NationStates Jolt Archive

The Siapian war on drugs was beginning to falter. The prime enemy, "Kissey", a highly fatal and extremely addictive drug was swamping the street. Millions upon millions of plat-credz were poured into rehabilitation programs while the Courts sought to redefine their method of prosecuting dealers and users, for the labor camps had been quickly filling up with small time dealers and basket case addicts.

Some of the new rehabilitation and immunity options had been shown to make serious progress, but the single greatest factor in controlling the drug was the sheer volume. Street prices were rapidly deflating, as anyone with a background in chemistry could make a lethal dose in their kitchen. Despite this, the majority of "Kissey" could be traced back to several large cartels. The Siapian Intelligence Network was tasked to cripple these cartels long enough to create a significant jump in price.

In the midst of this war, an invitation was sent out, via the usual channels, inviting those who considered themselves capable of 'cleaning' without soap. The risks attatched to the jobs would be monumental, but so would the payoffs. Simply showing up warranted a bonus equivalent to US$100,000.

The invitation said that a man, 'K' would be waiting in the ruins of DeLafonte Castle, 40 km north of Esmund, Siap, at sunrise, following the next full moon.

[OOC: Siap, you always have entertaining assassination RPs. :p

Technically, my go-to guy for "clean-ups," Delta One, is in another country performing work for a resistance movement, but we can cite fluid time so he can do this job too.]

Delta One remembered the last time he had worked for the Siapians. He'd made an exorbitant sum of money from the strategic eliminations of key Ceyolian officials. In a sense, he'd indirectly worked alongside the Otagian assassin known only as Coatl, who remained the only actor in that theater to complete more hits than Delta One himself. He and Coatl had met a few times subsequently, but had yet to actually cooperate on any matters of significance. He idly wondered if Coatl would pick up this offer as he read the invitation's contents. He considered it, then began to type a response to this mysterious "K."

Encrypted Response

It has come to my attention that you have some refuse that needs removal. I have worked with some of your associates before, and found them to be most generous and accommodating. I will require more information about the nature of these targets before I arrive at your position, solely for the sake of not wasting your time or mine on whether or not to take this particular job. Name a price, and I will either arrive at the listed location within 24 hours or I will simply disappear back into the vastness of the world.

-- Delta One

End Encrypted Response

[OOC: He definitely wants to take the job, and I want to do this RP, but he's just asking this stuff out from an operational security standpoint; he's not hesitant, he just wants to know what he's getting into before hopping on a plane to Siap.]

OOC: This organization will be a lot less open than the previous. All I can say is that he will be really working for his money this time.

Encrypted Communique

My employers do not wish for me to divulge any information about the targets until we can be confident you are on board. We were impressed with the work you performed in Ceyolia. Unfortunately, times are much different now, and we do not posess the financial resources to match exactly match the money you made in Ceyolia. The contracts we offer will be much more dangerous and for less pay. All I can tell you about the exact value is that for simply coming to the meeting you will receive $100,000 in cut and polished diamonds. The contract value will be between $500,000 and $50 million.

If I may be presumptuous, the psych profile I'm holding right now suggests that the thrill of this mission would be a greater motivator besides the money. Plus, should you aid us in this operation, we will be able to aid you in non-fiscal matters.

- K
End Communique

Delta One snorted. So this prick thinks he can throw me off with some sort of forged psych profile? he thought to himself. Thrill is nothing.

Encrypted Response

Very well, then, I will take your offer. I will meet you at the rendezvous point within the next 24 hours. Suffice it to say I will be equipped with a substantial weapons loadout. I trust this will not pose a problem with any security forces, given the nature of this job.

And as a parting note, if I may be presumptous, your so-called "psych profile" on me is complete bullshit. If you had really watched my work in Ceyolia, you'd know that.

End Encrypted Response

[OOC: He's not really motivated by thrill or anything -- he's pretty cold-blooded. He's somewhat pissed at K for trying to pull "some psych profile bullshit" on him, especially when it's not really correct, but he'll obviously still take the job, and he will want to cooperate with K as long as nothing else like that happens. :p]

Encrypted reply

I will be waiting at the location. The weapons you bring will only pose a problem if you are caught with them.

- K

OOC: A lot has changed since Ceyolia. The psych profile is meant to appear to be the guesswork of an underpaid analyst.

OOC2: K is probably going to be an asshole. Think Mark Wahlberg in "The Departed."

bump

The Ministry of Foreign Security is Kulikovia's chief foreign intelligence service, comparable to the CIA. Within the MFS is the Special Operations Department, the department which conducts missions abroad once sufficent intelligence and logistical quotas have been met for a certain operation. Within this department, there is another shadow division, which does not offically exist. Their identeties are a closely guarded secret, they do not recieve government health benefits or paychecks, and they technically, do not work for the MFS or any other government agency.

Angela Rothe was one of these ''Red Shadows" which was the nickname for these operatives. They were drawn from all over the intelligence, military, and civilian sectors for their skills and abilities. She applied for the Ministry of Domestic Security, a ministry similar to the FBI. She passed the rigirous application process and entered the training school. As a recruit, she proved quite competent and capable as an MDS agent, excelling in every physical and written exam as well as psyche evals and oral boards. She specialized in Weapons & Narcotics Enforcement. Near her graduation date, Angela was approached by a man who went by the name "Gerard". He explained to her what The Division specialized in and other matters. She accepted the offer to work with The Division and was expelled from MDS training. She was later picked up and taken to a special training camp in the secluded mountains of eastern Kulikovia. It is there that she endured great difficulties and tests of her abilities, far more stressful and demanding than MDS training.

After training was complete she became a team leader for one of the teams in The Division. Their missions varied from political assasinations to supporting wars of liberation abroad with training and supplying Communist rebels. If any member was caught, the Kulikovian government has full deniablility in their existance and actions. Each "Red Cell" works as an independent unit, free from Kulikovian law and restrictions. Some may call them state-sponsored terrorists. But their new tactics proved invaluable in an ever changing world. They are also augmented to hunt terrorists and their leaders and any other mission deamed needed by The Division.

One week ago, The Division sent down a directive order for Angela to make contact with The Siapian intelligence Network to hunt down several major drug cartels in an attempt to curb ever rising drug levels within the nation. Red Cell 7 has been activated...

-Encrypted Message-

Your offer seems generous enough for myself and my associates to consider taking. We offer our services in this bit of house cleaning. Our greatest assests are annonimity, lethality, and professionalism. We have no interest in knowing the identities of yourself or you employees and employers. Our interest, however, concerns the completion of set goals of your objectives. I myself will go to the prescribed place at the prescribed time for direct dialogue between us.

-Angel

-End Message-

Every social system, no matter how fairly or meticulously crafted, has its flaws. In the case of Neo Undelia, Mathew Elbricht was one such flaw. Twenty-eight years ago, he was born a sociopath in an immaterial society. When he was old enough to begin school, the state analysts had labeled him "physiologically unfit" for one of the general tracts, and he was placed in a special program for others like him. Unlike the others, though, Elbricht was not only emotionally handicapped, but was also a genius. He learned to fake emotions the he could never actually understand, such as regret and sorrow; he learned to fabricate empathy, a trait his culture placed much value in.

Due to this deception, shortly after his eighth birthday, Elbricht was removed from the special program and placed in the highest educational tract. As a result, he had access to all the information and training he would need to become a master of the Undelian martial arts, and an expert in poisons and explosives. Normally, only the most responsible, intelligent and empathetic Undelians would ever have had access to such information, but, as was said, Elbricht was a flaw in the system.

Upon completing his schooling, Elbricht was given a high position in the Neo Undelian police force, anti-terrorism division. There, he worked tirelessly in the defense of Neo Undelia. Sure, he used methods that the government did not approve of, such as torture, kidnapping, extortion and sometimes murder, but he always covered his tracks well, and earned much recognition, but a feeling of dissatisfaction never left him, and in a society that applauded the soup kitchen volunteer before the soldier, he would always feel out of place.

Then came the day his department intercepted a message originating in the nation of Siap. Elbricht had often thought about abandoning his post for something more fulfilling to his twisted mind, but nothing concrete enough had ever presented itself. This, however, seemed somewhat guaranteed.

The neck of the young officer who'd brought him the message snapped easily enough, and his high security clearance allowed him to delete any record of the message and his curt response to it in minutes. Two hours later, Elbricht was on the first of a long circuitous series of stopover flights that would eventually bring him to Siap.

Contents of the response message:
My name is Elbricht. I will be at the castle at the designated time. DO NOT send any response to this message.

From: Johnny Ohyes, Director of Privateering Services, Cruon Commercial House, RFS-- Registered Family Syndicate, Licensed Privateer #1453 Under Dispensation of the Office of Economic and Special Warfare.

I look forward to meeting you at your castle. We provide interdiction services for boats in territorial waters. Our standard contract would cover capture of enemy vessels, head bounty on captured crew members, and salvage of captured materials.

We believe we can clean up some of your problems, as it is traditional for many criminal organizations to operate fishing boats, smuggling boats, and private yachts.

Encrypted Message

K, my name is Argent Nex. I'd more than happy to complete the task you have requested help with as long as the payment is sufficent. I will meet you at the designated spot at the designated time.

Encrypted reply to all applicants except Neo Undelia:

My organization welcomes all of you and expects that you will all be in attendance at the prescribed time. Unfortunately, my superiors do not see fit to disclose any information about the targets at this time

-K

OOC: psst-Kuli, I think your puppet is showing

IC:

The ruins of DeLafonte Castle were just that. Ruins. At some point it was a large garrison against invasions when it had looked like the Siapian Kings had chosen the wrong side in the Thirty Years' war. The walls of the castle (fortress would have been a more appropriate term) still stood, relatively low and star-shaped, with the walls angled inwards. The advantage of this location was its position over the fjord and its total isolation. It was normally a popular tourist spot, however the long private highway to the castle was closed for repairs, so the castle languished in neglect. The lights of Esmund could be seen in the distance, and the pale full moon shone over the turbulent ocean. Tomorrow morning would be a big day.

Private airstrip, Northern Kulikovia

Angela clicked on the inbox of her guarded email account. Her lips curled into a smile as she read the short yet important reply from K. As soon as she finished reading it she exited out and spun around in her chair. Red Cell 7 was a small group, like most Red Cells, only compromising of six members. They were gathered in the lounge. They were in an abandonded airstrip in the northern Kulikovia. It was once owned by the government but shut down twenty years ago and was reenstated by The Division of their own use. She stood up and addressed the team.
"We've just gotten of confirmation email from 'K'" she began in an authorative tone, getting their attention. "We have a green light. Myself and Adenski will be heading out to meet with our contact, the rest of you will begin packing the needed equipment if we're all needed for this operation." the other nodded.
"Do we have any information on the targets?" asked one of the members.
"No, our contact will not devulge that information until after we meet with him" Angela replied. It was time again for another mission.

OOC: Oops, what a HUGE mistake of me:p

"No, no, you're doing it wrong!"

Sliding his blade under his opponent's guard for what seemed to have been the twentieth time that hour, David Quetzal neatly disarmed his brother. Pulling off his mask, David's lips curled in amusement.

"You see, you're overextending yourself when you block. All I have to do is twist the blade like so, and you're out your blade."

Daniel's mask had come off as well, and David could see the sweat beaded across his brother's face. With a grin, Daniel sat against the wall of the gym, resting the tip of his sabre on the floor between his feet.

"Thanks. Now, could you at least stop giving Sam lessons as well? You know she kicks the crap out of me already. Blindfolded."

"Hey, fair's fair. Anyway, she'd probably have me killed if I didn't. Now, I want you to practice your- Oh, what now?"

Pulling a phone from his pocket, David flipped it open, quickly reading the text scrolling across the screen. As David's face broke into a smile of sorts, Daniel noticed that it wasn't his brother's usual phone. Instead, it was made of cheap, brightly colored plastic: Obviously a throwaway model.

"Oh for Pete's sake... Don't tell me you're going to be working again? Sam told me you got out of that."

David shrugged. "I did. Still, it's good money. They're even throwing around a nice big bonus just for showing up, and I've never been one to turn down a free lunch."

Daniel waved him off. "Fine, fine. Just be careful, okay bro?"

David wasn't listening anymore, instead busy quickly typing a response to his enigmatic new client, fingers deftly flying across the tiny keyboard. Sighing, his brother turned and began to strip off his gear, setting it neatly on the racks.

Some things never change...

____________

Jacob Dalen's phone seemed unable to stop ringing. Cursing under his breath, the new Director of Acquisitions picked up the phone for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day.

"This is Jake, and for chrissake, this had better damn well not be about the goddamn toilet paper shortage in Hera again!"

"Is that any way to greet an old friend, Dalen?"

Jacob's eyes immediately lit up at the sound of David's voice. "Dave! Howya been, buddy! Been way too long! Sorry about snapping, some jackass over at Hera thinks that he should be bothering me about some shortages they're having, when he should be bothering his own AckDep liason. But enough about my problems. What's up?"

"I found a job."

Everything around him seemed to slow down.

"A job. A job job?"

"Yep. Heading out tommorrow. And you'll never guess who's hiring."

"Quit the guessing games, Quetzal. I'm all ears."

"It's Siap again."

Leaning back in his chair, Dalen's expression grew thoughtful.

"Hrm. I still have some friends in that area, so working there again wouldn't be bad... Still, wasn't that last op there a bit of a clusterfuck?"

Jake could hear David laughing on the other end. "Ah c'mon, Dalen. You can't tell me that wasn't fun."

"You've got an artificial knee because of that job. If it weren't for me and those AP rounds I made you carry you'd be flatter than a frog on the skyramp."

"And? The cash made up for that, easy. C'mon, Jake. You know you want to. Otherwise you're gonna have to deal with TP guy for the next week."

Dalen let out a laugh, before sighing resignedly. "Fine. You got yourself a deal. Just tell me where to meet you."

____________

The backpacker looked up at the full moon over the castle wall. The walk had been a long one, but it was most definitely worth it. The moonlight playing off of the waves threw evershifting shadows across the wall they had pitched their tents on, and the taller one watched as the night birds skimmed across the surface of the water. His companion, short and pudgy, had a distinctly lesser appreciation for the nature around them, and instead slept soundly, his snores easily able to keep the tall one awake.

Even so, he could not have slept. Instead, he stretched, preparing his lean body for a potential workout, before removing the sleek form of a Manhunter pistol from his jacket. He disassembled it quickly, precisely, with the skill of a trained soldier, before reassembling it, it's parts gleaming with a fresh layer of oil. He hoped that he wouldn't have to use it, but in these circumstances, it was better safe than sorry. Sitting back against the wall, the man waited.

For Coatl, tomorrow would be a big day.

"Bad place to sleep." A figure sat on the wall above Coatl, tossing a small stone onto him. The voice was quiet, but distinct enough that it pierced through the night. As soon as his voice stopped, the sound of a zippo lighter flicking also cut through the night.

"Before you ask, I'm not K, but rather a fan of yours. K should be along shortly, though."

[OOC: Siap, hope you don't mind if I move Delta One forward to the castle. I get the odd feeling that Delta One's not going to be getting along with K...at all.]

"Mind if I join you two?" The voice, though it sounded friendly, clearly came from a man who was anything but. A man whom some knew as Nevil Clavain (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v465/neotheone175/NationStates/Modern%20Tech/Assassin_Primary.jpg) stepped out of the darkness, a large hiking backpack stuffed with gear on his back and a large but nondescript black case in his hand. He was dressed in casual but warm hiking clothes, a silenced 9mm tucked in the waistband of his pants, hidden by the folds of his clothing. He gave the tiniest of nods, virtually imperceptible, to Coatl, not wanting to tip off this mysterious third man or any of the other assassins who would undoubtedly be arriving shortly that he knew Coatl. He set his case on the ground a few yards from Coatl's tent and the wall, and glanced up at the man on the wall, his mind running through the possibilities of who he might be.

He's not K -- too much flourish with the lighter, and that prick wouldn't reveal himself before he had to brief all of us here. Another assassin? Possible, but not likely -- again, too much flourish, and it's not likely that anyone beside me will be looking to cooperate with anyone else. Siapian Intelligence? That's a definite possibility -- you send someone out to check up on the hitmen assembling in your country, even if this op isn't Siap-sponsored. But why make contact with the hitmen if you can watch from the shadows? He's unnecessarily tipping his hand. I don't like this guy already.

But he decided to be friendly to the man nonetheless, hoping to garner an additional clue or two from the man's behavior.

"And who might you be?" He deliberately left his inquiry open to give Coatl a chance to participate in the ruse with an introduction.

"My name is Paul. You'll have to forgive me, as I do not intend to be rude, but three is a crowd and I am afraid of crowds." The faint light of the cigarette disappeared into what could reasonably assumed to be a gloved hand, while the figure rolled over the wall out of sight.

OOC: So long as Delta One kills the targets, he and K could probably enjoy a 'working' relationship.

After using false passports and some sweet talking, Rothe and Adenski managed their way through Siapian security and entered the country. Getting into the country was difficult enough, the most dangerous part would be getting out once they complete the mission. Red Cell 7 was in for the long haul upon accepting the mission. She contacted The Division and gave them a progress report on her activities but kept it vague, there were no questions asked. The two operatives rented a rang rover and made their way down the highway, towrads the castle...

A black Mustang drove towards the castle. Inside was a man dressed in a suit and sunglasses. To many he resembled a typical businessman but that was not the case. He had started as a Marine then moved up to special forces. He later was recruited into the ADIA. After an operation went bad a burn notice was put out on him and he was forced to go into hiding. He worked for Silens Nex at first, doing hits in exchange for cash. He later left and became a self employed contract killer. Many successful hits had led him here. He stepped out of his Mustang and walked into the ruins of the castle toward a group of people.

"Hello, which one of you is K?"

Three days earlier...

"Kissey is the enemy."

Despite the stringent and harshly-enforced laws against recreational drugs - possession alone was enough to net you a twenty-year stretch in jail - the potential reward for anyone ballsy enough to become a dealer was incredible, even for the perceiving "weaker" drugs such as marijuana or andrenichrome. The addicts were still on the streets, but this branch of the war on drugs had at least forced them into retreat; it might not be the victory the men in charge envisioned, but it was still a victory. Unfortunately, most other branches weren't having the same sort of success with their endeavours.

"I don't think I have to remind you that everything I say to you in this office cannot be repeated to anybody. You know the sort of penalties treason brings with it."

"I do, sir."

"This operation, soldier, is of a delicate nature because of the details. It is something that we ourselves would like nothing better than to march in and break up the entire sordid industry; of course, because of diplomacy-" the speaker's tone made his opinion of the matter perfectly clear, "that is not an option."

"I understand, sir."

"If my information is correct, soldier, you have been interested in leaving the Armed Forces to become a Peacekeeper for some time now. Your motives...only you can say, but I can speculate that money was at the heart of the issue. As such, I have somewhat of an unorthodox suggestion for you."

"Are you insinuating, sir, that this could become a more permanent career choice?"

The original speaker smiled humourlessly. "You suppose correctly, soldier. I believe your SOU courses were Explosives training and Tho Fan, both of which would serve you well. The monetary rewards are significant...this invitation notes a payment of a hundred thousand Universal Standard dollars simply for attending the meeting. However, accepting this mission will require you to become a non-person."

Non-person. The term was a familiar one within the Armed Forces, as it referred to the target of an impending assassination; naturally, all such operations were completely off-the-record, any evidence of their involvement had long been erased from the computer systems. They were, nonetheless, a common occurence. In this context, however, it was different - to become a non-person meant he would cease to exist in the system. All records of him would disappear, and as far as those who knew him were concerned, he would have been kiled in battle. His appearance might be changed artificially depending on the whim of the man in charge.

"You say Kissey is the enemy. Who would I have to kill?"

Another humourless smile. "That information was not included. Just the instruction that to accept, you would have to be at DeLafonte Castle at sunrise, three days from now to meet a man named "K". It should be a relatively simple matter - you can draw your weapons from our armoury to avoid identification. This will be a risky operation, but you are a soldier. Do you accept?"

There was a flash of some emotion in the soldier's eyes - it was a brief flicker, there and gone in a moment. "I accept."

"Hand over your dog-tags. From the moment you step out of this door, Corporal Ken Guralnick will no longer exist...you will become simply "Sam"."

"Understood." The former Corporal Guralnick stood and saluted sharply. "It has been a pleasure to serve under you."

"Serve under me?" asked the officer questioningly, looking down to the papers on his desk. "You must be mistaken, we've never met before." The implication was clear.

---

Present day...

Even though the sun had begun to peek over the horizon, the ruins of DeLafonte Castle were still shrouded in shadows, making the night-vision goggles Sam wore a necessity. To the best of his knowledge, "K" hadn't arrived yet - either that, or they hadn't run into one another yet. It was still very possible this was merely a set-up to eliminate some of the world's more dangerous assassins, but the risk was something Sam was happy to take. In the corner of his eye, a tiny flame flickered into life; Sam slid the Hardballer from his hip holster in reply and squirmed a half-circle from where he was lying prone on the stone.

The flame turned green as his goggles caught it, but of more obvious importance were the three big shapes that appeared. Cocking the Hardballer as quietly as he could, Sam pushed himself into a press-up position, then onto his knees. The people were talking quietly, and as he watched, the man with the cigarette rolled over the low wall and out of sight. The sound of a car's engine swelled up from somewhere behind as Sam clambered down from his position; if he'd wanted to kill them, he knew he'd have done it by now. The only option left was to make himself known.

"A fine night for sight-seeing, no?" he called out, holstering the Hardballer.

"An especially fine night if I do say so myself. Any night where I make money just for showing up is fine."

Elbricht silently approached the group, his plain, brown robes fluttering slightly. His head was shaved completely bald and his dark eyes sharply contrasted with his pale skin. He looked like a typical Undelian; in most countries he probably resembled some sort of monk.

He had decided, that amongst these assassins, there was no need for any of his various emotional facades. His face was, for the first time in years, completely blank, showing no emotion. He was free.

Argent sat down against a crumbling wall and pulled a small glass pipe out of his pocket. He filled it with sugar and turned on the heater. As the sugar began to vaporize Argent inhaled deeply letting the taste and smell fill him up. He sat and watched the stars.

Coatl exchanged a quick glance with the man he knew as Clavain. It had been a long time since the ceremony where the two men had finally met, one immaculately dressed, the other wearing a different face, his body bruised and broken, shattered knee forcing him to lean heavily on a borrowed cane. Coatl held Clavain's gaze for a moment, before his lip twisted with a nearly invisible smile.

"Me? I'm just a hiker. Thought this would make a nice place to spend the night. Apparently I'm just lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. Of course, while I'm here, I suppose I'll have to play along."

Picking up the rock that Paul had thrown at him, Coatl bounced it up and down in his hand, getting the feel for it's weight, before chucking it at the tent that Jake was sleeping in. The resulting riot of flailing limbs took out one of the tent rods, collapsing the structure into a morass of shifting canvas and shouted curses, the noise sending a nearby colony of sea birds panicking into the air. Chuckling to himself, Coatl turned back to the other assassins, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Now that my colleague there is awake, I believe introductions are in order. You can call me Coatl, and the man playing at being a ghost over there is Oni."

"Coatl, Oni, charmed. You can call me K." A tall, bald and heavily tanned man spoke as he walked silently down the trail toward the group. His voice was deep, and sounded almost as if his vocal chords were in his legs. "I hope I can assume your all here by invitation, or else I will have to bury all of you tonight, and that would be murder on my back." He surveyed the other assasins. "Don't let me interrupt your introductions."

Argent put his pipe back in his inside pocket and walked toward K.

"Hello K, I'm Argent Nex, I'm guessing you've never heard of me. This is one of my first jobs outside my country."

"Names are for friends, K," replied Sam, his stony face never wavering. "So you scarcely need one. If we can dispense with the introductions...I am under the impression we are operating under some sort of a time-frame. Hence to the mission."

"Nex" K nodded at Argent Nex. Turning to Sam he said, "Not only are you observant, but you could probably charm the green off the grass." He turned to the crowd. "Time is a fact we cannot overlook, yes. So, if you consider yourself too special to give me something to call you by, then please just let me know." He threw a small package to Argent Nex. "Mr. Nex, over here, was polite enough to give me something to call him by, so he gets paid first." Inside the package, Nex would find a small pile of diamonds, without any identification marks and small enough that they could easily be smuggled. "Fortunately for you," He turned to Sam, "We are fortunate to blessed with enough time to pay all the fine gentleman and women..." he looked around the crowd, forming the words 'sausage fest' with his mouth "...And we might have just enough time for me to make your day a little bit worse. Since you obviously don't have a name, I'll just call you Susan." He threw another one of the small packages to Sam. "Who else wants to be paid for showing up?"

"Thank you," Nex said as he stowed the package in an inside pocket of his jacket.

Looking at the small pile of stones in his hand, Sam raised his eyes to K. "Very droll, K. If I had been anybody but a soldier, I might even have been offended." He knelt down on the stony ground, dropping from there into a cross-legged position. "I'm not going to be paid to be charming, am I? You can call me anything you really like, but unlike Mr. Nex...not giving my name makes me more untraceable if things go badly." He gestured randomly, slipping the package of diamonds into his jacket's breast pocket. "But I digress. Please continue."

Argent laughed on the inside. Argent Nex wasn't his real name afterall. After the burn notice from the ADIA his entire identity was erased. Argent Nex was a nickname given to him by Mortuss Visio from the time he worked with Silens Nex. Argent came from the silver ring the man wore most of the time and Nex was just a title that meant he was an assasin.

Coatl exchanged a quick glance with the man he knew as Clavain. It had been a long time since the ceremony where the two men had finally met, one immaculately dressed, the other wearing a different face, his body bruised and broken, shattered knee forcing him to lean heavily on a borrowed cane. Coatl held Clavain's gaze for a moment, before his lip twisted with a nearly invisible smile.

"Me? I'm just a hiker. Thought this would make a nice place to spend the night. Apparently I'm just lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. Of course, while I'm here, I suppose I'll have to play along."

Picking up the rock that Paul had thrown at him, Coatl bounced it up and down in his hand, getting the feel for it's weight, before chucking it at the tent that Jake was sleeping in. The resulting riot of flailing limbs took out one of the tent rods, collapsing the structure into a morass of shifting canvas and shouted curses, the noise sending a nearby colony of sea birds panicking into the air. Chuckling to himself, Coatl turned back to the other assassins, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Now that my colleague there is awake, I believe introductions are in order. You can call me Coatl, and the man playing at being a ghost over there is Oni."

"Coatl, it's a pleasure to meet you and your epileptic colleague," Delta One replied with a small grin. "I'm Clavain." He offered Coatl his hand, and in doing so handed off the small slip of paper he'd palmed to Coatl with a flash of a knowing look. When Coatl got the chance to read the slip in a more secure setting, he'd find a string of numbers followed by the letters DL.

It was, in fact, the number to the secure satellite phone Delta One was using on this op, along with an abbreviated version of "downlow." Delta One figured Coatl could read into the implications: keep the calls and our connections out of sight of the others. The last thing Delta One needed was for the rest of the assassins to band together to eliminate him and Coatl because of the potential effectiveness of their partnership. Delta One figured that the note's contents were cryptic enough to keep anyone who might have laid unwanted eyes on it guessing.

"Coatl, Oni, charmed. You can call me K." A tall, bald and heavily tanned man spoke as he walked silently down the trail toward the group. His voice was deep, and sounded almost as if his vocal chords were in his legs. "I hope I can assume your all here by invitation, or else I will have to bury all of you tonight, and that would be murder on my back." He surveyed the other assasins. "Don't let me interrupt your introductions."

He turned away from Coatl to face the intruder, only to hear the man introduce himself as the one who'd brought them all together here.

"Well, if it isn't the man behind the mystery," Delta One said to him, smiling coldly. "I'm Clavain, though I trust you already know who I am." It was a statement, not a question, and not so much one of arrogance as an implicit request for K not to reveal his "true name" to the others.

As K addressed some of the other assassins, Delta One took the opportunity to initially take stock of his competition. The man who called himself Argent Nex seemed remarkably unprofessional to Delta One. For Christ's sake, he was smoking in the middle of the night. No better way to get your head blown off by a sniper than by lighting up at night. And revealing that this is his first job outside of his own country...he's going to get himself killed if he keeps up with shit like this.

He considered the nameless man's response to K. O.K., so Nameless Prick's ex-military. Revealing his background was mistake number one. Not giving out a name, even a fake, was mistake number two. That suggests he's either not very confident in his own abilities or he's extremely paranoid, or both. That could be a dangerous combination, or a potential weakness. It's not like K's going to have any reason to be hunting Nameless Prick down if things go badly, and our targets wouldn't even know the name he could've given to K unless Nameless Prick was stupid enough to tip them off to it somehow, which he probably wouldn't. If you're good enough to be here, you should be good enough to avoid arousing suspicions regardless of your name.

The monk-like figure who wordlessly stood off at a distance from the group caught Delta One's attention. I don't like this one already. Silent, looks competent, looks cold. This one could be a serious problem. I guess we'll see just how good he is when the shooting starts.

OOC: The smoking wouldn't really be noticed, the only thing exhaled is water vapor. Also, my guys been outside of the country before when he served in the military, he knows how to handle himself. Don't be calling me out just yet, I've got some tricks up my sleeve.

OOC: The smoking wouldn't really be noticed, the only thing exhaled is water vapor. Also, my guys been outside of the country before when he served in the military, he knows how to handle himself. Don't be calling me out just yet, I've got some tricks up my sleeve.

[OOC: Well, it's not so much the smoke as the heat. If you're boiling water, the heat from the steam and the pipe itself would give off a pretty big thermal signature relative to the ambient air or even other people, which snipers on night ops are more likely to be looking for anyways.

As for "calling you out"...you know, I thought I should've added an OOC disclaimer to my last post. Let me explain now.

Note that these italicized thoughts of Delta One's are all IC judgments, of course, and therefore only take into account what Delta One himself could realistically know or gather or imply or whatever. More importantly, they're his initial judgments of his fellow competitors, based on what he's seen of them up to now. He of course realizes these are subject to change, and he'll obviously revise his assessments as more information becomes available to him during the op. ICly speaking, these are more just like analyses to get his mind going, to pick out any initial flaws or things he should know before the op starts. OOCly speaking, they help me to flesh out the character of Delta One, to better get inside his mind myself, and to give you guys a better insight into what he's like. I try to think like he thinks, and vice versa. I've been influenced in this regard by a number of hitman-thrillers I read fairly recently, where the internal dialogue/analyses of other people and situations is prevalent. OOCly, no ill will is meant, of course. Hope that clarifies things a bit.]

OOC: Ok, that definetly clears things up a bit.

"Coatl, it's a pleasure to meet you and your epileptic colleague," Delta One replied with a small grin. "I'm Clavain."
"Mr. Clavain. Your reputation precedes you. It should be interesting working with you on the job."
Withdrawing his hand, Coatl deftly palmed the note, slipping it into the inner fold of his shirt cuff. He made a mental note to read it later, when there was a bit more privacy...

"Who else wants to be paid for showing up?"
Coatl grinned. "Well, if Silver Death and our poor transgendered friend Susan have gotten paid already, I might as well join in the party."

Catching his payment in one hand, the assassin poured the gems out into his palm, the shining rocks only partially obscuring the burn scars covering much of his hand. Selecting one at random, Coatl lifted it to his eye, gazing expertly at it in the cold light of the moon. Apparently satisfied, he slid the diamonds back into the bag.

"Now that that's over with, I don't believe you arranged this little get-together just to hand out party favors. Care to enlighten us on why we flew all the way here?"

Sam had his eyes closed in a parody of meditation, but it was more a tool to get all the information he needed; just like blind people developed their other four senses to compensate and those trying to sleep heard every irksome little noise, it helped Sam listen harder. The first thing he realised was that he'd jumped to a conclusion already - namely, that Argent Nex was indeed the real name of the man bearing it; Coatl's use of the words "Silver Death" were enough to make him realise "Argent Nex" was indeed nothing but a pseudonym, just Latin. The second, more pressing problem, was his use of "Clavain" - the two obviously had met one another at some point, and since neither was dead, it was a fair bet that their previous meeting had not ended acrimoniously. Were they planning to team up? It was too early to tell.

Cracking open one eye, Sam looked at Clavain; like he'd expected, Clavain was the one he'd felt staring at him. Sam took the name with a pinch of salt, but that was pointless at best...his reactions and body language whispered of quiet danger. Technically, the only enemy was their collective target, but from the moment he'd begun his national service, Sam had been taught the virtues of treating EVERYONE as an enemy. To the victor goes the multi-million spoils...indeed, it was a powerful incentive.

[That suggests he's either not very confident in his own abilities or he's extremely paranoid, or both. That could be a dangerous combination, or a potential weakness.

That sounds about right. :D]

Elbricht was somewhat taken aback by the banter of the other assassins. He'd expected them to be like himself, but apparently even amongst those paid to kill, he was odd. He did not doubt their skill though, as they were certainly more experienced than he. Infiltrating a pack of anarchists or kidnapping the daughter of a radical separatist were leagues apart from what he was sure some of these men had done.
Elbricht had fought degenerates, these people had fought governments.

Turning towards K, "I am Elbricht, Mathew Elbricht if you think it matters, though I assure you that it does not, and yes payment would be very much appreciated. "

Argent chuckled,"I see at least one of us is proficient in Latin. K are you going to tell us who are targets are or do we have to wait even longer?"

[Completely unsubtle nudge.]

[Completely unsubtle bump]