NationStates Jolt Archive

Transcript of Police Hearing #293919: The Case of Detective Daniel Chang. (Level III clearance only)

Records transcribed in Police Station #422, meeting room #3.

HKPD Comissioner Max Payne: Alright, now, Mr. Chang, I suppose you know what you're here for, correct?

Chang: ....

Payne: Well, we're here because those cocksuckers known as the taxpaying public sort of have a problem with their friendly law enforcement agents needlessly shooting them. Now, we have to get to the bottom of what happened on the night of July 14th 2005, because damage control in this situation is absolutely necessary, that's why I bought the People's Commissar [of HK] over and the reporter from the Hong Kong Tribune that will report exactly what I tell her to report. Of course, the truth is the best spun when you know what truth is there to spin. So without further ado, start talking.

Chang: Let's ignore for a second, the fact that you're a complete fucking tool of the People's Law Enforcement Commission, can we do that Max? We can? Good.

Payne: Anyway, talk.

Chang: I won't, not to you in any case.

Payne: You will talk, even if I have to force you to do so.

Chang: I'd like to see you try...

Payne: You WILL talk, RIGHT NOW!

Chang: Make me. You're not after damage control to save the reputation of the department, you needed an excuse to get your dirty work done for you, and now you're trying to cover up your tracks.

*Payne leaps up, reaching for the Beretta tucked into his shoulder holster*

Commissar: Calm yourself Mr. Payne. I want to hear what Detective Chang has to say.

Payne: ....

Chang: As I was saying, Commissioner Payne used me to do his dirty work.

Commissar: How so?

Chang: He had a vendetta.

Commissar: I'm slightly unclear on that one, explain to me, how do the events on July 14th prove that Commissioner Payne had a vendetta of some sort. It appears to be just a drunken teenage house party gone badly wrong.

Chang: Get your head out of your ass Comrade (ooc: Title of Govt. Officials). If this was just a case of cop rage, I would have shot quite a few more people, given how much ammunition I had on me at that time.

Commissar: Go on then.

Chang: Well, Comrade, I would have to start telling my story from quite an eariler date.

Commissar: Hmm... everything seems to be more complex than it actually is... Anyway, this may take a while, so would any of you like something to drink.

Payne: I could use some coffee.

Commissar: Good, get it yourself. I'll have a Jack Daniels, and you Detective Chang?

Chang: Same here.

Commissar: Good. *claps his hands and a servant brings in a bottle of Gentleman Jack*. Now, go on. *Payne leaves to get his coffee*.

Chang: Anyway... this all started a couple of years ago.... When my girlfriend left me... One day, I came home at 3 a.m. You have to understand, I was just in a gunbattle with the Pacitalian Mafia, my clothes were torn and dirty, and I was exhausted beyond belief. I staggered into my cheap, badly lit apartment, still clutching my empty gun in my right hand, and holding my tie in the other. Anyway, there wasn't anyone at home, so I was kinda of worried.... right up to the point where I found the note from my girlfriend.

Commissar: What did the note say on it?

Chang: Well.... It wents as follows:

"Dear Danny,

Look, I just can't be with you anymore. I mean, you're simply not... not... stable. For crying out loud, you come in almost every night tired, stressed out,you... you have problems. And I simply can't be around you anymore. I just can't. It's not like I hate you or anything though.-Love, Trish."

Anyway, after the gun battle, I was obviously feeling distraught. I tore my shirt open open, I screamed a couple of times, then I put my gun to my head and pulled the trigger. Of course, nothing happened, because the gun was unloaded. So then, I just collapsed onto my bed and fell asleep.
The next day, I woke up, tired and angry, so I poured myself a drink... A whole bottle later, I was pissed and the alcohol was telling me I had quite a few anger issues to express.

Commissar: So what did you do??

Chang: I... I went and visited someone...

Commissar: Who?

Chang: A mid level drug dealer named Pedro Vasquez, a Sevarisian. He liked to sell to kids. So I payed him a visit...

(TBC)

Meanwhile, Yakov "Jackie" Kasabian was walking nearby. A ex-Xenizen Russian Mafiya agent with a mind like a gutter and a trigger finger that itched like the victim of a practical joke, he was a tough guy, but one ruled by instinct-an animal of sorts. He had a long beard, and a trenchcoat that concealed a MAC-10, a sawed off shotgun, and USD$1,000.

He may have been nice when he was born, but Harbin was tough, an industrial working class town that was dominated by that puritan, Grigori Batov, and Chinese, Japanese, and Borderworld gangs-it would do that to a man.

He remebered how Batov made Harbin dry. Well, that led to a new wave of bootlegging, that's how he made his way into the Vakhulinchuk Mob. Killed five men, all probably deserved it. The new Prohibition bill was repealed, but the crime kept going.

After a while, hustling drugs, hookers, and bootleg CD's, he had made a big mistake. While getting arrested by the Harbin Police, he snitched on some of his friends, narced to the five-o where a stash of Ecstasy was. From then on, he was branded a suki, a "bitch." A marked man, destined to be killed for his heresy.

They let him off light for his narcing, a two year stay in a chain gang, working in Fujian, working alongside rapists, thieves, and other Mafiya. He let himself out, the chains gave way under the hammer he was issued. Next thing he knew, some Fujian Creole was shipping him in a cargo crate to Pwnage Hong Kong.

He had heard about Pwnage Hong Kong. He wanted to live there, in exile, and probably in an undisturbed state. But as it was, he couldn't.

He walked around, and saw Vasquez. He needed a fix badly(he had also violated one of the rules of drug trading-never get high off your own supply), so he went up to him and asked, "I'm in the market for some.....items."

The Visit: (Warning, Graphic, Violent, Sexual)

Pedro Vasquez slowly picked his bulky body up and flushed the toilet. Without even bothering to wipe his ass, much less pull up his pants, he calmly shuffled out of out of the toilet stall and washed his hands. Then, after cleaning off his hands, he began to ring a small brass bell next to the sink. He didn't stop until the bathroom door opened and 2 hard looking hispanic men in wifebeaters, ripped jean shorts and dewrags walked in. They were literally dragging behind them a scared, bruised and naked young boy of about 8. The boy's head,round and full of dark, curly hair, rolled slightly on his shoulders as the pace of his breathing quickened.

Vasquez tapped his fingers together and grinned widely in anticipation, showing off his teeth, crooked, broken and laced with gold. He shuffled over to the boy and squeezed his cheeks in one of his meaty, gold ringed hands.

"So, joo wan' be my playma' t'day?"

The boy quietly whimpered. Vaquez removed his hand from the boy's face, chuckled deeply as if the entire incident was just one big joke , then backhanded the boy with such force that his cheek and jaw were cut to the bone and pieces of detached flesh and small droplets of blood flew onto the bathroom mirrors a full 8 feet away.

Vasquez motioned for his 2 henchmen to drop the boy and leave, which they did with all celerity. When the door shut behind them, Vaquez jerked the boy up by the hair and pulled him to within an inch of his face.
"I hope joo' like de' beans I ha' for dinna las' nigh'", he snarled...

~*~*~*~*~

The 2 henchmen walked out of the bathroom, and into a richly carpeted hallway, tastefully lit, with long mirrors lining the length of it.

One of the henchman, a thin, greasy looking guy with a small horizontal scar on his face spoke:

"Goddamn man, 'Vasquez is fuckin' loco."

His fat, squat colleague replied:

"I know, I know, he's a pe'ophile man, fuckin' crazy, askin' fo' lil' boys."

Scarface nodded.

"So, whadda we do?"

Fatboy turned his head towards Scarface with a rather quizzical expression on his face.

"Mayn, I go' no fuckin' idea. Whadda we do? We can' just stop workin' for him, the big bosses don' like quitters, y' know that jus' as well as I do."

Scarface stroked and kneaded his chin while his eyes suddenly misted over and turned to the ceiling.

"What's up man?" asked Fatboy as he stopped in his tracks as well.

Scarface responded with a grim determination in his voice.

"We seize power, we seize it for ourselves."

"Joo' fuckin'crazy man, how we gonna pull 'dat shit off?"

"I' tink' abou' it. Meanw'ile tell NO ONE, got dat'?"

"I heard ya'"

Scarface and Fatboy walked out the building they were in, which on the outside, appeared to be just another run down, destitute building in the heart of Colonia, the central ghetto of Pwnage Hong Kong, where the poor, the rejected, the run down of society all crowded. Like in the Midnight Zone of Kowloon, there was no real light, as most of Colonia was located a thousand feet in the bowels of the Earth. Sewer pipes and the foundations of tall buildings ran in crazy tangles all over the place, partially obscuring what little light the streetlamps created. The 2 were about to step into their car when the Russian approached them.

Scarface tapped Fatboy on the shoulder.

"Hea's up, we go' company."

Scarface turned towards the Russian.

"Joo' wanna fix? Sure, wha' den?"

The Visit: (Warning, Graphic, Violent, Sexual)

Pedro Vasquez slowly picked his bulky body up and flushed the toilet. Without even bothering to wipe his ass, much less pull up his pants, he calmly shuffled out of out of the toilet stall and washed his hands. Then, after cleaning off his hands, he began to ring a small brass bell next to the sink. He didn't stop until the bathroom door opened and 2 hard looking hispanic men in wifebeaters, ripped jean shorts and dewrags walked in. They were literally dragging behind them a scared, bruised and naked young boy of about 8. The boy's head,round and full of dark, curly hair, rolled slightly on his shoulders as the pace of his breathing quickened.

Vasquez tapped his fingers together and grinned widely in anticipation, showing off his teeth, crooked, broken and laced with gold. He shuffled over to the boy and squeezed his cheeks in one of his meaty, gold ringed hands.

"So, joo wan' be my playma' t'day?"

The boy quietly whimpered. Vaquez removed his hand from the boy's face, chuckled deeply as if the entire incident was just one big joke , then backhanded the boy with such force that his cheek and jaw were cut to the bone and pieces of detached flesh and small droplets of blood flew onto the bathroom mirrors a full 8 feet away.

Vasquez motioned for his 2 henchmen to drop the boy and leave, which they did with all celerity. When the door shut behind them, Vaquez jerked the boy up by the hair and pulled him to within an inch of his face.
"I hope joo' like de' beans I ha' for dinna las' nigh'", he snarled...

~*~*~*~*~

The 2 henchmen walked out of the bathroom, and into a richly carpeted hallway, tastefully lit, with long mirrors lining the length of it.

One of the henchman, a thin, greasy looking guy with a small horizontal scar on his face spoke:

"Goddamn man, 'Vasquez is fuckin' loco."

His fat, squat colleague replied:

"I know, I know, he's a pe'ophile man, fuckin' crazy, askin' fo' lil' boys."

Scarface nodded.

"So, whadda we do?"

Fatboy turned his head towards Scarface with a rather quizzical expression on his face.

"Mayn, I go' no fuckin' idea. Whadda we do? We can' just stop workin' for him, the big bosses don' like quitters, y' know that jus' as well as I do."

Scarface stroked and kneaded his chin while his eyes suddenly misted over and turned to the ceiling.

"What's up man?" asked Fatboy as he stopped in his tracks as well.

Scarface responded with a grim determination in his voice.

"We seize power, we seize it for ourselves."

"Joo' fuckin'crazy man, how we gonna pull 'dat shit off?"

"I' tink' abou' it. Meanw'ile tell NO ONE, got dat'?"

"I heard ya'"

Scarface and Fatboy walked out the building they were in, which on the outside, appeared to be just another run down, destitute building in the heart of Colonia, the central ghetto of Pwnage Hong Kong, where the poor, the rejected, the run down of society all crowded. Like in the Midnight Zone of Kowloon, there was no real light, as most of Colonia was located a thousand feet in the bowels of the Earth. Sewer pipes and the foundations of tall buildings ran in crazy tangles all over the place, partially obscuring what little light the streetlamps created. The 2 were about to step into their car when the Russian approached them.

Scarface tapped Fatboy on the shoulder.

"Hea's up, we go' company."

Scarface turned towards the Russian.

"Joo' wanna fix? Sure, wha' den?"

Yakov steeled his hand, and made sure it was ready to snatch up his MAC if anything went to hell. The men looked like they worked for Mr. Vasquez, and something told Yakov that they didn't like working for him; it was as if he had caught them on a very bad day on the job.

He looked around nervously, fearing for any police (an old Mafiya habit) before saying: "Forgive me for intruding, sirs.....I want some Ecstasy. Two bags, 50g each. How much?"

ooc: dude, 2 line posts are a big no-no, I want this to be an RP where all the posts are well written.

OOC: Fixed it.

bump

Fergus Herald Beane was a pretty normal child. Raised as a Sawney from birth he knew the ins and outs of butchering and eating the flesh of his human opponents. Right now he was draining one dumb motherfucker who the government gave to them as a present. Apparently he'd been a pedophile and was found raping a bunch of little girls (how's that for foreshadowing?)

He sighed after taking out his big burly kinfe and cutting a nice circle around the anus before tying that off with twine to prevent the intestine and feces from sliding into the good meat. He was a little sweaty but didn't care that much as he slit from under each ear to the other. Careful to avoid the jugular lest he cause blood to spurt to heavily from the body. Stuffing the pipes into the wrists he saw large amounts of blood drain from that. He waited a few hours by going into the back room and watching a porno while the body hanging drained of blood. He got back but stumbled a little as his severly weakened knees couldn't take it for a few seconds. He checked the body and found it had drained to his satisfaction. He moved the massive vat that held all the blood and waste that had drained and slid a Half and Quarter up under the body.

After halfing and quartering the former human Fergus cracked his neck and took a quarter to the smokebox in the corner. He hung it on the single hook in the middle and walked back to the heavily dismembered body. Working rather furiously on removing one well set heavy rib for a few moments he placed it gently to the side. Carefully removing other bones and excess organs he weighed each and moved that over as well. Now that a good pile of human flesh had built up he dragged over the pickling juices. Running it over each bit of flesh he applied it heavily around the softish thigh muscles. He'd been taught well and rather enjoyed his work. It gave him time to prepare food for not only his own family but his clan as well. And it was like second nature so he could easily reflect while he was stripping a body.

Fergus bleached the bones and used the organs to their best effect. Collecting salt and minerals from the kidneys for example. Sighing he took the fat and threw large chunks of it into some plastic. Fat was good for that distinctive flavor after all.

The meat was eaten. The bones shined many times over and used as parts of weapons and religious bits. The fat was burned and did give off that good smell. All Fergus's work but while staring at the Elder Sawneys as they ate he got a sinking feeling. They worked the man flesh over in their mouths and just shrugged. He'd kept the man for a few days before slaughtering. He'd killed him. He'd done everything exactly right. Fergus desperately wanted to become the personal cook of the Elder Sawneys. But now it looked like he wasn't. They were displeased. He hadn't pickled the meat long enough.

Fergus Herald Beane was drifting the Earth. He had drifted rather strangely into Pwange Hong Kong. Colonia...The Land of Eternal Midnight. He cried now. Remembering the day he died. That's what he'd wanted his whole life. To be the chef of the Sawney Elders. Now he didn't have that. Drifting he'd made his way to a Chinese restaurant that liked his way with the blade. He didn't really care though. Drifting......straight into a pair of men talking to a Russian gentleman.

Fergus Herald Beane was a pretty normal child. Raised as a Sawney from birth he knew the ins and outs of butchering and eating the flesh of his human opponents. Right now he was draining one dumb motherfucker who the government gave to them as a present. Apparently he'd been a pedophile and was found raping a bunch of little girls (how's that for foreshadowing?)

He sighed after taking out his big burly kinfe and cutting a nice circle around the anus before tying that off with twine to prevent the intestine and feces from sliding into the good meat. He was a little sweaty but didn't care that much as he slit from under each ear to the other. Careful to avoid the jugular lest he cause blood to spurt to heavily from the body. Stuffing the pipes into the wrists he saw large amounts of blood drain from that. He waited a few hours by going into the back room and watching a porno while the body hanging drained of blood. He got back but stumbled a little as his severly weakened knees couldn't take it for a few seconds. He checked the body and found it had drained to his satisfaction. He moved the massive vat that held all the blood and waste that had drained and slid a Half and Quarter up under the body.

After halfing and quartering the former human Fergus cracked his neck and took a quarter to the smokebox in the corner. He hung it on the single hook in the middle and walked back to the heavily dismembered body. Working rather furiously on removing one well set heavy rib for a few moments he placed it gently to the side. Carefully removing other bones and excess organs he weighed each and moved that over as well. Now that a good pile of human flesh had built up he dragged over the pickling juices. Running it over each bit of flesh he applied it heavily around the softish thigh muscles. He'd been taught well and rather enjoyed his work. It gave him time to prepare food for not only his own family but his clan as well. And it was like second nature so he could easily reflect while he was stripping a body.

Fergus bleached the bones and used the organs to their best effect. Collecting salt and minerals from the kidneys for example. Sighing he took the fat and threw large chunks of it into some plastic. Fat was good for that distinctive flavor after all.

The meat was eaten. The bones shined many times over and used as parts of weapons and religious bits. The fat was burned and did give off that good smell. All Fergus's work but while staring at the Elder Sawneys as they ate he got a sinking feeling. They worked the man flesh over in their mouths and just shrugged. He'd kept the man for a few days before slaughtering. He'd killed him. He'd done everything exactly right. Fergus desperately wanted to become the personal cook of the Elder Sawneys. But now it looked like he wasn't. They were displeased. He hadn't pickled the meat long enough.

Fergus Herald Beane was drifting the Earth. He had drifted rather strangely into Pwange Hong Kong. Colonia...The Land of Eternal Midnight. He cried now. Remembering the day he died. That's what he'd wanted his whole life. To be the chef of the Sawney Elders. Now he didn't have that. Drifting he'd made his way to a Chinese restaurant that liked his way with the blade. He didn't really care though. Drifting......straight into a pair of men talking to a Russian gentleman.

Yakov was concerned...he didn't like interlopers, and he sure as hell didn't trust anybody that just stumbled into private business. He knew the power of the human voice, and what secrets it could spill to the cops. And he especially distrusted those who openly carried knives; usually, they were robbers. He got a little bit concerned.

He told his contacts, "Excuse me" and then said to the new man, threateningly: "Look here, do you mind? This is a closed meet."

bump

Back at the hearing:

Commissar: So what does this... encounter have anything to do with the events of July 14th?

Chang: Everything I'm telling has something to do with the events of July 14th.

Commissar:This story is going to take a long time, isn't it?

Chang: Yes, now pour me another glass of whiskey and start listening again.

~*~*~*~*~

Scarface and Fatboy ignored the odd looking man...

"2 bags of E man? Shii dawg, I don't tink we go' dat' on us righ' now. 50gs is a lot of Ecstasy, joo godda come inside and work outta' deal wit' de' big man."

Scarface looked around, no one was within' earshot.

"Bu' in orda to get a meeting wit' da' big man, joo gotta do som'tin' f'r us. We have a problem f'r joo t' eliminate. Now the question is, joo like gettin' rid of Vietnamese fo'ks? Cuz' if so, joo can follow my associate here."

Scarface motioned towards Fatboy, who was beginning to get into the car, a sleek looking dark blue BMW M5 that clashed with the desperately poor neighborhood worse than a skimpy French Maid's uniform did at a Guffingfordi Sexual Puritans meeting.

Vasquez pulled up his pants and buckled his belt. Then he threw the little boy's body into a corner. The little boy was a sad sight, naked, with his neck twisted at an odd angle to the side and the remains of Vasquez's feces on his lips. Vasquez spit on the little boy then left the bathroom. He had some business to get to, some checkbooks that needed to be balanced and some accounts that had to be settled with the Vietnamese.

Goddamn were the Vietnamese annoying, he thought to himself as he stepped into his plush office, which was overly decorated with ornate, gilded red wallpaper and expensive Sarzonian designer leather. They were cutting in on his slave smuggling and extortion profits as well as damaging his business interests. They had to go...

~*~*~*~*~

This sucker was fucking stupid, thought Scarface. Drugs were legal in MassPwnage, so cheap ecstasy could be had almost anywhere. Still, he wasn't about to tell the Russian that....

Yakov could sense the fact that he was missing out on something. He had obviously forgotten to research local laws, but he got a sense that he didn't have to go to back-channel sources when he saw their response.

Still, Yakov said, "Da.."

He got into the car with Fatboy. He had a sense he was getting into some wierd shit, especially since the car was so...ostentatious. He made no mention of this; something told him this was not a thing to be mentioned, especially here.

He kept his shotgun at the ready. His years of killing Japanese thugs for late payments on drugs would come in handy here.

Fatboy began driving up along a road that was on top of an sewer line, going slowly. He wasn't in a hurry, he knew where his targets lay. As he began breaking the surface line, he turned over to the Russian.

"So wha's jour' name mayn? And how did joo' get da't piece through 'curity?"

When he mentioned the piece, he glanced over at Yakov's shotgun.

~*~*~*~*~
In the back of the high profile Kowloon Vietnamese Restaurant, Chong Duy Nien began feeding 3.5" shells into several snail drums for his 10 gauge automatic shotgun. He did the loading methodically, one shell after another. Chong was a thin, short and wiry man, his deeply tanned skin and slightly wrinkled skin was pulled taut over his frame. He was wearing a black tank-top, ripped combat BDU pants and combat boots, the standard neo-Vietcong uniform. The Vietcong in the passage of years, had transformed itself from a bunch of rebels in the Vietnam war to one of the foremost criminal organizations in MassPwnage. But now, the Sevarisians were moving in on them. That would not happen.

The reason he was loading the shotgun was because one of his informants had told him of the Sevarisians' plans to move in on him. He wasn't going to roll over and die like the last victims of the Sevarisians, the vaunted and overhyped Russian Mafia. Chong loaded the drum into the shotgun, where it moved into place with a satisfying "click".

Fatboy began driving up along a road that was on top of an sewer line, going slowly. He wasn't in a hurry, he knew where his targets lay. As he began breaking the surface line, he turned over to the Russian.

"So wha's jour' name mayn? And how did joo' get da't piece through 'curity?"

When he mentioned the piece, he glanced over at Yakov's shotgun.

~*~*~*~*~
In the back of the high profile Kowloon Vietnamese Restaurant, Chong Duy Nien began feeding 3.5" shells into several snail drums for his 10 gauge automatic shotgun. He did the loading methodically, one shell after another. Chong was a thin, short and wiry man, his deeply tanned skin and slightly wrinkled skin was pulled taut over his frame. He was wearing a black tank-top, ripped combat BDU pants and combat boots, the standard neo-Vietcong uniform. The Vietcong in the passage of years, had transformed itself from a bunch of rebels in the Vietnam war to one of the foremost criminal organizations in MassPwnage. But now, the Sevarisians were moving in on them. That would not happen.

The reason he was loading the shotgun was because one of his informants had told him of the Sevarisians' plans to move in on him. He wasn't going to roll over and die like the last victims of the Sevarisians, the vaunted and overhyped Russian Mafia. Chong loaded the drum into the shotgun, where it moved into place with a satisfying "click".

Yakov leaned back, and smiled bitterly. "I don't know. Guess I paid the right people, guess I had the right license....or maybe just sheer luck."

He then said, "By the way, my name is Yakov. My associates call me Jackie."

Noticing Fatboy was looking at his gun, he said, "This here's a Winchester Model 98. This gun, I hold the trigger, I just keep pumping, things go my way. Very handy tool for negotiations with Yakuza and Mods in my neck of the woods."

"Ah.... well, stow' dat' shit in da' fuckin' trunk. We gonna need mor' fi'powa' where we goin'." Fatboy left Colonia behind and began driving upwards, towards the lofty Blue Zone of Kowloon.

"Joo know d' Vietcong righ' Jackie? They prob'ly go' operations where you from. Say.... where joo' from anyway... there's alo' o' russians on 'dis planet."

~*~*~*~*~*~~*

(ooc: sorry for the crappy post, I'm at school)

"Ah.... well, stow' dat' shit in da' fuckin' trunk. We gonna need mor' fi'powa' where we goin'." Fatboy left Colonia behind and began driving upwards, towards the lofty Blue Zone of Kowloon.

"Joo know d' Vietcong righ' Jackie? They prob'ly go' operations where you from. Say.... where joo' from anyway... there's alo' o' russians on 'dis planet."

~*~*~*~*~*~~*

(ooc: sorry for the crappy post, I'm at school)

Jackie said, "I'm from Harbin, Upper Xen."

He raised his eyes at the last part. "Didn't know the Cong still existed; my Daddy fought them in the War until the Federalists voted to pull out in '74. Where I come from, I worry about Mods, Yakuza, and Triads. That, and a puritanical priest named Grigori Batov that rules the airwaves and souls of his countrymen-at least in Manchuria-with an iron fist. And actually, I'm half-Armenian; my Dad was always trusted with the numbers, be they the racket in Harbin; or firing arty in the Nam."

He then said, inquisitively: "My gun ain't big enough, eh? Got anything I can borrow?"

bump

"Shi... d' Viets have been 'round fo'eva mayn. Don' le' anyone know 'dat your daddy fought in 'Nam, aiite, lotta folks are sensitive 'bout that dat war. And abou' guns, when we ge' t' d' meetin' point, we talk abou' guns, aiite? Joo just gotta tell me bout' dem mods, 'dey like d' British mafia 'round 'dese par's?"

Fatboy was weaving in and out of the dense Hong Kong traffic. It would be a while until they arrived.

~*~*~*~*

Back in the kitchens of the Vietnamese Restaurant, Chong slipped a level 8 buckyball constructed bulletproof vest over his head, then slung the his automatic shotgun over his shoulder. He opened up a drawer in front of him and removed the H&K USP .45 stowed in it. He loaded up a magazine and tossed 5-6 extra magazines into his belt ammo holders. Chong also slipped 5 extra drums for his auto shotgun into a web belt pouch on his vest. He holstered the pistol. Good.. he was ready.

Chong walked upstairs from the kitchen into the restaurant's meeting room. The meeting room was dark and windowless, with only a table and some chairs. The entire room smelled like an open mass grave for cigarettes. In the meeting room, there stood 10-12 other men and women, all dressed the same as Chong and armed to the teeth. One of them, a young, slim woman with long black hair nodded towards Chong when he stepped in.

Chong spoke to the woman.

"Lien, is everyone else ready?"

"We're ready."

Chong smiled, "Good girl."

The Vietcong fighters got into single file and shuffled out of the room.

"Shi... d' Viets have been 'round fo'eva mayn. Don' le' anyone know 'dat your daddy fought in 'Nam, aiite, lotta folks are sensitive 'bout that dat war. And abou' guns, when we ge' t' d' meetin' point, we talk abou' guns, aiite? Joo just gotta tell me bout' dem mods, 'dey like d' British mafia 'round 'dese par's?"

Fatboy was weaving in and out of the dense Hong Kong traffic. It would be a while until they arrived.

~*~*~*~*

Back in the kitchens of the Vietnamese Restaurant, Chong slipped a level 8 buckyball constructed bulletproof vest over his head, then slung the his automatic shotgun over his shoulder. He opened up a drawer in front of him and removed the H&K USP .45 stowed in it. He loaded up a magazine and tossed 5-6 extra magazines into his belt ammo holders. Chong also slipped 5 extra drums for his auto shotgun into a web belt pouch on his vest. He holstered the pistol. Good.. he was ready.

Chong walked upstairs from the kitchen into the restaurant's meeting room. The meeting room was dark and windowless, with only a table and some chairs. The entire room smelled like an open mass grave for cigarettes. In the meeting room, there stood 10-12 other men and women, all dressed the same as Chong and armed to the teeth. One of them, a young, slim woman with long black hair nodded towards Chong when he stepped in.

Chong spoke to the woman.

"Lien, is everyone else ready?"

"We're ready."

Chong smiled, "Good girl."

The Vietcong fighters got into single file and shuffled out of the room.

Jackie said, "Well, the Mods..can't explain, y'know?"

He chuckled, and got serious. "That's one of their phrases. They are serious devotees of British Mod culture-they dress like the Beatles, but have tranchcoats and British flags all over 'em, the girls have early 60's hair and clothing, drive Vespas, listen to Soul, R&B, Blues and Early Rock music, and even Jamaican crap."

He continued: "They're two kinds: J-Mods, who've added anime, Jap schoolgirl and J-pop idol culture, new wave music, electronica/hacker culture, Jap flags, all that shit to their stew, and C-Mods, who are more traditional; they see the Japs as posers. Not all of 'em are Brits-many are Chinese or Japanese, but they accept all. Not all of 'em join gangs either, but there are a few bad eggs in every bunch...in this case, plenty of bad eggs; Lord knows I've killed plenty. They love making Sten guns, and they love their 'sausage and mash'- that's hashish for ya- and their 'tickets'- that's a code word for prostitutes- and their LSD."

bump

ooc: will post soon, and UX come online please.

"Mayn, 'dey sound like fuckin' pussies. I guess I gotta tell joo abou' da' Bri'ish Mafia now. Now, de' Brits, they muddafuckin' hardasses, 'deyd kill joo and jour family if joo steal a quarta' from 'dem. 'Dey all gots' perfe' teeth too."

Fatboy pulled into a large parking garage and nodded to the security guard as he drove in. He made his way upwards to the 2nd to top floor of the garage and parked.

On the floor, every space was taken except for one. Fatboy parked the BMW in the space, the opened the trunk.

"Take 2 guns an' all de' ammo for them, 'den follow me."

In there trunk, there were 2 BR-1 Assault rifles and their 5 shot 40mm grenade launchers. Also, there were 2 SMG 7 submachine guns.

Fatboy grabbed a BR-1 and an SMG-7 then began walking towards the elevator.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lien shouldered her gigantic BR-3 "Assault Rifle". Lien was built like a stereotypical Southeastern Asian girl, short, thin and flat-chested. However, a lifetime of living on the streets, through countless gunbattles, encounters with PAPs, muggers and the occasional wild animal had hardened her slim frame to perfection. A good thing, because the BR-3 was more than 5 ft. long and fired 9x90mm rounds from a 250 round drum and 40x60mm grenades from a 10 round drum magazine. The "Rambo", as the weapon was affectionally called by Pwnage soldiers, could only be wielded effectively by the strongest of soldiers.

The Vietcong soldiers were walking along a service corridor in the 5th "basement" floor of the same garage that the Sevarisians were in. They were going to ambush the Sevarisians halfway. Chong grinned. Even if he died, he would have died fighting, unlike the head of the Russian Mafia, who died cowering on the carpeted floor of his mansion after soiling his pants...

Jackie took the two remaining guns. He had heard of these things; Pwnage guns were rare in Harbin but prized by the Triads for 1. they were made by other angry Chinese who hated Japanese, or "those Damn Turnipheads" as the Triads called them, and 2. they had firepower and big caliber killing power; something the Triads loved and craved to combat the vanity and covertness of the Yakuza, the "dare-death" arrogance and even greater vanity of the Mods, and the sheer brutality of the Russian Mafiya. He had faced these things before....

..Now he would have a crack at firing them. He loaded them, and followed Fatboy. The tension was building, and he felt the feeling....the flashbacks would come soon......

Fergus worked at a nice downtown Chinese restaraunt. He was a cook and that's what he did. He went down to the docks at night and bought that fish that was not yet sold. Usually the bottom of the barrel. The most undesired fish. That's what he took. And he cut them and cleaned them and fried them and cooked them eight ways to sunday. By God he'd make something worth eating. That's what he was doing now. Hanging flowers over the door he let them dry and drip all their power into the room. His kilt swayed a bit as the new Czech Orchestra blasted out of a small radio. He drained the fish and sliced them all over. Tonight he would make something a little special. Taking out a little grinder he had Fergus set to the task of grinding all the extra bits. That which was unwanted from the fish and the pig and the lizard dog and Pwange snapping turtle. He ground it together and then mashed it into cubes.

It went over well. Mr. Xian was kind enough to thank him many times for bringing this business. Everyone seemed to like the Pwnage Scrapple that he'd made. He got back to work. One night as the Czech Orchestra was again blasting he was again cutting. Cigarette dangling from his mouth ever so slightly. Sweat poured from his face. He had turned off the AC while cooking for some odd reason tonight. He was intent. Like a religion of chopping and grinding and breaking and making. The fires burned high. All the other cooks had abandoned this place hours ago. Yet he was still at it. He breathed in the smell of oil and smoke. That polluted odor of fish guts frying in the sun. Luring the birds in like it always did.

The only other people here were Muan and Mr. Xian. Fergus couldn't pronounce Muan's name so he called her Maggie. He was pretty damn sure he was in love with Maggie. And Maggie was pretty damn sure she was in love with him. They'd talked a few times. Joked and laughed. He would ask her to his house sometime soon. He really would. Not just for sex. He'd show her how he lived. See if she could accept a cannibalistic man. He heard a sound though. In the back of the place. Fergus went back listening carefully for the sound. A soft moan followed by a rather loud unloving grunt. His hands froze as his eyes came to rest upon the blouse that Maggie wore. Tears blurred his eyes turning slowly towards the door to Xian's office. Those sounds came again. He opened the door slowly letting it swing......

He rested in the gutter. His stomach kept coming into him as he dry cried. She'd looked ashamed when he'd seen them. Her in Xian's lap bouncing up and down. Naked that slapping sound coming again. He'd blacked out. But he knew what'd happened. He could still hear their screaming as he tore them apart. When he woke up he saw his work. Her throat torn out. Head at an odd angle. Blood on the walls. Xian's body torn in two. Maggie dead eyes glazed over like those of a fish. Fergus Herald Sawney Beane was his father's son. A monster in a man's flesh. He stood up and walked off into the night......

Fatboy went 2 floors down... The elevator doors opened, revealing over 100, all tough, hard looking men in undershirts, torn jeans and dewrags. The Sevarisians were clearly not as well armed as the Vietcong fighters were, some of them had only pistols and shotguns. Nor did they look as professional and well trained, there were a few teenagers in their ranks, as well as the standard gangland hardasses.

Fatboy surveyed his command, who were all chatting idly. He raised his fist into the air in a silence demanding gesture, then began to speak.

"Alrigh' mutha'fucka's, le's do 'dis shi'! Joo all know where our targe' es'!"

The Sevarisians nodded silently and began making their way to the lower levels of the garage. From there, they would take a back access door to Chong's restaurant.... Then the shit would hit the fan...

At the hearing:

Commissioner: So... what were you doing at the time of the upcoming gun battle?

Chang: Investigating something....

Commissioner: What do you mean?

Chang: The Sawney Beane murders.

Commissioner: Those?

Chang: Yea, those murders... Gimme another drink....

~~*~*~*~
"Good fucking god..."

Chang looked agape at Muan and Xian's corpses. Somebody really had a problem with those 2.....

"Who did it?"

"Well, Detective, the only 3 people in here was a cook, the Manager, and his girlfriend."

"Well... it's fairly obvious who did it then."

"What was the cook's name?"

"Err.... good god... I have no idea."

"Damn. Now, the cook couldn't have been a human, no human can rip a person apart like that, wasn't a lizard or hybrid either..."

Xian and Muan were carried out, wrapped in white sheets, by the medical examiner's office.

"No... I suspect it was a Camel Eater..."

Fatboy went 2 floors down... The elevator doors opened, revealing over 100, all tough, hard looking men in undershirts, torn jeans and dewrags. The Sevarisians were clearly not as well armed as the Vietcong fighters were, some of them had only pistols and shotguns. Nor did they look as professional and well trained, there were a few teenagers in their ranks, as well as the standard gangland hardasses.

Fatboy surveyed his command, who were all chatting idly. He raised his fist into the air in a silence demanding gesture, then began to speak.

"Alrigh' mutha'fucka's, le's do 'dis shi'! Joo all know where our targe' es'!"

The Sevarisians nodded silently and began making their way to the lower levels of the garage. From there, they would take a back access door to Chong's restaurant.... Then the shit would hit the fan...

Jackie began to feel something...the Rage....the nightmares were coming.......

Things began to go gray. His hand trembled slightly, and he began to see the night his family died.

-----------

He remembered it like it was yesterday. He was playing with his Captain Amierica action figure, he was using the shield to beat up his sister's Barbie. Daddy was reading Popular Mechanics, and Mommy was knitting.

She had screamed: "No fair!"

Daddy, or Antonin Kasabian, as he was legally known as, said, "Now now kids, let us play fair. We'll let Barbie win next time, eh Jackie?" He was known as a Devil to his enemies, but to his children, he was kind, if firm, and always made time for them.

Young Jackie remebered pouting, "Okay...."

Daddy said, "Good....now don't be mean to your sister. She is the only sister you'll have."

Those words proved prophetic. For that awful crash that ruined his life was heard, coming from the kitchen. A few minutes later, Daddy ran upstairs, and came back with an AK-47. He went to see who it was.

It was two Chinese Mods, dressed in trenchcoats, and British flag jackets. They looked like they had been drinking, and the assistant looked like he had downed LSD. They had evil grins, and emoted the darkest, greediest emotions on their faces. They were carrying shotguns, and Austens. The leader smiled evilly at Daddy and said, "Wotcha, sir. sugar and spice evenin', aint it?"

Daddy said, "Get out of my house!" and fired his AK.

The Mods ducked and rolled. The assistant Mod fired a burst from his Austen, and hit Daddy in the shoulder. Daddy ran back, and a five minute gun battle erupted.

But it was one old Antonin did not win-little Jackie saw the Mods throw the grenade that ended his father's life-Daddy was in the toilet at the time. It was a flashbang, so it distracted him. Somehow, Jackie saw the Mods then run up to him, and cowardly shove him down, and beat him senseless before shooting him at the base of the neck, ending his life.

Jackie was horrified. He stood there for five minutes, doing nothing as he then saw the Mods grab his little sister and his mother, and drag them upstairs. He heard screams, perverse cries, and gunshots. He then saw the Mods come down the stairs.

The assistant Mod said, "Wot should we do wif 'im?"

The leader said, "Daan't do a blimey fin'. let's go-we've 'ad our fan."

They left in a hurry, the sound of a stolen Cadillac zooming away. Little Yakov wandered to his father's body. He sat there for the rest of the night, aware of the gravity of the situation.

When the police came, that was the beginning of his nightmare.......

----------------------

As Yakov was dreaming this inside the garage, his eyes began to turn a wild haze of red. He tightened up, and became almost animalistic as he went off to war....

He mumbled: "I won't let them hurt you anymore, Daddy" over and over to himself, repeatedly ensuring his gun was loaded and ready.

ooc: Online please UX.

As he walked, Fatboy began to mull over in his mind the chances for victory. Not high. Even if they did win, many of the guys that the Sevarisians assembled were probably going to end up in the hospital or in bodybags. But then again, most, if not all the people assembled were desperately, hopelessly poor. This was their only hope of a future, no matter how remote it was. Thus, they fought.

On the way down, Fatboy found himself crossing himself. He wasn't a religious man by any standard, but he suddenly found his piety growing. Maybe it was because, like his thugs, needed some hope....

~*~*~*~*~*~

The guy behind Jackie was wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He was noticing that the Russian was muttering to himself, something about Barbie and Captain America... Freaky. Everyone knows that Barbie wins against Captain America, I mean, Barbie would ride the Superhero's cock until.... The Sevarisian shook his head... Think about those things later, he thought to himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~
The Vietcong heard the Sevarisians coming into the garage. Chong raised his hand and ordered his column to press their backs on the wall on the Sevarisians' blind side around the corner. Chong took a careful breath, and pulled the pins on 5-6 flashbangs, then turned the corner and threw them all at once....

"It's time to taste what you most fear!" Fergus was smashed out of his skull. Wondering the streets of Colonia he laughed feeling the Thousand Year Rage that came with being a Sawney. His Instincts were at an all time high. He felt the emotions of everyone around him. He could smell their diseases and taste their perversion. He stood back for a moment secluded in an alley marking his prey for now. He'd try something new. Going slow with it. A weak one could bring you to more weak ones. And he liked to hear them scream.

He trailed behind the man. He could feel the evil from him. Whenever he looked at a little girl the man got stiff. Fergus didn't like that. He didn't know that it was legal here though. Frankly he didn't care. The man stretched a bad leg that he seemed to have and went into Big Harry's Barn of Kiddy Porn. Fergus followed intently. He noticed a few things that helped him immediately. The heavy black windows, though unusual for Pwange porn joints, really did help him out here. He even saw a few Badges. "Fuck it." He snarled a deep throaty snarl and dove into the men and women standing around...

He rip and tore like there was no tomorrow. Squeezing the life out of a hybrid. He laughed the whole way as they lizard-like throat crumbled in under his attention. The bastard was dead. Fergus left his corpse and stepped forward sniffing the air. Sex and fear.......he knew that one as much. Performers, children who were having sex with adults, Fergus Herald Sawney Beane folded his lips back and let his blood covered mouth show. Spitting out someone's eyeball he stepped over the corpse strewn room. Making sure to grind his foot through the policeman's head.

Stepping into a small performing room sort of thing he saw a young girl with all sorts of juices dripping from her body. He smelled the decay inside her. He sniffed a bit and looked around the room at the men who'd been fucking her. Fergus was covered in bone and had a few men's heads hanging around his waist. He cracked his knuckles and stepped forward giving over to The Beast...

Fergus walked through the back alleys. He was dripping blood and piss. Cowards had hid behind the girl. Fergus just ripped her head off and desecrated their flesh. He didn't take their heads though. Not a one of them was worth it. Not a one of them earned it. Though the girl had been brave. She'd looked into his eyes and nodded. Dignified until death and beyond...Fergus Herald Sawney Beane petted her head as it rested in his hand. He would drop it off some place nice. So her soul could rest their for eternity...

ooc: Online please UX.

As he walked, Fatboy began to mull over in his mind the chances for victory. Not high. Even if they did win, many of the guys that the Sevarisians assembled were probably going to end up in the hospital or in bodybags. But then again, most, if not all the people assembled were desperately, hopelessly poor. This was their only hope of a future, no matter how remote it was. Thus, they fought.

On the way down, Fatboy found himself crossing himself. He wasn't a religious man by any standard, but he suddenly found his piety growing. Maybe it was because, like his thugs, needed some hope....

~*~*~*~*~*~

The guy behind Jackie was wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He was noticing that the Russian was muttering to himself, something about Barbie and Captain America... Freaky. Everyone knows that Barbie wins against Captain America, I mean, Barbie would ride the Superhero's cock until.... The Sevarisian shook his head... Think about those things later, he thought to himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~
The Vietcong heard the Sevarisians coming into the garage. Chong raised his hand and ordered his column to press their backs on the wall on the Sevarisians' blind side around the corner. Chong took a careful breath, and pulled the pins on 5-6 flashbangs, then turned the corner and threw them all at once....

Jackie closed his eyes, and yelled "GET DOWN, AND SHUT YER EYES!" to the Sevarisians in a newly gruff, demonic voice. He seemed to...well....let's just say he looked kinda different.

Gone was the gruff exterior of before, now stood a darkly heroic harbringer of death. In a way, he now resembled St. Elias, the Russian Orthodox saint of warriors. But, I'm not sure if St. Elias was a gangster, like Jackie was, nor was he a demon, like Jackie was now.

He then rolled down and out of the way, eyes still closed shut and cradling his BMR-1 like it was a precious child.

"Detective, we got witnesses, but they aren't talking."

Daniel sat down on a stripper's stage and pulled out a cigarette.

The crime scene officer glanced at Daniel.

"Those things kill ya', you really should try to quit."

"I'll think about it later...." growled Daniel as he lit the cigarette.

An Assisstant Coroner stepped up to Daniel.

"Well, Detective Chang, the ligature marks are consistent with the ones you submitted to me this morning."

"I suspected as much... What does the analysis show?"

"Well, Detective, it's some sort of Camel Eater... that's for sure... but the handprints, they're huge... The ligature marks are deeper than normal, whoever's been doing the murders must be the Arnold Schwarzenegger or Bruce Lee of killing people with bare hands."

"Hmm.... they're handprints no doubt right, DNA and everything?"

"Yes. Although the DNA doesn't match anything on file."

"Shit..." Daniel trampled his cigarette on the ground.

Daniel thought for a bit.

"Well now... we could torture the witnesses for information, but I doubt they really saw anything important.... Check the surveillance tapes of the place..." The last command was given to the a patrol officer, who walked off.

"Fergus Herald Sawney Beane." The man looked at him oddly. Fergus just snorted and drummed his fingers across the desk. He was betting on a Goblinball match that would be taking place today in his homeland. The Bloodied Stones of Munster vs. The Gruffeys. Fergus had given the bookie his name and threw down his change. Three hundred Twa Fergus Mac AnMayos hit the table that the bookie was sitting behind.

"Where you want it transferred? If you win." The lizard's nostrils flared a little as he brought in some more air. He swept the Fergies (nickname of our currency) into a pouch and counted the odds. "You bet on the BSTs. That's twenty to one odds. Hehe. Might not win that one."

"First Colonian Bank of MassPwange. And the BSTs are going to win my friend. That is a certain."

Fergus got up and laughed as the lizard saw another customer move in to do business. He hung back and watched the guy. Obviously a thief or idiot. Dropping alot of dollars onto a table. Fergus could smell the rest on him. Idiots didn't deserve to survive. Fergus waited for him to come out of the alley. He swept the man's feet away and twisted his neck in a few seconds. Quickly stripping the man of anything valuable Fergus set off to the local pawn shop. He sold the man's clothes, flesh, and items. He finally had enough to buy a nice gravestone for the girl's head........

In the chaos, Lien stepped out from behind cover and started blasting away.

9x90mm blended metal rounds flew everywhere, most of them in surprisingly accurate shot groupings. The huge bullets tore through nearly everything, cars, concrete pillars and people like 120mm KE rounds tearing through little Palestinian boys.

Added to that, were grenades, big, long cartridged grenades that spewed white hot fragments all over the place.

~*~*~*~*

Fatboy knew it... For a fat person however, he was amazingly light on his feet as he ducked behind a Mercedes, then a concrete pillar, then rounded the corner before returning fire through the smoke and confusion. He ducked out of the way just as Lien fired a burst of 9x90mm ammunition in his direction.

Swearing, he rolled closer into the area of the upwards ramp and shoved a grenade into his grenade launcher. He rounded the corner and fired the grenade.

Lien leapt out of the way, as agile as a big cat on performance enhancing steroids. Fatboy's grenade destroyed an SUV and sparked a fire however....

Things just got interesting.

ooc: Warning, potential ooc social commentary up ahead.

It was the 3rd crime scene in 24 hours that Daniel had been to. In all 3 cases, the same suspect was responsible. What was worse was that Daniel had no real leads. Another killing would come.... Daniel rubbed his temples; he hadn't gotten any sleep since waking up yesterday morning, and he still hadn't had an opportunity to visit Vasquez yet. Damn...

He lit up yet another cigarette. The Assisstant Cornoner was right, it was a filthy habit indeed, a slight bit better than the junkies on the force, with God-Knows-What coursing through their bloodstreams. Daniel sometimes fervently wished that drugs would be recriminalized, both because he didn't like drugs and because the decriminalization of drugs led criminal organizations to pursue even baser forms of human degredation, such as slavery, and Capitalism. Daniel, being a patriotic Pwnage citizen shuddered at the last one. Capitalism, especially in the guise of legitimate businesses pursuing legal goals, disgusted Daniel. That and a war on drugs would be easier to pursue than a war on big business. The Drug Lords wielded guns, the Corporate Lords wielded high priced lawyers.

The Assisstant Coroner walking up jerked Daniel out of his internal political rant. Daniel crushed his cigarette into the pavement and glanced up.

"Whaddya want?"

"I found the exact variant of Camel Eater responsible for the murders."

"What?"

"The Sawney Beane. They're a clan of cannibals from Camel Eaters."

"Sawney Beane was a Scottish cannibal, wasn't he?"

"Indeed Detective."

"Hmm... the Bank records show someone named Fergus Herald Sawney Beane performing a currency exchange right before the murder of the bank teller. I'll search the surveillance tapes at that time..."

Lew Vladriev was a cop. Emphasis on was.

-------------

The small hotel room was dark, save for the glow of the silent television. The repetitive creak of rusty bedsprings echoed dully through the room. Beneath a single dirty cover, a formless mass shifted up and down rhythmically. As the small red digits of the alarm clock turned to read 1:16, the upper half of the formless mass rolled off to the side, and lay still.

She was slim, soft. Young, but old enough to relax the conscience. She rolled over onto her side and looked at the foreigner who lay there, a darkened face gazing at nothing, but still seeing.

“Can I ask you something?”

He was silent.

“Who are you?”

He remained motionless, as if he had not heard her. She sat up in bed, and looked at him for a few minutes more before getting up, and searching the floor for her clothes. She found his wallet lying where he’d left it, and opened it, removing a few bills. He did not protest. She finished dressing, and moved to the door, taking one last look at her silent, foreign customer, before stepping out of the door.

He continued to lie there for close to a half hour, before he stirred. Sitting up, and swinging his legs out over the floor, his feet making contact with the thin, bristly carpet, he got up. He grabbed a pair of worn pants from where they lay at the foot of the bed and pulled them on. Taking a seat in a small wooden chair, he grabbed the last cigarette from a pack in the pocket, and flicked a rusty airport lighter to life. He inhaled deeply, and let the smoke trail through his nostrils and the corners of his mouth.

“Who am I?”

The smoke billowed out over his lips as he spoke this last.

“Good fucking question.”

((OOC: More later when I have time.))

In the chaos, Lien stepped out from behind cover and started blasting away.

9x90mm blended metal rounds flew everywhere, most of them in surprisingly accurate shot groupings. The huge bullets tore through nearly everything, cars, concrete pillars and people like 120mm KE rounds tearing through little Palestinian boys.

Added to that, were grenades, big, long cartridged grenades that spewed white hot fragments all over the place.

~*~*~*~*

Fatboy knew it... For a fat person however, he was amazingly light on his feet as he ducked behind a Mercedes, then a concrete pillar, then rounded the corner before returning fire through the smoke and confusion. He ducked out of the way just as Lien fired a burst of 9x90mm ammunition in his direction.

Swearing, he rolled closer into the area of the upwards ramp and shoved a grenade into his grenade launcher. He rounded the corner and fired the grenade.

Lien leapt out of the way, as agile as a big cat on performance enhancing steroids. Fatboy's grenade destroyed an SUV and sparked a fire however....

Things just got interesting.

Jackie ran behind the flaming SUV with superhuman speed, shootdodging with his newly rented rifle and screaming Russian curses at the Cong. He then began smelling the air like a wild animal, loaded his grenade launcher, and lobbed an entire clip at them.

He then reloaded his grenade launcher, and began zigzagging amongst the autos in the garage. He ducked and weaved from car to car, launching grenades at the Cong and peppering them with the 8x60 rounds from his rented gun...they had a kick he wasn't used to, but in his state, he didn't care or notice. He swore his dad killed these guys in '71....by gum, he would ensure his dad's work was NOT in vain.

ooc: UX, I'm at school, so making a decent post is impossible, but the BR-1 only shoots 8x60mm rounds.

ooc: Not much time these past few days. Btw, the physics aren't borrowed from the Max Payne engine, so shootdodging and matrix style moves don't work.

The Vietcong scattered as the grenades exploded and shredded a group of cars, creating a large number of small localized fires and explosions. The fires pushed them backwards towards the street exit on that floor, where they were subjected to Jackie's wildly inaccurate fire, a bullet from which managed to hit a Vietcong fighter in the chest, where it was stopped by the fighter's buckyball vest.

Lien, loaded another 250 round drum into her BR-3 and began hosing down the remaining cars on that floor, tearing holes through the burning wrecks and causing even more explosions from rounds that tore through smoldering gas tanks.

~*~*~*~

"FALL BACK ON ME!", shouted Fatboy as Vietcong bullets and grenades flew in every direction. The remaining Sevarisians complied, laying a large amount of supressive fire down as they retreated. One of the Vietcong fighters got his head removed by the fire.... (tbc)

ooc: Not much time these past few days. Btw, the physics aren't borrowed from the Max Payne engine, so shootdodging and matrix style moves don't work.

The Vietcong scattered as the grenades exploded and shredded a group of cars, creating a large number of small localized fires and explosions. The fires pushed them backwards towards the street exit on that floor, where they were subjected to Jackie's wildly inaccurate fire, a bullet from which managed to hit a Vietcong fighter in the chest, where it was stopped by the fighter's buckyball vest.

Lien, loaded another 250 round drum into her BR-3 and began hosing down the remaining cars on that floor, tearing holes through the burning wrecks and causing even more explosions from rounds that tore through smoldering gas tanks.

~*~*~*~

"FALL BACK ON ME!", shouted Fatboy as Vietcong bullets and grenades flew in every direction. The remaining Sevarisians complied, laying a large amount of supressive fire down as they retreated. One of the Vietcong fighters got his head removed by the fire.... (tbc)

Jackie's building rage began to let itself out. He avoided the explosions, zigzagging around the wrecks and running like a man possessed.

He then screamed angrily in Russian: "THIS IS FOR CON THIEN, M*********ERS!" and began going low and charging at the Cong, emptying an entire clip of grenades at them, spraying them with fire, and then going to the floor and rolling to the side, hiding behind a pillar.

The Vietcong ran into the street, dodging the explosions, except for another one of the fighters, who was blown over the edge of the garage by one of Jackie's grenades. They ran to the other side of the street, spraying fire along the whole floor. Covering behind a pillar on a neighboring building, Chong grabbed a PAT-05 general purpose rocket launcher from the back of one of his fighters and extended the weapon with one hand while loading in a rocket propelled grenade with the other.

He leaned out from behind the car and fired the rocket at the pillar Jackie was hiding behind while Lien provided supressive fire for him.

~*~*~*~

Fatboy counted his troops. There were no more than 20 of them left.... Damn... who told them that they were coming? Damn... This wasn't a good day... He leaned out and fired a couple of bullets at the Vietcong, then ducked back under cover as Lien's 9x90mm rounds began spraying his position.

The Vietcong ran into the street, dodging the explosions, except for another one of the fighters, who was blown over the edge of the garage by one of Jackie's grenades. They ran to the other side of the street, spraying fire along the whole floor. Covering behind a pillar on a neighboring building, Chong grabbed a PAT-05 general purpose rocket launcher from the back of one of his fighters and extended the weapon with one hand while loading in a rocket propelled grenade with the other.

He leaned out from behind the car and fired the rocket at the pillar Jackie was hiding behind while Lien provided supressive fire for him.

~*~*~*~

Fatboy counted his troops. There were no more than 20 of them left.... Damn... who told them that they were coming? Damn... This wasn't a good day... He leaned out and fired a couple of bullets at the Vietcong, then ducked back under cover as Lien's 9x90mm rounds began spraying his position.

Jackie heard the wooshing sound of the rocket, and rolled out from behind the pillar. Sensing that this was probably not a good thing, he ran to the other side of the garage. Reloading his gun, he then ran forward into the street, escaping the rocket as it exploded.

He took cover behind a parked car, and began to aim at the enemy. Going for the head, he began to exchange shots once more.....

He'd won. In fact he'd won alot of money. He'd cleaned that bastard out. The bastard didn't want to give him his money though. He approached the Bank cautiously. Opening the doors he stepped inside slowly. He would die here if he made a wrong move. He really didn't want to die in here. Being gunned down by plasma cannons didn't much appeal to him. He came to the man who he had set up the bet with. They'd decided to meet in a bank. The lizard didn't want to make a scene. Fergus just didn't want anymore blood on his hands. He sidled up next to the lizard and nodded his head. "Where's me money mate?"

The lizard sniggered and shook its head. "You don't get nothing. You knew they'd win. Inside information isn't rewarded." Fergus's face went pale as he realized he had been played by the reptilian bastard.

Fergus leaned forward and quickly gripped one of the lizard's claws and yanked forward. Very little blood hit the ground as the claw was tucked inside Fergus's jacket. The lizard gasped and Fergus simply tapped the sheet of paper that held his bet on it. "Transfer it bitch."

The lizard tucked his hand like thing close to his body and approached the teller. He spoke for a few moments and the money had been transferred. Fergus walked up after the lizard and transferred all of his money to a different account name. Alexander Faoilleach Gahlan now held all of Fergus's assets. Alexander Faoilleach Gahlan was his brother in-law.... That's what he'd told the teller at least.

OOC: Hey Senor Noodle get on MSN.

ooc: UX on MSN please.

"Shi' mayn, he' fuckin' loco'..." gasped Fatboy as he watched Jackie running crazily towards the Vietcong.

"Yea... he cou' be useful to us..." muttered another Sevarisian.

The coast was clear, so the Sevarisians began to drag away the bodies of their wounded and dead as they retreated. Meanwhile, Fatboy reloaded his gun and another clip of grenades and began to walk towards Jackie and the Vietcong.

~*~*~*~*~
Lien sprayed another burst of 9x90mm ammunition and 3 grenades in Jackie's direction. He wouldn't die... Damn... if all the criminals in Upper Xen were like that, then any expansion in that direction would be futile. She cursed to herself and hoped that the bullets would find their mark.

ooc: UX on MSN please.

"Shi' mayn, he' fuckin' loco'..." gasped Fatboy as he watched Jackie running crazily towards the Vietcong.

"Yea... he cou' be useful to us..." muttered another Sevarisian.

The coast was clear, so the Sevarisians began to drag away the bodies of their wounded and dead as they retreated. Meanwhile, Fatboy reloaded his gun and another clip of grenades and began to walk towards Jackie and the Vietcong.

~*~*~*~*~
Lien sprayed another burst of 9x90mm ammunition and 3 grenades in Jackie's direction. He wouldn't die... Damn... if all the criminals in Upper Xen were like that, then any expansion in that direction would be futile. She cursed to herself and hoped that the bullets would find their mark.

Jackie rolled out from under the car and began running and gunning the Cong with more rifle fire and grenade shots as he ran to the side, with frantic speed. He then said, "HARBIN, MOFO!"

He wouldn't die. Not in this state-he was too tough to die. He had Kevlar, but there was something else that spared him from dying. Was it sheer luck, or a Devil's Deal? The latter seemed to be the case, as Jackie reloaded his gun, and stared at the Cong with burning Red eyes.

He smiled evilly, laughed, and unloaded an entire clip of grenades into the group before running behind yet another parked car.

bump

The parked car Jackie had run behind suddenly exploded. Lien had anticpated Jackie's move and launched a few grenades at car just as he dived behind it. She cackled evily, then ducked. One of Fatboy's bullets had just barely missed her head.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" she shouted as a stream of Fatboy's grenades poured into the area they were standing in. Another 2 Vietcong fighters didn't heed Lien's warning quickly enough and suffered the ultimate penalty for it.

The rest of them ran into the building, which was the lobby for the Useless Litigation section of a law firm....

~*~*~*~*~

In the Hotel:

What am I doing?

The aforementioned thought was running through the girl's mind. Yes, the girl. Lew Vladriev had just slept with a 17 year old teenage runaway. In the unpleasant darkness of the room, she pulled the sheets closer to her body. The girl stared blankly and sadly at the television. She had just slept with some random man; well not slept, more like fucked. Why?

Good fucking question.

All she knew was that her drunken father had a new skanky girlfriend who wore too much makeup and had perfume that smelled like hashish. All she knew was physical and verbal abuse in the moments where her father forgot to neglect her.

Running away wasn't exactly the best course of action, but it was the only one she had. Maybe she should have brought her little sister along or something, or at least told someone like a friend where she was. But then again, she didn't have many friends, no real ones anyway. The situation offered an escape from worries. She walked downstairs. Some rather unsavory types were hanging out in the front lobby. Judging by their jackets, open shirts displaying their thick italian chest hair, and gold medallions, they were the Pacitalian Mafia. Not good...

She walked back to the room and knocked on the door.

The parked car Jackie had run behind suddenly exploded. Lien had anticpated Jackie's move and launched a few grenades at car just as he dived behind it. She cackled evily, then ducked. One of Fatboy's bullets had just barely missed her head.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" she shouted as a stream of Fatboy's grenades poured into the area they were standing in. Another 2 Vietcong fighters didn't heed Lien's warning quickly enough and suffered the ultimate penalty for it.

The rest of them ran into the building, which was the lobby for the Useless Litigation section of a law firm....

~*~*~*~*~

In the Hotel:

What am I doing?

The aforementioned thought was running through the girl's mind. Yes, the girl. Lew Vladriev had just slept with a 17 year old teenage runaway. In the unpleasant darkness of the room, she pulled the sheets closer to her body. The girl stared blankly and sadly at the television. She had just slept with some random man; well not slept, more like fucked. Why?

Good fucking question.

All she knew was that her drunken father had a new skanky girlfriend who wore too much makeup and had perfume that smelled like hashish. All she knew was physical and verbal abuse in the moments where her father forgot to neglect her.

Running away wasn't exactly the best course of action, but it was the only one she had. Maybe she should have brought her little sister along or something, or at least told someone like a friend where she was. But then again, she didn't have many friends, no real ones anyway. The situation offered an escape from worries. Maybe she should ask her impromptu lover for another escape.

"Got anything I could use to relax myself?"

Jackie was feeling the hurt....the shards of metal in his body, the flames engulfing him and burning his skin to a nice, crispy texture, all to the tune of every nerve cell going off with alarm bells ringing.

Yet the Rage kept him going.....He knew he couldn't afford to die. He got up once more....more dreams came....

--------------

The pain from the shots had stung Jackie. He was doing a torch job for the first time-some Yakuza a**hole forgot to pay protection and was gonna lose his shop.

The job went easy enough-soak the place in gas, and light a match-don't forget some WP grenades for maximum fire-just a little though.

But, the owner's daughter came.

She had yelled: "Stop!"

He had panicked, and fired his gun, a Hi Power. The bullet grazed her leg, and she fell on the ground. The noise brought sounds of cocking and an angry man, yelling, "DIE!"

He had unloaded a wall of buckshot into Jackie's face. Jackie wondered why he still looked good afterwards. Jackie fired back with his Hi Power, and killed the man. By now, the flames were growing-the shop resembled Dante's Inferno.

Then, more cars drove up. It was Yakuza land, after all.

A squad of well dressed men in Armani suits opened fire with AR-18's and SPAS shotguns. Two of Jackie's fellow vor fell, and he was hit in the arm.

Jackie then felt the Rage....that dream....the nightmare.....it filled him with evil energy. It seemed to call to him: "Go and kill....thou shalt be redeemed in blood."

Jackie obeyed. He punched down the bars on the doors with his bare hands, and lept outside. Rolling on the sidewalk, he fired at the gangers, soiling their impeccable suits and forcing them down.

He then remebered reloading, and giving every man a headshot before throwing them into the burning Hell that was the Shop. He then stole the Yakuza car, and drove away.

The Rage faded, and Jackie felt sick....
-------------------------

His flaming body seemed to be a visage from Hell. He was hurting, but he didn't care. Seeing a man with an iPod walking down the street, Jackie took him hostage, held him so he didn't burn him and began marching towards the Law firm, opening fire with his SMG and using the poor soul as a human shield.

ooc: oh, UX, online please.

ooc: oh, UX, online please.

OOC: Lemme guess-that was a no no, seeing Jackie get up again? I can fix that.

ooc: No.... I have a plot point i want to discuss. Getting up again is cool though

(OOC: What can I do?)

Lew tried to ignore the knocking, to drown it out with his own thoughts, but it pervaded everything in his mind. Finally, scowling, he stood and walked over to the door. He turned the handle, and pulled inward. He was slightly surprised to see the woman standing there. Usually they didn't come back after they were paid. He looked her up and down. She was nervous, and for the first time he realized that she was also young. Fear brought that out in people. He stood to the side, and let her come in.

"What is it?"

ooc: RB, read what we have all posted, then make a character that fits the story.

The girl shifted on her feet and looked away from Lew's face, feeling a combination of embarassment and shame. She bit her tounge slightly before speaking.

"There are a few thugs standing around in the lobby, can I just crash here until they go away, please?"

Damn... she wished she didn't have to ask that... Look at me, I'm fucking pathetic, I have to go back to this guy, who's probably gonna rape me and cut my throat... I'm probably not even going to make the fucking news when they find my body...

Something struck a chord in the back of Lew’s mind. He looked off to the side and his brow furrowed momentarily. Thugs usually didn’t stand around in the lobby of three star hotels in mid-level Macao unless they had business there. He wasn’t sure of their intentions, but he was sure that the girl had been right to not risk a walk past them, especially if they were who he thought they were.

His expression softened somewhat. He looked at her again, and nodded, before turning and walking over to the window. Maybe he had been wrong to let her back in. Maybe she would have been better off finding a back exit to the hotel. Maybe. There was always a maybe.

The girl sat down on a chair in the corner silently. The thugs would probably stay around for a while, probably making idle conversation before moving off to the hotel bar for a few drinks. Still, this entire hotel was probably a Pacitalian protectoriate, there were alot of thugs hanging around in that lobby. She could guess at what Lew was thinking.

"They're Pacitalians, they own this hotel" she told him.

~*~*~*~*
"Faoilleach Gahlan? Good god!"

Commissioner Payne's cigarette fell out of his mouth, setting fire to a pile of papers on his desk. Faoilleach Gahlan was a rather important clan name in Camel Eaters, arresting or taking out the Sawney would have more than just legal implications in this case. The HKPD couldn't afford to cause an International Incident... That was the job of the Central Government in any case.

As the Commissioner's desk began to burn, he pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number.

"Yea, could you get me to the Commissar? Yes, it's VERY FUCKING IMPORTANT YOU UNDERPAID MORONIC PIECE OF SHIT! Oh sorry there Comrade, I thought you were your Secretary... Anyway... we have a diplomatic crisis, our fun cannibalistic serial killer is a high ranking foreigner, we need Legal Enforcement Agency and Imperial Guard Diplomatic Corps agents in Hong Kong."

Payne nodded as the Commissar responded.

"Good, Imperial Guard agents are on their way? Excellent, thanks."

Commissioner Payne hung up and left the room to go get a fire extinguisher.

One stood above the Sawney. Peering down into the abyss that they'd trapped this one in. Thirty-Seven had nearly died baiting this crazed one out in the woods. Rejected from Sawney homes he'd roamed the wilds becoming like the first Sawneys. Before they were tamed. Before they were bred outwards from their incestuous ways. Before they were clan's men. One moved around the edge of the massive pit. The Sawney was jumping as high as he could. Thirty feet disappeared behind him each time he jumped. Then he would fall back thirty more. One was learning how Sawneys worked. He knew that An Keehan would pit them against the Sawney Beanes in the coming wars. The 101 Brothers were a force to be reckoned with. When fighting alongside one another even Sawneys feared them. This would rip everything apart though. Sawneys were controlled by the Bards. An Keehan were those Bards who had become so powerful they were no longer human. The most ancient order of Camel Eaters would be shredded in the coming storm. But the Sawney below would not live to see it. One raised the gun in his left hand and fired into the Sawney skull.

Fuck.

Pacitalians. He had suspected as much. The sheer quantity of wops hanging around the hotel had bothered him from the start. It had been against his better judgement to take the hotel room in the first place, but it was either here, or something on the lower levels, and compared to that, anything was preferable.

Lew wordlessly walked over to the dressed and searched the drawer for another pack of cigarettes. Instead, in pushing aside the socks he uncovered the handle of his .45, the last souvenir of his time with the Sofia police department. He quickly covered it again, and closed the drawer.

Suddenly a sharp rapping came on the door. Without opening it, he knew who it was. Lew bolted around, and looked to the door, then to the girl. He cursed to himseld in Generian, before hurrying over to her. He grabbed her harshly around the arm, and dragged her over to the bathroom, pushing her inside. He spoke to her quietly but urgently.

"Lock the door and don't come out until I tell you. No matter what you hear, don't come out."

He closed the bathroom door and walked over to the hotel room door. He peered through the small eyehole, and saw a magnified and distorted eye trying to see through from the other side. The eye pulled back to reveal a greasy haired, stubble-chinned man. He began rapping on the door again.

"Open the goddamn door!"

Lew turned the handle, and opened the door slightly without undoing the chain lock. He presented the look of a weary man, interrupted from his rest. He spoke in English with a heavy Generian accent.

"What do you want?"

The Pacitalian knocking on the door was clearly drunk, his Scarface style clothes were rumpled, his breath reeked of cheap Pacitalian Tequila, which came straight from the bottle in his hand, and his eyes were bleary and bloodshot, but full of dark, greedy desire.

"Ah' wan' Tina, she' fuckin' in e'a? I wanner! Jou betta' fuckin' give her t' me! Wha' are jou doin' ere' eh?!" slurred the Pacitalian as he tried to barge his way into the door.

"I wanner a fuckin' blowjob jou piece of chit!" roared the Pacitalian as he clumsily lifted up his tequila bottle and tried to smash Lew's face through the chain with it....

~*~*~*~

The girl, now known as Tina, huddled in the bathroom. She recognized the voice of that guy. His name was Gino.... a fucking creep. He was into anal sex and BDSM mostly. Rumor had it that he liked little boys too. Oh well... she hoped that guy wouldn't get himself killed....

~*~*~*~

The first Imperial Guard units began to arrive in Hong Kong... Cops were watching all the exits of the city as well. The Sawney wouldn't get out, even if he tried.

Huge lizards in black combat armor fanned out all over the city. When they found the Sawney, he would suffer for his crimes....

Lew looked with disgust at the disgraceful piece of pig shit bumbling around before him. As he swung the bottle, Lew caught it, and wrenched it out of the drunk's hand with a vice grip. He tossed the bottle behind him and turned back to the man, who was still trying to force his way through the door, kept solidly in position by the well built Generian.

"You're drunk. Get out of here. Go home or something."

Lew leaned hard on the door, forcing the Pacitalian derelict stumbling backwards.

"Go on! Get out of here!"

Lew closed the door, and walked back over to the dresser.

The Pacitalian stumbled into the oppposite wall, then pulled himself up to standing position and staggered down to another room on the same floor where 2 of his friends, and 2 coked out whores were partying.

One his friends, a Pacitalian by the name of Tino, threw a wet condom at his face as he walked in.

"'Ey man, where's da' **** joo'd said we get, eh? Joo're wort'less piece o' chit."

"I couln' ge' i', some eedeot guy's hogging 'er."

"We gotta do sumpin' den" Gino's 2nd friend, Marino chimed in.

"Wha?"

"He got' ****, we steal **** from 'im."

"Fuck yea!" shouted Tino as he got up and pulled out his Fw-53. Tino walked out of the room and knocked on the door again, hiding the submachinegun from view.

"Open da' fuck up!"

He didn't wait for Lew to open before kicking the door in.....

OOC: Hate to be a nasty neighborino, but Jackie needs a reply.

ooc: I swear I posted... Fucking server must have eaten my post.

I'll reply a bit later.

Tino was able to manage a brief expression of surprise at the well built man training his pistol on him before a .45 calibur round slammed into his face, dissolving it into a bloody mess. His corpse blew over like a stalk of grain as Marino halted behind it, mouth agape. The second thug fumbled to raise his submachine gun, but was blown away as Lew's strong finger hammered on the trigger of the .45. The SMG fell to the floor as the Pacitalian clutched at his throat, red ooze dribbling between his fingers as he tried to scream through a shattered larynx.

Gino halted in the doorway, horror written on his face as his two friends were slaughtered right in front of him. He looked at the corpses and then at the cold man with the pistol, trained on his chest. Two more shots and two bloody holes opened up in his suit, knocking him over, into the hall. The pain seemed to take his intoxication away, and the adrenaline rushing through his body augmented his instinct enough to allow him to roll out of the doorway, and Lew's line of fire. He touched his fingers to his chest, mouth agape as he sat there bleeding.

Lew lowered the smoking gun, eyes still fixated on the doorway. He walked forward, out into the hall, and looked into the face of the drunken goon, animal terror in his bloodshot eyes. The goon lunged forward over the ground, going for his gun, but Lew landed a kick in his ribs, and he flipped over onto his back, wincing. Lew placed the heel of his leather boot on the man’s chin, and pressed sharply down and to the side. The man’s neck wrenched at a horrible angle, and his eyes glazed over with the snap.

Lew, gun still in hand, walked back into the room. He rapped urgently on the door, and called to the girl inside.

“Open up! Come on! We have to go now!”

The Vietcong ran further into the lobby escaped via an escalator to a lower floor as Jackie's bullets sprayed around randomly. The 6x32mm bullets of his SMG-7 Submachinegun splattered the brains of a nearby cleaning lady onto the floor she just mopped.

Fatboy ran up with a fire extinguisher he got out of nowhere and put Jackie out.

"Dang skippy, joo gotta know when ta' quit...."

Fatboy threw the fire extinguisher to the ground.

"Come on mayn, we gotta' get joo to da' fuckin' hospital... Joo don' look so goo'."

He shot 2 more potential witnesses as they fled and then the surveillance cameras, before dialing 912, the Pwnage ambulance number, on his cellphone.

The Vietcong ran further into the lobby escaped via an escalator to a lower floor as Jackie's bullets sprayed around randomly. The 6x32mm bullets of his SMG-7 Submachinegun splattered the brains of a nearby cleaning lady onto the floor she just mopped.

Fatboy ran up with a fire extinguisher he got out of nowhere and put Jackie out.

"Dang skippy, joo gotta know when ta' quit...."

Fatboy threw the fire extinguisher to the ground.

"Come on mayn, we gotta' get joo to da' fuckin' hospital... Joo don' look so goo'."

He shot 2 more potential witnesses as they fled and then the surveillance cameras, before dialing 912, the Pwnage ambulance number, on his cellphone.

Jackie stared at him with a hardened, evil glare. He smiled and laughed, his laugh a shrill, evil, sadistic voice that enjoyed the destruction he had wrought.

He then said, sternly and with great relish, "So it would seem....yes....very well......I shall follow."

He then shrugged, and Jackie then let out a scream....he then said, "Damn, I wigged out, didn't I?"

He then sat down, and smiled. The dreams were gone, and the reality staring him cold in the face...what was left of it.

Tina was sitting in the bathtub, head between her legs, shaking visibly and scared out of her mind. She didn't know what exactly had just happened. All she had heard was the door exploding inwards, then several gunshots, and Lew yelling for her to get up and leave. Her brain was telling her to do as Lew said, but her body wouldn't move... She staggered to her feet and stepping shakily across took 3-4 grasps at the doorknob before finally getting a firm grip on it and opening the door.

What Lew saw was a shaking, trembling wreck, clothed in a black halter top and a paper thin miniskirt. She saw the corpses and took a few steps back, blubbering out a few incoherent words, barely suppressing her urge to scream.

More Pacitalians could be heard coming up the stairs, shouting loudly. Other guests in other rooms began making their way towards the stairs, temporarily blocking the incoming Pacitalians. The gangsters tried to shove their way through the mass of people, to get to Lew.

One of them, a particularly tall one in black sunglasses, pulled out his F-53w and fired above the heads of the fleeing people at where Lew was standing.

ooc: UX, online, another plot point needs to be discussed.

The amublance, or rather several dozen ambulances and a fire truck arrived on the scene 5 minutes later. There were no police cars though. The Hong Kong Police Department learned long ago that some gunfights could not be prevented, or stopped for that matter. Both the CRASH and SWAT units were underfunded in the extreme; the Pwnage law enforcement budget occupied a whopping 0.5% of of the entire national budget, which meant that cops had to let at least some crimes slip out from under them, lest the department be unable to pay the salaries of its officers.

Well, the department couldn't pay the salaries of its officers anyway. Most cops were crooked at least slightly and took bribes, stole, trafficked in drugs and stolen merchandise and otherwise dishonored their badge. But of course, it's either that, or $5 an hour. Most chose that.

A few paramedics ran up, bearing a stretcher. They were astonished at the fact that Jackie was still concious and lucid, despite the fact that he bore wounds that killed most genetically enhanced special forces soldiers, not to mention regular people instantly.

One of them, assuming he was high on PCP, ran back with a detox syringe...

He staggered through the streets. Rain poured onto his sunburnt head and vomit rose in his throat. Fergus Herald Sawney Beane wanted to die. In this state he should've. The world was blurred and his body refused to hold anything anymore. He felt the vomit, bile, and putrid black phlegm erupt from his mouth and nose...he ran for a car and curled up under it. His skin peeled off in short albino like strips and blood was coating his nostrils as he bled from the pores spasming from on his head. The heat from the car kept him alive as toxin flooded his blood and he lost conciousness.

In his delusional dream state he remembered for a moment why he was here. Down at the docks......then it slipped away. He remembered his training as a child. Watching a movie with his first girlfriend. Seeing the first bloody death in his life. Rocketing forward again to just a few minutes ago Down at the docks there'd been some fish.....dancing a jig in a club with a cigar falling from his mouth. Sex....he remembered that one well. Down at the docks there'd been some fish and he'd bought a few........Learning from his father how to spot the weak ones from the herd. The first time he'd taken another man's life and eaten their flesh. Down at the docks there'd been some fish and he'd bought some and cooked 'em, then he'd eaten his........jumping up and down as he betted on his friends fighting. The other boys in the circle cheering as blood flew into the air from a viscious punch. Down at the docks there'd been some fish and he'd bought a few and cooked 'em, then he'd eaten his meal and gotten really sick. Must have been some sort of poison in it. Sawneys were really vulnerable to that sort........his mother's funeral. Sawneys were really vulnerable to that sort of stuff.

ooc: UX, online, another plot point needs to be discussed.

The amublance, or rather several dozen ambulances and a fire truck arrived on the scene 5 minutes later. There were no police cars though. The Hong Kong Police Department learned long ago that some gunfights could not be prevented, or stopped for that matter. Both the CRASH and SWAT units were underfunded in the extreme; the Pwnage law enforcement budget occupied a whopping 0.5% of of the entire national budget, which meant that cops had to let at least some crimes slip out from under them, lest the department be unable to pay the salaries of its officers.

Well, the department couldn't pay the salaries of its officers anyway. Most cops were crooked at least slightly and took bribes, stole, trafficked in drugs and stolen merchandise and otherwise dishonored their badge. But of course, it's either that, or $5 an hour. Most chose that.

A few paramedics ran up, bearing a stretcher. They were astonished at the fact that Jackie was still concious and lucid, despite the fact that he bore wounds that killed most genetically enhanced special forces soldiers, not to mention regular people instantly.

One of them, assuming he was high on PCP, ran back with a detox syringe...

Jackie was hurting now. He wasn't astonished he outlived an epic gunfight Doc Holliday would've loved, but the fact he survived flames got to him. Normally, that didn't happen. But, then again, he often didn't run through flames, or act stupid enough to be set on fire.

Jackie, noticing the man with the syringe, smiled and said, "No, don't do that. I have had no PCP.....I rarely do drugs, save for-no, wait. Nevermind."

He then laughed and said, "Forgive me for not getting up. You are amazed, yes?"

Lew tore his eyes off the trembling girl, to see the crowd rushing for the stairs. He saw the tall man whip out the F-53, and lunged into the bathroom, pulling the girl in with him. The shots veered wildly, slamming into the door, the ceiling, and the wall outside the room. Lew pressed himself against the wall by the door and checked his clip. The gunfire stopped and he whirled around into the hotel room doorway. He saw the tall man with sunglasses leveling to fire, and took steady aim before pulling the trigger. The man fell backwards into the crowd. Panicked screams echoed at the sound of gunfire, and Lew hit the deck. He checked the back of one of the corpses, and found a 9mm pistol, which he removed and shoved into his own waist with the .45 before picking up a dropped F-53. The girl had ventured out into the hall, and was staring dumbstruck at the corpses.

Lew turned just in time to see a gangster leveling a pistol at her head, and dived, taking her to the ground as the bullets slammed into the wall overhead. Lew rolled onto his back and fired. The man’s stomach ripped open in a bloody mess as the bullets slammed into him, blood staining his cheap black suit. The crowd was dissipating, but Lew couldn’t see any more gangsters from where he lay. He turned to the girl, and spoke softly.

“Stay here. I’ll be back.”

Lew pressed himself against the wall beside the hotel room doorway, his SMG beside his head. He peered around the corner, and instantly a hail of bullets slammed into the wall beside him. He whipped his head back around as the girl screamed. He looked at her and raised his finger to his lips. Like a lynx, he rolled and dived out into the hall, opening fire on the staircase in the center of the main floor. A potted plant was cut to shreds as the man behind it scrambled from his cover, giving Lew a clean shot at the aggressor. The gangster fell, clutching at his blood stained legs and howling like an animal.

Lew, crouching, ran over to the wounded man, and took up position behind the banister that lined the staircase. He looked down at the fallen thug, and smashed the butt of the SMG across his face. He fell silent. He looked back to the room. The girl was hiding behind a chair, watching him. He nodded to her. She started to move and a hail of bullets exploded along the walls outside the room, taking out a fluorescent light. She screamed and fell to her knees, covering her neck.

Without thinking, Lew dived to the right, and unloaded on a pair of thugs taking aim at the doorway to his room. As he clicked dry, one collapsed in a heap, the other stumbled over to the wall, trying to level his pistol on Lew. Lew whipped out the 9mm and put two rounds in his head. The man’s corpse slid down the wall, leaving a red trail. Lew grabbed the F-53 off one of the dead men, and turned back to the room. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Slightly panicked, Lew rushed to the doorway, finding the girl had once more retreated into the bathroom. He grabbed her around the arm and pulled her to her feet. She tried to fight against him, pulling away, slapping at him. He shook her and brought his face close to hers, his eyes gentle but piercing and stern. He spoke softly to her.

“We have to leave now or they will kill us both. If you want to get out of here alive, come with me.”

She stared into his eyes, and her trembling ceased somewhat, Lew let go of her, and walked back out into the hall. He searched the floor. The main staircases and the elevators were suicide traps, but there was an emergency staircase at the other end. As no more thugs had come upstairs, chances are they’d be waiting in the hall. Taking the girl gently around the arm, he hurried over to the emergency staircase, and slowly opened the heavy door. There was no one. He mounted the stairwell, Tina in tow.

Tina was now REALLY afraid, which was a slight worsening of her condition from 5 minutes before. She just saw several people getting shot, never a good thing for anyone to see, but especially for someone like her, who had never seen a dead body outside of frogs in biology class.

She was also slightly deafened from the gunshots and slightly bruised from being shoved around by Lew's mass. The big Slav probably played American football in his college years or something, she thought.

She got up and followed Lew down the staircase, throwing off her shoes so she could run faster. High heels sucked for running and a movie this scenario wasn't.

The emergency staircase lead down into a much larger anchor building with a couple of roads running through it. Rows of stores, trees and townhouses lined the streets, all lit with streetlamps only, as all sunlight terminated a full thousand feet above.

For now, Tina just followed Lew closely, not saying a word. She still didn't trust him fully though.... There was still that slight sense that he didn't really care about her welfare or that he was doing this to get more sex. But he was better than getting shot, or anally raped by Gino.
~*~*~*

Waiting for Lew and Tina in the street were 2 black GMC Yukon Denalis full of angry Pacitalians. Some of the Pacitalians had R-462 Underworld assault rifles, others had huge, intimidating looking, chrome plated .44 caliber semiautomatic handguns.

The Pacitalians expected Lew to exit from that side, because the main staircases exited into the lobby and the front entrance, which was already full of heavily armed people. They covered behind their GMCs training their guns on all the rear exits. When Lew appeared, he would be greeted with a hail of gunfire...

ooc:
To Upper Xen: Before I can reply any further, I must speak with you about something online.

ooc: UX, will reply within 1 hour. Sorry about last night.

OOC: it's cool.

"Alright... anyway... We have to get you to the hospital, sir, at the very least, those red hot chunks of 1996 Mecury Sable have to come out. Now, if you could simply get up onto this stretcher, we would be most grateful."

A couple of paramedics set up a stretcher, while the paramedic with the detox needle walked back into the ambulance to put it away.

Fatboy in the meantime had disappeared. He needed to check on the combatants there were under his charge, and try to salvage what was left of their bodies. Then he needed to think up of a decent excuse for what happened. Otherwise, Vasquez would probably be anally raping his mutilated corpse by tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*

"Alright... anyway... We have to get you to the hospital, sir, at the very least, those red hot chunks of 1996 Mecury Sable have to come out. Now, if you could simply get up onto this stretcher, we would be most grateful."

A couple of paramedics set up a stretcher, while the paramedic with the detox needle walked back into the ambulance to put it away.

Fatboy in the meantime had disappeared. He needed to check on the combatants there were under his charge, and try to salvage what was left of their bodies. Then he needed to think up of a decent excuse for what happened. Otherwise, Vasquez would probably be anally raping his mutilated corpse by tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*

Jackie said, "Very well, you may take me to the hospital......I am burning, it would not be fun if I stayed this way for too long."

He chuckled, keeping a surprisingly calm attitude during this unfortunate turn of events. He smiled and got on the stretcher, and then fell asleep.

The next morning, an radio alarm clock sitting on a cheap IKEA nightstand was smashed to pieces by a large fist attached to a beefy arm that reached out from under a pair of burgundy silk sheets. The figure under the sheets struggled to pull himself up out from under the sheets. He had to get up though. He pulled off the sheets and rolled up out of bed, sitting up slowly and stretching.

The person under the sheets was a large, heavily muscled, square jawed shaven headed man with piercing blue eyes and dozens of tattoos on his arms and torso. His name was Michael J. Crowley; he was the head of the MassPwnage British Mafia.

Crowley got up out of his sparsely furnished bedroom and walked down the short hallway of his apartment to the bathroom, where he took a short shower, then brushed his teeth and shaved off whatever stubble grew above his neck during the night, excepting his eyebrows. He then put on his clothes, or rather his gang uniform, which consisted of baggy acid washed jeans, a BDU bulletproof vest, and black combat boots. He walked over into his small kitchen, where a woman with the same clothes and the same amount of hair was sitting, checking the news on an expensive laptop, which contrasted with the small, dilapidated table in the kitchen.

The woman greeted Crowley, "Top o' th' mornin' t' ye, 'ope y' loik leftova' pizza, cuz that's the only thing we've got lef' in the fridge."

"Fuckin' 'ell Wendy, we've got t' go shopping more" replied Crowley as he ate his microwave reheated pizza and drank his morning tea. "Anyway, anythin' interestin' hoppen' yes'erday?"

"Well, there was a gunfioght 'tween the Sevarisians an' the Viets. No winner there... Otherwise, uninterestin', 'cept we go' a few Mods from Upper Xen visitin' us."

"They lookin' to buy?" asked Crowley through sips of tea.

"I s'pose so."

"Tell em' I'll meet them at noon at the Dead Parrot Pet shop in New London. I'm going to be in office for the morning though."

Crowley got up, kissed Wendy and left the apartment. He hopped up onto his black BMW motorcycle parked outside and left for his office in New London...

At the office in New London-

Six men on Triumph motorbikes soon arrived outside of the meetign place. The Triumphs didn't ride as well as the standard Mod Vespa, but they had been advised to bring the Triumphs, lest they be mocked. Not that these Mods, or any Mods, cared about who mocked their Vespas, R&B music, or their hair or RAF coats.

The leader of the Mod troop was one Mikey Hong. A tough from Harbin, he was the same one responsible for killing Jackie's parents years ago. Now, he was an old man, drugged out, and armed to the teeth with Hi Powers, and Austens. His men had those guns too, one had a modded L1A1, the "Suzie Wong Special," fixed to fire two-shot bursts and carry a 100rd clip.

They parked their bikes, and went inside. They sat inside, and waited...

ooc: UX... online again...

The Dead Parrot Pet Shop was a cross between a zoo, a pound, a madhouse, and a pet shop.

Animals sat in rows upon rows of cages, pens and enclosures, pacing about, sleeping or flat on their backs, or dead. Many of the animals were dead, especially the parrots. But the parrots were flying off the shelves anyway. The buyers usually tried to return them after finding them dead in their cages.

Crowley was standing near the Parrot section, leaning on a signpost that read "Parrots are Alive, You Bloody F**King Git." He was picking at his fingers and whistling some obscure drinking song. He waited for the mods to find him first.

And if anyone said "It's just a flesh wound", he would shoot them.

~*~*~*

The Sawney was rudely awakened by the car on top of him being thrown off with violent force. 2 huge lizards in black Imperial Guard combat armor were standing over him, snarling. One of them was litterally slobbering in anticipation.

These weren't normal lizardmen. For one, they had glowing red holes for eyes. Secondly, they just didn't appear normal... They held themselves in such a way that exhibted the fact that they were elite soldiers, the best of the best.

And they were ready to inflict some serious pain on Fergus Herald Sawney Beane...

Mikey and the Mods wandered about the shop. It was a mess, but he figured that he'd seen messier in Akihabara Ward, Tokyo, when he shot up that Yakuza-owned electronics shop. That place was dusty and messy...you couldn't find a damn thing there.

Mikey saw a man leaning against a post in the Parrot section. He smiled, walked up to him, tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Day's Dawnin', sir."

He bowed a little, and waved to his crew, motioning for them to step forward. He then said, in a Cockney accent "'re ya Crowley? We've come ter do sum business. Me name's mikey 'ung, this is me crew."

Crowley carefully slipped out of the mod's grasp.

"Yer' the ones looking f'r an import job roight?", he asked, rhetorically though.

"Whatter 'yer tehms then? Narcs r' cheap 'ere but smugglin's expensive."

He leaned back into the signpost and smiled, revealing his dazzling, absolutely perfect teeth. Obsession with dental health was another sign of British Mafia membership. Most Pwnage Britons and Praetonians had mouthfuls of broken, horrifically mangled, yellowed teeth, fitting the stereotype that British people had bad teeth. However, in order to set themselves apart from other Pwnage every spare moment flossing.
Britons, the British Mafia had a rule that every member must brush their teeth at least 3 times per day and floss at least once. Most members however, were downright neurotic, brushing 10 times a day if possible.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chong sat in his restaraunt office. 4 of his most reliable employees had been killed in the last gunbattle with the Sevarisians. He needed to replace losses and fast, before anyone else tried to move in on him.... Hmm... there had to be something around...

He began checking in the Yellow Pages for "Mercenaries".........

The Sawney was rudely awakened by the car on top of him being thrown off with violent force. 2 huge lizards in black Imperial Guard combat armor were standing over him, snarling. One of them was litterally slobbering in anticipation.

These weren't normal lizardmen. For one, they had glowing red holes for eyes. Secondly, they just didn't appear normal... They held themselves in such a way that exhibted the fact that they were elite soldiers, the best of the best.

And they were ready to inflict some serious pain on Fergus Herald Sawney Beane...

Fergus looked up and stared at the Imperial Guardsmen. He was cold and his whole body shook with the chills. He sneezed and then rolled over. His hair matting against the wet cement.

He got up and stared them in the eyes. He was tired, sick, and if he wasn't at a fucking doctors soon he would die. But goddamned if he wouldn't go out like a man. Taken into a coughing fit he straightened back up his throat raw as he muttered a few fatal words.

"I am Fergus Herald Sawney Beane. Rejected of the Sawney Kingdom. I shall die now but I will not die easy. Bring it you bastards."

He wheezed once more and launched himself at the lizards temperature rising quickly as the advanced Sawney toxin spread through his body at an alarming rate. If they didn't kill him, and they would, he would die from the amount in his system. He frenzied like the Berserker of old. Millenia of rage coursed through him. His body started giving out though. Bones were twisted and muscle ripped. But he kept coming. All semblance of humanity had died within him......

The sudden force of the Camel Eater's attack slammed one of the Imperial Guards through a parked car and 5 feet into the pavement. The second guard rushed up and stabbed at him with his tail, but the Sawney grabbed and tried to break it apart in his hands.

It wasn't working. The second guard surged and slashed the Sawney brutally across the chest with his 6 in. claws, which only worked to enrage the Sawney, causing him to try and bite off the guard's hand futilely. The guard headbutted the Sawney in the nose, smashing it halfway into his brain, and causing him to recoil, but not let go. The guard, furious, then slashed the Sawney across the face with his free hand, tearing off his nose entirely, as well as coming away with the flesh of one his cheeks. But the Sawney still refused to let go as he staggered across the pavement, still trying to break the guard's tail and prevent it from stabbing into torso.

Finally, the guard ripped off the Sawney's lower jaw with a jerk of his arm, the bodypart still lodged into his armor. Fergus screamed in pain, but still continued to fight, slamming head into the lizard's chest armor furiously and trying to ram the fangs of his upper jaw through the guard's armor into his flesh. The guard, furious, bent down and stuck the Sawney's entire head in his jaws and chomped down. Fergus' skull adamantly resisted the huge teeth of the lizard, but it slowly began to crack under the sheer pressure. Meanwhile, the guard slashed at Fergus' arms and torso furiously with his claws, cutting deep gashes in him, and causing his internal organs to start falling out.

The Sawney only let go the guard's tail when his arms fell off. His tail freed up, the guard plunged it through the Sawney's abodomen, where it came out of his back, along with exploded chunks of his spine. Weak from loss of blood, Fergus began faltering. The Lizard's tail struck again, splitting Fergus from groin to neck. His body went limp just as his head exploded in the Lizard's jaws, spraying blood everywhere... He had truly kept his words and not died easily.... The Guard threw his body to the side and sat down for a breather.

Crowley carefully slipped out of the mod's grasp.

"Yer' the ones looking f'r an import job roight?", he asked, rhetorically though.

"Whatter 'yer tehms then? Narcs r' cheap 'ere but smugglin's expensive."

He leaned back into the signpost and smiled, revealing his dazzling, absolutely perfect teeth. Obsession with dental health was another sign of British Mafia membership. Most Pwnage Britons and Praetonians had mouthfuls of broken, horrifically mangled, yellowed teeth, fitting the stereotype that British people had bad teeth. However, in order to set themselves apart from other Pwnage every spare moment flossing.
Britons, the British Mafia had a rule that every member must brush their teeth at least 3 times per day and floss at least once. Most members however, were downright neurotic, brushing 10 times a day if possible.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chong sat in his restaraunt office. 4 of his most reliable employees had been killed in the last gunbattle with the Sevarisians. He needed to replace losses and fast, before anyone else tried to move in on him.... Hmm... there had to be something around...

He began checking in the Yellow Pages for "Mercenaries".........

Hung nodded at the man. The teeth weren't anything special for the Mods in Upper Xen, seeing as how National Health was famous for its top-notch dental care. He did notice how he seemed to flaunt the teeth as he smiled, like they were a status symbol. They might have been here....

Hung then coughed, and continued: "We'll pay Ca and Calf of aw smugglin' costs-we've sum Fujian Creoles who'll pick up the bloody goods at a midpoint, if possible, they loike us, so they give us Ca and Calf price. as for your purchase costs, we can reemburse 10-25% of them, wif a cut from our sales. 'a is that?"

Crowley stared hard at Mikey. He didn't trust him one bit. There was something about him....

He took out a notepad and wrote down on a sheet what his terms. An arbitrary $12,000 per kilogram smuggled and $5 m illion in hard currency to be paid at the end of the month. The arbitrary sum was to ensure that the Mods didn't cheat him out of his cut.

He tore the sheet of paper out and handed it to Mikey.

"I want you to think carefully about my terms...."

Crowley stared hard at Mikey. He didn't trust him one bit. There was something about him....

He took out a notepad and wrote down on a sheet what his terms. An arbitrary $12,000 per kilogram smuggled and $5 m illion in hard currency to be paid at the end of the month. The arbitrary sum was to ensure that the Mods didn't cheat him out of his cut.

He tore the sheet of paper out and handed it to Mikey.

"I want you to think carefully about my terms...."

Mikey thought about them for a moment, and laughed, and decided to issue a new price, lowballing it in that signature stereotypical Chinese style.

"I fin' your rates 're fair; we may 'ave bangers 'n' mash, but we're not stingy. But 'ow's Bo-le of Glue.5 million in 'ard currency by month's end, nah?"

Maybe he was being insulting, maybe he was being sadistic. But, he was kinda offended by the way Crowley looked him over, so he figured he'd make him pay fo every peek. Though he liked his offering price.

----

OOC Translation:

"I think your rates are fair; we may have cash, but we're not stingy. But how's 2.5 million in hard currency by month's end?"

ooc: UX, online please.

Chong found something good.... Executive Outcomes. They would help him plug the gap.... Yes...

He circled the ad in the Yellow Pages, picked up his phone and dialed the number.

294-299-39099-599.... Come on... pick up damn you..... Ah yes... the standard receptionist type.

"Yes... I would like to make a purchase.... Yes.... yes? Good. Alright, I want to set up a meeting on... oh you're free tommorow? That's good, send someone to meet me at the central fountain in Mao Zedong Memorial Park in Portside at 3 tommorow..."

Chong hung up. These guys better be good...

EO was a legend among mercenary outfits. Invaders of nations, backed by the best corporations and with the best training and arms, they were truly a private army. But a new government had banned them and sent their force into the illegal area of South African business.

If it hadn't been for some tricky movements by the 'benefactors' from a few New Empire megacorps, they would never have been brought back into business. Promising higher pay, better arms and better support, the group had created a huge, powerful outfit that was now seeing yet another job.

The AVL-4 was a civilian tiltrotor, its huge blades propelling it over the sprawling city before switching to the lower decibel 'stealth mode' when speed was no longer necessary. Finding a good place to set down and unpack their equipment, the aircraft flew away to a holding pattern farther out, not wanting to attract attention.

The five who now emerged were dressed in casual street clothes, nothing too fancy, but they weren't exactly in rags. They took cabs at seperate intervals before meeting up in the Memorial Park, their only weapons concealed among their clothes. 'Armorskin' suits clung to their skin under their street outfits, light and flexible enough to stay hidden, but if this was a setup they'd need to move because it wasn't exactly capable of stopping rifle fire. Oh, there were reports, but you could only learn firsthand, and that was something Rolf Kleirhoek didn't intend on doing.

His baseball cap hid short, graying hair, his clothes a scarred frame. He'd been killing men for a living since he finished college and joined the SSA, some fourteen years ago. He was sent here because this was his element.

The others he wasn't so sure of. EO didn't like making the meetings on the battleground (don't eat where you shit), so the guys they sent weren't the normal negotiators. This town had a bad reputation, and it was assumed they'd be hired. But Rolf still didn't think he trusted everyone here.

The most conspicious of them all was a wiry African, Kobe Ngwele. He smoked a little much for his own good, and was even lighting up a fag now. He wouldn't fit in easily in a city of rooineks as Rolf knew them back home and the Asians, but he was good. There were two NE locals who he didn't know well. One too tall, and the other a bit short. He'd read the dossiers, former Murphs who kicked doors and quelled rebellions. Didn't like the guys, not on his missions. And of course there was a girl. Nothing too special, and she wasn't any sterotype either. Aside from the fact she was female, her story wasn't different from the rest. Again, too conspicious for this job.

As he walked towards the central fountain, humming the theme song from some Tarantino movie, he drummed his fingers against his thigh and looked for the guy who was supposed to be meeting him. It was about a minute before three, and this still smelled like a setup.

Chong was sitting on a park bench nearby, still in his black tank top and camo BDU pants with a baseball cap pulled over his eyes. In his lap was a big black briefcase and in his hand was a plastic bag full of cherries.

He was feeding a few brightly colored parrots that were clustered around his feet on the ground, pecking at the cherries he was throwing at them.

The old Vietcong fighter barely glanced at the mercenary negotiators as they cautiously walked towards the fountain. Lien was sitting on the edge, calmly cleaning her gigantic rifle. They were coming. The briefcase was full of money and the area was swarming with hidden Vietcong fighters in the case of a setup.

Of course... no meeting ever goes as planned. As Kobe concentrated on lighting up his cigarette for that brief second, he bumped face first into a large and heavily muscled Havenite gangbanger, laced with gold chains and diamonds and trailing a group of his friends, who looked all just like him.

"Hey, nigga(*) watch da' fuck where you're goin'!" the Havenite shouted as he gave Kobe a hard shove.

ooc: *note*: Havenites are African for the most part, so they can use African racial slurs.

As they approached, Rolf scratched the back of his neck, where years before a piece of shrapnel had nearly sliced open his spinal cord. The thing that triggered the reflex was the large rifle a woman was dissassembling on the fountain. The other three who were strolling about the park took notice, but stopped before withdrawing their heavier arms.

Kobe flicked with his lighter for a bit when he slammed into the guy. A bunch of gangs, and itching for a fight. Well, he'd been born in Jo'burg and he'd been to all sorts of nasty places, these guys weren't anything special. They were bigger than him, but chances were they would be able to take the bastards.

"Hey, look, sorry man. My apologies." he hopped to the side a bit, grinning. He could tell from the looks of the guys they were looking for a fight. Better that he had the edge. Keeping his tone the same as before, he took a drag and inquired "Want to go along now? I've got some business to do."

As expected, this only got them angrier. He only had time for a few more before they pulled whatever they had coming for them. "I'm sorry, is it your time of month or are you just a jackass?"

Rolf swore under his breath. Ngwele always had to be a smartass. Things were about to get messy if the past taught him anything.

ooc: UX, online please.

OOC: A bit busy at the moment, could you spare a moment and TG me your question?

If not I can try to get on, but probably not for long.

OOC: Fixed the offering price thing-he still wants a slightly cheaper payment by the end of the month, though....

The Havenite, furious, snarled and grabbed Ngwele by the neck. Not giving him any time to react, he jerked him forward violently and brought his hairline into the man's nose. At the same moment, he stepped forward and brought his knee into Kobe's solar plexus. The rest of the Havenites began to draw out folding knives or brass knuckles from their pockets and belts.

Ah the merits of gutterfighting... Even hand to hand fighting was a degree or 6 more intense here than elsewheres....

~*~*~*

Lien watched the Havenites and Mercenaries carefully. Should she intervene or not... If these guys were as good as their ads said they were, she wouldn't have to intervene. But still, she shouldn't let company negotiators get the shit beaten out of them. She decided to wait a little more.

Ngwele smiled, glad he was wearing the body armor. He lost a little wind, but what he did next was on reflex. His arm raced down into his jacket and came out with a long combat knife, and he plunged it across the chest of the Havenite. With that, the rest of the team drew.

Rolf cursed once again and readied his weapon. The J-10C was a shortened version of the popular UCSNE J-10, a Calico style SMG in the 10mm caliber. Holding it to his shoulder, he looked down the sights at the gang and then at the rest of his team, which was now drawing similar arms and moving towards the fountain.

"Look, you shits. You've got 10 seconds to put my man down before he makes that little scratch on your stupid buddy lethal. And if you haven't, not only will he be gut like a fish, but I will waste every single one of you."

Crowley thought about what Mikey was offering him. Not good enough. He knew that they would make at least 50 million off of this, given how popular Pwnage drugs were in Upper Xen.

"2.5's not even enough t' pay the rent on my buildin', moike i' 3.5 an' y' got yerself a deal."

Mikey would probably try to bargain his way out of this one too. He was a cheapskate to the core....

~*~*~*~*~

The Havenites stood there. All of them backed away slowly and carefully, not wanting to start a confrontation. At the fountain, Lien was still watching, having finished cleaning her rifle.

She said one word.

"Mediocre."

Crowley thought about what Mikey was offering him. Not good enough. He knew that they would make at least 50 million off of this, given how popular Pwnage drugs were in Upper Xen.

"2.5's not even enough t' pay the rent on my buildin', moike i' 3.5 an' y' got yerself a deal."

Mikey would probably try to bargain his way out of this one too. He was a cheapskate to the core....

~*~*~*~*~

The Havenites stood there. All of them backed away slowly and carefully, not wanting to start a confrontation. At the fountain, Lien was still watching, having finished cleaning her rifle.

She said one word.

"Mediocre."

Mikey took one look, and smiled. "You've got an Ian Beale (ooc: deal)," he said. He extended his hand, eager to seal the deal.

Crowley thought about what Mikey was offering him. Not good enough. He knew that they would make at least 50 million off of this, given how popular Pwnage drugs were in Upper Xen.

"2.5's not even enough t' pay the rent on my buildin', moike i' 3.5 an' y' got yerself a deal."

Mikey would probably try to bargain his way out of this one too. He was a cheapskate to the core....

~*~*~*~*~

The Havenites stood there. All of them backed away slowly and carefully, not wanting to start a confrontation. At the fountain, Lien was still watching, having finished cleaning her rifle.

She said one word.

"Mediocre."

"Hey, bitch, think we're going to waste our time with some punks like that? We haven't even made the deal yet, and we're not looking to waste too much time for you until you give us some money."

Kobe wiped a sliver of blood off his knife and then threw it back in. He really would have liked to kill that guy, but it was too dangerous to the contract right now. But as he finished his little tirade he realized his big mouth might be a bigger danger.

Rolf stepped over and motioned Kobe away.

"Sorry Miss, but it's true. We don't start the real show until you cough up the cash."

The other three agents were still holding their weapons, rifles and shotguns of UCSNE make, keeping one eye on the negotiations and the others on the perimeter.

"Now sorry if it doesn't please you, but I'd like to skip all the word games and all that. I don't know how you do it here, but right now we'd like to know whether or not you're going to hire us or if there are any other hoops you want us to jump through. So let's get down to business."

ooc: just a question, are those the actual mercenaries, or just the negotiators?

OOC: Since you're holding this in what EO does not determine to be a safe zone, they're mercenaries.

Chong put down his bag of cherries and stood up. He walked briskly over to the mercenaries in front of the fountain and nodded towards them.

"Of course we would like to hire you. I have the money right here in this briefcase. Now, the question is if you'll accept the first job I'm going to give you."

With that, Chong pulled out a tiny folded slip of paper from his back pocket. On it was a url address and a password.

"Memorize what's on there and swallow the paper. I've arranged for rooms in Jinsha Hotel a few miles from here. It's a nice place, popular with tourists, you won't look out of place at all. Take a look at the url as soon as possible, then decide if you want the job. Advance payment for wasting your time is $250,000."

With that, Chong opened the briefcase and handed a bundle of bills to Rolf, then closed the briefcase.

"Have a nice day."

Chong and Lien almost disappeared before the mercenaries' eyes.

~*~*~*~

FYI: The job on the website.

For EO Operatives Only

Plan: Assassination of Sevarisian Mafia Head in MassPwnage.

Vital Information:

Target: Pablo Lopez, AKA. Crazy Jack Sanchez.

Location: Villa in Hong Kong Suburbs. Fairly large and isolated compound.

When: 1 month from tommorow.

Your Jobs:

A) Familiarize yourselves with our weapons, access and print out the .pdf files i've attached.

B) Destroy a Sevarisian drug lab located in the jungle. Lien will tell you more tommorow.

C) Reconnaissance on the villa itself, check out the guard movements.

D) Assistance in performing the actual elimination.

Determine expenses and payment and meet me in front of the Pwnage Museum of Armored Warfare in Portside at around 2 p.m. The museum is impossible to miss; it's contained within a 300m long megatank.

This website will delete itself as soon as it's accessed.

Crowley shook Mikey's hand. Even his hand felt dishonest, limpwristed and cheap. He squeezed the mod's hand firmly enough to make it ache for days, without any apparent extra effort on his part, and without doing any damage to him.

"You have a deal. I'll meet you at the Portside docks at 3 a.m tommorow morning with the goods...."

He then turned around and disappeared among the rows and rows of dead parrots.

~*~*~*

In the hospital:

"Alright Mr. Kasabian.... we can take the bandages off.... we grew your skin back successfully. Someone has already taken care of your medical bills."

The doctor, who looked like George Clooney wrote something on Jackie's chart.

"After the bandages are removed, you're free to check out."

Crowley shook Mikey's hand. Even his hand felt dishonest, limpwristed and cheap. He squeezed the mod's hand firmly enough to make it ache for days, without any apparent extra effort on his part, and without doing any damage to him.

"You have a deal. I'll meet you at the Portside docks at 3 a.m tommorow morning with the goods...."

He then turned around and disappeared among the rows and rows of dead parrots.

~*~*~*

In the hospital:

"Alright Mr. Kasabian.... we can take the bandages off.... we grew your skin back successfully. Someone has already taken care of your medical bills."

The doctor, who looked like George Clooney wrote something on Jackie's chart.

"After the bandages are removed, you're free to check out."

Jackie got up, and said, in a sarcastic voice: "I better have both kidneys, Dr. Mengele."

He looked around curiously and said, "Lemme guess...I had heavy burns all over, and it took a while to clean up....ah well, get these things off, so I can walk again."

He was very anxious to leave. He had seen hell, and as much as he hated the Rage, some corner of his mind wanted to feel it again....it gave him power, and it certainly made him resistant to death.



---------

Mikey didn't like the way this dude shook his hand. He decided to watch this mofo when they met tonight.

He left the pet shop, smacking a cage with a dead parrot in it, before mounting his Triumph motorbike. Fuming, and muttering, "Pompous ass" to himself in a low, angry voice, he drove off along with his men to their hotel.

"It's Doctor Clooney. For calling me Doctor Mengele, I'm going to make this hurt like a bitch..."

Dr. Clooney ripped the bandages off as hard as he could, threw them in the trash can, and then walked away, leaving Jackie naked and in pain.

Outside, near the exit, Fatboy and Scarface were waiting....

(ooc: sorry for the crappy post, short on time)

"It's Doctor Clooney. For calling me Doctor Mengele, I'm going to make this hurt like a bitch..."

Dr. Clooney ripped the bandages off as hard as he could, threw them in the trash can, and then walked away, leaving Jackie naked and in pain.

Outside, near the exit, Fatboy and Scarface were waiting....

(ooc: sorry for the crappy post, short on time)

Something told Jackie that insulting a legit doctor was not a cool idea, especially when the insult made reference to a psychopathic mass murderer. So, he put on some clothes, and decided to greet his benefactors. With a smile and a wink, and a slight limp from all the pain, he said, "Hello" to Fatboy and Scarface.

He then said, "Thanks for covering my burn ward bills. The doctor has no sense of humor, though."

Scarface chuckled: "Oh, da'z no pro'lem. De' boss took da' dinero ou' o' his salary." On "his" Scarface jerked his thumb towards Fatboy, who chuckled weakly.

"There's sum'tin we like to talk t' joo about" continued Scarface. "My associa' 'ere tells me dat' someone hear' ya' mutterin' 'bout sum'tin. Joo wanna tel l us more?"

Indeed, Scarface wanted more, Fatboy's story about the incident had been interesting to say the least...

~*~*~

Portside: The Docks.

The British Mafia thug stood idly on the roof of a warehouse, scanning the area with his thermal goggles. More thugs were deployed on roofs, cranes and other areas nearby, on the lookout for both Mikey and/or the cops.

The goods were stacked in a 4x1m metal container near a cargo ship and guarded by 4 Mafia members carrying BR-2s and 3 huge men in heavy tactical armor carrying BR-3s. At their head was Crowley's body double, Sirills.

Scarface chuckled: "Oh, da'z no pro'lem. De' boss took da' dinero ou' o' his salary." On "his" Scarface jerked his thumb towards Fatboy, who chuckled weakly.

"There's sum'tin we like to talk t' joo about" continued Scarface. "My associa' 'ere tells me dat' someone hear' ya' mutterin' 'bout sum'tin. Joo wanna tel l us more?"

Indeed, Scarface wanted more, Fatboy's story about the incident had been interesting to say the least...

~*~*~

Portside: The Docks.

The British Mafia thug stood idly on the roof of a warehouse, scanning the area with his thermal goggles. More thugs were deployed on roofs, cranes and other areas nearby, on the lookout for both Mikey and/or the cops.

The goods were stacked in a 4x1m metal container near a cargo ship and guarded by 4 Mafia members carrying BR-2s and 3 huge men in heavy tactical armor carrying BR-3s. At their head was Crowley's body double, Sirills.

Jackie grew cold. The thoughts soon came back.....

He shuddered, and said "They.....they.....I would prefer if we could talk about this somewhere else. Those were...private thoughts...."

He then said, "Sorry, but those were tough times. I'd like a cup of coffee, this is quite emotional."

-------

Mikey arrived, to the tune of the vrooming of Triumph engines. The Mods stopped, and fanned out in a defensive line. They got up, and Mikey had one man walk up with a suitcase. The man's case opened up to reveal USD$480,000, enough for 40 kilos of "goods."

Mikey waltzed up to Sirillis, not knowing he was not in fact Crowley, and said in his Cockney voice, "Okay, Crowley. We 'ave the bloomin' Bread and Honey (ooc: money)....where's the chuffin' goods?"

Sirillis thumped on the large metal canister.

"Ove' a bleedin' ton 'ere. Ha' fun wit' i'. 'O'id 'spect 'ya t' have 'nuff t' cova' ohr goo's 'ere?"

Sirillis knew they didn't have enough money... He felt kinda bad about betraying these poor people, but it had to be done.

The real Crowley was in a water tower about 1000m from the transaction site, looking through a pair of thermal goggles at the mods.

Wendy was looking through another thermal sight, although this one was attached to a TCR-45 Collector's edition sniper rifle. She was on her stomach, breathing carefully. An ex-Pwnage Marine sniper with over 450 confirmed kills, she would not miss, or worse, accidentally hit an unintended target.

Crowley turned and whispered to Wendy: "I'm goin' down... d' yew' know who's who?"

Wendy silently nodded as she concentrated on her breathing. Crowley climbed down the water tower ladder...

~*~~*~

"Emotional?" Scarface burst out laughing, only to be silenced by Fatboy elbowing him in the gut.

"'Pologize' f'r his... insen'itivity..." said Fatboy was Scarface doubled over onto the ground and hugged himself in pain.

"All da' coffee 'round 'dese par's is Vietnamese, so I treat joo to a betta place... Get in da' car, leave my associa' where he is."

Fatboy walked over to the BMW and opened the door.

Sirillis thumped on the large metal canister.

"Ove' a bleedin' ton 'ere. Ha' fun wit' i'. 'O'id 'spect 'ya t' have 'nuff t' cova' ohr goo's 'ere?"

Sirillis knew they didn't have enough money... He felt kinda bad about betraying these poor people, but it had to be done.

The real Crowley was in a water tower about 1000m from the transaction site, looking through a pair of thermal goggles at the mods.

Wendy was looking through another thermal sight, although this one was attached to a TCR-45 Collector's edition sniper rifle. She was on her stomach, breathing carefully. An ex-Pwnage Marine sniper with over 450 confirmed kills, she would not miss, or worse, accidentally hit an unintended target.

Crowley turned and whispered to Wendy: "I'm goin' down... d' yew' know who's who?"

Wendy silently nodded as she concentrated on her breathing. Crowley climbed down the water tower ladder...

~*~~*~

"Emotional?" Scarface burst out laughing, only to be silenced by Fatboy elbowing him in the gut.

"'Pologize' f'r his... insen'itivity..." said Fatboy was Scarface doubled over onto the ground and hugged himself in pain.

"All da' coffee 'round 'dese par's is Vietnamese, so I treat joo to a betta place... Get in da' car, leave my associa' where he is."

Fatboy walked over to the BMW and opened the door.

Mikey looked at him with a look that said, "Asshole."

He then said, "Look 'ere. I 'ave in the bloomin' buff for ffor'y kilos. ffor'y. $12,000 US per each, as recalled from the chuffin' Ian Beale, geeza. Daan't betray me, i've got shooters 'ere, China Plate, I won't 'esitate ter enforce our bargain wif them. Brighton Rock 'em."

(OOC: "Look here. I have enough for 40 kilos. 40. $12,000 US per each, as recalled from the deal, man. Don't betray me, I've got guns here, mate, I won't hesitate to enforce our bargain with them. Cock 'em.")

His men cocked their MAC-10s and L1A1 Suzie Wong Specials, and started scanning the area.

Mikey said, "Na, ya wanna stop f**kin' 'round?"

(OOC: "Now, you wanna stop f**king around?")

----------

Jackie then walked up to the BMW, and said, "Thanks. I rarely tell people about what happened that night......"

The real Crowley climbed down to the ground and disappeared into a warehouse that was doubling as a surveillance station. They had the area bugged and tapped. Crowley surveyed the situation carefully.... Mikey was pissed with him, and this transaction was already turning out to be rather unprofitable... The idea of kidnapping Mikey and holding him for ransom was seeming better and better....

He contacted Wendy: "Wendy... on moi ordas', shoot as many of these limpwrists as ya' can, got that? But don't touch Mikey."

"Copy there."

~*~*~*~*~

"Sher' thea' maate." Sirillis turned around and made to open the crate to extract the proper amount of drugs. But instead, he suddenly whipped around with an L21 in his hand, and began firing at the heads and necks of the Mods, being careful to avoid Mikey. The thugs behind him joined in, as did at least a dozen others, who appeared out from behind other warhouses. Suddenly, one of the mods, one carrying a Suzie Wong special, suffered a suddenly and bloody loss of cranial matter....

~*~*~*~

Wendy jerked the bolt on the sniper rifle and an 8x63mm match round fell out from the chamber of her rifle. She calmly chambered another round and sighted in, targeting another mod...

In the BMW:

"Well, da' Paella Paellas round 'ere are real fuckin' nice..."

Paella Paella was a Sevarisian restaurant chain, the McDonalds of the NS world, if there was such a thing. The prices and food choices offered varied upon the location. A very rich neighborhood would see gourmet Paella Paella places popping up, and a poor neighborhood or a place in the 3rd world, would see only poor quality food served.

Where Fatboy was driving was the richest of the rich Paella Paellas in Hong Kong, in the mansion lined streets of Demongate Park. Fatboy parked, his BMW looking downright tacky sitting besides the Bentleys, Bugatti Veyrons, Dodge Tomahawk motorcycles, and other random, expensive cars.

"Now 'dis place, serves 'da food o' kings."

The real Crowley climbed down to the ground and disappeared into a warehouse that was doubling as a surveillance station. They had the area bugged and tapped. Crowley surveyed the situation carefully.... Mikey was pissed with him, and this transaction was already turning out to be rather unprofitable... The idea of kidnapping Mikey and holding him for ransom was seeming better and better....

He contacted Wendy: "Wendy... on moi ordas', shoot as many of these limpwrists as ya' can, got that? But don't touch Mikey."

"Copy there."

~*~*~*~*~

"Sher' thea' maate." Sirillis turned around and made to open the crate to extract the proper amount of drugs. But instead, he suddenly whipped around with an L21 in his hand, and began firing at the heads and necks of the Mods, being careful to avoid Mikey. The thugs behind him joined in, as did at least a dozen others, who appeared out from behind other warhouses. Suddenly, one of the mods, one carrying a Suzie Wong special, suffered a suddenly and bloody loss of cranial matter....

~*~*~*~

Wendy jerked the bolt on the sniper rifle and an 8x63mm match round fell out from the chamber of her rifle. She calmly chambered another round and sighted in, targeting another mod...

The Mods ducked, but not before losing three men to the firestorm. Mikey then ordered the Mods: "Open FIRE!"

The Suzie Wong Special gunners began firing back in the direction of the sniper. The L1A1 was a good gun for this sort of thing, though this sniper was smart. Deadly smart. The others blazed away, firing in the general direction of Sirillis with MAC-10s. Mikey himself ducked, and rolled off to the side, screaming "My chin, your balls!" and firing at Sirillis, running forward.

In the BMW:

"Well, da' Paella Paellas round 'ere are real fuckin' nice..."

Paella Paella was a Sevarisian restaurant chain, the McDonalds of the NS world, if there was such a thing. The prices and food choices offered varied upon the location. A very rich neighborhood would see gourmet Paella Paella places popping up, and a poor neighborhood or a place in the 3rd world, would see only poor quality food served.

Where Fatboy was driving was the richest of the rich Paella Paellas in Hong Kong, in the mansion lined streets of Demongate Park. Fatboy parked, his BMW looking downright tacky sitting besides the Bentleys, Bugatti Veyrons, Dodge Tomahawk motorcycles, and other random, expensive cars.

"Now 'dis place, serves 'da food o' kings."

Jackie was amazed. Like a little kid in a candy store, nay, a Toys 'R f**kin' Us, he stared at the Paella Paella with glee. For a fast food hut, this place was nice. Such wealth he had not seen since he left UX; even then, the Russians only drove BMWs and Caddys like Fatboy did.

He got out, and said, "It must indeed. A change of pace from Yoshinoya and McDonalds, if I must say!"

He walked inside, and witnessed the floors. He said, "The floors are so clean..."

Sirillis vaulted over the drug container and fired back as did the thugs, who began to fire stun grenades at the mods. Another shot from Wendy removed the head of another L1A1 gunner. She then carefully rolled up out to the other side of the water tower and began to climb down the ladder.

The thugs outflanking the mods kept pouring fire into them, being ever careful to avoid hitting Mikey.

The real Crowley started walking towards the gun battle slowly. He wasn't in much of a hurry.

ooc; Yoshinoya? (eh?)

ooc; Yoshinoya? (eh?)

OOC: Californian/Japanese RL restaurant, dedicated to serving Beef Bowls, bowls of rice and teriyaki shredded beef. Damn good stuff.

IC:

The Mods were panicking now. They ducked behind some of the cargo containers, and staying together, tried to resist the onslaught with cursing, and more gunfire from their L1A1s and MAC-10s. They ran from crate to crate, trying to avoid getting sniped....all the while, the L1A1 men were trying to kill the sniper, firing back. That person, whoever he or she was, was damn scary. That, and the stun grenades, which ensured they were running like fool chickens with their heads cut off. Nobody could see all that well, and movement was being done helter skelter, so all the gunshots were being done in a messy manner that made spray and pray look professional by comaprison.

Mikey himself was freaking out. So, he decided to cut loose, and reloaded his gun, pouring fire in a panicked rush.

As the mods scattered outwards, the Brits used actual HE grenades to blow up containers the mods were hiding behind. A few of them suffered random light wounds from badly sprayed bullets, but nothing too serious.

Wendy saw that she had a good shot at a retreating Mikey. She needed to take it, but it was going to be difficult, especially as she was halfway down on the water tower ladder.

Carefully looping her legs through the rungs and hanging off her knees, Wendy raised her rifle and took careful aim.

Mikey's gun was suddenly shot out of his hand, just as the real Crowley ambled up leisurely and fired a tranquilizer gun at his neck.

The rest of the mods were being suppressed and blown up by the Brits, who were still firing.. ..

~*~*~*~

Fatboy almost cocked an eyebrow at the clean floor comment. Floors were clean everywhere... It must have been a dirty place where Jackie lived. Fatboy took a table besides a window, close to a bunch of high powered businessmen chatting about cat food flavored cigar futures or something like that.

Fatboy ordered a supersized Bluefin Tuna Deluxe Paella bowl from the computerized console in the center. Suddenly, a chute in the ceiling opened up, and the bowl dropped down right in front of Fatboy on the table...

"Orda' up and please... take joor time in tellin' me wha' happen'..."

As the mods scattered outwards, the Brits used actual HE grenades to blow up containers the mods were hiding behind. A few of them suffered random light wounds from badly sprayed bullets, but nothing too serious.

Wendy saw that she had a good shot at a retreating Mikey. She needed to take it, but it was going to be difficult, especially as she was halfway down on the water tower ladder.

Carefully looping her legs through the rungs and hanging off her knees, Wendy raised her rifle and took careful aim.

Mikey's gun was suddenly shot out of his hand, just as the real Crowley ambled up leisurely and fired a tranquilizer gun at his neck.

The rest of the mods were being suppressed and blown up by the Brits, who were still firing.. ..

~*~*~*~

Fatboy almost cocked an eyebrow at the clean floor comment. Floors were clean everywhere... It must have been a dirty place where Jackie lived. Fatboy took a table besides a window, close to a bunch of high powered businessmen chatting about cat food flavored cigar futures or something like that.

Fatboy ordered a supersized Bluefin Tuna Deluxe Paella bowl from the computerized console in the center. Suddenly, a chute in the ceiling opened up, and the bowl dropped down right in front of Fatboy on the table...

"Orda' up and please... take joor time in tellin' me wha' happen'..."


The Mods were forced into retreat, as they scattered all over the docks. They got their sight back, but they didn't like what they saw. The Brits were chasing them, and all the extra 9mm clips and bigbore 7.62 couldn't save them much. Especially since some explosions ripped up a good bit of the remaining Mods, leaving one squad to fend for themselves. They decided to just keep running.....

Mikey, well....he was out.

--------------

Jackie said, "I'll have what he's having."

The paella came, and soon, Jackie talked.

"It was a cold day not but 20 years ago, in a working class suburb. A poor boy, me, had a Vietnam vet dad, one Antonin, a very powerful local Russian numbers boss, and an ethnic Armenian wife. They were good people, and my sis was a good girl. Bright. B, no, A student."

Jackie then smiled. "God, those were good times. We were poor, but happy. But then came the night of June 2nd. A hot summer night. Manchuria always ahs either f**king cold winters or f**king hot summers. It was a f**king hot summer. Dad just came home from his job as a factory foreman-his legal job- and he was sitting on the couch, reading Popular Mechanics. Mom was doing something. Knitting. Then, a crash....."

Jackie soon got the thousand yard stare.

"I heard yelling in the kitchen. Daddy went to investigate. Two Mods, filthy in their gaudy clothes, decided to grace us with their unwelcome presence. Dad got the trophy AK, a Type 56, courtesy of some VC he fragged. He told them to get out, they wouldn't, a gun battle ensued. Next thing I see, they use a grenade in the toilet to hurt him...then, blinded and hurt, they beat and shot him, in the spine. They enjoyed it-that's what sticks with me!"

He began to tear up.

"Those f**ks took my sis and my Mom....and did terrible things to them, and killed them. Next I know, they leave, laughing, like it was a damn game. I sit next to my Dad's body, Harbin PD takes me to a foster home, I end up with my Dad's bro, and I climb into a whiskey bottle. Never left."

Wendy shot the running mods in the back of their heads, giggling like a crazed little schoolgirl.

Sirillis, Crowley and the thugs in the tactical armor picked up the unconcious Mikey, stripped him naked and tied him up with thick chains.

Then they tossed him into the back of a waiting SUV, tying him to an attached roll bar before driving off.

Later, they sent a quick email to the C-Mods in Harbin demanding $23 million for Mikey's release.

~*~*~*

Fatboy listened carefully, occasionall eating his paella, which tasted like it came from God's own stovetop and thus could not be allowed to get cold.

After Jackie finished, Fatboy spoke:

"Wha' if... we cou' find da' 2 guys dat' di' 'dis shi'?"

Wendy shot the running mods in the back of their heads, giggling like a crazed little schoolgirl.

Sirillis, Crowley and the thugs in the tactical armor picked up the unconcious Mikey, stripped him naked and tied him up with thick chains.

Then they tossed him into the back of a waiting SUV, tying him to an attached roll bar before driving off.

Later, they sent a quick email to the C-Mods in Harbin demanding $23 million for Mikey's release.

~*~*~*

Fatboy listened carefully, occasionall eating his paella, which tasted like it came from God's own stovetop and thus could not be allowed to get cold.

After Jackie finished, Fatboy spoke:

"Wha' if... we cou' find da' 2 guys dat' di' 'dis shi'?"

The C-Mods of Mikey's gang replied with the words: "He f**ked everything up-you can have him. Kick his ass, whatever. He ruined our deal. We apologize for his behavior, by the way. Seriously."

----------

Jackie smiled and said, "That would make me the happiest motherf**ker on God's green earth."

He then wolfed down his paella, it was a damn good paella. He then said, "A meal fit for despots, Monarchs, and other potentiates everywhere. I myself have not eaten this well in a while...."

ooc: this takes place as a flashback.

ooc: this takes place as a flashback.

OOC: So the C-Mods were not incinerated in the War? Lemme fix that.

ooc:UX, Please come online...

"Well, Jackie, word on da' stree' is 'dat 'da brits nabbed a C-mod an' 'dey're holdin' 'him f'r ransom... I go't an idea... Firs' tell me if 'dis is the guy (ooc: it is, so for expediency...)"

Fatboy whipped out his cellphone and text messaged the British Mafia.

"Hello there. We'll pay the ransom for one Mikey Hung"-C-Mods.

~*~*~*~*

Crowley was busy caning Mikey across the back with a piece of bamboo cane in an abandonded jail, when Wendy knocked on the door.

"Th' mods in Uppe' Xen apparently changed their moinds..."

"What th' bleedin' fuck..." Crowley replied to the message.

~*~*~*~

"Changing your minds? Wire the money to the bank account 29-92992-9919902-299."-Crowley

ooc:UX, Please come online...

"Well, Jackie, word on da' stree' is 'dat 'da brits nabbed a C-mod an' 'dey're holdin' 'him f'r ransom... I go't an idea... Firs' tell me if 'dis is the guy (ooc: it is, so for expediency...)"

Fatboy whipped out his cellphone and text messaged the British Mafia.

"Hello there. We'll pay the ransom for one Mikey Hung"-The British Mafia.

~*~*~*~*

Crowley was busy caning Mikey across the back with a piece of bamboo cane in an abandonded jail, when Wendy knocked on the door.

"Th' mods in Uppe' Xen apparently changed their moinds..."

"What th' bleedin' fuck..." Crowley replied to the message.

~*~*~*~

"Changing your minds? Wire the money to the bank account 29-92992-9919902-299."-Crowley

Jackie then began sobbing, tearing up like a PTSD victim at a group therapy session. He then pointed to the phone and said, "It's him! It's him!"

Jackie resisted the urge to yell obscenities and scream. It was bad enough he had to tell, now, he would meet the man who had made his life....well.....a living hell.

ooc: crap, i made a mistake, read my most recent edit.

ooc; Bump for UX, read my edits, change your posts accordingly

ooc; Bump for UX, read my edits, change your posts accordingly

OOC: Not gonna lie, looked at the edited post....didn't see much editing. What got fixed?

ooc: Fatboy is masquerading as the C-Mods.

ooc: Fatboy is masquerading as the C-Mods.

OOC: Thanks, deleted the last part about the real C-Mods freaking out.

Fatboy dialed up Vasquez.

~*~*~*~

Vasquez was just finishing off a quick lunch in his office when Fatboy called.

"Yes? Joo wan' me t' wire th' money? Eh heh... Alrigh', goo' job."

Vasquez wired the money to Crowley's account....

~*~*~

Fatboy hung up.

"Now, I wan' joo to come back to Vasquez's office wit' me... 'Dere's some t'ings we gotta sor' ou'."

ooc: UX, please come online if you can.

Jackie opted to follow Fatboy and company, saying, "Well.....okay...but don't expect me to be Peaceful Perce around this guy. After all, he iced my family."

OOC: Could you TG me? AP stuff came up, and so did art, in the form of a major essay.

ooc: You have been TG'ed

OOC: Sorry I'm late. TG sent back. BTW, get on MSN.

"We haven' extracted 'im ye' anyway..."

Fatboy artfully switched the keys to his BMW with someone sitting nearby, an absent minded businessman.

He walked outside and used the keys to open the door to the man's Bentley....

~*~*~*~

At the office:

Jackie was led into a room with a computer. Someone that looked like a poor blackmailed hacker that was forced to offer his services to the Sevarisians or get shot was sitting at a computer. A 3d facial modeling program was loaded up.

The tech type, a thin, greasy, balding man with a combover and thick glasses turned to Jackie.

"Now, we're trying to find the 2nd person. Please describe his face accurately so I can generate a composite image."

"We haven' extracted 'im ye' anyway..."

Fatboy artfully switched the keys to his BMW with someone sitting nearby, an absent minded businessman.

He walked outside and used the keys to open the door to the man's Bentley....

~*~*~*~

At the office:

Jackie was led into a room with a computer. Someone that looked like a poor blackmailed hacker that was forced to offer his services to the Sevarisians or get shot was sitting at a computer. A 3d facial modeling program was loaded up.

The tech type, a thin, greasy, balding man with a combover and thick glasses turned to Jackie.

"Now, we're trying to find the 2nd person. Please describe his face accurately so I can generate a composite image."

Jackie then said, "He had a long face....brown eyes, a mop top, big nose, shallow cheeks. He always kinda grinned a lot. His face was not too fat, but he had black hair, too. Mongoloid face, Chinese. One ear had a cauliflower ear."

Martie Hartie Ugly and Retardie! That's what the bastard would shout at him. That's why he'd given himself over to the dark side. That's why he'd become a Leanhaum-Shee (Irish Vampire). The only problem was that the Leanhaum-Shee was a woman. She drained the energy from men and made them her slaves. Martie was a man. But not anymore. Now he was a woman. Sure he couldn't get the surgeries that she really needed. But a friend of hers had helped with that. The Leanhaum-Shee were infamous and evil. They caught young men in the forest and seduced them into slavery. All the while they were feeding the Leanhaum-Shee with their very life-fore. He/She/It had taken a new name as well, Martha Hartie. She/He/It was skinny, amply bosomed, and rather convinging as a woman. She'd gotten the best of the back alley surgeries so as to complete the transformation to the most feared female faerie in all her mythology.

The trouble with Martha was that she wasn't a real vampire. Oh she thought she was in her head. But she wasn't. She "sucked" the life force from men though. Just not in the ways that she'd thought she would. She didn't realize that she had to kill them by her own hand after sex. In the stories they'd never done that. Well in the stories they were also in a forest. She was in the city now.

Martha Hartie walked the streets of Pwnage Hong Kong in a tight red dress. Her fake breasts displayed rather well by the low cut. The heels she wore were not great for walking long distances. Though she just walked a corner. Martha Hartie didn't have any money either. So she practiced her ability to suck the "life" from a man here. And she got paid for it. The perfect job for Leanhaum-Shee. She waited a little more. Hiking the dress up a little to reveal rather feminine legs to any passing cars....

"You mean like this?"

The hacker finished up the composite of the 2nd assailant.

It looked almost exactly like him. The miracles of technology had triumphed again.

The hacker turned back to his console.

"Now I can access Xenizen photo I.D records from across the government. If you can confirm that the composite is accurate, I can do a facial point match."

Since the picture was indeed accurate, the point match proceeded.

The results:

Point facial matches:

Charles Leung, Beijing, China (402,095 Points Similar)
John Woo, Hong Kong, China (224 Points Similar)
Bob Nevsky, Tokyo, Japan (1 point similar)

The Hacker turned around.

"I think we've found your man" he said with a smug grin.

"You mean like this?"

The hacker finished up the composite of the 2nd assailant.

It looked almost exactly like him. The miracles of technology had triumphed again.

The hacker turned back to his console.

"Now I can access Xenizen photo I.D records from across the government. If you can confirm that the composite is accurate, I can do a facial point match."

Since the picture was indeed accurate, the point match proceeded.

The results:

Point facial matches:

Charles Leung, Beijing, China (402,095 Points Similar)
John Woo, Hong Kong, China (224 Points Similar)
Bob Nevsky, Tokyo, Japan (1 point similar)

The Hacker turned around.

"I think we've found your man" he said with a smug grin.

Jackie, upon gazing at the composite, fell on the floor and began bawling like a littel spoiled brat who couldn't get his candy, only in a more disturbing fashion. He curled up in a fetal position, and began weeping, and mumbling to himself, "Daddy....daddy...."

After five minutes, he got up, and turned violent. He promptly found an old wilted flower in a pot, and cursing in a string of expletives that would make Nixon proud, stomped on it sobbing....

OOC: Take that as a yes.

"Hey there sexy..."

A young Pacitalian tough, rather low in the organizational scheme of things, accosted Martha/Martie on the street, fondling her fake breasts, squeezing them rather tightly in his hands. The hoodlum had a black jacket and a black open shirt on. The open shirt revealed both his horrifyingly disgusting chest hair and his beautifully crafted thick gold chain.

"So... sexy, what's there f'r a trick?" The Pacitalian ran one hand through his overly gelled hair and grinned, showing off his gold crowns. The other hand began making its way up Martha's dress... He was in for a good time...

"Hey there sexy..."

A young Pacitalian tough, rather low in the organizational scheme of things, accosted Martha/Martie on the street, fondling her fake breasts, squeezing them rather tightly in his hands. The hoodlum had a black jacket and a black open shirt on. The open shirt revealed both his horrifyingly disgusting chest hair and his beautifully crafted thick gold chain.

"So... sexy, what's there f'r a trick?" The Pacitalian ran one hand through his overly gelled hair and grinned, showing off his gold crowns. The other hand began making its way up Martha's dress... He was in for a good time...
She could only imagine the police transcript for what she left behind. Man dies from loss of blood. Reason for loss of blood. Penis removal with blunt object. She cackled as the man breathed his last breath and slid down into death. She moved over his body and pulled out her little metallic fangs. Popping them into her mouth she bit into the man's wrist. He looked up at her and puzzled before slipping into death. After taking enough life she got up and walked to the corner. Maybe this time the bastard's would tip..

A long faced man with a big nose and a now gray moptop parked his car, a rather beaten up Toyota Camry outside his brick faced Beijing townhouse. It was the end of a rather warm summer day, so he was anxious to get out of his tie and put down his briefcase.

He walked up onto his doorstep and opened up the front door. He walked into his foyer and shut the door behind him. The TV was on, turned to the 6 'o clock news. Dinner wasn't on, probably because he promised to come home early to cook dinner that day, so much for that, someone wanted him to rescue another crack baby from their abusive father's house or something like that.

He walked upstairs. His wife was sitting at the kitchen table, pen in her mouth, feverishly slaving over a laptop. Charles leaned over her shoulder and whispered.

"Sugar an' spice evenin' ain't it?"

His wife, a Hong Kong Briton turned her head around and giggled. She was an ex-actor and a prosecutor for the Xenizen National Police. She had met Charles in an court case involving child prostitutes and some sort of Yakuza scam, the details were kind of fuzzy really.

"Anyway, where're the twins?"

"Upstairs sweetie... what d'you plan to make t'nite?"

"I 'onestly ha' no idea."

~*~*~*

The twins were indeed upstairs. They were 2 beautiful teenage girls, sitting in their room upstairs, lounging around, doing absolutely nothing. It was summer and besides a rather low paying summer job working at a local ice cream shop making milk shakes while perverts stared at their chests, they did nothing but socialize with their friends and attend the occasional party.

One of them was talking on the phone. The other was listening while polishing her nails.

"Wotch' yer' bloody fuckin' mouth, will ya'?"

"Oh come on.... It doesn' matter much... It's just about how drunk y' got last week."

"Come on, I don't want anyone knowing..."

"They do know, it's on every bloody fuckin' camera in Upper Xen f'r fuck's sake."

"Damnit..."

The only thing the twins were looking forward to was their upcoming trip to the sunny beaches of Saigon,MassPwnage...

~*~*~*~*

Bliss, right? Well, that was soon to be shattered....

ooc; UX Online please.

At a nearby Paella Paella in a nearby shopping center near Charles' house:

Scarface had already flown to Upper Xen with 6 other Sevarisian thugs. Landing at Beijing International, the Sevarisians quickly rented two black Range Rovers and began driving towards the Beijing suburbs. They parked near a Paella Paella, because Hispanics always clustered around Paella Paellas, so they wouldn't look out of place standing there. One of the Land Rovers was parked in an obscure corner of the parking lot, and the other one was parked in front of the Paella Paella. The Sevarisians just sat there in the cars, keeping conversation to a minimum and not doing anything to draw attention to themselves.

They already knew the plan for extraction; multiple point entry, followed by extraction via private charter flight from Tianjin before the family members were due for work in the morning. Now they would have to wait for the right time to strike.

~*~*~*

Charles was watching TV with his wife, the twins were still upstairs. And unbeknownst to them, one of the black Range Rovers had parked across the street. The other one would park on the same side of the street in 5 minutes....

~*~*~
ooc: UX, RP as Charles. I'll RP his family.

At a nearby Paella Paella in a nearby shopping center near Charles' house:

Scarface had already flown to Upper Xen with 6 other Sevarisian thugs. Landing at Beijing International, the Sevarisians quickly rented two black Range Rovers and began driving towards the Beijing suburbs. They parked near a Paella Paella, because Hispanics always clustered around Paella Paellas, so they wouldn't look out of place standing there. One of the Land Rovers was parked in an obscure corner of the parking lot, and the other one was parked in front of the Paella Paella. The Sevarisians just sat there in the cars, keeping conversation to a minimum and not doing anything to draw attention to themselves.

They already knew the plan for extraction; multiple point entry, followed by extraction via private charter flight from Tianjin before the family members were due for work in the morning. Now they would have to wait for the right time to strike.

~*~*~*

Charles was watching TV with his wife, the twins were still upstairs. And unbeknownst to them, one of the black Range Rovers had parked across the street. The other one would park on the same side of the street in 5 minutes....

~*~*~
ooc: UX, RP as Charles. I'll RP his family.

Charles laughed at the screen. "Good ol MacGyver," he said, wolfing down a recently microwaved pizza. He was big fan of MacGyver, he liked the way he would always get the chicks and get out of danger using innocous objects.

He heard cars parking up. Must be the neighbors. Damn kids, always having booze filled parties. He sat back, and said to his wife, "Hey honey, I'm gonna tell the boss I'll need my vacation days. After all, we have been planning for this trip to Saigon for what, two months now?"

ooc: This is around 9 @ night, during the summer.

OOC: Fixed

ooc: don't forget the accent :p

The 4 Sevarisians in Range Rover #1 conversed briefly:

" 'Dis da righ' address?"

"'Dis what 'da boss fuckin' said it w's."

"I's just... too fancy... this guy's s'pposed to be a criminal. Looks like 'e's runnin' a slick operation or 3."

"Yea... Anyway... we got backyar' duty..."

The 4 Sevarisians got out of the car and walked around a row of houses to where Charles' backyard was, then, they wrapped black bandanas around their faces and drew their L21s out, carefully screwing on silencers.

Meanwhile, the 2nd Land Rover arrived. The 3 Sevarisians inside got out, SMG-7 drawn. They rushed in and swiftly kicked down the door. The thugs from the backyard kicked down the kitchen door at the same time and ran inside.

Both groups moved into the living room within 5 seconds. 3 guys ran upstairs to grab the twins.

Scarface, in the living room, smiled at Charles under his bandana.

"Now... Joo're comin' wit' us. 'Deyre's one Yakov Kasabian dat' woul' like t' speak wit' joo."

The 3 guys dragged the extremely scared twins down the stairs by their hair, threatening to rape, torture and kill them in no particular order if they made any loud noises.

ooc: don't forget the accent :p

The 4 Sevarisians in Range Rover #1 conversed briefly:

" 'Dis da righ' address?"

"'Dis what 'da boss fuckin' said it w's."

"I's just... too fancy... this guy's s'pposed to be a criminal. Looks like 'e's runnin' a slick operation or 3."

"Yea... Anyway... we got backyar' duty..."

The 4 Sevarisians got out of the car and walked around a row of houses to where Charles' backyard was, then, they wrapped black bandanas around their faces and drew their L21s out, carefully screwing on silencers.

Meanwhile, the 2nd Land Rover arrived. The 3 Sevarisians inside got out, SMG-7 drawn. They rushed in and swiftly kicked down the door. The thugs from the backyard kicked down the kitchen door at the same time and ran inside.

Both groups moved into the living room within 5 seconds. 3 guys ran upstairs to grab the twins.

Scarface, in the living room, smiled at Charles under his bandana.

"Now... Joo're comin' wit' us. 'Deyre's one Yakov Kasabian dat' woul' like t' speak wit' joo."

The 3 guys dragged the extremely scared twins down the stairs by their hair, threatening to rape, torture and kill them in no particular order if they made any loud noises.

Charles said, "'Old on there. wot is this aw abaht? i'm a family geeza now; and 'oo the bloomin' Gypsy Nell is kasabia-oh, tom Brad Pitt."

(OOC: Hold on-What is this all about? I'm a family man now, and who the hell is Kasabia-Oh S**t.)

He held his hands up, and said, "Calvin Klein....i'm comin'."

He followed them to the Rovers.

Charles was checked for any razors or tools that could help him escape. He then was tied up and gagged quickly and tossed into the back of Scarface's Land Rover.

Charles' wife and kids were tied up too. Charles' wife was tossed in with him in Scarface's Land Rover, while the twins were shoved into the back of the second Land Rover.

The Sevarisians turned off the TV, then turned off all the lights, then placed the doors back in their proper positions. After one last check for any potential witnesses, they shut the doors of the Land Rovers and drove off.

~*~*~*~

In the car:

Scarface was a passenger in the back of the Land Rover. Charles and his wife were in the trunk area.

Scarface leaned over the back seat, a grin from ear to ear was pasted onto his face.

"Now... wha' joo're runnin' is a damn smoo'd 'peration... ehh.. Cha'les... Joo got jourself a nise house... Hell... joo' even knocked up a lawyer t' cover jour tracks... Nice... nice... Now, we gonna f'rward a couple' a pictures of jour kids to Mr. Kasabian... dey so fuckin' beautiful... Hell, I don' even know if I can stop d' guys in da odda' car f'rm rapin' em... Joo think I can stop dem?"

Scarface chuckled.

Charles was checked for any razors or tools that could help him escape. He then was tied up and gagged quickly and tossed into the back of Scarface's Land Rover.

Charles' wife and kids were tied up too. Charles' wife was tossed in with him in Scarface's Land Rover, while the twins were shoved into the back of the second Land Rover.

The Sevarisians turned off the TV, then turned off all the lights, then placed the doors back in their proper positions. After one last check for any potential witnesses, they shut the doors of the Land Rovers and drove off.

~*~*~*~

In the car:

Scarface was a passenger in the back of the Land Rover. Charles and his wife were in the trunk area.

Scarface leaned over the back seat, a grin from ear to ear was pasted onto his face.

"Now... wha' joo're runnin' is a damn smoo'd 'peration... ehh.. Cha'les... Joo got jourself a nise house... Hell... joo' even knocked up a lawyer t' cover jour tracks... Nice... nice... Now, we gonna f'rward a couple' a pictures of jour kids to Mr. Kasabian... dey so fuckin' beautiful... Hell, I don' even know if I can stop d' guys in da odda' car f'rm rapin' em... Joo think I can stop dem?"

Scarface chuckled.

Charles scowled at Scarface, the very notion he just proposed was a horrific and hateful one no parent wished to see or hear.

With one motion, he spat in his direction, deliberately missing, and said, angrily: "Donald duck ya. Daan't ya dare say that abaht me saucepan lids (kids). Ya lay a finger on them, you'll be the bloomin' wahn who'll be sorry."

He then began staring Scarface down.....

Scarface chuckled.

"Loo' mayn... it ain' me. It's the guys in da' udda' car... 'den it's gonna be Jackie. Do joo 'onesly 'tink 'dat jour or jour familia' r' comin' ou' of 'dis shit unharmed? Eh?"

Scarface shook his head.

"Loo' a' it 'dis way. Joo pull shit, an' it comes back to bite joo in da' ass. It's gonna 'appen soona or lata. 'Sides, joo' tink 'dat joo can fuck people an' ge' away wit' it. Fuckin' stoopit."

~*~*~*~*

The Other Car:

Scarface was right. The other Sevarisians couldn't keep their eyes off the twins. The Sevarisian in the passenger's seat was keeping a careful eye on the two in the back though. In his hand, he still had his pistol drawn. He didn't want to face Scarface's wrath. But the 2 Sevarisians in the back were getting a little bit tense, and pissed. They wanted to fuck the twins and they wanted to do it right at that moment....

Scarface chuckled.

"Loo' mayn... it ain' me. It's the guys in da' udda' car... 'den it's gonna be Jackie. Do joo 'onesly 'tink 'dat jour or jour familia' r' comin' ou' of 'dis shit unharmed? Eh?"

Scarface shook his head.

"Loo' a' it 'dis way. Joo pull shit, an' it comes back to bite joo in da' ass. It's gonna 'appen soona or lata. 'Sides, joo' tink 'dat joo can fuck people an' ge' away wit' it. Fuckin' stoopit."

~*~*~*~*

The Other Car:

Scarface was right. The other Sevarisians couldn't keep their eyes off the twins. The Sevarisian in the passenger's seat was keeping a careful eye on the two in the back though. In his hand, he still had his pistol drawn. He didn't want to face Scarface's wrath. But the 2 Sevarisians in the back were getting a little bit tense, and pissed. They wanted to fuck the twins and they wanted to do it right at that moment....

Charles turned to Scarface and said, "You can tell this 'jackie' ter Scapa Fla ter Gypsy Nell. Wot the Gypsy Nell does 'e want wif me? Is 'e anovver jap punk? Or sum blimey ruskie? I thought I was done wif this tom Brad Pitt."

(OOC: "You can tell this 'Jackie' to go to hell. What the hell does he want with me? Is he another Jap punk? Or some damn Ruskie? I thought I was done with this shit.")

He then grew cold and said, "Listen 'ere. tell those perverts ter lay Frank Bough me saucepan lids.....isn't that wot porn's for?"

(OOC: "Listen here. Tell those perverts to lay off my kids.....isn't that what porn's for?")

"'E's a Russian alrigh'. We jus' 'elpin' 'im ou' a lil' after he pulled off sum' amazin' gunplay f'r us."

"I w's 'spectin' dat' da' guys in da' secon' car woul' try sumpin' funny. 'Dey bein', bu' I still dunno if 'dey gonna pull anyting. 'Dey woul' need balls t' try sumpin' but den again, dey got balls."

~*~*~*~

In the other the car, the 2 Sevarisians in the back were doing nothing but staring greedily at the twins.

The twins were too scared to say anything. But both them were thinking the same thing. They were going to die, they were going to die prematurely, and their bodies would be mutilated beyond recognition....

~*~*~*~*

Crowley was walking away from a fountain in the huge Hong Kong megamall, carrying away a suitcase full of 500 Xenenthaler bills.

That C-Mod was so... so... polite. He wasn't at all like Mikey.

Eh. Mikey must have been an asshole anyway.

~*~*~

Speaking of Mikey....

"Feelin' comf'trble? Good..."

A huge Sevarisian tossed Mikey into the back of a dirty cell in an abandoned prison. Mikey was naked and had obviously been caned by the British Mafia.

The Sevarisian made his way to the headquarters a few blocks down the street and knocked on the door of the room Jackie was in. The hacker invited him in.

"We go' da' first C-Mo'.... E's down da street. If Senor Kasabian coul' jus' follow me..."

"'E's a Russian alrigh'. We jus' 'elpin' 'im ou' a lil' after he pulled off sum' amazin' gunplay f'r us."

"I w's 'spectin' dat' da' guys in da' secon' car woul' try sumpin' funny. 'Dey bein', bu' I still dunno if 'dey gonna pull anyting. 'Dey woul' need balls t' try sumpin' but den again, dey got balls."

~*~*~*~

In the other the car, the 2 Sevarisians in the back were doing nothing but staring greedily at the twins.

The twins were too scared to say anything. But both them were thinking the same thing. They were going to die, they were going to die prematurely, and their bodies would be mutilated beyond recognition....

~*~*~*~*

Crowley was walking away from a fountain in the huge Hong Kong megamall, carrying away a suitcase full of 500 Xenenthaler bills.

That C-Mod was so... so... polite. He wasn't at all like Mikey.

Eh. Mikey must have been an asshole anyway.

~*~*~

Speaking of Mikey....

"Feelin' comf'trble? Good..."

A huge Sevarisian tossed Mikey into the back of a dirty cell in an abandoned prison. Mikey was naked and had obviously been caned by the British Mafia.

The Sevarisian made his way to the headquarters a few blocks down the street and knocked on the door of the room Jackie was in. The hacker invited him in.

"We go' da' first C-Mo'.... E's down da street. If Senor Kasabian coul' jus' follow me..."

Jackie didn't say anything; the past few hours had been hell on him. He opted to hang his head low, and follow.....

.....meanwhile, inside, a violent brew of emotions was stirring......

A terrifying concoction of voices could be heard in his head.......

...some cried "kill! They deserve it! take what is yours!"....

....others cried, "Don't man.....don't be a monster....don't be like them"

...and many others cried other lurid chants. Jackie was sweating, he was anxious like never before. The Rage seemed to fade in and out, morality replaced by sheer anger every turn of thought.

Jackie only wished he could find something to calm him as he followed. He did not like where this was going.

-------------------

Charles said, "'ell then...."

He rolled his head back, and thought to himself, "This is very, very bad...."

Then, he decided not to say anything more. He looked back at the other car, praying the kids were okay. He tried to repeat the boxing exercises he learned in his mind....so that way, he could try to kick some ass on the way out.

The Sevarisian that was leading Jackie could sense his urgency, in some odd way.

He turned around.

"Mayn, joo look worried. Cancer stick?"

He held out a pack of cigarettes to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The car:

"We're at th' airpor' now..."

The sun was beginning to rise. Damn. Oh well, Scarface didn't have to get through security. His was a charter flight of course. Vasquez had arranged things carefully.....

Charles, his wife and the twins were thrown aboard the airplane. The Sevarisians boarded quickly and the plane took off, flying back rapidly towards Hong Kong International....

The Sevarisian that was leading Jackie could sense his urgency, in some odd way.

He turned around.

"Mayn, joo look worried. Cancer stick?"

He held out a pack of cigarettes to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The car:

"We're at th' airpor' now..."

The sun was beginning to rise. Damn. Oh well, Scarface didn't have to get through security. His was a charter flight of course. Vasquez had arranged things carefully.....

Charles, his wife and the twins were thrown aboard the airplane. The Sevarisians boarded quickly and the plane took off, flying back rapidly towards Hong Kong International....

Jackie was roused long enough from his nightmare-fit-for-a-Gothmetal-album to say, "Da...."

He snatched the cigarette, pulled out a Zippo with the Aleksandr Nevsky Regimental Logo/Vietnam Vets logo on it, and lit up the cigarette. His hands trembling in a manner that would astound even a veteran drug counselor, he lit up the cigarette, barely holding both ciggy and lighter, and took a long drag.

He put down the cigarette, and breathed out the smoke....sighing. The voices were slightly dulled, but their pounding screams were still there. Still, it gave him just enough moxie to ignore them and say "Thanks."

----------

Charles was not surprised at the way they chucked him onto the jet. He had been manhandled in similar ways during his gang years.....but this took the cake. This was the fanciest kidnapping in a long time....

He looked up and said, "Say...can I 'ave a Coke?"

Chong put down his bag of cherries and stood up. He walked briskly over to the mercenaries in front of the fountain and nodded towards them.

"Of course we would like to hire you. I have the money right here in this briefcase. Now, the question is if you'll accept the first job I'm going to give you."

With that, Chong pulled out a tiny folded slip of paper from his back pocket. On it was a url address and a password.

"Memorize what's on there and swallow the paper. I've arranged for rooms in Jinsha Hotel a few miles from here. It's a nice place, popular with tourists, you won't look out of place at all. Take a look at the url as soon as possible, then decide if you want the job. Advance payment for wasting your time is $250,000."

With that, Chong opened the briefcase and handed a bundle of bills to Rolf, then closed the briefcase.

"Have a nice day."

Chong and Lien almost disappeared before the mercenaries' eyes.

~*~*~*~

FYI: The job on the website.

For EO Operatives Only

Plan: Assassination of Sevarisian Mafia Head in MassPwnage.

Vital Information:

Target: Pablo Lopez, AKA. Crazy Jack Sanchez.

Location: Villa in Hong Kong Suburbs. Fairly large and isolated compound.

When: 1 month from tommorow.

Your Jobs:

A) Familiarize yourselves with our weapons, access and print out the .pdf files i've attached.

B) Destroy a Sevarisian drug lab located in the jungle. Lien will tell you more tommorow.

C) Reconnaissance on the villa itself, check out the guard movements.

D) Assistance in performing the actual elimination.

Determine expenses and payment and meet me in front of the Pwnage Museum of Armored Warfare in Portside at around 2 p.m. The museum is impossible to miss; it's contained within a 300m long megatank.

This website will delete itself as soon as it's accessed.

The truck trundled through the old jungle road, inside it the EO crew. They were not kidding around in terms of equipment. The five figures that sat ready in the vehicle were armed to the teeth and armored heavily, ready for anything that came their way short of a tank. All wore their underlayer of Pinnacle Armorskin, over that, ONNEX/ceramic insert body armor and camouflage. Their skin was covered in Thermat and camouflage cream, their bodies decked with supplies.

Rolf had his J-10C as a PDW this time around, his main weapon an R-9 carbine, the choice of the UCSNE military. A caseless high velocity assault rifle, the R-9 also sported a detachable multi-munition launcher. Ngwele used the larger R-32, with a Lightweight Shotgun System underbarrel. The girl (Marie Knute, a Cape Colored) was the designated marksman, an R-27 .308 rifle in her hands. The two Peringelnese, Hans and John, sported an R-32 configured as a squad weapon and an R-9 respectively.

The truck stopped and Rolf gestured them out. Within a few seconds the vehicle kept moving. It was best not to do anything that would attract too much attention, so they crept into the jungle, disciplined and quietly.