NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: Basically this RP takes place in the territories of Western Navascuez, and it'll rely heavily on drugs and money once it progresses far enough. I need a few people for this, two have signed up already and I'll let in a couple more before I close it. One thing I need is someone to act as a druglord-type character, someone really wealthy but at the same time really despicable. If anyone wants in on this let me know by TG. I also need another person to act as a rival to this guy, someone perhaps not as evil as this guy but still not someone you'd want to turn your back on. This starts off in the state of Tallulah, which is the rough equivalent of Mississippi, and the Sonora River is the Navascan version of the Mississippi.)

New Years Eve. Kingsdale, Tallulah

James Lawrence was a young man in his late teens, probably no more than nineteen. He was of average height and build, handsome and his family had financial security through money saved up over a few generations. Which is why his decision to pack up and move out into the territories made little sense to those who knew him. Over the Sonora River was a vast amount of virgin, barely settled land divided up into to territories, labeled by the government as Canaveral Territory and Valparaiso. However, there was a sizable portion of the Valparaiso Territory to the west of the southern portion of the Sonora where the dregs of society went to make a killing on the "coca plantations." The ground there was fertile enough to grow a lot of coca, which could later be refined into that infamous drug cocaine. It was precisely this reason why Lawrence was travelling into the Territories, although whether his intentions were good or sinister, only he knew for sure. Bounding off the steps of his porch, he ran up to his pick-up truck, started the engine and drove down the long, dusty road into the city. The sun was setting before his eyes, and chances were slim that he would catch the last ferry going over the river, so he took his time driving until he recognized some of the more familiar sights. It was late now, but the ferries were running a night shift tonight, so there were still some people going over. After buying his ticket, Lawrence sat down on a bench overlooking the river, waiting for the ferry to come in. Not wanting to sit in silence, he turned to the person next to him.
"So why are you here?"

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Check TG's!

OOC: Thanks for letting me in. Iuthia is now RPing one of the big buyers of your produce, our contract will be concidered to be very large and well, I'll leave the rest to our story teller. But I thought I'd best point it out... oh, and TAG

He looked over to the man who tried sparking up a conversation with him smirked and looked down.

"Land ownership. I see out there a whole shitload of useable land that can be owned. I want to see if there are any uh realty companies down there who can strike a deal."

He looked up at a man and extended his hand.

"Tony Montana. You are?"

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(OOC: Cotton, you can choose to either be a good or bad guy, I need some good guys but if you're not interested it's cool. Here's the official lineup so far:

Diminix - Tony Montana, realtor
Sniper Country - Emilio Juarez, druglord
Cottonisking - TBA
Langham - Tom Smith, renegade cop
Iuthia - Cocaine purchaser
Western Navascuez - James Lawrence, settler-turned-cop)

"Jim Lawrence," he said, taking hold of Montana's hand "I'm from Kingsdale but life over in the states is a bit, er, stifling. I figured I'd move out to Canaveral Territory and help out some of the local governments, there's a drug epidemic over there and I'm not too keen on seeing it spread more than it already has. So you're going into realty, I see? You'll make a fortune, there's so much arable land over there it's unbelievable." Looking up, he saw the ferry had arrived. "There's our boat." Looking back, Lawrence saw there were only about two or three other people going on. He wondered what they were going over the river for.

(My character is going to be a renegade cop.)

Tom Smith walked onto the ferry. He was a renegade cop trying to bust the local cartels in the area. He wasn't originally from Tallulah, but he lived in Tallulah for most of his life. He was a man known to always have his .357 with him. Tom's top priority was to take down the local drug empires. He stood in the ferry and watched the people go onboard.

(OOC: If anyone wants to know about Navascan culture or whatnot, let me know and I'll create a separate post for reference)

Jim caught Smith's eye and nodded at him unconsciously, a respectful gesture he'd done since childhood. Stepping onto the ferry, he started planning his new life in Valparaiso. He had no intention of making a name for himself, all he wanted was to start a sugarcane farm and create a small business. Not the life for the son of a wealthy man, but a life nonetheless. "So Montana, I'm assuming you've heard all the stories about what goes on with these drug kingpins out in the territories. The government can't control what goes on over in the Western half of the country, so they're basically free to hoard in coke money at the expense of others. Not that you need to be made aware of that, I'm sure"

Bill Henderson was the lead director of supplies for the Medspan Corperation, an Iuthian Drug Company which specialised in many variations of recreational drugs for the Iuthian public. It was a reasonably large company which even had it's own R & D department, though it wasn't a bragging point.

However, his day hadn't been all it was cracked up to be, his latest shipment from Tallulah hadn't arrived yet... which wasn't like a Druglord, they knew that if the shipments didn't arrive on time it would cost the client money, and if it cost the client money then the client may decide to find another more punctual Druglord. Eitherway it was a sign of trouble somewhere down the line.

His large figure turned around to look out of the window of his high rised office , so he could think for a moment, then he decided to act. Reaching over to his Intercom he dailed his secetary.

"Layla? Hello... have you got Tim to call our guys over at Tallulah? Yeah? What did they say? Oh... so it's a problem on their end is it? Can you call them again and tell them to look into it if they already arn't? They are? Thanks, that will be all." He turned the Intercom off and reached over for his cup of coffee on the left of his desk near a picture of his robust wife.

Hm... maybe our supplier bought it before finishing our order, he thought. Which could cause trouble if we try to claim the goods... or he could just be late, it would be the first time but it's easier to deal with then a dead supplier. Eitherway our guys will have to look into it. With a place like that it could be anything...

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OOC: Iuthian Drug Business - When we buy our goods, a order is made, usually on a half now and half later style of payment. The deal is simple. You supply us with the goods by making it and moving it to our frieghter, docked in the nearest facility... and then we escort it home with two armed ships for protection. We use our own ships for increased secuirty, it also provides us with a local representative should there be any issues with our shipments. [Added Note] We masquerade as buyer of whatever is is legal in this nation, papers match our claims as it is not illegal to buy what is illegal in another nation, but perfectly legal in our own.

Anyone can lay claim to the current Iuthian contract... however that would meen or are currently late with the shipment and you will have to fast talk your way our of loosing the next contract. We won't automatically choose someone else, but it is more likely we will leave if a better offer is made.

If no-one lays claim to the current contract, I will assume the last supplier was killed by a rival... it's a open storyline for use of our storyteller. In this case someone should lay claim to have taken his business or it can be handled by the storyteller in which ever manner he sees fit.

Eitherway it makes for a opening some people may not wish to turn down, our contract is valuable and we damand high quantities of the stuff. So the supplier will not be poor, thats for sure... I'll leave it to you guys.

It was nearing midnight on the ferry, and the few passengers that were on were getting ready for the countdown to ring in the new year. Things were quiet on the lower deck of the ferry, so Lawrence swaggered up to the top of the ferry, obviously a little tipsy. Downstairs, people could be heard getting ready for midnight "5, 4, 3, 2…" and just as they yelled out one, what looked like a giant fireball came crashing down from the night sky and landed on the back half of the deck. The explosion rocked the entire ferry and people could be heard screaming on the other side of the river. "What the f…" was all Lawrence could utter before a second explosion rocked the ferry again. Whatever was going on was clearly an intentional attack. The last thing Lawrence heard before he was knocked out was the faint sound of gunfire on the shore.

Smith was outside of the celebrating crowd on the ferry. He then heard an explosion at the back half of the deck. Smith was knocked off his feet because of the shockwave. He got up and took out his .357 and ran to the back half of the deck, which was hit by the fireball. He looked around for any survivors. Another explosion blew Smith against the wall, and he struggled to get back up. On the shore, there was gunfire.

"What the hell? This is definately an intentional attack."

Smith picked up his .357 and ran around the ferry searching for survivors.

"Hello?"

"Over here!" Jim was alive, bloodied and bruised but alive. The only major injury that could be seen was a deep gash on his left arm, which was beeding profusely through his white tee. "What the hell happened?" he said as he slowly rose. Gesturing towards what was left of the staircase, he motioned towards Smith. "Let's go look for some more survivors."

Smith runs over to Jim and uses his belt as a tourniquet for Jim's left arm.

"I have no idea what's going on. It's obviously an attack. If we're going to find all of the survivors, we'll need to go seperate ways."

Tightening the belt around his arm, he nodded. "I'll take the middle deck, you take the lower deck. If you finish down there and don't find anyone, help me out. I'll let you know if I find people"

"Okay."

With that, Smith head down to the lower deck to find survivors. He yelled out for any survivors.

"Hello? Is anyone down here?"

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"Hey, watch out on the upper deck, we're still taking fire!" Lawrence blurted out quickly while stumbling around on the deck. He chose to search the middle deck for a reason, he knew this particular ferry, the Queen Anne had an armory tucked away in the back of the middle deck. Grabbing a shotgun, he managed to run down to the lower deck long enough to tell Smith about the gun find. Running up to the roof, he took cover behind the railing and returned fire. They were close enough to the shore now to be able to hit whoever was firing at them, and he took his best shot, although it was difficult to see. Rapidly firing on the attackers, he could only hope to God that would take care of the situation

Being told of the armory by Jim, Smith ran to the armory and picked up a hunting rifle. He ran to the railings on deck to return fire at the attackers. Smith decided to fire, throw himself on the ground, move to another position, and fire more to make himself a hard target.

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Although a bullet had grazed his arm, no serious damage had been done during the last shootout. Upon hearing the yell, he ran to the front of the upper deck, where he'd suspected it came from, carrying his shotgun in one arm in case some of the attackers had managed to make it on board. Walking cautiously, he managed to navigate the crumbling remains of the deck and reach Federov. Using his own belt, he applied a torniquet to Federov's stomach the best he could, while asking "Seen any other survivors?"

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The position of tony Montana is now open. Unfortanatley I have to resign from the rp. :( Sorry guys. Have fun :P

(OOC: Sorry to see you leave, Diminix. Anyone, take the Tony Montana character if you want)

1:47 AM, New Years Day. Valparaiso, Canaveral Territory

All the surviving passengers had been taken all the ferry, and the dead were being buried on the bank of the Sonora River. What was left of the Queen Anne was being towed away down the river to be scrapped somewhere. White tents were being set up along the bank to serve as medical centers for all those who needed immediate attention, and there were a lot of injured people clutching their shirts or something else to their wounds.
On the other side of the river, things were different, less civilized than how they were in the Navascan States. Even on the bank, the closest thing to the civilized portion of the country, the grass was high and untended, the landscape was dotted with hills and brimming with palms, and the moon was shining brightly in the night sky. As much as he wanted to, Lawrence couldn't concentrate on the scene around him, he was still in shock from the events that happened less than two hours ago. At the spot where he was standing, there were loads of bullet casings scattered throughout the grass, obviously from the attackers. What caught his attention, however, were the tire tracks left by their getaway vehicle. Lawrence was distraught and tired, but he still had enough energy left in him to chase after his assailants. Starting up his pickup truck (which had been relatively unscathed throughout the ferry incident), he turned on his headlights to see better. All of a sudden, he heard a voice calling out: "Hey!"

Smith emerged from the darkness to the brightness of the headlights still carrying his hunting rifle. He covered his forehead with his arm to shade his eyes from the bright headlights, and looked at Jim.

"Hey! Caught me off guard a bit there."

Lawrence squinted, partly because of the bright headlights, which were reflecting off the water, but also because he was half-asleep anyway. After a few moments, his eyes lit up a bit. "Oh hey, you're the guy from the ferry." He pointed to the belt around his arm. "Thanks." After staring him down for a couple minutes, he broke the silence. "I see you've still got that hunting rifle. I'm gonna need some help chasing down the assailants, you game?"

Smith looked down the direction of the tire tracks and looked at Jim.

"Sure. I have alot of ammo with me, so I'm ready."

Smith gets into the passenger side of the pickup and puts his rifle in his lap.

Starting up the ignition, the weathered truck sputtered a bit before coming to life, lighting up the grass ahead. There was hardly any road to speak of, the whole thing was literally smothered in tall grass, high enough to reach the roof of the pickup in some places. He rolled up his window, and then turned to Smith. "I suggest you roll up your window too, unless you like gettin smacked in the face by blades of grass" he said, smirking. Driving along cautiously, so not to damage what little tracks were left, they drove in silence for a while, until Jim finally said something. "So what brings you into The Territories?"

The grass from the outside was hitting Smith and the face. Smith then rolled up the window of his side.

"I'm here to bust the local drug cartels here. I'm a cop. A renegade cop to be exact. What about you?"

Rubbing his eyes, he took a little while to respond, perhaps because he was tired or perhaps because he was coming up with a story, maybe both.

"Well, to tell you the truth, this isn't my first time out here, I lived with my uncle and aunt here for a while when I was a kid, on a lil sugarcane plantation. Figured I'd just come back and live the simple life here. But after that ferry incident, I think I may go into law enforcement, I'm sure they need a few cops around here. So what exactly makes you a 'renegade' cop?"

"I don't wait around for the guys behind the desks to find a case for me. My grandmother can run faster than they can give me a case. I'm not a patient person so I find my own."

"So do they know about you trying to bust up these cartels? Or do they just not care?"

"They know, but with the cartels causing the havoc in these parts, they don't care. They just want the cartels out of the way. They've had their chance, now it's my chance. I'll finish it. I've busted a few cartels in my life, but those were back home, though."

"So you're not from Navascuez then?" The tracks were getting fresher, and it was easier to follow the trail now. Jim sped up a bit to catch up to the cartler members.

"I'm not. I'm from Langham."

Smith started to reload his hunting rifle in case they ran into the cartel members.

"Langham? As in the Langham that helped us out during the Independence War? No shit! Why didn't you say so?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd save up on the surprise."

"I fought alongside Langhan soldiers, well, that is until my discharge from the armed services, anyway" His face became markedly, different, remembering something unpleasant.

Smith noticed the expression on Jim's face.

"What's up?"

"I got a dishonorable discharge for alcoholism. I was drunk during half the battles I fought in. Well maybe more than half, but who's counting?"

"That sucks. My brother was sent here and sadly, he got killed. He was a member of a patrol and he got seperated. He went across a gunfight and got himself shot."

"Yeh, we lost a lot of good men during that war. But it was worth it in the end, we got all this land and it ain't stoppin till we hit the West Coast." He slowed down, there were headlights in the distance, most likely from the cartel Jeep.

"Could that be them?"

Smith gets his rifle ready in case of a fight.

"Alright, you say you're a cop, show me what you got. I wanna get rid of most of these bastards, but we gotta keep at least one alive to get info from 'im." He pumped his shotgun quickly, rolling down the window. "Ready?"

Smith quickly rolled down his window and readied his rifle.

"I'm ready."

(OOC: What was the gun Scarface used when he was shootin up all those Colombians in the end?)

Jim slowly stepped out of the truck and crouched, hiding amidst the tall grass. It provided good cover but it was difficult to navigate and there was probably a lot of stuff in there no one should ever see. Holding his shotgun in front of him, he advanced cautiously.

(OOC: It was an M-16+M-203 Grenade Launcher.)

Smith got out of the truck, crouched to the ground, and followed Jim. Smith held his rifle to the front of him.

(OOC: Yeah, I'll be using one of those later on. And we're gonna have to improvise until Sniper gets here)

They were about a hundred yards away from the Jeep. There were some men outside, apparently they were having car trouble or something and didn't want to abandon the jeep, Jim couln't be too sure. They were a fairly easy shot, but he didn't like firing on people without fair warning so he stealthily crept forward, gun always in front of him

Smith steadily moved forward with his rifle still in front of him. He kept looking in front of him and on the ground to make surehe wouldn't step on anything that would give them away.

(OOC: Just for reference, this area of Valparaiso is around the equivalent of Louisiana)

"Crap" he whispered "I just remembered this place has a nasty little alligator population." After stating that he gripped his shotgun even tighter than before.

(OOC: I'm from Louisiana.)

"S***," Smith whispered.

Smith became even more cautious and looked in all directions.

(OOC: Nice, you can fill me in on some of the geography n stuff if I screw up)

They were getting closer now, and the figures were becoming clearer. There were about five or six men in all, they appeared to be heavily armed. This made Jim even more wary than ever, and he slowed down considerably. "Good thing I'm not drunk now, I might get us both killed"

"Yeah, good thing."

(OOC: I guess we'll stop now until Sniper catches up)

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(OOC: Don't worry bout it)

"Aw, sh-t! This ain't good…" Jim changed course a little, veering to the left, hoping that would take the attention off of where they were moving, although that was unlikely as the grass blades would still give away their position a little. He stopped crouching now, inching forward upright with his head forward a little, gun pointed down now. They were now only about thirty yards from the jeep.

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"Aw, the hell with this steath sh-t…" he muttered to himself. Running forward a couple feet, he made a sudden stop, popped up among the blades of grass, yelling out "Heeeeeeeere's Jimmy!" The first shot he fired off was an errant one, flying way off the mark, but his second shot was aimed directly at the Jeep. Running left, he crouched and reloaded, hoping he'd hit something.

Smith hit the ground with the his fist.

"F***!"

Smith then got up and fired at the cartel members.

"Let's move, let's move!" he whispered hoarsely to Smith. Jumping up again, he fired a couple more shots off. The cartel men weren't stupid, they took cover behind the nearest objects they could find and sprayed off rounds from their AK's.

Smith got up and fired on the cartel members. He continuously strafed the cartel members from side to side. He got down a few seconds later to reload the huunting rifle.

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"We got three down! Keep one alive for questioning!" he yelled over to Smith. Suddenly, he cringed in pain as a bullet tore through the left side of his abdomen, a searing, hot pain that was hard to ignore. More determined than ever, he fired off rounds almost instantaneously, aiming only in the cartel's general direction not aiming at anyone in particular. He heard the popping sound of a tire as he pumped his shotgun again.

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A squad of three cop cars, classic Cadillacs straight out of the 60's decked out in black and white with the typical blue-and-red siren on top, swarmed onto Emilio's estate and stopped right outside the driveway, creating a little blockade (OOC: Where is it, in Tallulah or Valpariaso?). Seven cops stepped out, in old blue uniforms like the American cops wore back in the 50's or 60's, holding Colt .45's. "Emilio Juarez, come out with your hands up!" one screamed into the megaphone. "We won't ask you again!" they said as they aimed their guns on the windows.

Unaware that Jim had been shot, Smith continued firing on the cartel members. He then yelled to Jim to make sure he was okay.

"Hey, Jim, you okay over there?"

"Yeah, yeah, don' worry bout me, just keep your eyes on those f--kers over there. And keep the guy crouching behind the jeep's hood alive, I'ma kick his ass for shootin' me…" he blurted out before firing off another round.

"S***."

Smith continued to fire. Adrenaline began to rush through his veins. He got up, fired more aimed shots at the cartel members.

"Come on! You want some? Here's some!"

Crawling slowly back to the pickup, he grapped an M-16 out of the backseat and ran back to his position. "Hey, f--kers! I'll pump you so full o' lead you can use your d--ks as pencils! F--k you!" he shouted before spraying the area with bullets, the muzzle flare lighting up his face, showing the rage in his face, and the large red blood stain growing slowly on his shirt. "Take this!"

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(OOC: Oh man, good luck. Well, I'll usually be on from 9-10 PM on weekdays anyway so it works out, today's special cuz I have to watch a documentary on Lincoln for school)

Lawrence and Smith advanced towards the only surviving cartelsman. "Don't shoot?" He looked at Smith. "He says don't shoot, ain't that precious? Tell that to the slug lodged in my abdomen, you ass. I'll tell you what" he said slowly. "You tell me what I need to know, and maybe I won't shoot. You understand me?"

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One cop slammed Juarez against the car. "You're under arrest for…hell, I'm not gonna bother going through all these charges, I'm sure you know 'em all anyway." (OOC: There's no Miranda laws at all in Navascuez, in case anyone wants to know). Slapping the handcuffs on him, he escorted him into one of the police cars and drove off down the night road, travelling in a line and in the middle of the other two cars accompanying him.

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Lawrence dragged him over a few yards away from the river bank. "See the Sonora, there? It's full of alligators. Every time you hesitate with an answer, we'll move a little closer to the river, and if you lie to me, I'll push you in. Got it? Good. Now, first things first. Who are you working for?"

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The three cops sped along, sirens off to avoid attention, until they reached an intersection. They all stopped at the light, and one stepped out of his car to get some donuts from the market.

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"Tell me everything you know about this Juarez. Now." Pointing the shotgun right between his eyes, he glared intently at the man, waiting for the answer. "And is there any money in that Jeep?"

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"Whoa, what the hell is this?" one of the cops cried out. "This is car 306, assistance needed at the corner of Baxter and Garvey. We've got cargo, be careful not to do any shoot-em-up crap." The cop sat in the car, reaching for his gun.

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"We're doin' good, keep givin' me info. Where can I find this Juarez and how dangerous is he?" he said calmly, moving the shotgun away a bit.

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One of the cops swore under his breath, unarmed and held at gunpoint, there wasn't much he can do. The cop in the first car slumped onto the ground, riddled with bullets. In the distance, sirens blared, most likely the backup one of the cops had called for. "What the hell you want from us?"

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"Tell me where down south. And you better tell me the right answer or you'll have a gaping hole where your face should be." He pushed the tip of the shotgun up against the man's nose.

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As Emilio and his men got in the vehicle and drove off, one of the cops rolled around, clutching his butt. "Ow, you sons of b-tches, you shot me in my ass!" The backup squad rolled onto the scene of the crime, not realizing that Juarez was gone by now.

As Jim was getting information out of the cartel member, Smith went over to the cartel members' jeep and started searching it. All of the unimportant things were thrown out over hs shoulder.

"There has to be something in here."

"Yo Tom, grab as much cash as you can and stuff it in the pickup, if we're gonna risk your lives we may as well get paid for it" he whispered to him.

(OOC: I'm gonna fast-forward this to move things along here, Sniper, if you could fill me and Langham in on the info we need about Juarez I'd appreciate that, we'll just pretend we RPed it or something. I'll start this off in a town, one of you can go from there and do your thing, since it's open-ended and all.)

New Years Day. Yerbabuena, Valparaiso
James and Tom came back into town in the battered old pickup, with about $40 bundled up in the back. As they drove back into town, some of the hotspots of the town came into view. Down one street was the local barbershop, a good place to go for a shave or to talk shit about anything going on in the nation (the lack of a Constitution, for one). On another street, there was a singular, red-brick building with gilded window-sills and a neon sign with Chinese glyphs on it. The only English sign on the building read "Shangai Chinese Theater," which was a synonym for "opium den." On this block only, the street lamps were replaced with hanging Chinese lanterns which provided a great deal of light. As they passed by, James turned on the radio, which blared out some old American soul music from the early '60s. "Oh, one thing before we go on anymore crime escapades. Don't touch this radio. Ever. EVER." he mumbled wearily, covering up his gunshot wound. "The day thou touchest this radio, thou shalt surely die. Clear?"

Smith was never a big fan of old-fashioned music, but he went along with James anyway.

"Whatever."

As the music continued to play, Smith became irritated. As the music continued to play, it seemed more repetive by the second.

"Hell no! Hell no! What kinda music is this, anyway?"

"The f' you say?! This is some good ass music, that's what kind it is, dammit. Sheeeeeet." He slumped in the drivers seat, getting an irritated look on his face.
After a while, he sat back up. "You know what, if you're the big music expert, you put something good on."

"Fine I will!"

Smith started to find some music on the radio and came to some rap music.

"This is what I'm talking about!"

(OOC: Lol In real life, I like rap so don't take this one personally)

For about ten minutes he put up with the rap, although he muttered phrases like "garbage" and "piece of sh-t" under his breath. A little while later he couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh. My. GOD." In a mocking voice he started freestylin' to the beat "Ay yo n--gaz, I ain't got nuttin meanin'ful to say so I'ma jus talk bout bitches and ho's till mah flow run dry. I can't take this shyt no more!"

Furiously, or rather frantically, he switched the radio back to his soul music, blaring the sounds of Sam Cooke and Otis Redding throughout the night air in Yerbabuena.

Smith nodded and looked out the window and back at the radio, trying to resist the urge to change the channel.

"Okay. Fine. You win. It's your truck. This is probably Jamesville. You're President James, and you're the king around here, right?"

"You damn right I'm the king, I'm king, emperor and commander-in-chief, dammit." It was almost three in the morning now, and most radio stations were shutting down for the night, such as the one James was listening to.

"Aw dammit" he muttered as his music went off. "Ah, fine, put that crap you were listenin to back on"

"Cool. I didn't think radio stations shut down at night."

Smith finds the rap music and leaves it on. As the music played, Smith did a dancing motion in his seat.

A little frustrated, James did a U-turn and stopped the car outside the Chinese Theater. "Wanna go make a drug bust?"

"Yeah, that's good with me," Smith said while he was looking at the theater.

"Sweet. But first, you have like a badge or something? This'll be the first time I can bust into a place and say 'It's the m----f---ing police!'"

"Yeah, I have one right here."

Smith took out a wallet with his badge in it.

"Alright let's go." Both stepped out of the truck, parked on the street right across from the Theater. Although it was winter, the night air made it seem like a nice, spring night, and the Chinese lanterns hanging on the wires outside the Shanghai Theater let off multicolored lights that made the moment seem a bit surreal. James quietly opened the door, keeping his hand on his concealed revolver (strapped to a holster around his chest that was hidden by a button-down shirt). They stepped into the lobby, decorated with jade statues, dim yellow lighting and hostesses dressed in beautifully-decorated robes.
James paid the admission price for both of them and they walked into the back, sneaking down a set of steps that led to the opium den. He pulled out his gun. "You ready?"

"Always," Smith said as he pulled out his gun.

James and Tom quietly snuck into the basement, where dozens of people were either reclining on counches or just sprawled out on the floor. The sscent of opium was thick in the air, and just about everyone in the room was high on it by now. Looking to his right, James snatched the pipe out of an unsuspecting man's hand before heaving it down to the ground. Lifting the man up by his shirt, he threw him out into the stairwell. He turned his back to the group for a second to load his gun.

Tom pointed his gun towards the group, careful not to set it off because he began to think that they would most likely be in trouble if he set off the gun.

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(OOC: Sorry guys, I've got midterms. You can continue without me if you want, but are we doing the opium den or the police station? Either way its fine)

(OOC: I think it'd be best to forget the whole opium den and everything after, it's been kinda chaotic since then. However, if anyone wants to keep going from there, nows the time to speak up. Also, I wanna hear at least one suggestion from everyone on how to improve this RP, it's a bit off)