword


Mitch works silenced. He wears a canvas cloak with a hood Normally as not to be seen. His pants are jungle camo, and his shirt is simply underarmor black.

He is well trained with his rifle. He is mainly a sniper, likes to kill from a distance. But if hand to hand is emplimented, he will draw his sword. For close quiet kills, he will use his 9mm pistols. Rarely does her use his python revolver, yet it is his faveorite weapon.

He can be bought by the highest bidder.His famous car, the '69 camero, is suped up and ready. He owns 3, incase one should blow up.

OOC: There is a list of acceptable weaponry on the first page of the thread. Draw your aresenal from there. There is also a limit to how many weapons you can carry on your person. Make note of that.