NationStates Jolt Archive

There Were Lakes of Oil...

Talifax - International Trading City in the East Pacific

Talifax was a free city in every sense of the word. It was untamed. Unrestrained. Ruled by Gang Lords, Capitalist Money Makers, Drug Dealers, Corrupt Politicians, Slave Traders, Merchants, Pimps, Paramilitary Dictators and every other faction of scum you could possibly fathom. Talifax was a city of filth, one void of anything any person could possibly consider good or holy. Religion on the Island City was non-existant... except for the voodoo yardies in the South East... but could their demonic black majic rants truly be considered religion? Old Churches established by Spanish Missionaries so many hundred years ago were now brothels and crack houses, the havens of the low. The city was truly an amazing site, with merchants and traders filling the bustling streets 24 hours a day. Poverty was rank in the city, as the people were forced to work in horrendous conditions for penies an hour... just to go off and buy food for the day. Slaves were bought and sold by the hour, sailors docked every day for their week long breaks... which were always spent drinking themselves into oblivion. Pirates were safe from the outside world, as were all other sorts of murderers and felons. Convicts, thieves and pick pockets from nations around the world stow awayed on barges or bought their way onto merchant liners to flee to this criminal paradise.

There was no crime in Talifax because their was no law. No law besides that of the local gangs, corporations and paramilitary land lords. Helicon Inc., one of the most powerful Conglomerates in the world was based out of Talifax... mainly because they controlled a good sixth of the city. There were no taxes, no tariffs, no possbility for being 'arrested'. There was but one rule... foriegn nations were not permitted. The city, though appearing to be nothing but unorganized filth, was very well defended... so much so it had withstood seven wars against Crusades of 'Holy Ambition'. But this story is not about Talifax, as amazing as it may be... it only begins there.

Small Bar in Talifax

"BARKEEP! Give us another... im dyin over ere'.", shouted the grungy, dirt covered sea man. Music filled the air, fiddles, out-of-tune piano's, snapped violins... it was a scene right out of a pirate story in the 17th Century Carribean. Men laughed, faught and drank. Poker games dotted the inards of the run down pub, as darts were thrown from half way across the room at a crooked dart board. Beer and liquor filled the air, being spilled left and right by the completely wasted inhabitants of the establishment. "You know whats in this shit right boys?", questioned the barkeep as he plopped several metal jugs of grog onto the shaky wooden table. The oil stained driller laughed, "Battery acid, dog blood, moonshine, axel grease, brandy, whiskey, cocaine, bleache, logger, ear medicine, flu vaxine, vodka, tooth paste, gutter water and... ah yes, my favorite... OIL!", roared the bearded man as he gulped down a half mug of the putrid substance. The barkeep shrugged and walked off, leaving the men at the table to their drinks.

"So... where wer' we gents?", grumbled the brauny oil rigger. "Ah yes! The Western Frontier... my oh my... what a place. Just stay away from the women... they've got some strange venarial diseases over ther'... speakin' a which, I best be off to see the doctor gents'.", the man stood up, swinging his coat over his shoulders. He was quickly stopped by two large men in black suites. "Not quite yet Mr. Jenks... I think you better finish the story... eh?", grumbled Frank Scarcetti, adjusting his tie into alignment with his jacket, placing his 9mm Beretta on the table. "You had said somthing about black gold... a lost rig off the coast of this... continent?", smiled the Italian, placing a stack of twenty dollar bills on the table. "Oh yes... the rig... there is oil.", spoke Jenks, staring at the money. "On land there is more. An entire hole... filled with it. It seemed to have been an meteor crater of some sort... the oil gushed out... we took our fill of it in buckets and milk jugs... but the crater never went down in level... there were others too... lots of craters... and even streams... rivers of the stuff.", rambled the rigger, eyes fixed on the money. "Can I have that?", questioned the man. "Later... first you need to tell us where this continent is... and why no one has found it yet.", growled Scarcetti, removing his hat, leaning forward and revealing a massive scar running across his face. "WHERE?!"

-NOTE- Please Sign up in OOC Thread First. There is info you need to read there before begining. - NOTE-

OOC Thread (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=491705)

*Talifax bar*

Alan Smith and James Henderson looked a little out of place in the bar of misfits and miscreants, but not so much as the two suited italians with the beretta that were interrogating some oil saturated redneck. The two young men, while appearing rough, and seeming to be drinking and armed like the rest of the bar, had an aura about them that made it seem as though they didn't quite belong.

Alan Smith, the one closest to the table where the suited men spoke with the roaring drunk, looked like he didn't notice anything was happening behind him, but to those who cared to observe, they could notice the slight tilt of his head in the direction of the conversation.

"Man, we ain't supposed to be listening to drunks, we're supposed to be looking for customers and deals, not some drunk being interrogated..." Henderson pleaded with his companion as he sought to get back to their duties.

"You'd be surprised at what you can learn by simply sitting back and paying attention my good man...listen to this guy, rivers of oil, lakes of it even, everywhere on this continent. Check your weapon, I'm thinking we may need to have a little chat with this man ourselves," Alan said as he checked his sidearm, a 10mm glock.

"What the hell are you...god damn you alan," Henderson muttered as he put down his ale and checked his own weapon, a .45 cal he had picked up during his time in the special forces.

As one of the men removed a hat and raised his voice a notch, Alan stepped up and headed to a table of nearby drunks who looked like they were about to boil over into another brawl.

"Evening t'ya gents, hate ta be breakin' up yer fun here, but that man with the scar on his face was saying some pretty nasty shit 'bout yer collective mothers..." Alan said putting on his fake accent.

The drunks ceased their bickering, just as one man was about to punch another. They all looked up at Alan expectedly with one man managing to slur out some semblence of a response, "whatsh he be sayin' 'bout me ma?"

"Didn't make it out fully, but 'twas somethin' 'bout pigs, a whorehouse, and a pineapple fittin' with room to spare into the nether regions..." Alan said, letting the combination of preexisting anger and alcohol run its natural course.

The One Legged Hooker (Bar in Talifax)

"What? Whats that? Those aren't coordinates you drunken old bumb! I asked you where the goddamned -", Scarcetti roared at the man, grabbing him by the collar and bringing him up to eye level. However the large Italian was soon interrupted, as he caught a glimpse of a massive dirt stained man charging at him with a bar stool. Pushing Jenks into the man, he bought himself enough time to pull his switch blade, which he planted in the gut of the nearest drunk in the area, following it up with a sailors salute to the forehead. The two goons accompanying Scarcetti quickly joined in, one grabbing a tire iron laying on the table, the other simply tackling the nearest man. Within seconds, the entire room was a raging orgy of violence, as punches, base ball bats, crow bars, golf clubs, machetes and samurai swords (dont ask) filled the alcohal scented air. Blood splattering left and right as the inhabitants of the bar cared little of who or what started it, but that it was started. Jenks, due to his state of disorientation, simply joined in, cracking the nearest man over the head with a beer bottle.

(Very nice move by the way)

List of People Aware of 'The Land of Oil'

1. Mr. Jenks - Located in the 'One Legged Hooker' Pub - In a massive bar fight.
2. Bobby Gendel - Cell 41D of the Mc'Arnold Privatized Prison System - Serving 7 Year Forced Labor Sentence.
3. Henry 'The Brute' - Enrolled in an underground street fighting tournament.
4. Big Frank - DEAD
5. George F. Vendalibine - DEAD
6. Christopher Felps - Unconcious and drunk in the gutter outside of a brothel.
7. Vic 'The Mc' - DEAD
8. James Iola - DEAD
9. Sammy The Wop - On an cargo ship headed to Texas.
10. Dan Hendricks - DEAD
11. Michael Ambilli - On a two week tour of the 'Ganti Prositution House'.
12. Fred Li - Room 3D of 'Big Mac's Crack House'.
13. Steve Nilli - Being beaten to near death by loan sharks in an alley behind 'The Bank'.
14. George Dantella - DEAD
15. Willy Cantopa - Smoking a joint on the top of a 23 story sky scraper.
16. Nicky Rints - DEAD
17. Jim Walsh - Losing at a black jack table at 'Big Barts'.
18. Bobby Lee Holmes - DEAD
19.Steve Bintel - Surrounded by used needles and dying prositutes in an underground (literally) bar.
20. Lindel White - DEAD
21. Marty Scamps - Abducted as a slave - Enroute to Colombian Drug Factory
22. Andy Sands - Working in a low grade factory in Southern Talifax.
23. Lenny Tal - DEAD
24. Cal Henry - DEAD

OOC: Those guys are all doing really good for themselves

Claudius Griffincrest's closest aide, a man named Cornelius Blueblood, was on a mission in Talifax, to find the world's largest cockroach, when he walked into a Gambling Den known as "Big Bart's". Claudius gave him 1.2 million dollars to do whatever he wanted with, so he figured why not gamble with it, it ain't his money. After a few games of roulette, he saw a man losing badly at Blackjack, and most likely about to be in debt. Well, by now Cornelius had had a few drinks, and so was felling friendly, and walked over to the man. "You look like you can use some cash, friend" he said, with a big smile on his face.

OOC: This is Helios, this nation was restored so I'll be posting as it now

As the bar erupted into a massive brawl, as planned, Henderson kicked over his table and snapped his pistol in the practiced professional manner that is the hallmark of any special forces soldier, unleashing a pair of double taps at the two suited men and not bothering to check if he had hit anything as he moved while he fired, linking up with alan who was unleashing a storm of 10mm rounds at the man with the scar. They grabbed Jenks and dashed towards the exit, throwing drunks behind them and smashing away at anyone in front of them with their sidearms.

(That they are.)

Big Barts

Walsh looked to his right at the well off man carrying the money wad. "Wow! Friend, keep that shit down eh? What ya wanna get us both shot?!", shouted the liquored up Irishman, pushing the business mans hand underneath the table. Looking around, he had decided no one had seen the large wad, and continued his game of black jack. "What I really need is a drink... HEY GIRL! YA YOU! A ROUND FOR MY FRIEND AND I!", shouted the ex-sailor. "Ah my friend... you must taste the vodka... once you get past the kerosene... its great... ah, here we are!", shouted the man for no apperant reason, taking a large water glass of the drink and gulping it to half fill, the other being set down next to the wealthy foriegner. "Put it on my friends tab.", Walsh gurgled as he ordered the waitress away. "Anyways... whats your name pal?", questioned the scruffy man as he watched the dealer lay down the next hand.

(Response in a sec Ver.)

"My name is Cornelius. And how about yourself?" Cornelius asked, as he drank his vodka. He then turned to the waitress. "Hey, let me have a round to all these fine gentlemen, on me, best beer ya got!" He then looked back to Walsh. "So, is it that obvious that I'm a foreigner? I was, well trying to fit in with the regulars"

The One Legged Hooker

"GUN! The fucker's have guns!", roared an annonymous drunk in the bar, stating the painfully obvious as several men dropped to the shots from the men. One of the suited Italians quickly dropped to a shot to the head, another to shots in his knee caps. Scarcetti himself caught five shots to the chest, blowing him across the bar and into a wall. The inhabitants of the bar normally would have organized against those using guns... but the words 'organized' and 'inhabitants of the bar', simply didn't mix. As Jenks was grabbed and dragged out the door, by whom he thought was another Italian stooge, he withdrew a small fishing knife and plunged it at the mans back. While Jenks was being abducted, Scarcetti was standing back up and thanking god his wife had made him wear the vest. Now to deal with the fuck ups that had tried shooting him...

Big Bart's

"Names Walsh... Jim Walsh.", grumbled the man extending his hand. "Sunovabitch! Wait a damn minute... there are five feckin' jacks on the table... CHEAT!", roared Walsh, creating utter silence throughout the casino. Seconds later, fists, beer bottles and clubs were flying. Security guards tackled random patrons, patrons tackled random security guards and all hell broke loose. "Oh wonderful... my money.", laughed Walsh as he picked up the cash on the table, stuffed it in his pockets, and scooped the chips into hit hat, which he promptly put back on his head. "Ya know how I could tell friend?", asked Walsh as he lead the man across the room to the bar. "Ya dont smell like you're from Talifax... and you're not marked.", Walsh continued, turning over Cornelius' arm and showing the lack of a 'local mark'. "But anyways... what god forsakes business could possibly bring you to Talifax?"

It's raining. Why oh why does it always have to be raining. Couldn't I just have sun on one vacation...

Jordan strolled down the street, brushing his utterly drenched mop of raven hair out of his eyes. He pushed his way through the busy street, stopping for a moment to delicately remove the hand of a street urchin from his pocket, making sure that the wallet- and its contents- remained behind.

"Sorry kid, only enough money for me today. Try the guy in the red jacket over there, he's loaded and pretty damn stupid by the looks of it."

The merc leaned back against the wall, watching the boy walk past the oblivious man, barely bumping into the sap and almost invisibly extract the poor fellow's wallet. Smiling, Jordan gave the kid a thumbs up before reaching into his coat pocket for a smoke. Bending his head forward to shield the lighter from the rain, he heard the distinctive sound of angry yelling, followed by the wet smack of someone getting a rather severe beating. Sighing, he mentally kicked himself for being such a softie, and turned down the alley next to him and took in the sight before him.

A man lay on the ground, clutching his stomach, while a pair of tough guys stood over him, one with his boot drawn back to deliver another kick to the gut. Behind them, a smaller guy, obviously their boss, watching, with the seemingly disinterested gaze of someone who has money riding on the situation.

Sighing again, Jordan spit his cigarette onto the ground, putting it out with his foot, and raised his hand to his mouth, letting out an ear-splitting whistle. Now that I've got their attention...

"Now now, boys, I'm sure this isn't neccessary. So, I'll ask you nicely. Please stand away from your friend in the puddle, won't you?"

"Well, the job is rather odd, I'm here to find a giant cockroach, and I figured this urban waste would have it."

Midway through that sentence, he had to dodge a bunch, but kept talking without breaking in speech. A man charged at him, and Cornelius caught him by the arm, and snapped his forearm, with the bone coming through the skin. Cornelius was usually cowardly, but with enough liquor, his Confederate Imperial Guard training really kicked in.

"So what do you do here?"

Behind 'The Bank'

"Ya know Nilli... you're a real smart ass... would ya be so smart without yer' tounge pal?", shouted Hopps, an Enforcer of a local loan shark. He withdrew his switch blade, holding it to Nilli's tongue... promptly interrupted by the local do-gooder. A near extinct breed in Talifax. The boss, the one with the $37,000 hole in his pocket, responded. "Buddy, why dont ya take a hike before ya get hurt eh?... Unless you happen to have 40 g's goin' with that smoke... the only thing stopping me from beating this little shit into the next life is the reaper himself.", grunted the man as he fastened the belt on his trench coat, withdrawing a knife from within. The two men behind him, one carrying a bat and the other a chain, followed, leaving Nilli beaten and broken in the gutter. "So pal... What's it gonna be?"

Big Bart's

"A giant cockroach eh? Ya might want to check the sewer under Hampton Street... I heard they found a 300 pound rat down ther...", mumbled Walsh, shivering. "Me? Well eh, ya know... im a sailor... errr... was a sailor. Worked on a cargo barge a year or two back. Ship sank though... never got to go back to the mi-... ah nevermind... just a drunk rambling on about old times..."

Jordan sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

"See, I'm broke too, much like the poor fellow lying in the gutter over there. Thus, this situation kinda pulls on my heartstrings a little, savvy? Now I'm asking you..."

In a flash, Jordan's hand had disappeared into his jacket and back out again, this time cradling the massive form of a Predator III pistol. Squeezing the trigger, the gun jerked upwards, a deafening thundercrack sending a bullet right past the ear of the boss, the thirteen millimeter round smacking into the wall behind him, disintegrating a brick before lodging itself in the foam and drywall behind it.

"...to leave this man alone. Please?"

Putting on his best smile, Jordan kept the gun leveled at the three, twitching slightly between them.

"Now, I'd think it's safe to say I meant to miss you, yes? This gun is very large, and so are its bullets, and they make quite a mess when I pull the trigger. Of course, you wouldn't be alive to see the mess, so it's less of a problem for you, but I'd still like to keep my jacket reasonably clean after this, ne? Now, step away from the man slowly, and take a hike. Now, please?"

Behind 'The Bank'

"Shit you crazy sunofabitch! You know where the fuck we are!? SHIT!", the man dropped the knife and began backing up, followed by his men. "Ill be looking for you friend.", grumbled the man, pointing at the merc. The three turned and began running, one of the larger thugs kicking Nilli as he attempted to stand up. The men turned the corner bolting as shouts began filling the air... shouts which meant nothing good for anyone carrying a gun in the area. Nilli began mumbling, a few words making it to his rescuer. "Man... Christ man... this is the... the bank... we gota... leave... come now... lets...", Nilli, almost on two feet, fell back to the cement side walk. "We got to... split.... they're comin'... shit...", mumbled the broken man, attempting to crawl out of the area.

Quickly holstering his Predator in its hidden holster, Jordan grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck, quickly but suprisingly gently hoisting him to his feet.

"On your feet, friend. Don't worry, I'll help you. Now, just follow my lead and we'll get out of here just fine."

Staggering back out onto the street while supporting the badly beaten man, Jordan began to sing, loudly, badly, and quite drunkenly.

"You can bugger the bear, if you do it with care,
In the winter, when he is asleep in his lair,
Though I would not advise it in spring or in fall--
But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all."

Staggering drunkenly around the street, he continued to sing, while managing to plant the gun in a passerby's purse.

"Now, you *hic*, youse gots ta, gotsta sing th' nex', th' nex' verse wit' me, right buddy?"

OOC: This is Red Tide...

IC: Christopher Felps came too in an unusual situation, he couldnt see jack.

"Greetings, Mr. Felps." A very scratchy and insidious voice said. The paper bag that had been placed over his head was removed and Christopher could see again. As a matter of fact, he was in a featureless room with only three other people. Two of them wore gas masks and outfits you would see in the military. The other one, sitting across from Christopher, was a HOA Marshal.

"Mr. Felps, you have an interesting habit of getting drunk, laid, and getting knocked unconcious... making you incredibly easy to find." The Marshal said in that scratchy voice they all seemed to have.

"Where is the continent with the oil?"

Eric fumbled around trying to adjust his arms so that they support the Crack whore he was dragging through the streets, he had the occasional bizarre glance but nothing he hadn't already had before in his lengthy career as a Drug Dealer, Supplier, Runner and User, infact he was sure that no-one knew as much about drugs as he did.
IndentEric stopped to shove a bloody piece of snot back up his nose and looked down to the Crack Whore who also seemed to be bleeding out the nose, he took a rag and wiped off the blood, when his head arced back up he found his eyes level with a 9mm, he dropped the whore and drew his Glock 22, but he saw past the barrel and looked at the man "OH S**T!" He shouted.
Indent"That's right you scum sucking backstard!" Eric shook the Glock a little, more out of nerves, this guy was his old boss, one of the Spootian Drug Lords, "What'd you do with my S**t? Hmm? You smoke it?" Eric tried to remember, his brain was so frazzled it was difficult to remember what he'd done to what, "It was rhetorical dips**t! The thing that matters is that you stole from me and you and your crack whore b***h are gonna die!"
Indent"Hell she aint mine, she's the bosses bi-" Eric stopped, he could see the sarcastic look of contempt on his ex-bosses face, "Errr, Yeah!" He said looking back at his gun "I'm packing so... so you'd better leave me alone!" Eric threatened feebly, he needn't have as the bullet from across the street punched through the rain and into the Bosses leg which naturally exploded into shards of bone, cartalidge and blood.
IndentEric looked for the shooter, he gave up and quickly began dragging the passed out whore, he made it inside a nearby Church, the whore chose the right time to awake and mumbled "Hey.... this is Big Mac's Crack House" Eric looked for a room, they were all full, he passed by a room labbled 3D, he considered it a sign considering it was basically his initials, he burst through the door and locked it quickly when inside...

As Alan and Henderson rushed out of the bar the drunk they were dragging drew out a small fishing knife and stabbed it into Henderson's back, who promptly doubled over with a curse, his hands reaching back to extract the small blade.

"Damnit man, how many times do I have to tell you, wear a goddamned vest," Alan muttered as he kneed the drunk in the kidneys before pulling him close in.

"Here's the deal, stop causing shit, come with us, and tell us everything about that little continent of yours. You'll get fifty grand, and even better, your life, deal?" Alan said as he pressed his glock up to the man's head while dragging him through down an alley.

Meanwhile, Henderson collapsed up against the wall and waved Alan away, muttering that he'd get out on his own, and help draw off any pursuit.

Big Bart's

"A giant cockroach eh? Ya might want to check the sewer under Hampton Street... I heard they found a 300 pound rat down ther...", mumbled Walsh, shivering. "Me? Well eh, ya know... im a sailor... errr... was a sailor. Worked on a cargo barge a year or two back. Ship sank though... never got to go back to the mi-... ah nevermind... just a drunk rambling on about old times..."

"No, no, go on. I have plenty of time in thia god forsaken city, and you are the first person I've met. So where were you trying to get back to?" Cornelius asked, with an interested look on his face.

@Otagia

"Alright! Nobody moves! You here me?! All of you on your goddamned knees!", shouted a large man, donning a red beret and military garbs while firing shots from his SMG into the air. "I said freeze shit head!", roared the man, directing his weapon at a disoriented hobo. Within seconds, men in similar uniforms surrounded the area, M4's, SMG's and glocks accomapnying every one of them. "Now how about we make this easy on all of us, and the shit head that thought to fire a gun gives himself up...", spoke out the man, surveying the trapped crowd. "No one eh?", a small grin spreading over the mans face. "Alright boys! Find the gun.", ordered the Slavic Guard, standing atop a black humvee. Within five minutes, of the seventy five detained, nine were packing. However after minimal investigation, it was found that only one of them was down a bullet. Grochek, the apperant Commander, walked up to the man carrying the Predator III. "This is a nice gun... now why were you firing it behind the Bank?", questioned Grochek. "I... I swear sir... its, its not mine! I swear!", pleaded the petrified man. "I have kids sir... please! Please!", begged the rain soaked excuse for a human being. Grochek, withdrawing the mans wallet, unfolded a set of pictures. "So you do... twelve of them... thats a real shame there chap.", smiled the Slav, dropping the wallet and turning away. Four guards, all carrying M4 Carbines approached the kneeling man, whom now broke down into tears, pleading. In a second, the Assault Rifles let off a unified burst, tearing the man apart. The Predator III was tucked away in Slav's belt as he hopped in a humvee. Within two minutes, not one of the men were to be seen. The body in the middle of the street simply stepped over and left for the rats.

Nilli, semi-concious, looked up to the Merc whom had saved his life. "I wasn't worth that man...", grumbled the broken sailor, passing out with the completion of his sentence.

@HOA. (Mind going a bit more in depth about how you knew about him/the continent of oil? Im trying to keep everyone on the same page, and if ya simply pick him up and get a location, it throws everything off pace.)

@Toopoxia. "DROP IT MUTHER FUCKER! DROP THE GUN AND GET ON YOUR KNEES!", shouted the Chinese laborer, raising his shotgun to shoulder level, directing it at the intruders chest. "I swear to god, make a move and ill blow all four of you apart!" It was apperant that Li was to high too see or comprehend anything... but that was buck shot in the gun...

@Veragon.

"Goddamnit what are ya talkin bout boss?! I dun' know bout' no damn no nothin?!", shouted Jenks as he felt around his pant leg for another fishing knife. Meanwhile, Scarcetti stumbled out of the bar entrance, quickly firing off shots at the fleeing men.

@Blackhelm Confederacy.

- Will respond in a few hours.

(Short, shitty posts... more later on tonight.)

Maxmillian Julius Manius strode through the street, paying no attention to the various human refuge that litered the streets and gutters. He had one destination in mind, a low grade factory.

He strode in, took out a wad of bills, and pressed in the hands of the nearest man. "Get me the boss, the manager, whoever's in charge here, that much again if you make it quick."

His hand rested easily on the hilt of his sword, considering that this city seemed to have some rather strongly enforced laws about firing weapons.

@HOA. (Mind going a bit more in depth about how you knew about him/the continent of oil? Im trying to keep everyone on the same page, and if ya simply pick him up and get a location, it throws everything off pace.)

OOC: Will do, lets try this.

IC: The non-descript van moved down the mostly empty street with relative ease. Driving the van were three men who wore casual clothing, nothing out of the ordinary... except for the muffled thumps coming from the back. The two men were what were known as Puppetmakers. They were the Heart of Armaggeddons recruiters. Their primary method for recruitment was, of course, kidnapping. The HOA had long selected Talifax as a good recruitment 'center', because most of its population consisted of criminals, nobody would care if anybody went missing.

First, the Reconpuppets were sent in, to find out what was acceptable and what was not. What places to avoid, what places to go to, and so-on and so-forth. Once that was done, the Puppetmakers and their processing equipment were sent in. Talifax had quickly became the largest source of manpower for the HOA, and the third largest source of money(the top two being completely different stories).

These Puppetmakers were on a regular recruitment drive, trying to find prospective recruits. One of them noticed a man laying on the side of the road. The Puppetmakers stopped, got out, looked around to make sure no-one was doing anything suspicious. The third Puppetmaker was left to gaurd the van, while the other two checked out the unconcious body.

"So much alchohol." One of the Puppetmakers said, noting the fact that the man was clutching a beer bottle, "Such a shame this body go to waste." The two Puppetmakers proceeded to lift the body up and carry it to the back doors of the van. They knocked three times, and two Meatpuppets, the standard 'footsoldier' of the HOA, opened the door, heaved the man in, gagged him, tied him up, and dumped him with the other recruits.

When Christopher Felps woke up, he would find himself inside a large jail cell gaurded by men with G-36C Assualt Rifles and wearing military clothing... as well as numerous just-as-confused young men.

It was surprising how fast rumors spread, and when those rumors were about oil... they blazed like a wildfire. True or false, embelished or cold hard facts, news of a lost continent of oil had made its way through the grapevine and into the top secret UIA headquarters in the Dominion.

Nowadays, oil was one of those buzzwords that sent people scrambling to confirm or deny the gathered intelligence. However, this rumor of black gold would require a certain amount of finesse to find out its location - that is why the five man team, codenamed Delta Force, had been dispatched.

They had arrived in Telifax and set up a small base of operations in an abandoned warehouse. They spent time gathering, or rather attempting to gather information on the alledged land of oil, but there was nothing anyone knew... until one day at the 'One Legged Hooker' Pub. Delta Three, incogneto as a mix between a bum and a drunk, was sitting at the bar when he heard a man rambling about the western frontier at another table. However, the point of interest came when a distinctly Italian accent entered the scene and began interrogating the man about Delta Three's very same target.

When the barfight broke out, Delta Three, still playing the role of a drunken man, managed to throw a few punches as well as receiving them. But that was only the rouse to keep him undercover, what he had really done was lay his hands on the man in question a couple of times and while he did so, he slipped a pair of bugs onto him. When the guns started blazing, he hit the deck, his mission accomplished and his life on the line.

When the target was dragged out of the door, two men (Delta One and Delta Two) sat inconspicuously in their car across the street and parked a few cars down. They waited to follow Mr. Jenks wherever he was taken, while another man Delta Four stood half a block down from the bar and the fifth and final member, Delta Five, was in a van listening to the listening device that Delta Three had planted. If the listening device was found and/or removed by a scan of the man, the other bug - a tracking device - would wait ten seconds and then activate and begin transmitting, but until then it could not be found by a scan.

Nilli, semi-concious, looked up to the Merc whom had saved his life. "I wasn't worth that man...", grumbled the broken sailor, passing out with the completion of his sentence.

Leaning the sailor gently against the wall, Jordan pulled out another cigarette, cupping his hands around the flame of his lighter. Blowing the smoke through his nostrils, he bent over the remains of the man he'd lent his gun, blood slowly running past his feet.

You're right. You probably weren't.

His eyes fixed on glint of plastic. Reaching down, he picked up the man's ID card. He turned it over a few times in his hand, before pocketing it and returning to the unconscious sailor.

Let's get you out of the rain, ne?

________________

Jordan leaned back against the frame of his bunk, his cigarette burned nearly to the filter. Bottle of bourbon in one hand, ID card in the other, he stared unseeing at the still unconscious sailor, wounds already bandaged, and dosed with a shot of morphine for the pain. Pouring himself another shot, he downed it quick, waiting for the sailor to wake up.

@Aeson.

"Oh! My ya. Oh ya sir. Righta way sir! Ill be - one... three seconds!", shouted the man, opening a wide smile at the cash in hand. He immidiately began running up a flight of iron stairs and stopped dead. Turning around, hustling back down to the man he had just spoken to. "Uh... mabey six seconds - mabey sir.", reported the obviously crack crazy worker, as he turned back up the stairs. Several minutes later, the small man came back bringing with him the apperant 'boss' of the operation, a large Desert Eagle at his side. "What the feck' do you want?", shouted the fat balding man as he reached the bottom, staring at Julius.

(No laws against firing weapons in the city... hell, shoot a random guy on the street and theres no problem. However 'The Bank' is a particularly important place in Talifax... why, well ya proably wont find out in this RP, but ya... shooting guns in the area is a bad move.)

@HOA.

(Pretty good... only one thing I could really think of as a suitable reply...)

"What the feck' happened to my booze?"

@DMG.

(Nice job, but I cant do much as what you here largely depends on what Veragon hears.)

@Otagia.

Nilli slowly came around, unsure of his surroundings... "Where... when am I?", grunted the wounded Nilli as he held his bruised head, blood slowly dripping onto the floor directly below.

@Blackhelm Confederacy.

"Ah... old legends and myth's my friend... im not much sure if they're true myself anymore... and I was there.", mumbled the sailor, looking down at the blood stained bar top. "Back in the day I worked on the VCD Serpent... a good ship by my standards. We moved some chemicals across the Pacific, usually taking Indonesian Slaves as payment. Not much money in it, but ya know, we lived...", grumbled the man, sipping his drink. "Well anyways, in August we had a particularly large shipment... one paying double if we had it there early... so of course as fate would have it, we hit a hurricane... instead of going around it, his greed drove him through... well, needless to say we never reached Indonesia. We landed at a very... odd place. The place stank of oil. The very shores washed up the thick black ooze daily. The sands were thick and black, as flammable as a fat mans toilet... but regardless, we assumed it to be the result of a reck, and explored the island, venturing into the jungles. All manner of beast dwelt in these jungles... some of which I would prefer never to speak of again... and then the jungle cut off... lakes... there were lakes of it...", explained the drunken Walsh, entranced with his own account of his adventure, simply blanking out with the vision in his mind.

Some of the men around Felps looked at him incredously.

"We dont know what happened to your booze, we are just as lost as you are... and why does it matter?" Said one fine looking young man.

"AH-TENTION!" A voice yelled and the Meatpuppets snapped into a salute of a man in a military officers uniform. The uniform looked like a throwback to Nazi Germany, it even had an armband. Instead of a Nazi swastika on the armband however, there was a white semi-cartoonish mushroom cloud. This man was a Marshal.

He stood in the center of the round room with the jail cells and said:

"Welcome gentlement, welcome inside the Heart of Armaggeddon. Soon, you will pass through those doors," He pointed to an end of the room that lacked a jailcell, sure enough, there was a set of double, electronic doors. "and up some stairs, when you arrive! You will be processed into new recruits for the Heart of Armaggeddon!"

A voice yelled to him, "What makes you think we'll join you?"

The Marshal gave an evil little smile, "These men, gaurding you, did not join voluntarily... and now look at them. Completely loyal to the cause." He said sinisterly, motioning to the soldiers standing just outside the gaurd cells. "Soon you will become their brethren... volunteering is irrelevant!"

Though his face was concealed beneath his helmet, Max simled, and as he handed the promised tip to the man he asked, he started casually peeling notes off of the large pile he carried.

"Am I correct in assuming that there's an ahh... Andy Sands working here? I'd like to borrow him for the afternoon. You will, of course, be fully... compensated... for the work he would otherwise be performing, and I promise that I will do my best to return him to you unharmed."

He handed about five hundred dollars to the manager, and then folded his arms, leaned back against the wall, and waited for the man's response.

@HOA.

"Because I have a massive head ache ya nomec piece of shit." (Derogatory name for native Talifaxian's... usually the product of rape). Felps rubbed his neck, a large tatoo covering its surface, the letters MVK standing out in large bold print. "Goddamnit, what the hell...", grunted Felps as the uniformed men entered the room. Felps half thought he was in one of the Calvog's... sinister places in which the wealthy paid to torture innocent (sometimes) members of society. They were not all that uncommon in the city, however were forced to pay extremely high protection rates to local gang and mob lords. However usually, the cells were in much worse condition than the one Felps had landed himself in. Listening semi-intently, he didn't really comprehend what was going on, but did his best not to fall asleep during the officers speech.

@Aeson.

Holding the bills up to the light above to confirm their authenticity, the manager nodded, looking at the man. "Ya... he works here... but he's a good worker, cant be losing him for the day for any less than... 1,500.", responded the man, redirecting his attention to the wealthy stranger.

Maxmillian nodded absently, and handed over the requested amount of money.

"I'm glad to see you're a man of reason. I'm also glad to hear that Mr. Sand is such a valuable employee. Not addled by liquor or drugs then?" He placed the money back in his wallet, which he tucked inside his uniform.

Cornelius' eyes grew wider and wideras the man continued to speak. "LAKES OF OIL??" he said loudly. "I think I have someone you need to see." he said, before grabbing the man by the arm and pullin ghim outside, then dialing a number on his cell phone.

Nilli slowly came around, unsure of his surroundings... "Where... when am I?", grunted the wounded Nilli as he held his bruised head, blood slowly dripping onto the floor directly below.

Jordan turned, putting out his cigarrete in the ashtray by his bed. Standing, he bent down next to Nilli, gently staying him from standing up.

"Dammit, you're bleeding again. Thought I fixed that... I'll get you some fresh bandages then. Oh, and you're in my apartment. I rented it for this vacation, thought it'd be better than the hotels around here. Safer at least, and less questions. I'd have taken you home, but I think one of the thugs working you over managed to lift your ID. Anyway, I'm Jordan Antioch. You got a name?"

The Marshal stood down from his location in the center of the roundish room, walking over to a soldier manning a security console. He then pointed at a cell, the cell Felps was in. Walking into the room from the only door, more soldiers, also armed with G-36C Assualt Rifles, marched in. They marched over to the cell and the point man opened it with a key.

"Alright you maggots!" The point man said, "You can either come quietly! Or come kicking and screaming!"

A man rushed out of the cell and began to dart off to the right, but he was gunned down before he could complete the movement. "Anymore resistors?!"

Somewhere Hidden....

Dead?No.Dead men can't hold a 12 Guage Mossberg Maverick to someones head.They also can't bring the stock down on their outstretched arm,causing a resounding snap through a dark windowless room.Cal Henry could.And he did.Deep heaving sobs echoed throught the room,dark pools of liquid reflecting the greenish light filtering in through the crack under the door.This room was infamous too.2 people always came in.One man was always the same.His stubble always dotted his chin in the same way,he was young and wore mainly black.A coat,scarf,black shirt and dress pants.He was the only one who ever came out.

'Wheres my money Sam....Wheres my money...?',the heaving continued and a dark form was bent double,on its knees in the dark room.A short stocky figure loomed over it.'

I deal in whiskey,don't I Sam?',asked Cal softly.He began to chuckle.He was notorious for that chuckle.That chuckle said somthing.It said:Tell me what I want to hear,or Im going to kill you.Right now.

'Aww man...Its your money man.I didn't take it man,hid it man...You can have it man,it's yours man....',The chuckle came again.'I know its mine.But WHERE IS IT?',there was a silence devoid of sobbing,in which time Not-So-Dead Cal Henry placed his hand inside his coat and pulled the hammer on a Colt 1911 .45,which clicked loudly.A slurred address quickly followed.

'9187 Victor Street man...Apartment 37E,back bedroom man...Theres a loose tile man....In the bathroom man....',the sobbing resumed with mumblings of 'Please don't kill me',and,'Im sorry man....',Cal placed a hand on the back of Sams head and patted it gently,his wet hair staining his hand with blood.

The hand in his coat came out,and in it was his Colt 1911.'There was a lesson here Sammy Boy...DON'T F**K WITH ME!And never touch my money....'

He placed the barrel against Sams head and a roar rocked his skull,sending a shower of debris onto the walls.His body hit the floor.

'Okay Sam....',he said opening the door to the room and wiping his Colt clean with a bandanna.'Okay.' He stuck it back in his shoulder holster and walked back into the night.He was the only one who would ever come out.

((Out Of Character:Oops...was this completely open or was there a sign up?Im sorry,I didn't even ask!Sorry about that....))

“Oh do you really have to count it, I mean I’m a man of God, if ya cant trust me who can ya trust?” smirked Abbot Mosworth. The dark Columbian looked up at him with a scowl, opening yet another suitcase engorged with bills. The Abbot was a short man with a crumpled face and dark eyes with pupils that seemed to fall into oblivion. Despite the rest of his features which seemed decidedly shrunken, his fingers were long and spindly, filled with an awful unnatural agility. They were always twitching and turning, moving a tiny black crucifix in impossible motions.

The drug lackey looked up from the final case, “K, buddy its all here, da drugs are yours.”

“Now I assume an upstanding organization such as yours can be trusted to deliver when paid... or at least be smart enough to understand what double-crossing my brothers would mean,” the Right Reverend slowly doled. He slowly continued, “We could go another drug cartel or simply... declare war.”

“Oh shut da fuck up father, don’t insult my intellect,” spat the lackey. He shot an even harder glance, “And what da fuck does the church need with a whole fucking ship load of fucking hallucinogenic drugs, most of which we dug up for you in this shit stained city.”

“God works in mysterious ways... my son,” smiled the wrinkled man. A moment passed and Mosworth spit over the side of the boat.

A powerful horn split the air and Mosworth looked over at a small transport ship, filled with a ragged bunch of wretched degenerates. The crewman of the cargo ship began to throw out the ropes, and lowered a latter over starboard.

The Abbots terrible eyes seemed to draw deep into his folds of flesh, and he seemed to shudder for a moment, “Those wouldn’t happen to be that prisonas from the holding dock, would they?”

The lackey looked up, “Yea, they are, why do you ask?”

“Oh nothing, just looking for a little baggage help for the remainder of the stay,” smiled the Abbot.

The Lackey sighed, “They aren’t for sale buddy.”

The pitiful figures were now parading across the deck in chains, each one looking in seeming wonder why a hellish priest was doing business with drug lords. The rusty chains cut at their flesh, most would be dead before they reached the cocain hills of Columbia.

“Tell you what, I’ll quintuple the going rate for a slave, my back is really killing me.”

The lackey frowned, “Let me contact the boss.” The Columbian quickly stood and pulled out a shining cell phone. He broke into quick and hurried Spanish. After a few minutes he turned to the Abbot, “Which one do you have in mind?”

Mosworth slowly scanned the crowed, pausing slowly at a particularly scrappy figure. Mosworth slowly eyed him up and down, and removed a massive stack of money from his robes, “I’ll have him.”

The lackey barked in Spanish and the man was released from the chain gang. Light seemed to shoot through his eyes until he saw his new grotesque master. Mosworth slowly approached the figure, “What’s your name?”

“Uh... Marty Scamps.”

Alan was starting to get pissed, his buddy was lieing with a knife wound in his back and now bullets started skipping off the walls off the alley from one of the men from the bar. Jenks seemed to be fishing around for something, so Alan promptly put a round into his arm and muttered something about visting Hades if he kept up struggling.

Dashing around the corner and onto the street as several more rounds came flying down Alan turned to Jenks, "you know exactly what I'm talking about, and the next bullet goes in your brain."

Alan dragged the drunk down the street, while throwing on his headset for his cellphone and calling for help from the other Industrial Alliance agents scattered in the city.

*Alley*

Henderson looked up at the scarred man as he pumped rounds down at the fleeing Alan. He could feel the blood trickling out of his back, and came to the realization that he might not make it out of their alive. All the wars, all the battles, and rather than a blaze of glory I go down in some shithole alley in some shithole city... Henderson thought to himself as he slowly pulled out his .45.

"Ares, watch over you servant..." Henderson started to mumble a prayer as he snapped up his sidearm, hoping to get hit the scarred man before he could turn and put Henderson down.

@Aeson.

The manager smiled, stuffing the money into his shirt pocket, slowly turning and walking back into the factory. Remembering what he had done for the money he stopped and turned back. "Oh ya... Sands got off an hour ago... I think he's down at the One Legged Hooker.", laughed the fat, balding, well armed administrator. "Adios friend."

@Blackhelm Confederacy.

"Wait... what? Eh? Hey man hold on... goddamnit man it was a long time ago... I did alot of crack... it's nothing, really... im drunk... oh ... ooooo ... I see oil everywhere... blah blah blah! See? Crazy... made up. BLAH!", shouted Walsh as he was dragged out of the casino, attempting to make up excuses for his story.

@Otagia.

"Names Nilli... friends call me...", the man sat thinking for a second... "Names Nilli.", concluded the man, dabbing his head with a wash cloth. "Those guys are gonna be lookin' for me... I better go...", Nilli grumbled, attempting to stand up... he quickly fell back down, leaning against the wall. "Ugh."

@HOA.

"Nope."

@Nerdainia.

(You're welcome to join, however I believe your post implies Cal Henry is still alive. He actually is dead... the list is not a documented information report, as much as it is the actual status of every person. If one member's status can be changed, they all can... skrews up the situation. Also, im not sure if you actually planned on RPing as one of the men whom already know the location, but if you want to, feel free. Just pick one thats alive, and remember... they're all pretty screwed up, with less power than dirt.)

@The Infinite Crucible.

(Looks good. Not much I can really do though... feel free to continue, you're doing fine.)

@Veragon.

"OWWW! Damnit you fuckin' nark! GODAMN! My arm! Im dyin! Im gonna die! AHHH! Help! Sombody help! AHHH!", Jenks screamed flailing and jerking left and right. He had stopped searching for his weapon, but his hysterical mannerisms had increased ten fold.

Meanwhile Scarcetti was recieving fire from the wounded man in the alley. Two bullets hit him in the leg, bringing him down, another two lodging themselves in his kevlar vest. The fifth his him in the arm, another in his pelvic bone. While laying on the ground, half aware of the situation, he gritted his blood stained teeth, looking up at the exhausted shooter. Raising his glock, he directed the muzzle and squeezed off as many shots as he could before passing out. One of the two men accompanying Scarcetti stumbled out of the pud, clutching the wound in his abdomen, blood dripping down from a gash in his forehead.

The Shadowman grinned and saluted the manager. "Well played sir, and the best of luck to you in your endeavors."

OOC: Is that huge bar fight still going on in the one-legged hooker? Can't really post until I know.

(That it is.)

"Names Nilli... friends call me...", the man sat thinking for a second... "Names Nilli.", concluded the man, dabbing his head with a wash cloth. "Those guys are gonna be lookin' for me... I better go...", Nilli grumbled, attempting to stand up... he quickly fell back down, leaning against the wall. "Ugh."

Jordan hurried over, fresh bandages in his hands and a look of genuine concern on his face.

"Dammit, you shouldn't be moving, you'll only hurt yourself more. I made sure you didn't have any internal injuries, otherwise you'd be at the closest excuse for a hospital this place has. And even if those guys managed to follow us back, I have a few tricks up my sleeve for 'em. Anyway, I think they'd be slightly more likely to start looking for you at your place of residence, assuming you have one, pardon my rudeness."

Jordan walked over to his bed and pulled a pair of Predators out of his suitcase, he twirled one, quickly checking the magazine. Sliding it across the floor to Nilli, he holstered the other in his vacant shoulder holster while grabbing and examining a Model 100 submachine gun from the suitcase.

"You know how to use one of those? Just in case those thugs do come knocking, I think it might help if you were armed, too. Anyway, what exactly did you do to piss those drekheaps off? Besides missing a payment, that is."

@Toopoxia. "DROP IT MUTHER FUCKER! DROP THE GUN AND GET ON YOUR KNEES!", shouted the Chinese laborer, raising his shotgun to shoulder level, directing it at the intruders chest. "I swear to god, make a move and ill blow all four of you apart!" It was apperant that Li was to high too see or comprehend anything... but that was buck shot in the gun...

Glock was drawn and met the barrel of the shotgun, barrel facing barrel and eye facing eye, but a sudden change in air prompted a sudden release of the tight grip over the firearm and Eric pocketed the pistol still watching the shotgun, "Hey dude c'mon, we don't need to grudge, I'm not here to hurt you I'm just looking for a place to hide." Eric extended his arm and showed his palm to the man, slowly offering the limb into a frindly handshake.

Marty shifted a few feet back from the priest as the decrepit ship rolled in the wake of yet another illicit transport making way for open ocean. The breaking water stirred up the filth smothering the ship in a new wave of raw and exotic smell. A burly guard approached Marty and grabbed him about the neck drawing him close, “No dis hur is ya nu masta, gut it?” With that Marty was thrown to the deck.

“Oh come, come, I think he understands his circumstances,” sighed Mosworth extending a hand to the fallen man.

The dark drug lackey sighed, “You best not be doing that, makes them think they’re still humans, makes em feisty, makes them liable to slit your throat.”

The Abbot took a step back, and slowly turned to the drug lackey. A smile slowly crept over his face, “I believe I am quite capable of handling this forsaken man myself.” He shifted for a moment as the boat rocked its one thousandth rock. He smirked, “Besides I have got the best back up anyone can hope for.”

“And who is that?” the lackey spat, eyes suddenly darting across the distant piers grasping for any hint of a sniper or other support.

The Abbot laughed, a sickening grotesque laugh, “No, not a sniper, oh no... God.”

The lackey’s eyes narrowed, “I think it is time for you to go.”

“Gladly.”

Mosworth grabbed Scamps and proceeded towards the small skiff that had brought him out. The bouncing journey back to shore was quiet, the single drug runner eying them nervously. After a few mute minutes the skiff reached shore, depositing its motley pair.

Scamps nervously eyed his new master, pausing at each abnormal feature. The crumpled face and those obsidian black eye slits behind the rolls of flesh. The long bony fingers, always in motion teasing the cross like a spider would a minuscule fly. The short stature, he guessed the priest was only 5'4".

The Abbot turned to Scamps,

“You are not a slave any longer, however you are now a servant of God. Walk with me. I want you to tell me all you know about this land of oil, and please no lies... I am a man of God and he is the best lie detector of them all. Also don’t be alarmed that I know about it, you talk in your sleep... it’s a nasty habit. I overheard your midnight rambling while I was waiting for clearance to get closer with the Columbians in their compound. Now normally I don’t take leads from those who are passed out in a holding pen, but there are rumors going around the city of this land of oil now... and I just couldn’t resist. So Mr. Scamps... what do you know?”

Maximus stood outside the door of the bar for a moment, listening to the fighting inside, and then went in. Almost immediately he had to intercept a punch aimed at him, and did the man the favor of getting him out of the fight. Granted, the man probably would have been more grateful if he had removed him less violently, but that was hardly Max's concern.

Casually snapping the wrist of the next man who came at him, Max tapped Andy Sands on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sands, could we step outside for a moment?"

@Otagia

"I uh... oh ya... I took out a $20,000 loan and blew it on black jack. I couldn't pay it off... ain't got nothin' valuable either... im only worth 600 on the street as a slave... ive go nothin but... wait... yes, yes thats it! Ive got this!", Nilli shouted in glee, pointing at an unusual tatoo on his palm, one of a snake crawling through a blackened skull. "YES!"

@Toopoxia

Li, not moving a centimeter, narrowed his eyes. "Gun on the ground, slide it over too me... all of them or I swear ill blow your head off."

@The Infinite Crucible

Scamps stood in dead silence, the fear, the lack of hope in his eyes, all muttered out in a single line. "Myths sir... no such place be in existing Mr. Priest Man.", mumbled the broken slave. Life was barren from this pathetic being. Dirt, grime, filth covering his body. His teeth rotten and yellow. His hair falling out, even though he was only 37 years old. The tatoo that once covered his hand... replaced by an ugly scar... Scamps had nothing... he was nothing.

@Aeson

Sands, thrilled with his position in the drunken brawl, simply took the tapping on his shoulder as an attack, and promptly turned swinging, his brass knuckles heading right at intruders forhead.

Helicon Corporation - Northern Talifax

"Mr. Helicon... there seems to be a problem with Captain Martinez.", spoke the young secretary, fear marking her every word. The large black leather chair, previously facing the massive window overlooking the city spun around, revealing the face of Richard Helicon, a glowing cigar illuminating his face in the darkened room. "Yes? And what problem might that be?", spoke the devilish man. "Uhm... uhm... there are more.", trembled the girl. "More?", questioned Helicon, in full understanding of what she meant. "There are others... others that know...", repeated the secretary. Helicon, still as dark as night itself, stood. "Their names?", demanded the man in a calm tone. "He... he hasn't said.", concluded the girl in obvious fear of what awaited her. "Thank you Teresa.", finished Helicon, walking towards the door. "Its Leslie sir.", added the secretary, quickly realizing her mistake in correcting the man. "Thank you.", shouted Helicon in a sudden burst of anger, sending her from the room.

Somewhere Below the Building...

Helicon walked into an opened steel door, entering a dimly lit room covered in roaches, rats and filth. Strapped to a chair was... was somthing that was once human. A man deprived of skin, fingers, eyes, hair, ears, a nose, lips, teeth, toes and... life. He was still technically alive, but in a state in which nothing but pain entered his body. Moans were all that could be heard as the suited man entered, his Italian boots splattering a puddle of blood around the room. Walking directly up to the tied of Captain, he extended his gloved hand, clenching his face with a stern grip, blood pouring from his open flesh onto the glove. "WHO... ARE... THEY!?!...", roared the man, lowering his face to within inches of the tortured man.

Max easily caught the man's wrist. "Look, I just want to talk, okay? I have money." He pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet to demonstrate that he had money, before tucking it back into his pocket, and absent mindedly knocking most of the teeth out of the face of a man coming up behind him with a chair.

"Go time..." The words echoed through the concealed earpieces of the five Delta Force members. The target was being hauled away as a man tried to gun him down... that couldn't be allowed to continue.

As one of the men - the one they would use to get the information from this Mr. Jenks - was hauling away the target, two others exchanged fire. They were now both bloody and lying on the ground; most likely they would die on the cold streets, but Delta Force didn't leave anything to chance. These two men were witnesses and obviously were involved in someway with Mr. Jenks. They would be silenced.

A few short seconds after another man exited the bar and noticed his fallen comrade on the ground, Delta Three exited, still in full on costume...

The engine of Delta One and Delta Two's car started as they pulled out of their space and slowly moved down the street in coordination with the others...

A run of the mill gentleman had been reading the newspaper as he waited on the side of the street down half a block from the commotion, but now he had folded the newspaper and was walking calmly towards the alley and bar...

Simultaneously, the three parties converged on their targets: one from the bar, one from the other direction, and two in a car. They arrived at the entrance to the alley and concurrently pulled concealed pistols from their clothing. The car windows in the sedan rolled down as Delta Two (the driver) and Delta One stuck their pistols out. Delta Three removed a pistol from his waist and put it to the back of the standing man's head. Delta Four dropped the newspaper, revealing a metallic shimmering sword of death - a Desert Eagle, and walked up to Scarcetti who was lying on the ground, still focused on Henderson.

*BAM*

*BAM* *BAM*

Without missing a beat, Delta Force fired in unison. The man dropped to the ground as his brains were splattered against the inside of his skull. Scarcetti was lying in apool of his own blood as a bullet had pierced his forehead. Just for good measure, they double tapped the two limp bodies to make sure they were dead. In their line of business, there were no maybes - it was all about certainty.

After Scarcetti and his partner had been quickly dealt with, Delta Three and Delta Four aimed down the alley and easily nailed the man on the ground. They shredded Henderson's body with eight shots, before the silence took over again. As Delta Three hopped into the passenger side of the car, Delta Four took a quick stroll down the alley to where Henderon's corpse sat.

*BAM*

One more through the temple... just for good measure. He rejoined his comrades into the car and they sped off, leaving three pools of blood with three dead men. They wouldn't be bothering Jenks or Delta Force's mission again...

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

Meanwhile...

As Jenks and Alan disappeared down the alley, Delta Five started the engine of his surveillance van and turned the corner to keep up with them. All the while, he listened to any conversations or sounds that Jenks or Alan were making through a small earpiece...

"I uh... oh ya... I took out a $20,000 loan and blew it on black jack. I couldn't pay it off... ain't got nothin' valuable either... im only worth 600 on the street as a slave... ive go nothin but... wait... yes, yes thats it! Ive got this!", Nilli shouted in glee, pointing at an unusual tatoo on his palm, one of a snake crawling through a blackened skull. "YES!"
Jordan grinned as he went to work rebandaging Nilli's wounds.

"You sure you didn't get a boot to the head as well? A bit of ink probably isn't going to help you much. Nice tattoo, though. Military?"

The Abbot took a step back and sighed lightly. The air of menace about him seemed to dispel, however artificially. He surveyed the ground about him, the muck, grime, and shit coalesced into a wonderful array of dirty browns and putrid blacks. The black tide sloshed over the edge of the rusting pier, sending a fine stinking mist over the two men.

Mosworth looked up, his eyes a bit lighter than before and smiled, “Here, you must be cold, take my robe.” Mosworth pulled the deep tan robe from his shoulders and placed it over Marty, revealing his surprisingly orthodox priest outfit below. The robe was small of Marty, and it looked almost comical. “Well I cant say my apparel fits you very well, I stopped growing when I was fourteen, been bloody short my whole life, bit of a curse I guess,” smiled the Abbot. The smile faded from his face, “Although, I suppose its nothing compared to the shit you’ve had to go through... but take heart, your safe now.” He swayed to the side and put his arm around Marty and nudged him into a slow walk away from the sea, “We don’t have to talk about that island, but I must insist that we at least try and make things better for you.” As they pulled away from the ocean the scent of dying fish faded, and was replaced with industrial decay.

Mosworth continued, “How did you end up on that ship, what led up to that?” The abbot looked up at the black sky, “God is watching my friend, and he has a plan... where has his plan taken you, perhaps if I know I can get you your dues from the guy upstairs.”

@Aeson

The mans eyes lit up with the site of money... unfortunatly, so did those of the surrounding crowd. One rule of Urban-Law... never withdraw large amounts of money in the presence of those without it. "Sure... lets go bud.", replied Sands, immidiately dropping the club he was about to swing at the stranger. However it then started to get ugly. Two large men behind Max charged at him, aiming to tackle the man. Another one standing behind Sands swung a baseball bat at him, which was in line to connect with his jaw, another man standing some fifteen feet await hurled a beer bottle, a pair actually at the wealthy visitor, while a man lying at Max's feet withdrew a switch blade and thrusted at his ankle. As all this begun, Sand's was smashed over the head by a large wooden plank, knocking him out cold.

@DMG

(...Veragon)

@Otagia

"Oh no, you dont get it... I know where it is! The island... I was a Black Snake! I know!", continued the light headed man, whom looked as high, drunk and insane as any hobo wandering the streets could possibly be.

@The Infinite Crucible

Scamps looked down, collecting his numerous memories from the last several years. "I used to be in the Army... fought in the H-Corps (Helicon's Personal Army) for seven years... stationed in South East Asia for the most of it. Ya know, mostly guard duty. Watching over slaves, killing unioners and strikers. Burning the villages of da' guys that supported the commies. Killed a few commies myself... yea, but that all ended with the Davilan War... when the Coalitionists launched their third invasion, I was transfered into Kroando's 3rd Army... we were wiped out in an attack on Saigon... a couple of me pals, we went off into the jungle for awhile... a year, mabey more. As it went on, our role in the war died, and we became thugs, and ruffians. Raiding and extorting villages throughout the region. Well... eventually the war ended, and the Coalitionists were driven out, leaving the warlords to rule over Vietnam... they saw us eliminated. I joined up with the Black Snakes in Port Royal... served with em for a good couple of years. Then we found it... I mean... we sank. The ship sank and slave catchers found me. Threw me on that ship and that was all she wrote...", Scamps quickly spoke, attempting to cover up his apperant error.

Helicon Inc.

"WHO! Damnit you spic piece of shit! Tell me or by god ill wrip your tounge strait from your mouth!", yelled Helicon, punching the open flesh of the dying Captain. Moans and grunts, and the occasional gurgle was all that could be heard... until the suited man turned away for a few seconds, fiddiling with some device. When he turned back, a blow torch was in full flame. The burning spout was applied to the skinless shoulder of the man, scorching his unprotected flesh. "SCAMPS! WALSH! Oh god please stop! AHHHHH!!!", screamed the dying man, begging for an end to his life. "Gendel! Please I swear! Gendel! No! No, no more! AHHHH! AHHHH!", begged the man as the flame was shoved deeper into his arm. "Felps and Ambilli! I swear to their names! I swear it! No... no more! NOOO!!!" Name by name, Helicon was going to have the completed list of crew members... even if he had to burn the man alive to do it...

The Abbot listened intently to the broken figure as they pressed deeper into the city. During Mosworth’s initial weeks in Telifax he had been under the watchful eye and protection of the Columbian cartel in the area, after all The Infinite Crucible was a big customer and a lot of money was riding on the life of a lone Abbot. Mosworth was no fool, however, and knew with an X factor to the tune of trillions of dollars his “friends” could only be trusted for so long.

Near the end of his short speech the two men ducked into a tiny hovel which turned out to be the temporary lodgings of Mosworth. As Scamps final words finished the Abbot grabbed another, more non descript robe, and donned it along with a large rucksack. They burst back into the streets and headed to destination unknown.

As the two slunk through the dirtied streets and the whole city turned to a putrid blur. As Mosworth began to respond to obvious lie he pulled a small black object from his new robe and began to key away at it absentmindedly in one hand, his tendril like fingers once again moving with disturbing grace. He had sent a message back to the Crucible Church and The Infinite Crucible as a whole. He knew things were going to escalate and he wanted to be prepared on every level.

First of all numerous other clergy members, two dozen in fact had been requested for support and aid in Telifax. In addition he informed the navy that it should possibly begin to mobilize a rather large submarine contingent. Take them out slowly, just a few at a time, starting now, say it’s a large fleet training exercise for the purpose of collecting depth and speed limit data in a variety of ocean environment. However, all this was not guaranteed to begin immediately, after all it was still not proven.

The Abbot looked over at the following Scamps, “Alright Scamps, forgiveness if one of the many teachings of God, and I am prepared to forgive you for lying to me. However, I am not as virtuous as the most holy one... so I don’t know how many more times I will be able to forgive you before... well lets just say I don’t want to add another confession to my list upon my return home. Now you say you joined up with the Black Snakes... is that the origin of the mutilated tattoo? Beyond that you said you found it... before correcting yourself, don’t insult me, I am pretty damn, lord forgive me, sure of what you found. Finally, all she wrote... who is this she and what stake does she have in this lost continent. Remember, you are working for the lord now, your with the good guys now, you can trust me.”

Maximus had had extensive combat training in a wide varities of fighting styles. Between his classes in Judo and fencing, he had also been trained in a somewhat less graceful, and certainly less disciplined style. That's right, barfighting. He threw both of his fists up, connecting with the large men's jaws. He grabbed one of the men by the throat, and pulled him in front of him, deflecting both the beer bottles and the baseball bat. He then shoved the men towards several more of his attackers.

However, he was only human, and couldn't keep track of all of his enemies at once. He winced, ever so slightly, as the switchblade dug into his leg. Kicking the man in the nuts, he pulled out a wallet and flung it into the crowd, before slinging Sands over his shoulder, and then drawing his sword.

"Now boys," he said, his voice at once taunting and threatening, "You can come at me, and there's enough of you that you'd probably win, but I can guarentee that the first one of you to step forward dies. Or you can go for the wallet."

(Bump - Will Post once more RP'ers respond.)

"Oh no, you dont get it... I know where it is! The island... I was a Black Snake! I know!", continued the light headed man, whom looked as high, drunk and insane as any hobo wandering the streets could possibly be.
After a quick glance, Jordan confirmed that the man hadn't suffered any head trauma, and crouched down in front of Nilli.

"Wait, wait, wait. You're moving pretty fast there, omae. What island? And what about you being a Black Snake? Merc company?"

@Aeson

By the time the man began speaking, half the room had converged on the location of the wallet, the rest still to drunk and enraged to be concerned with the man and his affairs. There was a semi-nonobstructed path to the door... if he could make it past the flying punches, random darts and swinging beer bottles, he was home free.

@The Infinite Crucible

The man broke down crying, spewing out random segments of sentence, mostly incoherant ramblings, but there was a constant mention of a 'Island of Oil'. The man's brain had been fried, his ability to accurately explain and depict situations gone long ago due to various drinking binges and narcotics. Getting any information from the decaying body would be like extracting pure water from stone... it simply wasn't going to happen.

As the words continued to spew out, Mosworth's frustration became apperant. It seemed as if any minute, the Abbot may very well begin beating the information from his fried skull. However, the opportunity would never arise. A bullet landed in the skull of the former slave, splattering his brains onto several people standing behind him. "Goddamnit! That was friken' new!", were the only responses seen in the surrounding crowd, so used to violence were they. The Abbot was left standing next to the motionless corpse for no more than twenty seconds before several uniformed men approached the man, lead by another in a pin striped black suite with an ear piece. "Hello Father Mosworth.", spoke the man, as the guards in urbam cammo converged on the area. Labeled on their uniforms were the obvious, bold letters of AOEN. "Your presence is requested at the Golden Gardens."

@Otagia

"No, no, no... oil drillers. We drilled for oil... except on the island, ya didn't need to drill to find it... it was... everywhere. Literally spewin out a der' ground it was.", continued Nilli. "And I know where it is! There are men who will pay! Helicon, he will pay to know where... I must go... I can solve my debt! Yes!"

Veragons Conversation with Jenks

"No! No I wont tell you! No damnit!", raged the bloody faced man as he spit into his interogators face, a tooth hitting him in the jaw. "Alright Mr. Jenks... so be it... STRIP EM!", shouted the agent, ordering two large guards to remove his clothing, which was quickly done. The men then walked into an adjacent room, one with a very noticable component... a large raging furnace. Jenks' clothing was tossed in first, Jenk's face was placed against the iron side of the red hot furnace, forcing steam to sizzle from his bloodied skin. Screams... endless screams were all that could be heard from the grog-intoxicated man... for the time being.

Father Mosworth eyed the crowd of soldiers. He knew he had no hope of resisting them, and besides he had recently learned that The Infinite Crucible had joined the AOEN. Perhaps he had just gotten lucky, he sure hoped so.

He looked at the head shoulder and tilted his shrunken head, “With pleasure.” He then shot a glance back at his large rucksack, “I don’t know what your policy is on weapons and the such but I have a few of them stored in there.” He laughed, “I don’t want to get shot at the security checkpoint.”

He knew that if they requested the contents of the bag he would have to destroy a few choice items. Espionage was not a game where you wanted to show your cards, even to allies. With a final glance he looked down at his boot which was covered in a bit of brain.

He returned his gaze to the soldiers, “On second though I will give this man his final rights and prayer.” He frowned, “It will only take a minute.” With that he turned to the dead body and laid it in a half decent position, as well as can be manage with only half a face at least. He then began to murmur in Latin and made wide pristine gestures with his hands. With his hands and those horrible elongated fingers.

Maximus reached the door, and carried Sands to his hotel room. He set Sands on the bed, and sat down in a chair, bandaging his leg.

"I hate getting stabbed," he muttered, waiting for Sands to wake up.

"No, no, no... oil drillers. We drilled for oil... except on the island, ya didn't need to drill to find it... it was... everywhere. Literally spewin out a der' ground it was.", continued Nilli. "And I know where it is! There are men who will pay! Helicon, he will pay to know where... I must go... I can solve my debt! Yes!"
Jordan's eyes brightened at the hint of a buried treasure. Almost as good as a fairy tale... Ah, what the drek. Might as well...

"Helicon would? My friend, you don't have to leave the room to find an interested party. Ever hear of Pale Rider Arms? I happen to be chums with a few of their higher ups, and I'm pretty sure they'd pay a hell of a lot better than this Helicon person. Hell, I can get in touch with them right now, if you want."

"Anyway," Jordan grinned, pointing at Nilli's many obvious injuries, "I still don't think you're in any condition to be on the street right now."

@The Infinite Crucible

Within a few minutes a convoy of black military humvees had arrived, clearing paths through the masses of people in the streets. As Mosworth finished his unusual blessings to the corpse, the men entered the various vehicles and sped away. The ritual being preformed may very well have been standard and the norm in many places... but in Talifax, it only raised the question, 'What the fuck is he doing?'

The Golden Gardens were soon approached, the massive stone wall manned by multiple sentries and gun turrets, the flags of the member nations flying on an equal level around the massive complex. The gigantic titanium doors were hauled open by several troops on the ground, allowing the convoy to pass into the frontal courtyard. The marble pathed road glistened under the black boots of the AOEN Security Force, all of whom donned black gas masks and swat-like combat helmets. Golden Statues of various figures lined the sidings of the road, the figures being the leaders of the various member nations. Exotic wild plants surrounding the monuments, it was like a picture out of some ancient Aztec City. But then came the fountain and the small artificial streams running throughout the premisis. Oil. Oil ran through the pipes and runways of the entire area... black, thick oil. The convoy stopped at the circular parking zone, and the men unloaded. Mosworth came out to the site of Mr. Richard Helicon, the head of the Helicon Corporation. "Hello Father... please, come with me... we have much to discuss and so little time...", placing his arm around the mans shoulder, they began walking the area... "Tell me what you know about 'The Continent'."

@The Aeson

Several hours later, Sands began to come to... "Wha... where... huh? When the hell are you? Who are you? What am I doing here? When is my head blood?!", questioned the dazed Sands, his words being mixed and matched in eager intrigue.

@Otagia

"Well if they pay well... I guess so then...", Nilli nodded... "Ya... that'll work... call em up!"

Veragons Conversation with Jenks

"Please! NO MORE! ILL TALK! I SWEAR! ILL TALK!", Jenks bellowed out, begging for his life as he was doused in kerosene. A man standing on the other end of the room with a blow torch. "Will you now?", laughed the man as he shot the flame on and off, taunting Jenks. "Well im not so sure I want to here it anymore... you've really turned me off of the whole oil thing.", he continued, still playing with the blow torch. "Oh please god... no more... no...", Jenks began crying in streaming tears, begging for his life. "Walsh! He has the coordinates! Walsh I swear! Hes at the-", and it all cut off. A massive explosion rocked the building, the blast knocking down walls and men alike. Flames consumed the building as the C4 Device went off inside the building... one planted by a Helicon Agent several minutes before. The men in the room however, were not all dead at the moment, as their sector of the building was somewhat isolated. The flames consumed Jenks however, the others inside taking cover in the rear, putting the flames consuming Jenks out. As some order came to the room, and it seemed as if all could continue, three men entered through the blown open door, all carrying SMG's. The clips were emptied into the men, phospherous grenades were hurled inside, and the men left. Jenks, and every other man in the building, was dead.

"You took a club to the back of the head back there," replied Max calmly. He tossed him a bottle of aspirin. "Here. That should help. We should talk."

SHIT! Delta Five sat in the back of a van listening to the conversation when the bomb exploded, wrecking the building and killing everyone inside... there was nothing he or any of the other Delta Force members could do. Their target had been killed, but the mission would live on... They had a name: Walsh.

After the explosion rocked the building, Delta Force sped off so as not to be near the scene when any officials showed up and met back up again at their safe-house.

"Right before he died, he said a man by the name of Walsh has the coordinates for where the island is," Delta Five announced as they sat around in a circle discussing the mission.

"Well, at least it is something. Get on it," he replied to Delta Five. He needed no further urging. Delta Five knew how to work with little to no information. In a matter of seconds, the sound of buttons being pressed furiously on the computer was heard as Delta Five was typing away. The search had returned fairly quickly... after cross-checking Jenks with a man by the name of Walsh, it returned with a name: James "Jim" Walsh.

However, the search was not over. Switching programs, Delta Five began tracking Walsh. He found information on his credit cards, cell phones, whereabouts, address, driver's license... everything.

Now it was time to track the new target. Delta One scanned the information and then announced, "Let's roll..."

Mosworth had seen the vast oil fields of The Infinite Crucible. Horizon to horizon covered in smoke, pistons, and machine. As a young boy he had been disgusted with such sites, considering them blasphemies before God, but that had changed upon his induction into the more... restricted parts of the clergy. Years of traveling the world and doing some truly awful things in the name of God and country the Abbot had become a very jaded man. With time he came to accept the evils of his home, however, and even believed it was still blessed by God.

The extravagance of The Golden Gardens caught the abbot off guard. One instant he was in the worst of slums and the next golden fountains spewed the lifeblood of humanity and the earth about like water. He was amazed... if just for a moment. Upon exiting the car he was approached by a clearly powerful man who he recognized instants later as Richard Helicon.

The upstanding man put his arm around the Abbot which surprised him slightly, but he displayed none of that. Mr. Helicon looked at the Abbot, “What do you know of the ‘continent’.”

The abbot pondered the situation. While he was fairly sure he was safe, being a representative from a large AOEN nation, he knew things were never the same on the covert level. He looked up at Mr. Helicon, “I can’t say I know very much, unfortunately, I am not even sure of its existence, but I think such a large prize pushes aside the minute bits of scepticism we both no doubt have.” The abbot turned and eyed a massive fountain spouting oil, “I was able to get a few tidbits from Scamps... I hate to sound difficult but how can I be sure that this information will be in the best interests of The Infinite Crucible.”

Jordan grinned.

"Hold on a sec, lemme make a phone call."

Flipping open a cell, he dialed quickly, and began pacing.

"...Hey, Sam, it's Jordan. Is Danny there? Sweet. Put him on? Thanks doll. See you Christmas, right? Yeah, love you too.... Danny! Howya been? Long time no see! How's teh brother's new arm? ...Good to hear. Hope the itching stops soon. Anyway, sorry that I haven't called just to visit, but I have a man here with a story to tell you that could earn PRA billions. ...Sure I'll put him on. Hey, Nilli, for you."

Pressing a button, Antioch turned on the speaker phone.

"Go ahead, Danny, you're on the air."

A voice spoke over the phone, soft, yet easily heard by both men in the room.

"Nice to meet you, mister... Nilli, is it? So you have a business proposition for me? Please, tell me everything you know. Take your time, I don't have any appointments for the rest of the day."

@The Aeson.

"Uh... ok... sure... what we talkin' bout?"

@DMG.

(Walsh is currently with Blackhelm's man... he hasn't posted lately, so im assuming you can kill him.)

@The Infinite Crucible.

Helicon thought over the words spoken by the Abbot, doubtlessly the level of trust he felt in the man was little, and rightfully so. Helicon was known for his brutal methods of business, ones which involved the simple elimination of many rivals, and potential rivals. People whom knew things Helicon didn't want them to know often turned up dead, and people that didn't know things he did want them to know often recieved horrendous beatings. Scepticism was one of the few things Helicon was deserving of.

"Scamps knew nothing... well, nothing I do not already have, nor need... thus he is dead.", Helicon walked on, explaining with his golden ringed hands. "However you do know somthing. And since you know somthing, people above you know somthing. And that means I cant kill you.", Helicon continued, speaking rather emotionlessly of the Abbot's mortality. "And since I cant kill you, I need to deal with you... yes, I contemplated throwing out this information into the AOEN Forum, letting Reynolds and Bedford and Valin argue it out... but that will only clutter shit up. To be honest, there is no honest. There is alot of oil out there Mosworth, and sombody needs to take it. I was hoping it would be me, and me alone, but it seems as if you, and your superiors know about it. So now we must split it. I know where it is, I know how to get there and why nobody has found it. Now we need to make a deal.", Helicon spoke, taking his arm from the Abbot's shoulder and leaning up against a large golden statue of himself. "There are only a few living men in this world whom know of this islands location. They will all be dead in two days. That will leave me the sole possessor of the islands location. We work out a deal, and a good portion of that oil go's to your nation. No deal and well... you've only got two days to find the others.", Helicon concluded, smiling.

@Otagia.

"Uhm ya? Hello? Hi... uh ya I know where it is... well the island of oil... no im not high... its a damn island of oil... of course im not makin' shit up... Jordan? He found me bloody and dying in a gutter... my head? Well ya it hurts... but thats not the point! I know where an island of oil it... lots of oil... now if you pay me good and nice, ill tell you where it be at."

On his end of the phone, Daniel smiled.

"I have an idea. Since Jordan believes you, I'll trust you for the moment. However, I'm not going to pay you immediately. Once you deliver, and prove that this island exists, you will receive five percent of the profits Pale Rider Arms makes from this venture. I'll be putting the Chimeras at your disposal, since Jordan runs them anyway. So, prove it exists, the Chimeras secure it, you're a very rich man. If it doesn't exist, I've lost a bit of time, Jordan still gets his vacation, and you probably get a place to stay in Otagia anyway, as Jordan is a big softie. Agreed?"

OOC: I swear to god I thought I posted already. Wow, I'm a moron

Cornelius quickly tossed Walsh into the trunk of his car, and drove him down to the docks. There, he went to a payphone, and dialed a number. In minutes, a small, ex-Kraven attack boat, fitted with an AC-20 on it instead of the regular GPMG, glided in. Two men stepped off.

"Excellent work Cornelius. You will be rewarded when you return home." a rather large mercenary said, as he walked towards the car.

"Thank you, I try my best"
"Well have you found that roach?"
"Not yet, but I got an idea"
"Good shit"

After that banter, the mercenary popped the trunk, and dragged Walsh out. He then tossed him onto their ship, and sped away. The little boat soon pulled up alongside a big tanker, just a few miles in International waters. The boat flew no flags, and was generally assumed to be a derelict, so it was left alone. What it actually was was a Griffincrest Observation Post (GOP). Walsh was dragged aboard, and lead to a small dark room. A man appeared, by the light of a single bulb. "Now Jimmy, you are going to take us to your little island of oil, OK?"

- Bump to other members before post -

Pooling the resources that only a Black Ops team could in the time that they did, Delta Force quickly had five satellites refocused to beam down on their current city of Talifax. Recent Intel had pointed to the one, Jim Walsh, being in the city currently as well as a possible 'hit' on his life in the near future. This meant that their target was near and was in grave danger...

Their mission rested solely on this man who remained a mystery and uncontacted by anybody from the Dominion. If he was lost to Hades, there would be nothing to go on and the mission would be scrapped. The buzz surrounding Operation Black Rumors was that if it panned out, it would turn into a highly lucrative mission for the Dominion and the executives of certain companies. And all of it rested on the shoulders of five men... Five men who were currently racing through crowded streets on their way to the docks...


Earlier, after the satellites had been rerouted to Talifax, they began running an advanced recognition program that would allow them to hopefully find Mr. Walsh before time ran out. Having received the most recent data on Walsh - his appearance, face, height, weight, build, hair, etc. - the satellites went to work analyzing everyone in the city. Women and children were quickly removed by the program's filtering system before it began running closer analysis. Eventually, after scanning thousands upon thousands of people (and marking each one that was not Walsh), the recognition program had narrowed it down to four people who were very close in all of the filterable categories. However, one of them clearly didn't have the appropriate facial appearance and was discarded by the program, leaving only three.

Delta Five sat waiting in the van as the rest of Delta Force was idling in a vehicle on the other side of the street, awaiting Delta Five's confirmation on one of the three men. Unfortunately, the program could not find a closer difference between the recent picture and any three of the men... They all could be Jim Walsh. "Shit... we have three men to track down and they are currently at opposite points of the city," Delta Five communicated to the vehicle in which the rest of Delta Force sat. "Any one of them could be our man and our time is running ou-"

"What is it!?" Delta One ordered as Delta Five cut off before his sentence ended.

The reply came back from the van, "Fuck!" A satellite was tasked to follow each of the three men in question and a live feed sent to the van in which Delta Five was now sitting, watching one of the monitors. "I think we have our man..." He added a few moments later. Delta Five had just witnessed one of the three men being watched tossed into the back of a vehicle and driven away. "Head to the docks..."

The van and vehicle sped off down the road towards the docks with constant updates going from Delta Five to Delta One.


[ooc: Blackhelm, do you mind if my Delta Force boards your tanker unnoticed and listens in on the conversation?]

bump.

@DMG nope, go for it

As Delta Force jumped out of their respective vehicles at the docks, they quickly and silently rushed to an awaiting boat. The live-feed of satellite images showed the target being taken from the car to a small boat and then drive out to sea where it met up with a large tanker. Now Delta Force would have to secretly insert themselves inside of the ship under cover of darkness and gather the necessary information.

The ships roared across the harbor until it was in the open seas. The five Delta members kept their heads low against the howling wind and choppy waters that broke on the boat's hull. When they were in close visual distance of the large tanker, they turned the motor off to maintain silence. Two of the five men began paddling the small rubber craft closer to the massive ship until they finally made contact.

Their special equipment allowed them to climb up the hull of the ship, even as wet and slippery as it was, until they made it to the main deck. Delta One, who was in the lead, checked the area to make sure it was clear before hopping up and helping the others. The cover of darkness was key in a mission like this - the crew of the ship would never see the elite Spec Ops force that had infiltrated their establishment...


A few silent communications later, Delta Force had split up and began scouting the boat for their target... It didn't take long. The shouting from a contained room was obvious the second they entered the corridors of the ship. After placing a listening device on the wall, they scattered into the shadows and listened intently to the information they were receiving...

[ooc: Sorry, poor post.]

[bump!]