NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: And I mean it. No thinly-veiled PMT appliances or teleportations in from another world. Since I RP with Argonians I'm not going to rule out other races/species/whatever. Just no magic or any of that. Anyway, have fun. For any fellow Fatal Terrain members, this takes place before or after or whatever the events that are currently affecting the region.

Hit me with a TG before you post so you can explain how you'd be involved in the first place. If you're a Fatal Terrain member nation, the reason would be an obvious inter-regional anti-drug task force. As for people outside the region, I have no idea unless you're a foreign member of one of the gangs, someone on vacation, or an out-of-town buyer looking to supply one of your own criminal organizations. No weird or wacky ninja nonsense either. Think of it as a poorly-written cop movie.

IC:

Grayrock was a large city, by any means. Largest in the Marsh obviously, but similar in size to any big American city. That being said, it also had fairly loose gun laws and no shortage of illicit activity which made for a volitile law enforcement environment.

A smaller sub-section, known to the residents as 'The Gills', encompassed the docks district and a few large but shoddy apartment buildings and several warehouses. Given the Argonian affinity for the water, this made an excellent place to smuggle goods up-river to be recieved by the criminals that ran the dockside warehouses. Stuff like highly-taxed hist, cocaine, guns, and all manner of explosives made their way into the bustling metropolis through this venue. Sure, there were other drugs but Grayrock was in the grip of a serious cocaine epidemic and those that wanted to get high wanted nothing other than high-grade white powder. The stuff that came in from the marshlands was always medical-grade and 100% pure, rivaling the best Columbian coke. In short, it was nothing less than white gold and those that sold it were rising quickly through the criminal underworld ranks.

The Argonian National Police Force had already formed a crack team of officers focused solely on eradicating the drug problems from within the capitol city, while the Argonian National Army was already busy running operations in the marshlands to try and cut off the supply at its source. The problem was, however, that the producers were cunning bastards, well-connected within the corrupt Argonian government and well-funded by their highly-sought-after product's profits. They had the best firepower and muscle money could buy, and they had it in spades. The wiser of the several coke-lords were also buying up up-scale nightclubs, resturants, and other such attractive money-making venues. To be brief, they were beginning to integrate themselves within high society and weren't exactly being subtle about it. Drive-by shootings and outright assaults were becoming more and more common as gangs fought for control of the drug industry the old fashioned way. As these affluent criminals usually spent their time in the upscale city districts, wealthy citizens were constantly on the phone with the National Police Force to do something about this dangerous problem before someone besides the bad guys got killed.

It was a narcotics cop's nightmare, to put things bluntly. Detective Teekis Zeevan was one such cop. He'd been in the infantry during the Second Civil War, been a paratrooper with the celebrated 'High Fives' 5th Infantry (Airborne). He'd seen fields of coca leaves during his jungle patrols, not that he'd thought much of it at the time. Insurgents needed money and there weren't exactly weathly benefactors sitting around waiting to hand out checks to the dissidents. It had just made sense, selling drugs to buy the weapons and equipment they'd needed to wage an effective guerilla campaign. The Army had burned them as best they could where they found them and kept on patrolling, hoping to kill off the Insurgency before the drug sales really got out of hand.

Money was apparently more addiciting than the narcotics it purchased. When the war ended, the flow of white powder hadn't. The smaller inner-city gangs had grown into full-blown syndicates, with enough wealth and firepower to be considered tiny city-states in their own rite. That was the purpose of the meeting he was attending, sitting as he was in a large leather chair between two other officers while the head of the task force, an agent from the Argonian Intelligence Service, was preparing to deliver a briefing. He didn't advertise the fact that he was a Shadowscale operative, but Teek could tell. All they'd told him was that an agent would be overseeing the task force and he'd drawn his conclusions from there...

"Good morning people, I'm Agent Reez..."

The introduction was brief, and Teek wasn't surprised the man had only given them his assigned title and last name. It was also early, around eight PM and Detective Zeevan had just come in from a seven-hour stakeout that had ended in a lengthy chase and finally a nice arrest. Teek had hauled a large can of his favorite energy drink 'Monster' in to the meeting with him and was slowly sipping at it as the agent spoke...

"As you know, the President herself has called for a crack-down on this cocaine epidemic here in our great capitol, and you, the ANPF's best and brightest, will be the tip of the spear in our little operation. I'm here to organize and liase between my agency and the ANPF as well as provide the rest of you with important information. Like so..."

The lights dimmed on que and a PowerPoint presentation started up, appearing on the projector screen on the far end of the room. Teek positively hated those damn things. They were always boring, dry, and otherwise useless unless pictures were involved...

"Alrighty. We've broken down the coke chain into three different sections: Suppliers, Transporters, and Distributors. The ANA's on the Suppliers as we speak, and if we knock out the Distributors on our end the Transporters will be left hanging in the wind..."

There was a faint click as the agent activated the mouse, and a picture of several young Argonians, humans, and other intermixed species wearing gang apparel appeared on the screen...

"Local gangs are being used to sell the stuff to the populace, but they were never this organized before the war. We have three different gangs in play here, and we suspect the OG's have organized themselves a real syndicate and just use these knuckle-heads to do the grunt work..."

There was another click and a picture of a wall scrawled with graffiti bearing the symbol of a group that simply referred to itself as the 'Tribe' appeared, two stylized sets of crossed spears in an 'X' attached like a mirror image...

"These guys call themselves the 'Tribe', and a large percentage of them are ex-Insurgency militiamen. A lot of them have seen actual combat, and none of them are afraid to pop a cop and toss his body in the river. We think they handle the Transporters we talked about earlier, and recieve the goods from the riverside. While not as well armed as their counterparts, they make up for it in brutality and expeirence. Expect them not to go quietly. They've been observed with traditional weaponry as well as modern hardware, so stay on your toes when dealing with them, and remember that the traditional sharp shit doesn't make any noise. If they kill you with it we won't know until we haul your corpse off of the delta downstream from some farmer's field..."

Agent Reez clicked the mouse again, displaying a few of the gang members themselves...

"You'll know Tribe bangers by their clothes. They wear a lot of crazy shit. Leather armor, lots of traditional tattoos, chitin plates, that sort of thing. They also mostly keep to themselves and reside in a few dockside warehouses. If you do have to mix it up with one of them remember they're hip to the old ways. Lots of hist use, and not in the diluted alcohol format we all enjoy in our off-duty time. Pure hist sap, either eaten or powdered and snorted for maximum effect means you're going to have to pump them full of bullets or shoot them in the head. Cocaine only amplifies this effect, and they're fond of 'Brown-Brown' as well. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a potent mix of gunpowder and coke that African warlords often give to their child-soldiers before they go into combat to make them berserker killers. Moving on..."

Another click, this time the slide showed another gang symbol scrawled on a bare concrete wall over what looked like a body lying face-down, blue and yellow gang-land painted letters 'GCK'...

"These fuckers refer to themselves as the 'Gill City Killas', spelled with an 'A' for those of you taking notes, and that isn't exactly an overstatement. Those of you who worked homicide before have probably dealt with these guys, same goes for the narcs. They deal in weaponry and now they deal in coke, too. Their connections give them access to some nasty firepower, and they're on good terms with the 'Tribe'. We've seen them trade guns for safe transportation of the coke from the docks to their area in the 'Gill' area apartments. Slums, as most of you know, and nobody in that area trusts cops. Expect to encounter humans in this gang as well..."

Another faint click of plastic on plastic, and the slide dissolved to reveal what Teek recognized as GCK members...

"These guys are also fairly easy to spot. Lots of yellow and blue clothing, gang-related tats on the face and forearms, and they always have fancy guns. High-end H&K hardware in most cases, but expect anything, so long as it's chromed up and shiny..."

Reez actually said the word 'click' that time as he depressed the mouse button. The new picture displayed the gang moniker of the final involved group, the 10th Street Stalkers. The number '10' with an 'SS' in the middle of the zero...

"Sorry, getting bored up here. Anyway this symbol belongs to the 10th Street Stalkers, comprised of Argonians and a few humans, but several Dark Argonians as well. Most of these guys are upper-leadership and saw a lot of combat during the war. Expect the DA's to pack expensive exotic firepower and the grunts to be armed with the basics. This is easily the safest, but also the most dangerous, gang we're going to deal with, mainly because we have no idea about their motives or their activities. The safest because we know that hardcore professionals run it, and dangerous because those same hardcore professionals pack some nasty heat and know how to use it..."

The picture changed again, to display a few members in their natural habitat...

"As you can see here, the lowers wear a lot of black, typical gang apparel. Athletic wear, that sort of thing. The DA in the suit, however, is obviously a cut above these chuckleheads. We have reason to believe this is where the coke begins to reach the syndicate we've been worried about for so long. It's probably run by DA former mercs and that makes it dangerous to deal with. If we can confirm the presence of a syndicate then my people will step in and handle it..."

Teek wasn't happy about that little tidbit, but that was if there really was a syndicate. The GCK and 10th Street both sold coke, while the Tribe handled their marshlander cousins as they snuck in underwater in exchange for a cut of the profits. He didn't, however, see how these guys could have evaded police for so long. A national spy agency had had to dig up this information for them, and that was not only embarrasing but also unsettling...

"I'm going to say this once: Stay on your toes, people. These guys aren't afraid of you, and they carry guns, too. You're the best this department has to offer in terms of officer expeirence and ability but don't let that go to your heads. Now go suit up, you've got a raid to undertake. My fellow agents have located a large stockpile of white china in a warehouse across town, but not run by any of the gangs we've been talking about here. We don't know much about these guys, other than that they have the dope and they're armed. We've got Domestic Defense Force support on this one as well, but I'd like to see how you guys perform..."

Argonian justice worked a little differently than the rest of the world. There was due process of law, sure, but it didn't often come to that. Criminals were politely warned to drop their weapons, and if not, there wasn't a second warning. That wasn't all that far-fetched considering nearly every officer or detective had seen combat in some form or another, and they thought little about putting an armed criminal in the dirt for good. Internal Affairs wasn't all that interested in prosecuting them either. Wrongful death lawsuits were judged by avaliable evidence at the scene of the shooting and if nothing seemed off-kilter then nothing was pursued legally. The ANPF preferred to have its officers out patrolling guilt-free than have them sitting in a court-room awaiting legal consequences for killing someone trying to kill them.

Teek downed the rest of his Monster drink before tossing the can and heading to the locker room to don his vest. The badge went from his belt to a breakaway chain around his neck, and he did a quick press-check of his USP Compact .40 S&W before reholstering it. The white T-shirt he was wearing fit a bit tightly to his toned frame, but that was the intent if he was going to wear a vest over it. He wasn't a big guy by any stretch of the imagination, but like nearly all Argonians he was extremely fit-looking. His metabolisum just didn't allow him to keep much more muscle mass than he'd developed over the years. He was a distance runner, and a fighter in most cases. Teek had done a stint as an instructor in the academy before he picked up his shield, and he'd earned that posting before he'd stepped down to become a narcotics detective. After five years on the department he'd done pretty well, at least career-wise. Teek's partner, Ulas Hreek, was a bit larger in stature, muscular to the point of needing a larger vest, and packing a nice Nighthawk Custom 6-inch 1911 as his chosen sidearm. He'd been a Longhunter prior to his law enforcement service, and the mentality was still going strong. Teek had borne witness to the massive Argonian throwing a combative suspect through a sheetrock wall. It had, however, made the subsequent arrest that much easier since the guy had gone to the hospital about fifteen minutes later with a concussion. Teek had felt that it would have been better than the dislocated shoulder and shattered ribs the previous combative asshole had recieved for his trouble...

"You ready to bust some fucking heads, brother?"

Ulas had a little bit of a 'Hulk Hogan' streak to him on occasion, and this was one such occasion...

"You're damn right big guy..."

The bigger detective only laughed, slamming his locker door and holstering his hand-cannon after chambering a round and thumbing the safety on. The piece was unique in that he'd had it chambered in .400 Cor-Bon, a similar caliber to the 10mm that operated at lower pressures and didn't slowly destroy the handgun that chambered it. As many rounds as Ulas put through it, that was a good thing. The longer barrel afforded an increase in muzzle velocity as well. The pair quickly made their way to their car, a nearly-new Dodge Avenger, to follow in the larger convoy of police vehicles making their way to the warehouse.

They arrived shortly before the other cars, setting up outside the warehouse complex itself. The complex was composed of seven buildings, and they didn't have enough tactical personnel to clear them all at once, they'd need the task force to take a few of them as well. That wasn't going to be an issue, however. Ulas had pulled a shotgun from the trunk and was busy stuffing shells into the thing. Teek identified it as a Mossberg 590, a nine-shot beast of a weapon they'd outfitted with a Knoxx Industries Spec-Ops stock and a SureFire light-integrated fore-end. The standard gold-bead front sight worked well for the estimated engagement ranges, and they'd foregone adding any sort of electronic sighting system. The large Argonian chuckled to himself as he racked the action and brought the 12 gage to his shoulder, looking more like a toy against his massive physique. Teek drew his own pistol and did another press-check, just to be sure. He had three additional magazines, and a small North American Arms Black Widow mouse-gun hidden in his in his left Oakley boot for emergencies. For this raid he'd also hidden a small Benchmade push-blade behind his magazines for handgun retention purposes. Ulas had his MercWorx Equitorian bumping along on his side. He'd put it on in the car, since most police brass weren't too keen on the behemoth carrying what was basically a short sword around the police station.

They'd been blasting as much heavy metal as Teek's iPod would pump out on the way over, mentally pumping themselves up for the likely rough night ahead of them. It was more of a ritual than anything, but it served its purpose a little too well sometimes. Case and point that little incident that involved Ulas' massive self hurling a suspect through reinforced dry-wall and into a neighboring apartment. It had gotten him a nice reprimand, but it had also gotten him a place on this anti-drug task force. You couldn't argue with results, and the combination of Teek's speed and Ulas' brawn had produced such results in spades.

Agent Reez met them at the car, rolling up in his own Dodge with an unmarked handgun sitting firmly in his hand. Like all other agents Teek had seen, Reez had come dressed like a commando, black fatigues and a Blackhawk! chest rig that held his spare ammo, handgun, and hopefully some soft armor or a SAPI plate but Teek doubted that. These guys liked to roll as light as possible...

"Alright fellas. You two are taking the far building, what we're calling 'Number One'. We've divided up the task force between two other buildings, Two and Three. I'm taking Four, and the DDF has the rest since they've got the firepower..."

The agent gestured towards the numerous soldiers walking about fully-armored and packing automatic shotguns. They'd established a perimeter reinforced with assault vehicles and medium machine-guns. Nobody was getting out of there unless the powers that be wanted them to. Teek was a bit worried about one man clearing an entire warehouse by himself, but then again if Agent Reez wasn't worried then Teek saw no reason to be either...

"You boys ready? The DDF is getting ready..."

Both detectives nodded smartly before heading off to their assigned building, a smallish storage structure. They were to go off of the sound of the DDF's breaching charges, since they were assaulting the larger buildings. The muffled boom prompted Ulas to swing a booted foot into the door, splintering the wood and sending it flying open as he flew in after it. Teek followed a second later, clearing to the left as Ulas went right. The air was hazy, under the dim lights, and limited visibility. A flash of red behind a shelf of boxes caught his attentive eye...

"National Police! Show yourself! This is your only warning!"

He was answered with a burst of automatic fire, bullets barely missing his torso as he scooted left, peppering the shelf with gunfire of his own. One forty-cal +P blew through the cardboard box on the shelf, and apparently entered the chest cavity of his attacker. A companion on Ulas' side attempted to help but the big Argonian put him down with a blast of 00 eight-pellet shot to the upper torso and leaving him with a crater is his chest, lying in a twitching heap on the floor clutching a Ruger semi-auto...

"You cool?"

"Fuck yeah..."

The conversation was cut short by more gunfire cutting through the shelves in front of them, and both dove to the dirty concrete floor. Four red-clad gang-bangers had come in from the back door, two packing handguns and the other two carrying a Mini-14 and an AK-47. Both were spraying lead at will, and trying to kill the two cops that had done their buddies in. Ulas threw a glance at Teek before positioning his shotgun for a shot at the AK's wielder's kneecaps...

"When he goes down, move..."

Teek nodded, and Ulas fired, sending the most dangerous attacker to the floor where Teek popped him in the face to finish him as he got to his feet and sprinted towards the nearby foreman's office, sliding behind the thin metallic wall before risking a glance at the attackers. He had a great angle, and Teek took it, swinging around the side again with his pistol up and firing. The first guy, a pistol-packer, dropped with a bleeding wound right above his heart. The second pistol-guy fell to a blast from Ulas' shotgun before Teek double-tapped the last guy before he could bring the Mini-14 to bear...

Teek rose to his feet, quickly coming forward to kick the weapons out of reach and to confirm that their attackers were dead. The hammering of gunfire in the distance confirmed that the rest of the raid team had encountered similar resistance and that meant a lot less paperwork for the two of them. After the weapons had been secured, the pair stepped outside to find Agent Reez wiping blood from his hands and a small SOG SEAL Pup knife on a dark-colored rag. The man was efficient if nothing else...

"All clear, Agent... And when the fuck are we getting those multi-nationals in? We could use a hand on the investigative side..."

Reez held the knife up at eye level, inspecting it for blood and rust before re-sheathing it and answering Teek's question...

"Should be any time now. I had the desk sergeant forward them to this location..."

Teek wasn't surprised. It was an odd tactic but it would also give the foreign officers a little insight into how the Argonian justice system worked...

OOC: The tidbits I read look awesome, but I CBA to read that whole thing. If I get around to it, I'll probably join.

OOC: This is also going to be fairly slow-paced since my net access is limited, so take your time thinking up a starting post.

Teek slid his pistol into the holster, snapping the thumb-break closed as he did so out of force of habit...

"What are we expecting, Agent?"

The intel operative shot Teek a confused glance before the question sank in. His adrenaline was still pumping a bit, instincts were still in a primal state. Argonians were barely civilized creatures by most standards, and that surge of reflex fuel tended to revert them back to their animalistic origins...

"Some Catawaban with a name I had a hard time pronouncing, other than that I don't have any idea. Dossier seemed tight, though..."

"At least it's not some metro-sexual queer-bait from their Internal Affairs..."

Ulas' gruff voice chimed in from behind the two smaller men. Teek nodded in agreement, and Reez remained silent, seating himself on the hood of his car as the Domestic Defense Force troops began to police up the crime scene beside uniformed National Police officers. Armloads of packaged drugs soon appeared from within the warehouses, followed by the bodies of the bangers that had died trying to protect them in various conditions. The paramedics and coroners had to be some jaded individuals to perform such a grisly task. The DDF issued a slightly tweaked design of the American USAS-12 automatic shotgun, based loosely on the M16 method of operation, and it spit 3-inch 12-gage shells at a steady rate of fire. 00-buck was also standard issue, and at closer ranges it had to potential to rip limbs from torsos and turn heads into puddles of gray mush. Cleanup was going to take a while, since brain matter didn't wash out of anything easily, including concrete.

The trio didn't say much after that, basking as they were in the afterglow of an adrenaline surge and the feeling of invincibility that came with surviving an intense gunfight. The deaths of the gangsters weren't given a second thought. All there had fought in armed conflict before, and all three had taken lives prior to this day. To them it was a small thing, a twitch reflex and nothing more. Ulas, however, seemed a little disappointed. He loved nothing more than a good brawl, and his blade hadn't tasted blood. The Agent's little shank, however, seemed to have drunk more than its share and there was a gleam of jealousy barely hidden behind the intense glare Ulas usually projected.

Teek crossed his arms across his vest, almost hiding the large yellow 'POLICE' across the front. He replayed the events, counting the times he could have joined the crooks in a bodybag of his own. Two other officers on the task force hadn't been as lucky. One had taken a round to the chest that the vest hadn't stopped, and was on his way to the nearest hospital. The other had been shot in the leg, and was being treated on-scene before he would join his companion in the ER. The first, however, wasn't expected to survive. Teek nudged Reez in the arm, trying to get his attention...

"Might want to look into getting us something that stops stuff bigger than pistol bullets. These guys have stopped fucking around. Yeltin's probably not going to pull through that sucking chest wound they hauled him off with and if he does it'll be nothing short of a fucking miracle..."

A puzzled look crossed Teek's features, and he nudged Reez again...

"And you're not even wearing kevlar you crazy fuck!"

The agent reguarded Teek with about as much concern as if he'd just told him he was hungry...

"Your point? Detective I'll look into getting your people better protective gear, but leave my personal preferences alone. Considering the amount of firepower these guys are getting access to, my report along ought to be enough of a reason to get military-grade vests for future raids..."

"Alright then. That doesn't change the fact that you're still a crazy fuck..."

Agent Reez just laughed and turned back to watch the post-shootout cleanup...

Damn, looks like it's all over. Sergeant Ah'ron Jaro thought as he looked out the window of his rental at the clean up duties. He turned the little compact that his expense account would afford off to the side as he came up to the yellow tape blocking off the scene. He stopped and got out. He stood behind the door of the car for a moment as he surveyed the scene. Satisfied, he reached back in pulled out his MORS. He’d been issued the assault rifle with shotgun attachment just before he’d left the Marines for the Rural Rangers. He’d kept it because he was a government officer and still a Marine reservist and it always paid to have the bigger gun. Drug runners never cared about gun laws.

He left his suit jacket in the car. He wouldn’t really need it or want it. Let the reg wonks try to get on his case for being ‘out of uniform’ all the way here in Argonia. He still had his suit trousers, crisp white shirt, and vest with his Ranger star in heart badge pinned to his chest. He was wearing a Beskar’gam ballistic vest under it all. As he slipped the assault sling’s loop over his shoulder, he thanked Mira that Captain Starr hadn’t been able to get a regulation for Stetsons and the like on the books. The rest of the get up was enough.

Letting the MORS hang down, the tall, dark haired and skinned Taung made sure his .357 Police Operations Pistol, oh-so-humorously yet lovingly called a POP gun, was securely holstered on his hip. He made sure his rental’s keys were in his hand and locked the door. He walked up the tape line and showed his ID and the orders authorizing him to take part as an adjunct to the Argonian operation and was allowed through. The officer at the tape pointed him to a trio sitting and leaning on the hood of a cruiser. Ah’ron nodded his thanks and walked over. “Evenin’. I’m Sergeant Ah’ron Jaro from the Catawaban Rural Rangers. Y’all in charge of this fandango?” There is it was again. ‘Fandango.’ Starr was a good Ranger, but he needed to keep that American hick shit to himself.

Nope, I'm the one they're going to list as a 'metro-sexual queer-bait from IA'. But then again, what do I care, the gecko’s can't save me ten percent on my insurance - fortunately which I don't need, since all my rides are provided by my boss. Rob Fortier ~ Hexx as deeper small change pockets than I'll ever have, even if my pay out weighs his by several factors. The Archon gets a raw deal when it comes down to a paycheck. I don't.

My name is Mano Kane (http://www.atddm.com/kane.jpg), it’s Polynesian, but I’ve only got a little of the blood in me they say. But it’s the name on the birth certificate that the government orphanage issued me and that’s fine by me. It suites me, or so I’m told. I looked the name up, Mano is shark and they say that I have the cold, assessing nerves of a one, with the lightening reflexes and the soulless eyes to match. I do know about the last - I worked long and hard to perfect this face – and the biggest part of such is the eyes. If they truly are the windows to the soul as they say, I don’t want any one accessing mine.

I’m thirty five, and built a lot broader and stronger than I look, it’s the illusion of my proportions, like Hugh Jackman has. Even bulked up for his roles in the X men movies he doesn't look six two and twenty five. I’m six four and two hundred and forty pounds of muscle. It’s dense muscle that I didn’t gain by hiding in a gym, though I did put the polish on there. I grew up at one or another of the many military academies that sponsor various orphanages – transferred around not because I caused trouble, but because it seemed to find me wherever I went. Managed to, despite it all, get a scholarship to the Tanaaran Military Academy, graduate and became a military cop. Given my background it was inevitable, I guess.

Did thirteen years, well past what I needed for Citizenship, and loved all but the last which I did as second in command of the entire TMCID. I hated it, it stiffled me from doing what I did best and what got me that last, unwanted promotion. But I was the third person they picked when the Queen had formed the Hands, modeling the organization after the one in the Tanaran Empire. And both she and Rob let me do my thing.

I'm much happier now. Or I would be if they hadn't sent me to the swamps, and not even Tanaaran swamps, where I might have stood some chance of finding my favorite go juice. No I got sent to liaise with the finny eared folk down south, the Argonians. Who apparently have a drug problem, and a gun problem. Tanaara didn’t have a gun problem, we’re all armed – it’s required by law -and well trained in how to and not to use them – again required by law. We didn’t have a drug problem, our criminals don’t have death wishes. Our laws are harsh but that’s Tanaarans for you.

From what I observed, sitting in the current vehicle du jur ( http://pictures.topspeed.com/cars/jaguar/2009-jaguar-xkr-s-ar53452/IMG/crop/200803/2009-jaguar-xkr-s-29_1600x0w.jpg) – flown down in the same plane I have come in- was that the Argonians, at least in that respect would be fun and easy to work with. Once they got past my looks - which to say the least have never been military, or anything approaching what most consider military, though Tanaaran military didn’t resemble most of the worlds military notions. Citizens, indeed not even would be Citizens, would put up with buzz cuts – though most active shaved their heads and took a dose of follicle inhibitor, even females, since it was mandatory that you keep hygiene standards. But I digress.

I look like what most, believe me to be Street slime. Very, very high end street slime, but still sharking my way though the gutter. My looks had gotten me into places the most dedicated criminal resume couldn’t and am I to blame for a natural talent? I smirked at myself and took a last sip of my coffee. That wiped the smirk off my face though. I’m a coffee addict, and a acknowledged snob about good coffee. The entire time I’m going to be stuck in this marsh is going to suck… badly, And that will not improve my temper. But then again that may be all to the good.

I flicked the Jag’s door open and stepped out, unfolding my six foot four and adjusting the pristine; hand tailored, ice white suit and the ox blood red silk shirt under it. I taped a light finger against my inner ‘secure’ pocket, double checking the presence of my I.D. folder and other papers, and then shrugged ever so slightly, settling the sit of my shoulder holster with its golden tiger striped DE in 50 AE. I reached in and grabbed up the long gunmetal hued leather duster that was lined with the latest in liquid armor and held my K5-PDW, and slid into it, then strolled after the Catawaban. No one had noticed that I’d been sitting there through most of the take down, observing. But then again they had been rather busy

Nodding to the Argonians seated on the hood of the cruiser, and to the Catawaban who'd arrivced a few strides ahead of me, I slid down my Oakleys so they could see, just for a moment before I tapped the appropriately named bastard amber mirrored shades back into place, the brilliant blue green of my eyes. "Mano Kane. The Archon sent me."

Ulas was the first to rotate towards the Catawaban, with something of a disgusted look on his face. He wasn't all that big a fan of the human race. Nothing personal, mind you, just a long and deep-seated mistrust for anything that didn't have a scaly hide. The big Argonian had grown up in a border Marshlander village, and seen his share of slaver raids. That was part of the reason he'd enlisted in the first place. He made a quick gesture towards the black-clad agent before returning to his expressionless observation of the clean-up.

Agent Reez smoothly removed himself from the hood of the Dodge, adjusting his ear-piece as word of the new arrivals reached him about the same time the persons in question did. At the mention of the word 'fandango' he could only smile. There had been joint operations in the past where he'd worked with humans, and he didn't share Ulas' warped misgivings...

"Agent Reez, Argonian Intelligence Service... I assume you're our Catawaban contact for the duration of this operation?"

There was an extended hand, after at least Reez removed the blood-soaked fingerless glove and did a second wipedown...

"I apologise. Sometimes I bring my work with me when I don't intend to..."

There was an attempt at humor, and the Argonian equivalent of a smile. Teek made to greet the second one, the one that looked like a damn Bolivian coke lord in his own right...

"Little overdressed eh? It's a dirty job around here. Detective Teekis Zeevan, but just call me 'Teek'..."

Teek made his own attempt at humor, extending his own hand in greeting as he flitted his eyes towards a bit of blood he'd somehow picked up from his close-range gunfight a few minutes earlier that had already soaked in and stained his white t-shirt. The narcotics detective had to stiffle a laugh when he caught a peek at the heat the Tanaaran was carrying, however...

"Nice cannon. Didn't know Jacob the Jeweler had his own firearm line..."

Agent Reez risked a glance in that direction, taking note of Teek's comment. The Director carried a similar weapon, and he wasn't about to crack jokes like that to a man with that sort of connectivity or ability. Ulas laughed once, shook his head a few times, then returned to watching the scene before him, keeping his back to the others. This newest guy looked like something out of a Latin rap video...

"You sure you're in the right place, hip-hop? The dance club's down the street..."

Ulas turned long enough to make solid eye contact before resuming his vigil...

"Don't mind him, he's an asshole if he doesn't get to stab someone. The guy in black is Agent Reez, and if the Archon sent you then you probably know his type..."

The Tanaaran Archon was for the most part well-liked in the Black Marsh, and well-known within the military and the government's various agencies through his association with Whiptail, as well as his benevolent efforts to elevate the Argonian people to space-faring status...

Little overdressed eh? It's a dirty job around here. Detective Teekis Zeevan, but just call me 'Teek'..."

"I didn't know what stage of the party I might arrive at Teek" I replied easily "And Yacoub would have your left nut for suggesting this was his work. Too plain. But there are some thing’s I refuse to do, and bling on a piece is one of them." I took the proffered hand with no hesitation. Blood didn't bother me, and I had a cache of handiwipes in an inner pocket. Not that I’d bring them out now, but if needed later.

I nodded to the agent, one Reez who was dealing with the Catawab suit. Who needed to get out of the office more or so it looked on the surface...but 'fandango', where did some of the lingo come from?

"You sure you're in the right place, hip-hop? The dance club's down the street..."

I made equal eye contact with the big guy, letting his surliness slide off me, slicker than Grigots Best of Show Wax and flashed a shark's unamused grin -though I wasn't ruffled in the least. Some of the best in the business had attitude problems, it was part of the package more often than not. “Only if it needs a decontam.”

I might have to live in such places but my serious musical pleasure was pure classical.

“There nothing like the feel of tissue parting under a well honed blade to give that thrill” I nodded lightly at Teeks explanation.

“Rob sent me because we just very quietly closed down a new line of trouble, and we think your local dirt might be expecting a visit from that line.” That had been my last op - I’d been in deep and no one had any idea that the sweep had been not just thorough but absolute. I could need and greet locals like the representative they would ‘know’ me to be

The media had gotten hold of the story about the drug-storehouse take-down, and reporters were already on scene to cover what they could before the DDF drove them back at gun-point to a reasonable distance, where the troops remained in place to make sure they didn't advance any further...

The female Argonian in front of the camera raised the mic to her lips, and shrugged a little in her pants suit before her producer gave her the roll camera signal...

"This is Yeena Yeeks with Channel Seven News, coming to you live from the infamous 'Gills' district of our wonderful capitol of Grayrock where the National Police Force and Domestic Defense Force have scored another victory against our city's massive drug epidemic. Over twenty kilos of drugs were siezed and around fifteen gang-members died in the gun-battle. Two officers were wounded in the raid, but we are unable to comment on their condition at this..."

The TV went dark, erasing the picture of the reporter from its screen...

"You know what makes me unhappy?"

Speaking was a well-dressed Argonian sitting behind a very nice desk, his feet propped up on the polished wood with little reguard for the expensive shoes he was wearing. His speech lacked the accent of a Marshlander, and even that of a native Argonian...

"And what's that, boss?"

Responding was another Argonian, a crossbreed of Argonian and Dark Argonian genetics with a nasty-looking X-scar across one eye. He was dressed in a much more casual fashion, almost tactical in his clothing choice. A nice 1911 sat in a DeSantis holster on his right side, while a volcanic glass dagger lay at the small of his back. His bearing and movements were deliberate, and yet smooth at the same time as if he'd planned them days in advance down to the very flexing of each individual tendon...

"Incompetence. It saddens me..."

The first gestured towards the darkened TV set...

"I pay those bastards well to guard my stock-piles, yet somehow someone finds out about where I keep a portion of my supply and the police take it from me..."

The first picked back up the remote control and turned the TV back on, just in time to see the camera zoom in on the three Argonians and their guests back near the Dodge Avenger...

"Fuckin' Reez..."

"What's that, Chul?"

"Fuckin' Javik Reez, Argonian Intelligence Service. That's your leak, boss. You've got a damn Shadowscale assigned to your organization..."

"I suppose I should take that as a compliment, coming from you. Do you know the other two?"

"Nope. Look like standard ANPF detectives, probably major players on the task force though..."

"And what of the humans?"

"I recognize the dark-skinned one, the one that looks like he belongs in a shitty Scarface re-hash. Seen him a few times abroad, does the dirty work for the Tanaaran big-wigs. Some of the people I hire out to have had dealings with him..."

"The other?"

"No idea. Don't let the hat fool you, it's not Chuck Norris..."

"I'll have someone get on researching him..."

"Good idea, boss..."

The crossbreed stood from his chair, preparing to take his leave...

"And one last thing..."

"What's that?"

"Deal with your brethren as you see fit. I want to send a clear message. And I want at least two of your people overseeing my other stockpiles. I pay you well, don't fuck it up..."

The X-scarred operative nodded. Teersan Chul was a former Shadowscale, in both senses of the word. He'd been part of the old assassin order before the Modernization, sided with the Modernists to become one of the first members of the Argonian Intelligence Service, then defected again after he'd wiped his old order off the map with help from his former allies and slowly formed his own mercenary company from ex-Insurgents and Dark Argonian professional contractors. Blackwood Company was now the only all-Argonian private security firm, and easily one of the most ruthless on the market.

Teersan used his skills to gather and distribute information, as well as eliminate those that needed to be silenced for the highest bidder for a long time, and occasionally he'd run across other national operatives in the same line of work since such targets often dealt with more than one nation. His current employer was probably one such individual, but he'd been unable to dig up anything on him that he didn't already know, and he'd learned those sparse facts from stolen AIS reports.

The guy's name wasn't a factor, as far as Chul was concerned he didn't have one. The title he gave out was simply 'Mantis', and those mirrored aviator shades did sort of give that look to him but he doubted that was the reason why the name had been chosen. Mantis was extremely patient, almost to the point that it seemed he was lazy. That wasn't the case, however. His calculated moves within the Argonian underworld had allowed him to rise quickly, and without opposition. Chul assumed he was foreign-born, since he couldn't find anyone in the national database with matching DNA. The man was basically a ghost, and that disturbed even a seasoned operative like Chul.

A cell-phone appeared in the former Shadowscale's hand and he dialed up his second in command to inform him of the boss' wishes and make sure they were carried out...

Teek released the hand after a quick handshake and got a large manilla folder out of the passenger seat of the car. Ulas had been in motion as well, stashing the shotgun in the trunk before climbing into the driver's seat.

The other detective, folder in hand, held it out towards Mano...

"This'll cover the shit Reez briefed us on earlier, gangs and all. Apparently we've got an inside man in the dock-side gang, and from what you've said you'll be useful in dealing with 10th Street. They dress like you do, at least..."

Teek poked his head back into the Avenger to say something to Ulas before the large Argonian drove away, leaving the four of them behind. He'd get back and take care of the paper work while the other two briefed their foreign help...

[OOC: There is no hat. That regulation was defeated and left up to personal choice. Ah'ron hates hats.]

Ah'ron waited until Reez wiped his hand before shaking the Argonian's. His grip was firm, but he kept away from knuckle grinding. The cafe au lait skinned Taung nodded in response to the Reez's question. "Yeah, I'm your resident Catwab until the big tin back home decide to pat me on the head and rotate me back."

He moved to look over the Tanaaran's shoulder at the manila folder. He leaned back and looked the Tanaaran over. He did looke like a stereotypical villian from old Miami Vice reruns. Mira help them if this 10th Street Gang was stereotypical as well...Ah'ron hated stereotypes, wanted to kneecap stereotypes. If you were going to do something, be original.

Though, Ah'ron secretly feared he might be a stereotype. He blamed that Air Force general, the Tom Selleck wannabe, for these thoughts.

He glanced at some of pictures. Mira, that writing was small...and he really didn't want to break out his reading glasses. He looked up at the Argonian officer. "Y'all...you have another copy of this?"

Y'all? Sure, it was very common for southern and rural Catawabans to say that, but he was a Central Westerner. Starr had to be stopped.

"I recognize the dark-skinned one, the one that looks like he belongs in a shitty Scarface re-hash. Seen him a few times abroad, does the dirty work for the Tanaaran big-wigs. Some of the people I hire out to have had dealings with him..."
Yes the major Tanaaran Syndics and Triads –

As far as the Government of Tanaara was concerned I am a wolfs head, a criminal with a price on my head and considered by the more zealous officials in the Tanaaran law enforcement community to be the next best thing to shoot on sight target. My carefully honed, and vastly documented, criminal existence and reputation was that of a stone cold killer who had no conscience.

I have never killed any innocent, though that was a deeply buried fact - and in open doccumentation several murders, no few assassinations, and a handful of times acting as a paid duelist - had been attributed to me that were the work of others. Whom, now dead, could never protest my usurpation of their deeds. But my resume was supposed to look that way. my credentials as a Tanaaran criminal of the first water are utterly sound, documented to a fare-thee-well.

Even my looks weren't much known, save to those in the circles I move in. During my stint in the military I'd worked under deep cover, and my one official portrait - taken during my last year while I was second in command of the TMCID- doesn't look much like me. It had been shopped by the best in the business.

Nor were my finger prints his own, unless you had the proper solvents to get to the real ones. And the only stock of that in Argonia was in the hidden flask with-in a flask that ostensibly held some very fine aged brandy and set in my other secure inner pocket.

And my skin wasn't that dark, no more olivine bronzed than most of some islander or Mediterranean descent. Definitely lighter than Jaro's

But that aside finished…

This'll cover the shit Reez briefed us on earlier, gangs and all. Apparently we've got an inside man in the dock-side gang, and from what you've said you'll be useful in dealing with 10th Street. They dress like you do, at least.

I did a quick scan of the papers then looked at the remaining Argonians, my face expressionless.

I handed the folder to Jaro, but my words were directed to the Argonians

“You all have just fubard royally.” I said in a flat tone, that I was careful not to let carry beyond those present. “Though you , in honesty, didn’t start the higher and deeper. The officer at the perimeter did. I just tailed Sergeant Jaro here in waving - in a half assed manner so that he got no good look at it - what looks like, but isn’t, an official I.D. folder. Then you took me at my introduction.” I shook my head just minimally

“Now, Rob, the Archon, did send me. And sent me precisely because every bit of paper on me says I’m one of Tanaara’s more successful criminals and I am looking to be expanding my empire. …Which is the cover we’d better go with as you didn’t manage to keep the nosey newsies away either,” I flipped a half glance over my shoulder in the direction of the minicam holding camera man. I’d managed to keep my back to them, mostly “And any one checking on me is going to believe that I have bought and paid for your services on my behalf.” I had spent the last three years expanding on the cover persona I’d build during my years undercover in the military.

Mano Kane, crime lord in the making, having been a semi freelancer for the really major Syndics and Triads – and now with enough heft and backing – and approval from said Syndics and Triads – to move up to that top teir.

I waited for the reaction to that. I’m sure it would not make them happy to be seemed to be in the pay of a crime lord intent on making profit in new and swampy, if not mysterious, places.

Fekking spooks.

That was Ah'rons thoughts as he narrowed his eyes and looked up from the folder. "I'm functioning on ignorance of your role, Kane. I'm just the dumb Eastern county mountie as far as this situation is concerned." Jaro shook his head and looked back down folder, holding it down by his stomach so he could read the print.

He made a note to watch the Tanaaran close. You never knew when spooks lost separation between their covers and themselves.

Teek and Reez exchanged glances, the agent's holding a little more annoyance than anything...

"If that's the case, we might as well keep up appearances. You should have stayed in your car if your cover was supposed to be that deep. Now I'm going to have to arrest you..."

The unmarked Glock came out of the holster again, two-handed hold level with Kane's head as Reez stepped back out of arm's reach...

"Detective Zeevan, would you mind taking Mr. Kane into custody?"

Teek seemed a little confused by the whole development, but if the guy was supposed to be some badass crime-lord he couldn't be seen talking to Argonian law enforcement, now could he? The DDF presence made escape an impossibility, seeing as they had the biggest guns on-scene...

"OK buddy, put your hands on the roof. I think I know what Reez has in mind..."

Handcuffs were produced...

"If Mr. Ah'ron would be kind enough to give the Detective a lift back to the station, I'll deposit Mr. Kane where he'll be most useful to us, as well as brief him on the situation. 10th Street will likely welcome him as one of their own, given his supposed connections to the Tanaaran Underworld..."

The news feed was becoming more and more useless as the soldiers on scene kept making it harder and harder to get a clear view of the individuals in question, but he was able to catch Reez pulling his gun on the Tanaaran. Mantis settled back into his chair to watch. This might get interesting...

"It seems that something in happening behind the perimeter..."

"Bitch turn off the fuckin' camera!"

The squad leader had had enough of the news crew, leveling his shotgun at the camera man...

"Now face that way before I have my men open fire for disobeying a lawful order by a military non-comissioned officer..."

The news crew did as directed, and the squad remained in place with their weapons pointed in their general direction...

"You may continue..."

Without missing a beat the anchor-woman continued her report...

"It appears a foreign national is being taken into custody. What his connection is to this mess can only be speculated on..."

Chul had already departed the building and was driving towards his little outfit's makeshift headquarters, an abandoned apartment complex in the 'Gills' district. The compound itself had already been surrounded by a head-height wall, but it had further been decorated with spools of razor-wire to give it that certain look as well as deter any of the area's other residents from becoming too nosey. Well-armed guards watched the three entrances from positions within the building, medium-machine guns situated just behind the window sills.

The lone guard at the main gate nodded as the former assassin passed him and opened the door to the building proper where he was greeted with a symphony of clicking and clacking as a crew prepared itself for the night's festivities. They had a Shadowscale to kill, and they wanted to make sure they succeeded. There were several makes and models of assault rifles in evidence, a few of which outfitted with grenade launchers of the 40mm variety. The two Chevrolet Suburbans out back had also been tweaked for the operation, featuring armor plating and bullet-resistant glass as well as their own little stockpiles in the trunk area. Two AT-4 anti-tank rockets and enough ammunition to supply a squad for an extended firefight were affixed within each and ought to make taking the pesky agent out quite easy. If they nailed those detectives and those bastard foreigners at the same time, then so much the better...

Ah'ron Jaro closed the file and turned his back to the reporters. He dropped a hand to his POP and rested his palm there, mostly for show. He had to do something sell the scene while he talked. "You can call me Ranger Jaro. I'd be happy to give the Detective a ride, but this is pretty stupid. The perp you recognize wanders up has a leisurely conversation and then you haul leather?"

Haul leather? Dammit all, Starr

With a twisted smirk on my lips, I slowly - with obvious care and reluctance - put my hands on the cruiser's roof as commanded. I kept my voice low , confining it to the group "No, not stupied." I denied to the Catawaban "Nothing else they can do, Ranger Jaro, and exactly the right thing to do. Now they will absolutely look paid for. And people will wonder. It's confusion to our enemies."

I twitched my head a bit and addressed Teek "All I've got are the Dee Eee and The KD5." Then I caught Reez's eyes "Take the duster though. It's lined with the latest in liquid armor. If my face went out so did yours. And I’d bet that your organizations is infiltrated."

It would be all the apology he'd get. My voice went even lower, and it held a snarl of anger below the hard, flat tone “One of our best agents had been tasked to deliver my brief in person to your bosses.. She was snatched and expended. They found her body and contacted us just as I was rolling off the plane. My entrance had to be revised and improvised"

Daniela had been a good friend, and as professional as they came. If some one got close enough to abduct her it had to have been some one she knew and trusted – and that was a very small circle. A circle that I too knew and trusted. I had to be here, but here would lead me back to the traitor. I’d see to that.

Jaro took his palm off his POP. "It'll look staged one way or another. Just have to hope they err on the side of 'maybe he really is the inspiration for 'Colderone'.'"

Jaro glanced back at the perimeter where the Argonian military was performing Togovian-esque press-government relations. Catawaba had reins on...fekk Starr, had some control over the press for governmental purposes, but he didn't think he'd have a job if he went about pointing shotguns at cameramen back home. He'd arrest them if they didn't move, but Catawabans were generally obediant to lawful authorities and all had a higher threshold to threatening deadly force.

Draconian...draconian...Argonians...dragon..lizard...huh, funny if nothing else, anyways, draconian methods like that wouldn't fly in Catawaba. They had just thrown off one repressive government less than five years ago, and the populace was well armed to a virtue. Catawabans saw it as their obligation to throw off chains and kill the jailer. Their leaders were specialists, servants on high, no more.

Jaro shook his head and looked back and rolled his eyes at Keanu Reeves-quality arrest. "Maybe you should club him or something else in character here abouts...really sell it. A dirty cop's gotta make it look like he ain't dirty by lookin' like he utterly hates the guy payin' him off."

Teek slapped the cuffs on before removing the large golden hand-cannon and the rest of Kane's weapons and setting them on the hood of the car. Reez again holstered his weapon, and turned to the Catawaban...

"Any other suggestions will have to be made after we get him out of sight of the cameras. I don't think it's any more convincing than you do. All I can put in my report is that he approached under unknown pretenses and I noticed he had a gun under his shoulder. Carrying a concealed weapon in a cordoned-off search zone is an arrestable offense, especially if you don't make a point to tell the officer you're talking to that you have it..."

The detective made a point to lightly smack Kane's head on the door frame as he helped seat him in the car, enough of a bonk to convince the cameras this wasn't as much of a ruse...

"Happy? I don't think he is..."

Teek poked his head back into the car, covertly slipping the guns into the front seat under the jacket, then dropping a hand-cuff key in Kane's lap, if he didn't already have one. His hands were cuffed in front of him, and that should make 'escape' fairly easy...

"That wasn't needed, detective. I'll take Mr. Kane on to his drop point and meet with the rest of you back at the station..."

The agent entered the vehicle, started the engine, and began to drive away through the checkpoint at the end of the street...

"Fuckin' spooks. At least you're not one. Name's Teek, and I work in Narcotics if your detective work needs a little practice..."

The detective noted how the man had looked at the scene between the soldiers and the reporter. Argonian law was a little different than most places. Criminals had no rights, and speech wasn't quite as free...

"A little harsh, I know. Those guys have strict orders to keep the media out, however. Obviously they take their jobs very seriously. Anytime guys like Reez are involved the higher-ups like to keep all electronic eyes shut, and that shouldn't surprise you. I'm sure your own government has such people and that they'd rather not have their faces wind up on television. She knows she's not supposed to film this shit..."

The man was an advisor, and Teek hoped he'd stick to that role. There had been no shots fired at the news crew, and Channel Four was known to be a little more inquisitive than the other two stations. Threats of violence were usually plenty to get the point across. The last thing Teek wanted was to have some bleeding-heart social activist preaching the entire way back to the station. He'd make it a point to inform him that speech was free, and so was the press when official government business was involved. It was widely accepted that the government was corrupt at its highest levels, but as long as life progressed smoothly no complaints were lodged and no demonstrations were made.

If the Marshlanders actually gave a damn and united under one banner, they might actually stand a chance of overthrowing the current government. That fact had almost become reality during the Second Civil War, and Teek aimed to avoid that topic if at all possible. Firearm ownership outside the major cities was a thing of need, and every family had at least two, and when you took into account that nearly seventy percent of all Argonians lived in the Marshlands, that meant a whole lot of guns...

"You ready to go?"

Back in Reez' car, the agent handed the heavy golden pistol back over his shoulder to Kane, who he'd hoped had freed himself by now...

"I'm going to drop you off at a 10th Street nightclub that we've had under watch for a while now, under the pretense that you escaped or otherwise bought me off. It's widely known that our government is corrupt, and your infiltration theory is already being looked into. You'll be one of two moles we've got in these gangs, another Shadowscale agent is in with the Tribe down at the docks, a Marshlander who calls himself 'Missing Boy'. Accent's thick as armor plate, though..."

Reez paused for a moment, seeing lights in the rear view mirror from a large SUV that looked like it had quite a few people in it. It followed for the next few streets until Reez ran a red light and pulled off a block past the club...

"Considering how well you're dressed, getting in shouldn't be an issue, and being seen shouldn't either. If you catch a peek of any Dark Argonians in there, you're in the right place. Feel free to try and buy some of the shit they're selling, too. We don't have many undercovers in this area, and none of them are selling for obvious reasons..."

The agent checked the rear view mirror again before looking back at the Tanaaran...

"And best of luck to you. I'll be in touch..."

The tap of my head against the c column was expected, in fact I was surprized that he didn't get more in the way of 'retribution'. My head was harder than that though and it wouldn't leave a mark.

I had freed myself in seconds, but was careful to keep up appearances until well out of sight for the newsies.

"And best of luck to you. I'll be in touch..."

Listening intently to Reez's recap on the 10th streeters, nodding as I absorbed the info. "Thats cool. Look for me to set up shop in a high rise upscale condo or the best hotel in Grey Rock. Got to set the style. Some one will bond out the ride with in a day, or keep it and I'll pick up some local flash. Keep the coat though, that war wagon was following us."

Then I was out the foor and striding confidently down the street headed for my newest lair.

Ah'ron nodded at what the Argonian had to say. "I get what yer sayin' about the newsies. Don't there aren't times I've wanted to do that to one or two reporters from CFN." The Catawaban Fairness Network was anything but fair and was a bastion of anti-government dissent. Ironically, several times intervention from government forces and at one time the Miraade himself was the only thing that had kept angry mobs from ransacking their headquarters or rolling their new vans. "We just can't threaten to shoot them first go."

He shook his head. "It's your way, man. I don't have to like it, but that's your law. I gotta respect that." He jerked his head towards his compact rental. "Come on. I'll give ya...you a ride."

He started walking back towards his car, talking over his shoulder. "There's no way I can be a spook. Too easily known back home. My picture's in with the Miraade's every time they reprint or rebroadcast something about his Marine days. I served with him in Marine Boarding Team Three, first to activate, first to deploy, first to rebel. After the Rebellion, I shifted over the Rural Rangers' Smuggler Interdiction Force."

Teek nodded in approval as he climbed into the car, buckling his seatbelt as he responded...

"Nice. Served with the 5th Airborne during the war. Thing is that most of these assholes you're going to be dealing with all did a little fighting themselves. Don't underestimate 'em. Most of those fuckers in the Tribe are ex-Insurgents who didn't take too kindly to the cease-fire..."

He fell silent for a moment as a flashback tore through his mind. He was back in the middle of a particularly nasty ambush turned firefight in the middle of a heavy marshland downpour. Blood and black mud were everywhere, the thunder of gunfire in his ears and the knotted mixture of fury and fear was back in the pit of his stomach. Like all Insurgent ambushes that didn't have Dark Argonian assistance it started with an IED to take out whatever vehicle they thought had the most firepower and ended the story at point-blank where they thought they had the advantage. In truth, they didn't have much of one. A sword or a spear was only handy at arms length, where an assault rifle or a pistol had a longer reach.

The image was almost as intense as it had been the first time as he swung his rifle up to riddle an Insurgent with gunfire as he tried to charge up the hood of a Humvee and kill the gunner manning the deadly M2 heavy machinegun. Instead Teek had sent him into the mud bleeding from about six holes in his torso. The disturbing vision ended with Teek bashing the skull of another attacker in with his helmet. He never could remember why or how it had gotten that dire, but it had. He did recall the desperation, it had been seared into his mind as vividly as the firefight itself.

Snapping out of his stress-induced stupor, Teek steadied himself by looking around to assure himself that he was indeed in a car, and not back out in the marshes beating a fellow Argonian to death with a piece of protective gear. The docs had said he'd developed a bit of PTSD, but that was true of about eighty percent of the Army after that nasty civil war. It wasn't bad, just the occasional flashback after something intense. Apparently he hadn't quite gotten it under control, that recent firefight must had sparked it again...

"Ahh... Sorry. Police station's downtown, off of Main Street. Head towards the tall buildings, look for the big 'ANPF' on the side. Can't miss it..."

While a brave man, even the bravest suffer from such afflictions. No matter, he had a stash of something to help him cope back at the station. Teek remained silent for the duration of the ride...

Reez pulled the car away slowly as Kane walked away, trying to avoid drawing any more attention to himself. About a block away, however, one of the Chevy SUV's caught up to him.

There was a squeeling of tires and suddenly the reinforced grille-guard mounted on the dark-colored beast was smashing the rear bumper off of Reez's car, trying to force him off the street as gunmen hung themselves out of the windows, assault rifles of various makes locked and loaded. The agent floored it, the smaller Avenger rocketing away from the larger vehicle, and yanking the handbrake as he flew into a turn. The Chevy slowed to negotiate the manuver, hitting two wheels in the process and nearly losing control.

A little breathing room aquired, Reez yanked a small MP5K from between the seats and glanced in the rear-view mirror. The SUV was gaining again, its powerful V8 roaring like some primal beast of war as the distance between the two shortened. The Shadowscale was basically standing on his gas pedal at this point, but there were still people out on the roads, especially in the downtown area. He didn't want any collateral damage, and that meant trying not to run red-lights if at all possible and checking his fire. Pointing the small SMG straight back he cut loose a short burst of 9mm's, his fire shattering his rear windshield and nearly deafening him in the process.

The burst was answered with a large volume of automatic fire from the attackers bristling from the windows of the Chevy. None of the rounds found him, however. He was lucky that time. There was an intersection up ahead, the light beginning to turn yellow. Reez again floored the accelerator and ran it, glancing back to watch the assaulting Suburban slam into a crossing sedan. There were flashing of gunfire, and it was off again. Up ahead, however, there was a new danger. The second SUV had arrived, and it was waiting at the end of the street. Four lanes wide, all one way. No side streets either.

Reez was basically screwed and he knew it. The trunk had a little more firepower, but he doubted he could reach the stash in time. Slamming the brakes again and ripping upwards on the E-brake sent the small car into a power-slide in the middle of the road, where it came to a rest. The first SUV was coming towards him, bearing down on him as the second made sure he had no-where to run. The agent slid out of the car, placing himself behind the front wheels for some cover, and braced his weapon on the hood of the Avenger. The SUV behind him wasn't firing for fear of hitting their comrades in the first vehicle. That made them professionals, or at least well-informed. The front sight centered in the driver's side of the Chevy, Reez cracked off a short burst.

Inside the vehicle, the driver shuddered as two 9mm rounds struck him in the face, the rest smacking harmlessly into the engine block in front of him. He slumped forward onto the gas pedal, sending the big SUV into a full-tilt ramming mode none of the occupants wanted.

Reez took off running, barely getting clear as the Chevy T-boned the Avenger at around ninety miles per hour, sending the front passenger through the windshield and into the street. The other occupants weren't moving, their fates weren't his concern. He was just gland they'd stopped shooting. The second SUV was now moving towards him, and with his car gone he should be easy prey for the more mobile and heavily-armed assault team. One had decided to open the sun roof and brace an M249 on the roof, sending a stream of hot lead in Reez's direction. He wished he'd grabbed the coat Kane had talked about but he hadn't had time. A round clipped him on the calf, another blew through his left shoulder. It was a clean hit, but it had shattered the bones and hurt more than the last time he'd been shot. A lot more.

The wounded agent clawed his way to his feet and again took off running, spraying wildly with his MP5K as he made for an alley across the street. It was a stupid idea, and he was probably going to get killed carrying it out, but the other option was to sit there and wait for them to gun him down where he lay. The SAW gunner on the roof wasn't letting up, and the others had joined in, too. A wall of lead was somehow missing the sprinting agent and he'd almost made the alley when a heavy round of some sort caught him in the upper left torso region and threw him on his face. Reez lay there, stunned. He was sure that one had punctured a lung, and his adrenaline was only going to keep him going for so long. Granted, Argonians had large adrenal glands for their body size, but there was only so much blood in said body to move that wonderful chemical where it needed to go.

The SUV stopped, and the SAW-shooter hauled one of the AT-4's up from within the vehicle. Sirens were screaming in the distance and they didn't have much time. With the firepower they'd brought they could kill a lot of cops, but that would only last for an hour or so. Hastily he readied the weapon and fired the rocket into the alleyway. Reez felt a hot blast of air pass over his body as the projectile missed him and hit a building on the other end of the alley. The last thing he heard before he lost conciousness was the squeeling of tires as the SUV made its getaway. He didn't hear the concussive boom from the charge the attackers had set in the first ruined Chevy. They'd taken the survivors from the crash and left the dead to burn in the explosion, which should take care of the forensic end of things...

I hadn't made it to the club before the first sounds of trouble reached me. The disctinct sounds vehicle hitting vehicle reached my ears clearly if faintly. Maybe two blocks away. I spun to look but couldn't see anything in much detail, though it looked as if both vehicles were still functional. The sound of gunfire was louder, but now blocked, it looked like Reez was drawing them away.

It was hopeless for me to try and follow them afoot, so I shrugged, smiled wickedly and continued on to the club.

Within five minutes there were cop cars on scene, the officers starting getting the area taped off, controlling the fires, and trying to control the bleeding agent's blood loss. Another four minutes and paramedics and fire department personnel were there, hitting the burning wrecks with halon fire extinguishers and loading the badly wounded agent into an ambulance before speeding off as fast as they could manage. He'd lost a lot of blood, and things weren't looking good for him.

Back in the Catawaban's car, Teek's cell phone began to ring...

"Hello? Oh shit... When the fuck did this happen? Where? OK, I'm on the way..."

He clicked the phone shut, then tapped his new partner on the shoulder...

"Hey, take a left up here at the light, we're headed to the local hospital. Reez, the guy you met earlier, got his ass ambushed by some heavy-hitters with enough firepower to take over a small country..."

The detective opened his phone back up again, and dialed Ulas up...

"Hey, get your big ass over to Mercy hospital. Reez' been shot to shit, might not make it..."

The night wasn't going well, Teek hoped that Reez at least had gotten the Tanaaran to his drop-off point. There hadn't been mention of a human involved in the shooting, so he was going to assume the mission had been accomplished in that respect...

The doorman at the nightclub was well-dressed, nearly matching Kane's own interesting clothing choices. The telltale bulge under his shoulder wasn't lost on the Tanaaran, either. The Dark Argonian matched him in height easily, and about as much in terms of bulk...

"You. Yeah you in the white, don't act like you don't know who the fuck I'm talking to..."

By now he was pointing at Kane, but not in a menacing manner...

"The boss said to keep an eye out for you, has something in mind... C'mon in..."

There was a line already formed, but the way was open for Kane to shimmy on in if he so chose. Teersan Chul was waiting just inside the door, dressed now in a finely-tailored suit the color dried blood, with a black shirt and a tie that matched his suit. His eyes locked into Kane's for a moment, before he made a welcoming gesture of his own...

Lighting within the club was dim, but that was to be expected. The music was loud, a combination of dance-themed techno and upbeat remixes of popular American R&B songs. The dance floor itself was packed tightly, and there wasn't much room at the bar, either. Furnishing were ultra-modern designs, mixes of bright whites and darker charcoal hues. The entire establishment radiated style and affluence. One would just might begin to wonder where and how an individual would find such funding for such a gathering place...

OOC: It's still open, folks...

IC:

Down at the docks, at around the same time, something else nefarious was occouring...

The murky waters stirred, disturbed by something moving beneath the surface. The three emerged from the black depths like their ancestors had done for thousands of years, walking forth from the water like the confident predators they were. Three 'Marshlanders', or Argonians not from the cities, mucked their way up the muddy bank between a row of warehouses.

Lights within each structure were glowing brightly, casting enough shadows for the three bagmen to make their way up to the warehouses unseen by any overly-curious eyes. They were greeted within by another four of their Marshlander brethren, packing a macrabe collection of firearms, two AK-47's, an old Winchester Model 1894 lever-gun and a pretty modern Argonian version of the AR-15. Much like Reez had stated before, the whole group wore a lot of leather and homespun garments as well as a fair amount of chitin plates procured from a large specie of beetle and bleached to a dirty gray in the marshland sun.

The dripping cloth bags were taken from the three swimmers, replaced with plastic bags brimming with bundled cash, and sent on their way. The soaked bags they'd brought up-river contained waterproofed bundles of cocaine, perfectly processed and ready to distribute...

"Missing Bwoy! We's got da product from da night run..."

It should go without saying that such Argonians didn't use much English, and their accents were legendary for their thickness...

"Excellent. Dem bwoys from de GCK outta be here soon..."

The one who called himself 'Missing Boy' had a bit less of an accent, but it he hid it for obvious reasons. A stainless PPK in .380 ACP was stuffed into a worn-looking leather belt across from an angry-looking knife he'd had forged back in his home village from part of a helicopter rotor blade. He'd gotten his name from an uncanny ability to disappear when he felt like it (not literally, of course). It was a common format for Marshlander names, even if it did sound weird to outsiders. Speaking of such, there were a few standing towards the front of the warehouse, speaking with some of the more well-spoken members of the operation. They weren't 'Tribe' members, that was for certain, and it was clear that someone else was pulling the strings behind the operation. The Tribe was cut in because of their marshland connections and their devotion to the old Argonian ways, which made them pretty effective hitmen when someone wanted to send a message...

"Now get back ta work, bwoy. Gotta lotta shit goin' out tonight..."

Missing Boy handed the bags off to some packers, it wasn't his job to handle such things. He was an undercover agent, one of the few Marshlanders in the Argonian Intelligence Service, and perfect for this assignment. He approached the guy he reported to when under his gangster identity, who'd been conversing with what looked like a dead ringer for an Eastern-European mafia member. Nice suit, visible tattoos. Might be Russian, come to think of it...

"Ey boss... Dat shipment a' shit just come in..."

The Dark Argonian, clad in a very expensive-looking suit, excused himself from the conversation he was having with the Russian about their operation to answer his Marshlander second-in-command...

"Yeah, yeah, great job. Now I want you personally to take a kilo over to Mr. Chul at our little downtown operation... Get on it..."

"Yes, boss..."

Missing Boy couldn't wait to gut that asshole, and he'd be more than happy to do it at the earliest opportunity. For now, he'd be a good little minion, and take a little of their product over to the big-wig, Chul, downtown. Missing Boy grabbed one of the drier taped-up bundles and shoved it in a attache case and heading into the back room to change into something more appropriate. The suit he'd bought was a dark green, solid in color, and expertly tailored. It would hide his numerous piercings and tattoos, he had too many tribals down his arms and face to pass himself off as anything but what he was. The suit was there to give him the look of a 'dignified savage' when he had to go somewhere nice, and he'd drop as much of the accent as possible. In a few minutes he was dressed and ready to go, throwing a nice pair of mirrored sunglasses over his eyes.

The car he'd been provided with was a big Lincoln, and it roared to life with a turn of the key, sending the undercover off towards the downtown night-club...

Ah'ron had known the way back the police station. He'd just come from there, but he nodded politely and went about a calm, almost leisurely drive. The large dark man kept his eyes watching the street around him. He was still a cop and there were still laws to enforce. Every transit was a patrol, Major Unowsky, the commander of his Ranger detachment always said every morning at their briefing. There wasn't a reason to go fast or bend rules.

Yet.

"Hey, take a left up here at the light, we're headed to the local hospital. Reez, the guy you met earlier, got his ass ambushed by some heavy-hitters with enough firepower to take over a small country..."

Ah'ron nodded and took the sharp as it was short notice. His compact skidded around the turn. Ah'ron insulted the compact under his breath, wishing for his HumVee back home.

"Hey, get your big ass over to Mercy hospital. Reez' been shot to shit, might not make it..."

With that afterthought over the phone, Jaro felt he had full justification to bend whatever traffic law the Aragonians had. A downed Aragonian officer was still a brother officer, that meant something universally. Jaro pushed the compact as fast as it would allow him, it whined pitifully all the way.

The mention of heavy firepower popped back up. He was glad he'd brought his MORS after all. He shot a glance at Teek. "What kinda heavy weaps are they reporting? ARs or did they get ahold of a RPD or RPG?"

"The boss said to keep an eye out for you, has something in mind... C'mon in..."

I trotted up the four stepps to the entryway and in through the open door without hesitation. I paid no obvious attention to the faint murmurs coming from the waiting crowd, but that did not mean I was oblivious to them. I never had to wait in line.

And that also made me sure that our enemies kept watch on the tube.

Teersan Chul

While we had never met, I knew of him. I recognized him on sight, and wondered briefly - as our eyes locked - if he wore the dried blood hue to hide exactly that.

My own under arm bulge was expertly hidden by the custom tailoring of my suit. I'd paid for every bit of that careful hand sewing - called single needle tailoring by the way - and the suit cost more than the titanium Desert Eagle and my Baretta back up -that Teek hadn't found - combined.

I scanned the club quickly but carefully, noting the marked exits, and seeking to see if there were others not so obvious. But my open comment was on the quality of the bar.

"Nice, very nice Mr. Chul, a small side venture?”

AT THAT SAME NEFARIOUS WAREHOUSE

Two sets of eyes followed the three Marshlanders, watching them rise from the water, almost alien like in their gait and walk. Water dripped from them in a way that sent chills down the younger man's spine. He kept the spotting scope, a Leupold model picked up at a hunting and sporting goods store, trained on the three coming out of the water.

"That's right McD," said the slightly older of the two. "Keep your eyes on the bad guys."

The older of the two operated a small digital video camera, scanning back and forth along the warehouse, and settling back on the meeting. HUM INT combined with the video footage was getting the information they needed for their current employers, though how much of it would be useful was arguable. Still, the man operating the camera, Robert "Wraith" Kelly, sketched out an equally detailed drawing. He brought the camera back to the original three, getting as much of them as he could on video. He spoke in a low tone, detailing everything he saw audibly for the records.

"Various arms, ranging in age and quality. Handing over bags, assuming cocaine, and receiving new bags. Possibly payment."

He continued filming as the three Argonians returned to the water.

"Creepy bunch," he said monotonously. "Would of loved to be in their war," he commented, "real war shit. Old school verse new school, and all sides bad ass. Would have been fun."

"For fuck's sake Kelly, you are one crazy ass hole."

"I'm a warrior bro. I wanna fight. Its in my blood."

"Your an ex-Marine and its in your mind set."

Kelly chuckled as he followed the four towards the main door of their warehouse, moving in and out of the shadows. Although they would loose them in the darkness, it also provided them with the same cover they would need to infiltrate and egress from the dock yards. It was both a help and a hindrance. One had to way the bad and the good.

"Hush up child. I don't have time to deal with your Army SF hearts and mind shit. You can build all the schools you want, they'll still call us in to blow your shit up." His response to the other man, a former soldier in the US Army's 3rd Special Forces Group, was dead flat and serious in tone, but a light hearted ribbing.

"Bite me. Uncle Sam's Misguided Children. All you can do is sleep, shoot, and screw. Total waste of skill that we could use to mold into a superior fighting machine rather then some always lost jarhead. How much time do you spend unfucking yourself compared to the actual fighting?"

Kelly subdued a chuckle. "The US Army Special Forces. The unwilling leading the incompetent to do the unnecessary."

"At least we ain't Squeals and Chair Force."

"I hear that."

The two smirked under the darkness, keeping a close eye on the four remaining Argonians as they moved into the warehouse. They finally lost visual as they disappeared into the large building, but Kelly kept the camera moving over the dock yard. The two, Kelly and Ryan "McD" McDarnal, had been contracted out by the DEA to keep eyes on the booming Argonian coke trade. Of course, the DEA wasn't really allowed to operate outside US borders, but two random guys who just happened to be on vacation stumbling upon the aforementioned coke industry didn't violate any US laws. Of course, the two fell into the standard black ops bad hand that, were they captured, existence would be denied, no rescue, no mention to next of kin, no chance of getting out, at least with help.

However, the two were used to that. McD had spent ten years in the US Army, eight of them with the 3rd Special Force Group, jumping back and forth between Afghanistan and Iraq until his second daughter was born. Kelly had 14 with the US Marine Corp, moving between the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, Force Reconnaissance, and was part of the single deployment with the experimental Detachment One. Both had time in Afghanistan and Iraq, and Kelly a few other deployments he rarely spoke about.

The two were used to recon operations, spending time simply watching, and their dossiers and jumped straight to the top of the DEA pile. What was oddly noted was Kelly wasn't officially contracted with any private contractor. He wasn't employed by any of the big, or small, name private contractors, and actually owned a small gun store in far north Texas, near the Texas Oklahoma border, where he offered the occasional CHL course and every now and then a "weekend warrior" class, more of an excuse for him to keep up to date with his own skills and still get paid. He and McD had met in Iraq on a joint operation, and were fast friends. McD had specifically requested the former Recon Marine to join him on the operation.

Kelly looked over his shoulder at their planned egress route, taking them right past some dock workers and hired hands. They were using the hired hands excuse as a cover, but he had wanted a slightly more militaristic approach to the operation. Specifically, he was thinking back to the rifles sitting in his hotel room, the two not entirely legal but questionable M4A1s, an M40 rifle, and a not so legal M249 Para all packed up. The ARs were from the DEA, giving the two contractors the ability to meet up with a DEA strike team should the need arise. The M40 was Kelly's request, wanting a long gun specifically for intell gathering operations like this, and the M249 was a black market gift from one of Kelly's less than reputable family members for a 'get the hell out of dodge' situation. However, McD, despite being the younger of the two, was leading the operation, and had made the call. It would be easier to sneak out with out a bolt action rifle slung over Kelly's shoulder, and two M4A1s sitting at the ready.

Instead, they watched with only their hand guns as back up. Robert had his custom 1911, one that had been in the family since before the great war, and now wore Heinie Straight Eight sites, a Wilson high raise beaver tail grip safety, and STI internals, extended single side thumb safety, and square cut hammer. The barrel, frame and slide, and trigger were all original Colt 1911A1, but the frame and slide had been treated to an expert coating job by Nighthawk. Loaded with his favored 160gr CorBon DPX rounds, he had out shot many a more expensive 1911 with it, and it had kept his ass out of the ground on more than one occasion.

McD, on the other hand, preferred the more common plastic fantastic, a Glock 21SF shooting the favored Federal Hydra-Shoks. The Glock was no where near as specialized as Kelly's hybrid 1911, and by far lower maintenance. It was, however, slightly larger, and McD had long ago given up on trying to conceal and dress like a normal human, and had resorted to always wearing some sort of jacket, hoodie, or sweater to conceal the larger weapon. However, it hadn't bothered McD, and he often poked fun at Kelly as he stripped and cleaned the 1911. "Ya know," he would offer, "I have about seven hundred rounds through the Glock since its last cleaning. How many did you shoot today? Ten? Fifteen?"

"Yes, but my gun has soul," Kelly would retort.

"Thats what VW owners say. But its still a slow POS."

But at this point, they were focused not on their choice of gear, but the Argonian exiting the warehouse.

"Was that one that went in earlier?" McD asked, focusing the spotter scope on him.

Kelly snapped the camera around from a line of vehicles, focusing it on the exiting target, now wearing a suit. "They all look the same, but I think it is. He's getting into a vehicle, old Lincoln. Damnit, we need back up to tail him."

Robert made sure the camera got a clean shot of the license plate, and then clicked the camera closed. He tucked it into a leg pocket on the eBay bought, supposedly Israeli issue OD BDU pants, and rolled slowly onto his back. "Battery is low. I think we've seen the most action we will get tonight. Lets get outa here."

McD packed up the scope, but left it in the gutter of the roof he they were on, leaving it to pick up at a later date. The two stayed in a low crouch, moving quickly over to the edge of the building, and shimmied down a drain pipe, careful not to make to much noise. The two stayed in the shadows, moving towards the exit casually, chatting about women and booze.

Kelly tugged down his dark blue 'Chevy Trucks' hoodie, making sure it covered the grip of the 1911, and pulled out a black beanie from a back pocket on the BDUs, tugging it on. McD was dressed similarly, but wearing a pair of cheap Wal Mart brand jeans, and a black Red Sox zip up jacket. He ran his hand through his longer brown hair, counting the steps till they reached the main exit of the dock yard.

Missing Boy was completely oblivious to the fact that there were apparently two DEA-contracted mercs operating in his area, but that wasn't a surprise since he had the Regge CD in his Lincoln blasting at a rather inconsiderate volume. The agent paused at a red-light, sending a quick text message to his superiors as the light turned green again.

The glovebox contained his issued 'blank' Glock 19, a Gemtech surpressor can, and a pair of spare magazines in case things got messy. The PPK didn't pack a surpressor, Missing Boy didn't fancy himself a lizard-like James Bond after all. The piece was there mainly for show. Sure, he could shoot, but he preferred the 'old way' of doing things, usually with a knife at ranges that 'close' didn't do justice...

The beastly car barely fit into the reserved parking spot, allowing Missing Boy very little room to wedge himself out. Back-up would be arriving soon, since they now knew where Chul was located, and taking him out would deal a serious blow to the Blackwood Company, and hopefully to whatever dominant force was controlling the lower-scale thugs that actually brought the coke in from the Marshes. He'd hadn't called for a SWAT team, no, he'd gone a little higher.

There were certain people his government kept on the payroll for just this sort of activity. Some were put there permanently and given a special status identifier. Those were the people he was expecting to see...

The scarred Argonian smiled briefly at Mano Kane, the smile of a predator...

"Why thank you, Mr. Kane. There are so few decent night clubs in this part of town, and we men of leisure need somewhere to observe the local 'talent'. I'm wondering how long you'll be staying in our damp little corner of the region. I'm afraid you'll find the local criminal element somewhat unfriendly towards one such as yourself, but I do have uses for you..."

Flipping a hand over his shoulder Chul summoned a waiter, ordering a fine Kentucky bourbon...

"Order what you wish. It's on the house..."

Wraith and McD slipped out of the dockyard easily enough, avoiding contact with any other workers who could give them away. They blended in well enough with the rest of the dockworkers, but they were still human in a predominantly Argonian country, they would stand out enough. Kelly did his best to just scream military. He was still fairly clean cut, even though he had served in more relaxed units. His blond hair was cut close, compared to McD's long brown hair, tied into a pony tail. Robert had shaved that morning, out of habit more than anything, McD sported a mustache and slight goatee.

The stepped out onto the street, staggered, and spotted the big Lincoln at a stoplight.

McD snatched Kelly by the arm, and turned him the other way. "Lets go Devil Dog, get some closer eyes on."

Robert nodded, turning away from the big sedan pulling away from the light. The Special Forces soldier located an blue Mazda hatch, jogged up to it, and nodded to Kelly.

"Watch my back," he whispered loudly, and then, as quietly as he could, kicked his bottom of his boot into the lower portion of the rear door. The door locks audibly clicked open*.

"Jesus christ, work some of that Army magic," Kelly laughed, getting into the passenger's seat.

McD finished off his trick by hot wiring the car, throwing it into gear, and chasing off after the Lincoln. He rounded the corner, and saw it pulling away further down the road. McD followed, keeping a safe enough distance to break away if he needed, without losing sight of the Lincoln. They followed it to the club, but McD pulled around back.

"Half those fuckers our front look like they are outa Miami Vice," Kelly huffed, sliding out of the passenger's seat.

"You got an idea on how to get it?"

"Yeah. Fuck, we need shotguns for this shit."

Kelly took the lead, walking around to a dark side door, and pounded a few times.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Just trust me," the Marine whispered back, pounding again.

A human, well built but not big, answered the door, and looked at the two. "Who the fuck is you?"

"Security," Robert snapped back. "For inside, keep an eye on things."

"They didn't tell me about any new guys. Got any ID?"

"Yeah sure," Robert replied, pulling out his wallet. The door man bent over to read it, and Robert moved quickly, grabbing him and slamming his head hard into the door frame. He repeated the slamming motion again, the club worker moaning loudly, and once more. When he felt the body go limp, Robert let it fall, then dragged it behind a stack of plastic trash bags.

"Fucking A man," McD nodded, stepping into the club. "That was fucking fast."

Kelly just shrugged. He pulled the door closed behind him, making sure it locked. "Lets go see if we can find the great vanishing gecko. I wanna see if he can save me fifteen percent on my bike insurance."

While not exactly subtle, the little ruse seemed to have gotten them entrace to the nightclub. Their biggest issue now would be blending into the crowd, dressed as they were in shoddy street clothes in one of the most exclusive and upscale nocturnal hotspots in the country.

Nearly everyone within was dressed in a nice suit for the males, or something ranging from elegant to downright skimpy for the females, but they shared similar price tags. Most of the males were Dark Argonian as well, so named for their charcoal-to-jet hued scales, and all of them were obviously mercenaries: bulges in the usual places, well-built athletic-looking guys with sterm gazes and attentive mannerisums.

Moreover, most of the security were off-duty Blackwood Company and included members of Chul's personal security detail, since the boss himself was in attendance with some respectable foreign company and things didn't need to get complicated at this stage of the game.

Missing Boy entered through the front entrance, case in hand and the little PPK tucked securely behind his coat, stuffed in his waistband. Handy, and yet hidden. The Marshlander intelligence operative worked his way through the crowd towards the head of the only Argonian private military corporation, nodding politely to the human guest before handing the case directly to Chul...

"For you, boss... De sample you requested..."

He was careful not to mention too much about the operation in case the visitor wasn't part of the 'need to know' crew...

"Thank you, Missing Boy... I'd like you to meet our friend, Mr. Mano Kane of Tanaara. Mano, this is Missing Boy, our noble savage from the Marshes. He represents another facet of our little operation..."

"Order what you wish. It's on the house..."

What I requested was rare, expensive, and Very Good scotch, a single malt from outside the region. A favorite of mine since I had discovered it many years ago, and it was in my hand in suitably short time. I took an appreciative sip and smiled ever so slightly. O'kay maybe not too hellish a stay, but I am still certain the coffee available will be crap

"I don't doubt they will be unfriendly. At first. But I do have my ways of changing peoples minds. Especially profitable ways, now that I'm building on my own, with no small amount of backing... and being useful is sometimes a good thing, others?" I made a minimal shrug "not so good" I liked leaving options open, but I wasn't anyone’s tool, toy, or errand boy any longer.

That should let him know that I had permission from the powers that be in the Tanaaran underworld to start my own business - something seldom granted. And operating without such was a quick way to find out just how ruthlessly lethal the PTB played the game.

I ran my eyes over those about, noting the paucity of suitable females - not that I had anything against anyone Argonian, but when I have someone female cuddled up to me, I preferred silky soft to scaled and tailed. But the fact that every male I could see, and no few of the females apparently, was armed to one point of discretion or another, and not just your casual carry either was not lost on me.

"Thank you, Missing Boy... I'd like you to meet our friend, Mr. Mano Kane of Tanaara. Mano, this is Missing Boy, our noble savage from the Marshes. He represents another facet of our little operation..."

I'd kept an eye on the couriers approach and gave him a slow nod as he was introduce. The light in this part of the club was decent and I had a good long look at him. I some how doubted the 'noble' portion of the description, but was almost certain of the savage - in at least some aspects.

"Missing Boy? Interesting name"

Missing Boy cracked a smile...

"De same might be said about you, Mista Kane... Me be wonderin'... Do ya see all dem otha humans ya killed as ya bruddas?"

The biblical reference wasn't something MB (Missing Boy) could resist not probing at...

"Me people take de names from unique traits. Me trait be not bein' seen when I don't wanna. Makes me useful to Mista Chul..."

The former assassin beside the Marshlander took a sip from his own glass as the waiter delivered Mano's scotch...

"They're an odd bunch, but effective. You mentioned you're setting up your own business around here? Might I ask in what?"

There wasn't much left. The Mantis controlled gun and drug running in the vast majority of the country, and what parts he didn't control he was taking steps towards taking over, and Chul's mercs were usually at the spear-point of such operations. The Mantis always wanted to send a clear message, but in that case he didn't mind repeating himself...

Do ya see all dem otha humans ya killed as ya bruddas?"

That brought a half snarl, half sneer to my lips "No, Missing Boy, I don't. Some of my brothers have scales and fur, some don't. I am my brothers keeper, but only my brothers."

I nodded at the explanation of his name. Mine... Mano Kane... man shark... and the shark was an evil god.

You mentioned you're setting up your own business around here? Might I ask in what?"

"One of the problems non internal organizations have historically had is transporting their product across the border."

And it was so very true. Tanaaran border security and customs was just as formidable as the legendarily ruthless Imitoran lethally effective.

"I am not basing my organization with in Argonia. I have no desire to hedge in on your local endeavors but I would like to acquire a major transshipping base here. And that requires interaction and agreements with you and your associates, yes?" I wanted it made clear that while I wanted to work with them, I didn't want to put my elbows in their spaces.

OOC: By the way, I meant that only the male members of the crowd are hired guns. The females are there for entertainment purposes only.

IC:

MB remained silent, listening. Chul spoke again, after downing his glass...

"I believe we can help you there. My employer would most likely be willing to negotiate a deal with you, one gentleman to another. Missing Boy, mind showing our friend upstairs?"

The Marshlander nodded silently, leaving the case with Chul...

"If ya would Mista Kane, step dis way..."

The undercover gestured towards the back of the club, guarded by two of the larger mercs Teersan had in his employ...

OOC: Okay on the purely decorative.

"If ya would Mista Kane, step dis way..."


Nodding slightly I let myself be escorted away. Not too concerned but discretely watchful and nowhere near as relaxed as I seem outwardly - to be so would be foolish. I’m six four and two hundred and fifty pounds of dense, well trained muscle. I know I don't look as big as I am because I am well proportioned. But none of that matters much if you let yorself get ambushed or in too deep.

And I will be the first to tell you flat out that - despite every damn movie to the contrary - there is such a thing as in too deep. Especially when you are operating solo. But my definition of acceptable risk is different than most. It has to be or I wouldn't be in my line of work.

As we moved to the private area, I caught sight of a pair of standouts. Humans, and not in clothing - even the buss boys werre better dressed - suited for the ambiance of the club. My selnses went on high alert. They weren't Imitoran, but they had that faint - very faint -air of such.

Beyond the door was a staircase, leading upwards. As MB shut the door behind him he spoke again...

"You know dem bwoys? Me be tinkin' dey don't belong 'ere, an' dem bwoys Chul got workin' for 'im are rude with de piece if ya catch me meanin'..."

They were about halfway up the stairs now, when MB stopped, and actually faced Mano...

"An' me be wonderin' if we got a friend in common, a brudda of mine..."

No I didn't know them, and shook my head at his question. I just hoped gun play didn't break out while I was here, as naturally I disliked Imperial Involvement - and gunplay in public places always devolved into such

"An' me be wonderin' if we got a friend in common, a brudda of mine..."

I reviewed my mental dossier of the Argonians I had worked with or significantly encountered in the past. The list was vanishingly small - but as I had just said - 'brother' was never confined solely to blood. “I’ve met and worked with a wide number of people in the course of my life. What is his name?”

I know I've been horribly lax in responding. Been working on a post, but keep getting interrupted. Will finish it tomorrow and have it up late evening...super early morning

MB wasn't surprised. Either Mano really didn't know or he was just playing dumb...

"Dat bwoy name be 'Reez'..."

The Marshlander kept his voice low, as if he was afraid someone would over hear them...

OOC: That's fine, this thing progresses slow anyway...

IC:

Back at the hospital, the agent in question was already on the operating table, surgeons trying to sew him back together again before he bled to death. It wasn't looking good for him, but there was a glimmer of hope: No vital organs had been severly damaged, and his adrenaline had kept his heart pumping longer than it should have.

Teek, the Catawaban with the complex name, and Ulas were all seated in the waiting room...

"Dat bwoy name be 'Reez'..."

My nod was brief, "Yes! I lent him a coat once, but I don't know if he wore it. I heard there was gunplay involved." I tracked my head around for a second in the direction I had heard the gunfire come from just before I entered the club. The amount of rounds I had heard being exchanged was high, and the explosion that followed was Not a car's gas tank going up. No, that had been a RPG of some type.

Then I looked back down the stairs, though I couldn't see the two shabbily dressed outsiders any longer "You suppose we should go keep some rudeness from happening?"

Missing Boy shook his head slowly...

"If we be doin' dat den we be late for da meetin' with da boss... And not dat Chul bwoy. He runs da mercs, dat's it. Dem odd bwoys'll stay outta trouble if dey knowin' anyting at all..."

The undercover led Mano to the top of the stairs, through another door, and into a small but spacious and nicely-furnished room, with a comfy chair directly facing a large and expensive-looking television screen of the latest LCD manufacture...

"Have a seat, Mista Kane... De boss will de callin' directly..."

OOC: WA - heard from MO - he's going to be out of contact ( no net ) until the end of the week at least.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I cocked an eyebrow at his comment about missing the meeting, but said nothing. It really wasn't my look out if some dumb human scum got themselves wasted for strolling into an area they shouldn't have.

"Have a seat, Mista Kane... De boss will de callin' directly..."

My searching eyes took in the very well appointed room in a long assessing glance as I moved over and setted myself in the 'as comfortable as it advertized chair. I found it interesting that I was going to meet - even via the remove of video conferencing - the hand at the other end of Chul's leash - and one that the 'noble savage' knew about.

My new company was an ostensibly logical one. Tanaaran crime organizations were notoriously insular, though it was, in the base, a purely survival oriented trait - Tanaarans didn't like crime, had never been anything even remotely resembling 'soft' on it. Penal slavery with hard labor at a minimum, and the generously free rein on the death penality tended to make any one Very cautious about whom they dealt with outside their own, known circles. And for someone they had built up trust with, and in, over years was a natural to be allowed to act as an import company.

OOC: Not an issue. I've got a little bit of travelling to do myself and might be out of contact, too. Again, this is paced slower than starvation and I'm not in a big hurry.

IC:

The television clicked on by itself, the video feed showing someone, obviously an Argonian, seated behind a mahogany desk, his features mostly obscured by shadow and a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses...

"Mister Mano Kane I presume... Chul has been keeping an eye on you for some time now since you've entered the country. I do hope our local law enforcement was gentle with you..."

The audio was clear and static-free, allowing one to fully appreciate the speaker's use of the English language. His voice didn't carry the heavy accent of a Marshlander, or even the lighter variant of the city-folk. Commerce dictated that English become a primary language, next to that of traditional Argonian, and those who'd spoken the former first simply found it too difficult to shed their accents.

This individual spoke eloquently, almost to the point of placing emphasis on every syllable, as if he'd chosen every single word very carefully and after considerable deliberation. In short, he didn't sound Argonian...

"I also apologise for the rather trite manner I've presented myself in. As you well know, it pays to have one's identity known only to a select few in my line of work, and considering your little run-in with our boys in blue already and the fact that Argonia shares extradition laws with your Draconian homeland, I must say I'm rather interested in how you managed to escape without coping a bargain involving an exchange of information. If I believe you, we'll continue to talk business. If I don't, my associate behind you will deal with you accordingly..."

Missing Boy had removed the PPK from his waistband, and was slowly screwing a surpressor onto the end before adopting a non-threatening posture once again...

"Before you begin I'm well aware of your reputation as a gunfighter, Mr. Kane. Keep in mind that should you choose to resort to violence instead of acting like a civilized man, even you can't shoot your way out of a nightclub full of the best private army in this backwater country. We may be percieved as backward savages by the rest of the world, but we do a few things very, very well. Fighting wars has been one of those things, unfortunately. We are not strangers to death. The Marshlander behind you won't harm you in the least unless he's told to, so I'd suggest you begin your tale of escape and evasion without further delay..."

Despite the shadowy lighting one could clearly see the figure seated behind the desk steeple his fingers in a casual manner...

Nodding to his knowing of my name I sat in a casual, comfortable manner in the chair, without slouching. Slouching never looked good - properly done lounging did, and that was a skill I had mastered. When the accentless Argonian finished I cocked my head just a fraction and shifted position slightly to mirror his, elbows on the chair’s arms fingers steepled. Not in mockery, but mirroring was good psychology and it gave me a moment to consider my reply . His name was Mantis, but that was all but all we had on him. A Lizard of Mystery of the first water.

"So we know one another’s names -- Mantis is it not?”

I went on. “As to not having spent time in the hands of our enemies.” My nongrin was shark like. “What escape and evasion? Here? Bought and paid for, though I may have to spend more money if Reese is no longer among the living. In the Domination? I’m a Citizen, Mantis, and most outsiders don’t understand what it means to be a Tanaaran Citizen. There are just over eight billion of us in the Domination. But there are just as many Residents and other with no status. They don’t count but they are so very profitable. I’ve never been accused of any criminal acts against a Citizen. I’m disowned in certain fastidious circles for being a better duelist than some others I could name, but that’s not a crime.”

“And while I was raised an orphan, my biological mother’s surname is Hexx” I let that hang in the air. Those who needed to know knew that and so it would be only logical for Mantis to make a set of assumptions. I had connections oh so very few others had.

Sargeant Ah'ron Jaro leaned foward, his elbows on his knees. His MORS lay across his lap. His dark eyes followed the various staff and visitors to the hospital, sizing them up. He shot a glance over towards the Argonians. "Any word on how they knew to get after him?"

There was a slight chuckle from the figure on the television...

"Do not try to impress me with name-dropping, Mr. Kane. You have been allowed in here because of what you are, not where your genes came from..."

Despite the educational nature of Mano's monologue, it hadn't answered too many questions on Mantis' end...

"I'm aware of your citizenship as well. Your homeland has very particular laws, that much is true. I'm sure, however, that they'd frown on watching you get packing into an unmarked car and hauled away from one of the largest cocaine busts in the Republic to date. I can tell you I'm not at all pleased to have witnessed such proceedings, especially since you have the potential to become such a useful weapon in my arsenal..."

The tone had shifted from informal to a more hostile one...

"As for knowing my name, you have a title my enemies have given me that I have chosen to adopt, and nothing more. At this moment I hold all the aces, and your only shot is the river card and the fact that I do enjoy a good story..."

The image on the screen shifted from the sarcastic real-time feed of Mantis himself to the earlier news broadcast of Mano getting stuffed into Reez's unmarked Avenger...

"In case you'd forgotten. I had Chul dispatch a few of our people to assist you, but it seems you'd already escaped by then. The only other occupant was shot and killed..."

I shrugged at the news of Reez's death. "As I said - I'll just have to buy another. You really should not have bothered to send people after him. He seemed the honest type." Meaning Reez would have stayed bought - or for Missing Boy's ears something entirely different. And I let myself get angry, Because his men's actions now put me at greater risk, and there had been no reason to kill Reez. And that I had to explain it...I let just the tiniest trace of anger leak into my voice

"He asked me no questions and I told him no lies. The bust was all for show, on the grounds that I 'was an unauthorized civilian carrying while in an area of an ongoing police investigation' or something such. I had to meet him there, it isn't my fault that the Argonian law enforcement can't keep the nosey parkers out of their faces. He 'arrested' me, got his payment, I got a chance to cosh him over his head, get my canon back and force him to let me loose. Now he's dead and there are going to be official questions about my involvement with his death. Not a set of circumstances to make me happy."

"If you don't want to believe me, thats your problem."

And as to my business and Tanaaran laws...All he had to do was Google Tanaaran drug statutes. As long as we didn't sell to Citizens or minors; or make it in-country...mostly wrist slap city. However - and this was the barrier that stopped most cold -if one got caught bringing it in unregistered - which is a friggin huge fee and VAT taxes on top of that- then one was going to end up breaking rocks for a longer time than I wanted to think about, if not dead. That was how Tanaara dealt with drugs - made it too expensive for any one to make any profit on it.

"Mantis, I've been building legitimate pipelines for nearly ten years now. Nothing I ship will be inspected, or deflected. And you don't even have to worry about a buyer. I buy from you, I carry the problems of shipping and selling to the Syndic. Not as much profit for you but a lot less potential problems"

The video clip faded, revealing Mantis again...

"By the report I recieved on the incident, the volume of firepower involved would expunge you from such accusations. I believe like most competent gunfighters you carry a large-frame automatic and some sort of a backup piece. Belt-fed machine-guns and anti-tank rockets aren't a staple of your arsenal. And again, any chance I get to remove a member of one of the more troublesome government agencies, I usually jump at the chance. Considering I also lost three mercenaries in my employ and a rather expensive armored sport untility vehicle, it should be obvious as to why I made such a choice..."

The figure waved a hand in a dismissive gesture...

"But that is neither here nor there. One of my men reported seeing a coat you were observed wearing earlier in the back seat of the car. A hasty escape must have been in order, and for now the amount of profit I can gather with you alive outweighs the risks of you being an informant for our national police department. I will warn you that double-crossing me is an unhealthy choice, and there will be no further threats against your life. For now, you will stay with the Marshlander. He will show you around the parts of my organization you need to see..."

Again, the fingers steepled...

"I doubt your Tanaaran contacts would appreciate the type of weaponry I distribute, so we'll just stick with the drugs. Go with the Marshlander..."

The video feed clicked off abruptly, and there was the faint sound of metal-on-metal contact behind Mano as Missing Boy unscrewed the surpressor, and was glad he didn't have to use it. His cover was extremely deep, and he was one of two Marshlanders in the Agency. He'd have killed Mano if he'd needed to. He would hate to do that, though. Mano seemed like a competent guy...

"Alright Mista Kane. De Big Boss be done witcha, and it be my job now to take ya to the heart of de operation, afta we make a quick stop. Me brudda be in bad shape, but he tait dead yet..."

A slight and rare smile crossed MB's tattooed features as he waved a cell phone slightly. Apparently he'd recieved word already...

"Be good dat de Mantis tinks Reez be dead, less trouble for us den..."

The Marshlander opened the door back to the staircase, and motioned for Mano to proceed ahead of him...

Unhealthy? I'd played with lethal every day of my adult life. His warning didn't phase me - not that I didn't take it seriously. It just had a lot less weight behind it that he thought.

And no, we would not be interested in importing weapons- we were the major arms manufacturer and exporter in the Fatal Terrain region. Though he might be interested in buying from me, as what I could get was two to three generations ahead of the best Argonia had.

"Be good dat de Mantis tinks Reez be dead, less trouble for us den..."

I inwardly cringed at his words. Was he really willing to bet his life - not to mention mine - that Mantis had no bug in this room? I resolved to keep Missing Boy as much in the dark as possible. He had a dangerous mouth.

"Yes, trouble is never profitable" Was my only commennt as I kept my frown to myself however. I preceeded Missing Bown down the stairs at a light footed jog. Miles to go and all that Jazz I wondered how my favorite vamp was doing, but just for a moment. Then turned my thoughts to the rest of the night's activities.

MB noticed the look in Mano's eyes...

"No need ta worry, brudda. Dat fucka don't trust nobody, but then again neither do I..."

The agent produced a small black object from his coat pocket, about the size of a cell phone...

"Dey bwoys in R&D be makin' deez rude jammas, blockin' everyting from cell phone signals to wireless computa mice. Taint no way he be hearin' what I be sayin' when dis be on, and it be on since he turn off dat video feed a' his..."

Indeed, the portable jammer was based off of military technology used to defeat IED attacks, but it worked well as a counter-intelligence tool as well once it was shrunk down a bit. Granted, the radius wasn't as large as the vehicular models, but it blacked out a room with authority...

"Me car be outside..."

The Marshlander pocketed the jammer once again, switching it off before he re-entered the night-club proper. The guys in the street clothes were still standing in the corner, out-of-place as ever, but MB paid them little mind. They were obviously up to no good, but that wasn't his concern.

They both climbed into MB's land yacht and drove for about ten minutes to a place far away from the nightclub, finally stopping in front of a darkened Pontiac GTO of vintage manufacture. Sitting on the hood was a dark-clad figure, arms crossed across a sturdy chest. As MB exited the vehicle, the figure got to his feet with a fluid grace that spoke of an almost supernatural agility...

"What do you have for me?"

Clearly, this was the back-up MB had texted earlier, but it seemed odd to just send a single individual...

"Dey be bringin' in de stuff from de docks, Marsh Bruddas swim it up to de warehouses, but dis ya already know. What ya don't know is dat we got two undacovas in de syndicate now. De otha be in de car..."

Looking back at Mano in the passenger seat, MB waved at him like he wanted to make an introduction...

"And I called because dat bwoy Chul be in de nightclub, da one called 'Nocturnal Noise'. De Mantis be tinkin' he killed one of my bwoys, too. Ambushed him with automatics and rockets. Directa says dat he supposed to pull through, though..."

Missing Boy looked back again, as if a little nervous and wanting Mano to hurry a bit faster to get out of the car and get over here. The fact that he seemed a little nervous was odd enough in itself. MB was a former Anti-Modernist Guerilla, he'd charged machine-gun nests with little more than a spear in his past, but something about this individual he was talking to seemed to unsettle him a bit...

I let Missing Boy see the relief in my eyes, but I still had worries - those things might have a good blocking ability, but there were even more advanced equipment that could bluff them out. I would just hope that Mantis didn't have such here and now.

The cruise was uneventful and I spent the majority of the ride mamorizing the twists and turns that led us to where the vintage Goat waited.

I sat in the land yatch just long enought to let the vibe of the place and it's occupant sink into me, and I noticed everything. It was a part and parcel of who I was. It had kept me alive so far.

Marsh Boy's impatient wave - and his concealed, but still noticeable, discomfited attitude had me interested in his contact. The fact that he was operating solo was of additional interest, though not unsetteling - I was used to working so very deep and so very solo.

I slid out of the barge with my own easy limberness and rounded the front end, taking in a closer look of the one who was making Marsh Boy so nervous.

"Mano Kane." I introduced myself in a low voice that didn't carry beyond the three of us.

The scene between the three was lit by a single street-light somewhere off to the left in the parking lot they'd parked in. There was a laugh from the shrouded individual, as if he found Mano's name amusing...

"I should have know Rob would send one of his select few..."

The figure stepped into the light, clad in what looked like the modern equivalent of a ninja, but one that didn't take himself too seriously. There was a pistol holstered in a drop-leg rig on the right leg with the nose of a surpressor poking out a tich, a pair of knives at the lower back, and little more than a t-shirt in terms of armored protection. The individual was a Dark Argonian, like half of Chul's parentage, but apparently he played for the home team...

"I'm Agent Whiptail, Office of Special Tactics and Recon..."

The term 'SPECTRE' might have been what was making Missing Boy a little uneasy. SPECTRE's were the boogey-men of the Argonian government agencies, blacker than black in an operational sense. Much like Mano, they weren't trained and there wasn't a recruiting office one could apply at, in fact they didn't even exsist at all in a technical sense, the agency they operated under wasn't mentioned on any government spending paperwork, and they didn't have a concrete location where they met. They operated alone, on assignments handed to them by people high up in the government's ranks, and hopefully uncorrupted. Considering the operative they were dealing with, it wasn't likely he'd be taking orders from someone he didn't trust.

Whiptail extended a hand to Mano, both had a lot more in common than they thought, and even stating his parent agency to someone he'd just met meant he trusted Rob's judgement more than his own. They'd gotten word of Tanaaran assistance with their drug issues, but nothing conventional had arrived. That left the unconventional side of things, and there had been a private flight arriving at Grayrock International from Argonia's most high-tech ally, since the fall of Imitora...

"I hope MB hasn't confused you too much. After the other Argonian Intel Service agent got his ass ambushed MB called for a little help, and someone on high called me, and here I am. Funny how that works, eh? I'd think the same thing happened to you..."

OOC: argonians? you play morrowind? if so that would be awesome!

I couldn't help it, as my eyes widened in pleased astonishment, and the reflexive deep bow of the head - one seldom meets a very much living legend in the wee hours and in a grubby parking lot.

Making all the hydra's heads into one, so much the easier for loping off. I thought with not even a moments sympathy for Mantis and now much more at ease with the whole situation now. I knew how Rob felt about the Argonian before me. Working with him was going to be a pleasure.

I shook his hand briskly, and my look was as grim as his was. "We both have people highup dirty. And a lot of questions that need to be answered. I'm just glad that Reez's incident wasn't as fatal as ours was"

The shake was returned, before Whiptail released his grip...

"We know Chul's at the night-club, and according to MB's usual duties he's been delivered a kilo of cocaine about an hour ago by our own Marshlander, here. That makes putting him away easier, but he has the money to fight us in court and post bail pretty easily. Mantis poses an even bigger issue, since he technically doesn't involve himself in the dirty shit, and his resources extend outside of Argonia, we don't even know if he's even in the country..."

The situation was perplexing, and more than a little grim...

"To top it off, we're not even dealing with gang-bangers for the most part. Most of the heavy-hitting is done by Chul's mercs. Lower-level crap..."

Tires squeeled in the distance, at the other end of the parking lot. Four yellow sedans were rolling towards the trio at a quick pace, music thumping from the windows and preaching all sorts of violence as the vehicles bore down on them...

"Like fucking kamikaze hit missions, get's done by these fucking yahoos. Gill City Killas my scaly ass..."

Whiptail knew the other two were packing, and he watched MB grab his issued sterile Glock 19 from the glovebox of his pimp-wagon. The former assassin reached into his own vehicle and withdrew a well-equipped M4 carbine from the back seat before throwing it to Mano. For himself, there was the tried-and-true MP5A4, in matching caliber to his sidearm, and topped with a Reflex optic...

"I'd estimate sixteen of these assholes, four per car..."

The cars were close enough now that they could hear speech...

"Look! That's gotta be a muthafuckin' agent! Kill him! Mantis pays top dolla for that shit! He's meetin' with two of our boys!"

The words that followed were a conglomeration of agreements and profanity, as well as suggestions as to how to go about killing the three of them. It was clear that none could be allowed to leave the scene, otherwise it'd compromise the cover of the two undercovers. Whiptail wasn't about to let that happen...

"Get out of the light. Let them come to us. These fuckers aren't smart enough to try to kill me right away, and it'll give you two an advantage..."

The SPECTRE agent set his sub-gun down on the hood as resumed his seated position he'd been relaxing in before...

Their idiotic comments of 'must be an agent... our boys" what the f**K were they? Mind readers? Now if it turned out that Whiptail was a buyer and they'd tried to waste him and we were forced to defend ourselves... Stupidity was a crime punishible by death and I wwas going to be part of the execution squad. My smile was evil. Gill City Killers? The whole gang would end up paying for this stupidity - even if it were the whole of the slime balls of them in those four sh*t mobiles.

What lighting there was was dim, but I knew that in my icecream hued suit I showed up light neon. Damn I shouldn't have left my duster with Reez I thought - I faded quickly back into what greater darkness there was as I caught the carbine the SPECTRE agent tossed to me with one quick and accurate throw.

I looked it over in what little light came the way of the darker puddle I had chosen. It was nice - a M4A1 with a SOPMOD package, including the Rail Interface System, flip-up rear sight and a Trijicon ACOG. I'd chosen the puddle thrown by the big landwhale and took aim - it wasn't head as noisy as the street thugs were being, though their headlights- well I was just not going to focus on those, and lose my night vision. I waited. I'd let the Argonians start things off, but like Marsh Boy and Whiptail I kewn that none of the four cars worth could be allowed to leave.

Whiptail remained on the hood, calm as usual, as the four cars pulled up close but by sheer luck leaving the shadowy spot where Mano had hidden himself dark enough to give him an element of surprise..

"What the fuck you doin' out here along, G-Man?"

"Yeah, motherfucker? Whatcha doin? Where'd our boys go? You kill 'em yet?"

That was good. They hadn't seen Missing Boy and Mano slip off. The Marshlander had hidden himself behind Whiptail's goat, Glock in hand. One of the yellow-clad gang members, a human and obviously more confident than the rest, strode up and stuck a Ruger semi-automatic directy in Whiptail's face. The agent seemed to disapprove, because the weapon was deflected with enough force to knock it from the man's outstretched grasp before the same hand came forward again and stuck him sharply in the throat. Winded and startled, the human tumbled backwards onto his ass, clutching his larynx in pain. He was lucky the SPECTRE was in a good mood...

"You guys are dumber than you look. Assaulting a government agent? Bah! That's a great way to end your criminal career. Assaulting a well-paying customer? An even worse idea..."

By now all four car's worth of would-be attackers, sixteen in total, had dismounted their cars and had gathered in front of Whiptail's, leaving all of them in an excellent arc of fire for both of the concealed undercovers, but it seemed Whiptail wanted to make sure they had the element of surprise by confusing them further. Missing Boy rose to his feet, and a few of the bangers backed off a bit. There weren't too many Marshlanders involved in the dope game, and fewer dressed like MB. Members of the 'Tribe' were respected and feared by the more common gangs, but a Marshlander lieutenant wasn't something you fucked with. He had to have done something to get there. They were already known to be brutal, but to make it that far you had to be smart, too...

"Cha bwoys need ta be takin' betta care of who ya be pointin' ya gons at..."

The plastic fantastic in his grip came up level with the first attacker, still sitting on the ground, before the undercover pulled the trigger and sent a 9mm Winchester Ranger SXT through the man's frontal lobe, the crack of the muzzle shattering the awkward silence...

"Now git de fuck outta 'ere! We be doin' business wit ya bettas..."

The message was clearly taken, and they all turned to get back in their cars. At this point Whiptail's hands closed around the MP5 as he brought it to his shoulder, and knew Mano would do the same. It was obviously time for a turkey-shoot, to dump a little ballistic cholorene into the gene pool. There was a slight smirk on Whiptail's face as he flipped the selector switch to full-auto and depressed the trigger...

MIne already had been switched to what some called 'spray and pray' mode. But for me it was neither spray, and I didn't do prayer. I'd practised enough to be accurate at full auto, and when Whiptail light up the night with his MP, so did I with the M4.

It was a nice little piece and as accurate as any provided by Whiptail would be. The first tightly controlled burst took down three before any started to turn back around in response to the assault from Whiptail.

Sargeant Ah'ron Jaro leaned foward, his elbows on his knees. His MORS lay across his lap. His dark eyes followed the various staff and visitors to the hospital, sizing them up. He shot a glance over towards the Argonians. "Any word on how they knew to get after him?"




Teek threw a sidelong glance at Jaro before shaking his head...

"Man, I got no idea. Probably that damn news-feed, though. All of our faces were all over Channel Four's night broadcast. There aren't too many blacked-out Dodge Avengers on the streets either. It was a fifty-fifty shot tonight, either they hit Reez or they hit Ulas. I was riding with you and therefore dodged a chance at getting shot to Hell..."

Ulas had been mostly silent, but decided to add his two cents...

"Least he killed a few of 'em before they shot him up..."

It looked as if he was going to say more, but one of the doctors appeared, his scrubs stained with patches of crimson in more than a few places...

"Are you gentlemen with the agent they brought in earlier?"

Teek got to his feet quickly and nodded...

"That's right, doc..."

"I have some good news, and some bad news..."

"What's the good?"

"Your friend will survive. He lost a lot of blood and has a few broken bones, but he was lucky. We didn't have to dig any bullets out of him. The bad news is that he'll be here for quite some time. He's stable for now, but we still need to reinflate one of his lungs..."

"Excellent! Doc, I'll have a few uniforms come over and keep an eye on him..."

"And before you go, he wanted me to give this to a Mister Teek?"

"That's me, thanks..."

The doctor handed Teek a folded slip of paper, slightly bloodied on the corners. It contained a name and an address of a fellow agent implanted within the criminal organization as an informant. The meeting was in two hours...

"I'll take Jaro with me on this one, Ulas. Stay here until the uniforms arrive, ok?"

The larger Argonian seemed a little miffed at missing out on some action, but complied with the request. Teek turned his head again, shifting his weight as he did so, and looking Jaro straight in the eye...

"Sound good to you, man?"

OOC: Sorry about that. Forgot that this one wouldn't post for some reason, so I saved it and forgot to repost it!

Jaro nodded, standing up. "Anything to help get these bastards." The fraternity of law officers important to Ah'ron. You had to expect them to do the same for you and for that loyalty you had to do it for them first when you had the chance. "You think I should change out of the Walker wear before we meet your undercover?" He picked at cheap suit he wore.

Between Whiptail's close-range barrage of sub-gun fire and Mano's high-velocity shredder, they'd ended all but two in bright bursts of automatic doom. Missing Boy snapped off a pair of rounds at the fleeing bangers, catching each in the back of the head. It wasn't a ridiculous distance, but MB was also rather 'rude' with his sidearm, to use his terminology...

"Well that ends that..."

The assassin thumbed the release paddle on his MP5, chucking the empty mag into the open driver's side window, followed by the weapon itself...

"Now you two had better head out before someone comes looking for the source of the gunfire... I'll be in touch, and I'll be sure to pick a better location next time..."

There was a slight smile that crossed the assassin's features, before he backed his goat out of the brass-littered parking lot and hit the street with a squeel of the tires...

"Dat bwoy crazy... I see ya got ya a new toy den. Nice shootin'..."

MB was already getting into the Lincoln, and was hoping Mano would follow...

Teek waved a hand in dismissal...

"Nah, bro, this'll be a quick meet-an-greet affair. Reez was supposed to do it but he's laid up in the hospital for a while. The address is a parking lot not too far from here..."

The detective stopped for a moment, sure he'd heard someone empty a pair of automatics in full rock-and-roll mode...

"Was that gunfire?"

Considering the fact that they'd gunned Reez down with some hefty bang-bangs, Teek was a tad bit worried about the regular patrol guys. Agents had extensive training against superior odds, but patrolmen didn't. If they'd lit up a black-and-white there would certainly be a funeral tomorrow at the precinct...

Ah'ron's head snapped around. "Sounds like it." He hefted up his MORS. With strokes from his index fingers, he flipped off the safeties of his main barrel and his shotgun attachment. "I've got point." He turned towards the gunfire and lifted his gun to the ready and moved foward in a quick half-crouch.

"Dat bwoy crazy... I see ya got ya a new toy den. Nice shootin'..."

I stood a second watching Whiptail vanish, then turned and slid quickly into Missing Boy's land yatch. I laid the newest toy on the floorboard of the back seat and grinned faintly.

"Thanks. You're not a bad shot yourself. Now, where does the up and coming, well connected - and obscenely wealthy - young drug lord set up shop? I'll need the appropriate venue."

I looked at the crumpled forms, a very indifferent glance, and stretched, settleing in more comfortably as Missing Boy wheeled out of the killing lot.

Missing Boy knew just the place. Nestled deep in downtown Grayrock was the most lavish hotel in the nation: Aquos.

The building itself stood well over fifty floors, each decorated in the popular art-deco modernist style so popular with wealthy Argonians. The lobby, 25th, and 49th floors each had their own five-star resturant and full bar. The rooms were all suites, that was to say two-room affairs with a small kitchen, king-size beds, fully-stocked wet-bars, and massive jacuzzi tubs inset into green marble floors.

The crown jewel, however, was the 50th floor penthouse suite. Spanning the entire floor, it was accessed by its own personal elevator, and came with more amenities than could be listed within the drive over. That, and MB really had no idea what they had up there, other than that it had to be nice.

As they both exited the vehicle, the Marshlander handed the keys to the valet...

" 'Ere. Take deez. Don't touch nuttin'..."

The undercover also handed the young Argonian a folded one-hundred dollar bill. Between the two of them, they both looked the part of high rollers in town for nothing but trouble, and the next block over housed the Grayrock Opera House and enough three-to-five star dining and dancing to keep even the most jaded powerbroker entertained after a long day of whatever it was powerbrokers did for a living...

"I tink ya gonna like it 'ere..."

Entering the sliding crystal doors, MB gestured towards the front desk. His intent was to seem subordinate to Mano, as the man was supposed to be portraying a powerful narco-kingpin and it wouldn't do to project anything but that particular vibe...

Ulas already had his hand-cannon out, moving to lock down the front of the hospital. Teek slapped Jaro on the shoulder as he took off at a dead sprint towards the sound of the shots and squeeling tires...

"C'mon! Over here!"

As the detective crested a median, he could see down into what was a poorly-lit parking lot, and watched as one car departed, then another. Three cars remained, and Teek could swear he saw a body laid out under one of the functional street lights. He was glad that Jaro had brought whatever it was that he'd brought, what Teek guessed to be some sort of assault weapon. He still only had his sidearm, but that would have to do.

After about five minutes of running they'd reached the parking lot, Teek dropping behind a parked car as Jaro moved forward in his low crouch...

OOC: Sorry, just moved him to the scene. Hope that's okay...

The moment Missing Boy mentioned the name, Aquos, I'd pulled out my cell and hit a single speed dial button.

"Aquos" I informed the voice on the other end and slid the Ferrari Ascent Ti Nero closed.

"I tink ya gonna like it 'ere..."

"I am sure I will."

When we entered I waved to the registration desk, knowing that we would be expected. The call from the personal concierge assigned to my Centurion Card would have the penthouse that comprised the fiftieth floor waiting for me, if it was available.

"Just go check us in. I'll be in the bar." I gestured slightly to the nicely appointed bar tucked over in one corner of the atrium. Men of my stature never checked themselves in, or handled cash in such situations, if there was a subordinate around to do it for them, and besides, killing scum always left me thirsty. A small splash of something suitable would be in character.

And actually having a credit rating in excellent enough standing to warrant a Centurion Card would soothe any qualms the management might have over the last minute call. One didn’t earn, or afford, that exclusive a membership without spending large amounts – a minimum of over twenty-five thousand a month – and paying off all purchases on time and in full. Tanaaran Express was very picky of whom they offered a Black Card, as many called the matte black slip of titanium and quantum encrypted circuitry that comprised the Centurion Card.

[OOC: You have offended me! I demand satisfaction upon the field of honor! No...wait one...sorry wrong situation. I get my absolutes confused. Always/Never challenge someone to a duel for no problem at all.... :D]

Jaro waited for Teek to get behind the cover of the car and be set to provide covering fire. Ah'ron moved up to the next car. He leaned out from behind the trunk to get a good look at the body under the street lights and also get a look for his surroundings, seeing if there were any hostiles around.

Jaro would find no hostiles, live ones at least. The parkling lot lay strewn with about sixteen dead GK gang-bangers, a collection of bright yellow spattered with the dark splotches of spilled blood, larger pools of which were collecting under each corpse.

Teek rose from his position behind the car, pistol up but he could clearly see that he'd missed the action. The H&K went back into his holster as he called for yet more uniforms to secure this second crime scene of the night. The parking lot was close to where he was supposed to meet this informant of Reez's, but Teek doubted that one's body was among those left to bleed on the cracked asphalt...

"What do you think, man? Looks like the GK got in a little over their heads on this one. I'm guessing Reez's guy did this, this is the parking lot we were supposed to meet him in. Saw two cars leave the scene, but didn't get a good look at them..."

Being a detective, Teek wouldn't catch any flak for looking for some obvious clues while they waited for the black-and-whites to arrive. The parking lot was strewn with empty brass, in 5.56x45mm and 9x19mm calibers. Argonian military forces typically used 6.5mm or 7.62x51mm, so that ruled them out, not that they'd be involved in gangland shoot-outs. He'd heard automatics, too. That left sub-guns and machine-pistols for the 9-mils and probably a carbine for the faster 5.56's. That meant more than one guy was here, and not too many agents packed that sort of heat. The thought of a SPECTRE's involvement crossed Teek's mind, but he hoped that wasn't the case. SPECTREs were the fucking anti-christ as far as he was concerned, they had no place in domestic operations, no matter how bad things were.

The detective went into a crouch, picking up one of the expended 9mm's, looking at the back for a manufacturer. It didn't tell him much. Pretty run-of-the-mill manufacturer, one of the bigger ammo makers in the country. They supplied everything from the military to Teek's own department, Hell the ammo he had in his sidearm at this very moment came from the same guys that made the nines that killed these bangers. A look at the 5.56 told the same story. Without forensics, it would be harder to know more. Teek stood again, rather annoyed...

"Fuckin' spooks... Had to be Reez's guy. Had to be..."

Teek just shook his head in defeat. There was no point in chasing these guys, they were too good at hiding...

Missing Boy nodded in agreement, walking to the front desk in a cool and confident manner. The butt of his Walther was just barely visible behind the edge of his tailored jacket...

"Hello... I believe ya just recieved a call from Mista Mano Kane's Centurion Card representative. He be needin' da penthouse for an extended stay..."

The desk clerk was a younger, and rather attractive, female human. There were a select few in the country that could afford the penthouse for one night, but they had their own penthouses to stay in. One oddity Mano might notice is that most of the hotel staff was human, a hodgepodge of different ethnicities, but all were courteous and well-spoken. Visiting clients were usually humans of one sort or another, and most felt a little more at ease speaking and interacting with their own kind than the odd-looking Argonians.

It was one of the many small touches that went into making Aquos what it was...

"I take it you're Mr. Kane's assistant?"

The young woman gave MB a small smile as she tapped on a keyboard hidden behind the lip of the counter...

"Yes, the penthouse is avaliable. For how long would he be staying?"

"He be stayin' for a while, miss. Best to just charge him by da day on 'is card. Business could take a while..."

MB really had no idea how long Mano was planning on staying, perhaps even after they got this whole syndicate business wrapped up he'd stay on for a vacation. The man's motives were a mystery, and the dossier MB had asked for probably wouldn't contain more than he already knew...

"Excellent, sir. Inform him that he's checked in. Here is the room key..."

She handed MB a key-card with the word 'PENTHOUSE' inscribed in gold across the black plastic face...

"The room has a biometric lock, so scan the card once, then his finger-prints. Scan the card a second time and repeat the process for your prints as well..."

It was not only posh, but it saved from having to remember your access card every time you left the room, and made it impossible to lock one's self out. A handy feature when you were smashed from a long night of drinking and gambling and didn't feel capable of making the trip back downstairs to get a second access card...

"Tank ya, miss. I'll let 'im know..."

MB flashed a smile of his own before heading off to the bar, seating himself next to Mano and sliding the card across the sealed ebony wood bar-top...

"Biometric, boss. Scan dat den ya fingas. Dat card ya got must have some pull 'round 'ere. I neva been treated so nice..."

It was true. Marshlanders, even those who dressed like MB, few enough as they were, weren't usually accepted in modern Argonian society, a hold-over habit from the long war that had ravaged the nation and had only just ended...

Ah'ron moved into the carrion field. He lowered his MORS and looked closely at the placement of the bodies. He was trying to see how they'd fell, where'd they'd been facing, and what the perps had been armed with. He walked to one body over at the edge that was belly up to get a look at who he was facing He knelt down by the body to look for any tattoos or decoration. "Was Reez's guy in with a rival gang or with the main target? Could the informant have twisted things so he could get some infighting going?"

"Biometric, boss. Scan dat den ya fingas. Dat card ya got must have some pull 'round 'ere. I neva been treated so nice..."

That brought a wry smile and an unamused chuff to my lips as I took the card from Missing Boy. "The power of money, Missing Boy, on the lines of 'He who has the gold makes the rules' and all that jazz."

Once the bartender had brought what ever Missing Boy had wanted, I took my drink and headed over to a shadowed and eminently private corner table.

Once the Marshlander had followed and taken a seat I looked at him and cocked an eyebrow "So, how would you slay the Dragon known as Mantis?" I kept my tone low and converstational - just between the two of us.

Jaro would only find the typical GK ink, poorly-rendered old english versions of 'Gill City Killas' scrawled down forearms or on necks. It didn't tell them much...

"As far as who this guy is, I have no idea. Guys like Reez operate without much supervision, the guys they call in when those guys can't do it operate under NO supervision. I think I've heard mention of him being implanted originally with the Tribe, but recently there's been talk of a guy in with the big-wigs, the Darks that run 10th Street..."

The Tribe might be a good place to check next, since they weren't liked by either of the other two gangs and weren't used for more than recieving shipments and violent hits...

"Maybe we'd better check on the Tribe. They're fuckin' crazy, though, bro. Better bring that rifle of yours..."

Teek ended the convo by getting his cell-phone out and calling in the massacre...

MB sipped at his glass of hist wine slowly, contemplating the question...

"Be best to 'it 'im where it hurts da most: Da wallet. Mantis be hirin' merc ta do 'is dirty work when ma bruddas from de Tribe ain't trustful enough to do da job. Mercs costin' big bucks deese days wit no war to fight here anymore and big ones elsewhere. He be gettin' 'is money from cocaine and weapon sales. Cocaine comes in down at da docks, where Marsh Bruddas bring it up river from da marsh proper. Only issue there is we don' know where Mantis be hidin'. We shut down 'is money, he gets wise to us and sends his big bwoys to put us down. We need ta draw 'im out, so maybe you get big enough that he wanna meet witcha, den we go from there..."

It wasn't an easy option, but it seemed the only one unless Mano had a better idea. Mantis only met with Teersan Chul in person, but maybe Mano could get in deep enough to join that inner sanctum and get close to Mantis. The Argonian government wasn't opposed to assassinations, it was the basis for one of their oldest traditions, one that MB himself was a part of carrying on...

"We need ta draw 'im out, so maybe you get big enough that he wanna meet witcha, den we go from there..."

Tanaaran's had no prioblems with assassinations either. Not in the least.

"Perhaps we need to make Mister Chuls' bad boys rather more ...deceased, take his operation over as well, so that Mantis would have multiple reasons to meet with us and bring me into the depths." I could certainly arrange for Chuls' manpower to go 'missing presumed dead'. And if we managed to eradicate Chul's outfit then I could become the PMC in Mantis's pocket. That would give us two avenues.

I finished the last of my drink and stood, tossing a sizeable tip on to the table top. "Lets discuss this upstairs."

MB led the way, since he had the card...

"Dat be a good 'un, but de issue be dat Mantis get suspicious when his numba two guy go missin' and you take 'is place. Me people be odd like dat. Ya rep in ya homeland be good, but 'ere it ain't worth much, least to Mantis dat is..."

Trying to take on a large, ruthless, well-funded and well-equipped group of some of the most combat-expeirenced veterans the Modernization Conflict had produced on either side of the conflict...

"Ya might be betta served takin' the low road and turnin' a big profit. I'm sure agencies back home could use a little 'bartain' stock' for dose undacova buys..."

"Ya might be betta served takin' the low road and turnin' a big profit. I'm sure agencies back home could use a little 'bartain' stock' for dose undacova buys"

"Missing Boy, don't mistake a reluctance to involve ourselves in Argonians civil conflicts with an inibility to competely crush Chu's mercs. If I wanted to I could call down such hell on them as to leave your head spinning."

The Argoninas may have been in a nasty civil war, but even the survivors were not equipped or experienced to go up against the Tanaarans, should it come down to that. Though in many circles it had been privately admitted that the Argonians has irregular combat is pisspoor terrain down to a highly laudable art form. But then again the Tanaarans had technology and numbers that the Argonians didn't - and a willingness to use them if push came to shove. But it hadn't yet and might well never, and I wasn't here to make that call.

"But it wsa only a side subject. Chul will eventually have to be disposed of, and his organization dismantled. But for right now, yes putting a hefty profit into Mantis's pockets is the best way to win his favor. Care to take a buy order back with you? Say, sixty million worth of Blow"

MB seriously doubted his own government would allow foreign intervention on such a scale, reguardless of technological superiority. Foreign aide had been requested on the grounds of building stronger relations with their neighboring allies, not because they were incapable of handling things on their own. The Argonian people were a proud lot, and Kane's comment left MB with a bitter taste in his proverbial mouth. His kind didn't need to be baby-sat, nor did they need their problems handled for them. They would, and always would, handle in-house problems in-house, in their own way no matter what the international community had to say about it. Based on Mano's description of Tanaaran law, MB really didn't see how his government would drum up a legitimate reason to deploy troops to the Black Marsh. WMD's weren't especially helpful for international relations either, so MB was having a hard time coming up with a realistic 'Hell' a deep-cover operative was able to call down in someone else's country. If it came to that then MB might be looking at a termination order. His handlers weren't keen on foreign aide in the first place, and certainly weren't going to be happy about some prick in a zoot-suit bragging about calling down the thunder from his own people.

While they had never been an influential force in the region, it wasn't for lack of ability. Argonian Foreign Policy had mirrored a crucial portion of the archaic Warriors' Code: You didn't give help to those who didn't ask for it. You allowed their pride and honor to remain intact by allowing them to conquer their own setbacks on their own terms. The Civil War of late had been a fine example of such. They'd denied all foreign aide minus a select few personnel in an advisory capacity. MB hoped Mano would remember he was a guest in this nation...

"Yes, I tink Mantis would be happy wit such a purchase. Lemme remind ya, Mista Kane. You a guest 'ere. Ya may tink we be backward savages cuz we don't have laza guns and flyin' tanks, but you were invited 'ere by dose same savages. Don' know 'ow it works where ya be from, but ya don't go throwin' ya weight around in anotha man's house. Taint polite..."

His piece said, MB took Kane's information and left to fill the order. The Tanaaran was right, however; they'd have to deal with Chul at some point. An infantry brigade from an outside nation wasn't going to work, however. Mantis was an intelligent individual, he'd up and leave the country if his muscle suddenly got wiped out by a foreign, and moreover human, strike force. At that point tracking him would be come downright impossible and he'd still find a way to run his illicit business from where-ever he stationed himself at and any chance of arresting him on Argonian soil would be gone forever...

"Lemme remind ya, Mista Kane. You a guest 'ere. Ya may tink we be backward savages cuz we don't have laza guns and flyin' tanks, but you were invited 'ere by dose same savages. Don' know 'ow it works where ya be from, but ya don't go throwin' ya weight around in anotha man's house. Taint polite."

I sighed as I watched Marsh Boy leave. He had misunderstood me. I never considered the Argonian's savages, and Rob would never take - nor I would ever suggest - military action against the nation without being specifically asked. Well I could envision a few circumstances where he might but they certainly weren't over a drug war - an overwhelming alien invasion maybe...

But Chul's merc's were a different story. They were a business and like any business, a PMC depended on having a good reputation. They depended on getting and filling contracts that ended with a satified Customer. And reputation could be destroyed without a single overt 'military' action.

MB did as was asked of him, delivering the buy order promptly after he left Mano's new abode. He made a habit of checking his rear-view mirror, too. He wasn't going to end up like Reez, not if he had anything to say about it.

The sixty million worth of pure white china cleaned out four of Mantis' warehouses completely. While the operation hadn't been set up for such a transaction, it was large enough that roughly one-hundred million in spare product was on-hand at any given time. Mantis had become extremely wealthy over the years, wealthy enough to employ nearly every merc Chul had under his corporate umbrella. It was a corporation in a figurative sense: Dark Argonian mercs and former insurgents weren't keen on not being able to pursue contracts on their own, but also didn't enjoy getting sued or dicked over in terms of wages. Blackwood Company was formed to protect them from individual lawsuits and to more effectively negotiate payment plans for each individual merc that a given client hired. It varied from single operators to a massive group like Mantis maintained.

The sudden spike in his own off-shore bank-accounts, in nations chosen for their lack of correspondence with the Argonian government and their allies, had Mantis slightly intrigued. The name listed on the order was a mister 'M. Kane', filed by the Marshlander from earlier. Clearly there were two factors at work here, either of which might be a threat to him.

One: Kane might actually be a government-funded agent, which would explain his deep pockets. Chul's intel people hadn't been able to dig up much on him, other than his name and a few contacts he had within the Tanaaran underworld.

Two: Kane was actually what he said he was and that too gave the Argonian kingpin cause for concern. A man with that much money and power posed a threat to him, and couldn't be trusted.

For now, he'd leave the man be and observe further. It had been through careful observation and planning that he'd gotten this far, and by keeping the smaller riff-raff gangs supplied with blow kept the money flowing and the police off of his back, too busy were they trying to chase down every dealer for information. Chul's men made sure none of them talked if they got picked up. He'd made an example earlier, and it seemed to have gotten the point across. The cops had found the unfortunate thug in six different locations, pieces of him hacked apart with what appeared to be something extremely sharp.

Despite friction with Chul, Mantis had also found a few more useful tools to add to his toolbox, in the form of a former Shadowscale Grandmaster. He paid the man an excessive salary to eliminate anyone Mantis deemed a threat, and not to rip Chul limb-from-limb of course. Chul had been the lead operative on the 'Darkness Purge' during the Civil War. Under his lead, he and his team had killed all but a handful of the old Shadowscale Order. That small group had included four Grandmasters and a few assorted personnel that had faded into the background. Two Grandmasters had resurfaced: Whiptail, for he had no last name, had been on the government's black list for some time now. The other, Kelstar Nightfang, had been unearthed through some digging on Mantis' part. He needed someone a little more tactful than Chul in some cases, a world-class neuro-surgeon to Chul's butcher-block antics.

Setting the buy order down, Mantis made eye contact with that very scalpel he'd summoned a few minutes earlier...

"There you are. I have an assignment for you, Kelstar..."

The black-clad assassin nodded slowly, crossing his arms across his chest. Mantis could see the outline of the so-called 'short blade' behind the man's back, sheathed as it was in typical Shadowscale fashion. The weapon was like a mini-scimitar, forged from volcanic glass; it was both strong and excessively sharp. Mantis had made it a point to sit in on a few of the executions Kelstar had done for him, if only to see a true professional in action. That blade of his was just as good for hacking and slashing as it was for removing a limb with a single, clean cut. It was nothing short of impressive...

"I'm hoping now you're going to let me dress that traitor Chul like a dead deer..."

Mantis shook his head, Kelstar's angered features reflected in the mirrored lenses...

"No, not yet. I have a new 'employee' if you can call him that, a Tanaaran gangster by the name of Mano Kane. Given his tastes, I'd say he's residing at the Aquos Hotel downtown. His contact within my organization is a Marshlander who goes by the name of 'Missing Boy'. I'd like you to keep an eye on him for now, relay what you see directly back to me and DO NOT kill either of them without my personal consent. Do this well enough and perhaps I'll let you have a crack at Teersan. As handy as he is as a mercenary you are much more useful. I don't have to worry about your work being sloppy..."

The former assassin grinned. While he wasn't going to shed any blood, for the moment, he did believe he was one step closer to ridding himself of that Judas Chul. Mantis picked the buy order up again, admiring the amount of zeroes one last time before he set it alight with a wood-match and dropped it into his waste-paper basket. Things like this usually didn't get this far, but his underlings had figured he'd want to see the number for himself...

Mantis's people would have to dig deep and pay through the nose but eventually they would uncover that the Tanaaran Syndicate thought well enough of Mr. Kane that he was being allowed to top directly into their cash flow - some five trillion annually- to finance his start up. Sixty million was rather minor in that light.

Mano did all the things a man in his position was expected to do. He wined and dined all the right locals, drank expensive liquor but never got drunk, flirted with the ladies and had a different flavor every week – but was wise enough to only flirt with ladies who understood the score and wouldn’t make waves when the week was up. His contacts were just what they should be. Encrypted, but breakable if you had the time and resources, to his Patrons back in Tanaara – nothing ever openly discussed even then.

The China White going out by a variety of methods. A percentage would be intercepted – that was to be expected, and the percentage that was less than it might have been. Mr. Kane seemed to prefer slow and certain over fast and noticeable. And he was also very careful not to have any of it traceable back to him. His plans showed careful forethought and a willingness to think outside the box

Not my 'shopping..but A Gill City Killas in rreal life...

http://www.atddm.com/gck.jpg

"Maybe we'd better check on the Tribe. They're fuckin' crazy, though, bro. Better bring that rifle of yours..."

Teek ended the convo by getting his cell-phone out and calling in the massacre...

Ah'ron nodded. "I'll grab the car and be back." The Catawaban hoofed it around the hospital to the park lot where'd he left the rental POS compact. He drove it back around to the massacre site. He pointed the compact towards the main part of it so that his headlights would illuminate the scene. While they waited for the LEOs to respond to and take over the scene, Ah'ron took off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and then took off his light concealable vest.

He walked around back of the car and popped the trunk. He took a heavier vest a Beskar'gam tactical vest, the same he'd been issued before he'd left the Marines. He smiled as he slipped the vest over his head. Catawaba had militia laws in the spirit and beyond that of Switzerland. Soldiers who could qualify with a weapons system and had reason to use it in their regular MOS, were encouraged to keep it at home so as to speed up militia reaction in the event of an invasion.

Jaro had his MORS, his Beskar'gam, his POP, ammunition for each, and a few grenades issued to him and stored in a government subsidized weapons safe in his home. However he was fairly tame compared to his neighbors. Two guys who lived up the street had been an anti-tank crew, gunner and ammo bearer before they'd left the service and married. They had a Javelin launcher and a couple missiles locked up along with a few LAWs. With the other marines , squids, and zoomies in the neighborhood along with the armed civvies the local Quick Response Militia in his area could hold a bit longer than other areas during exercises which might just give the regulars long enough to stop an invasion if it ever came to that.

Ah'ron cinched down the vest and pulled out a few extra magazine for his MORS and POP and put them into the MOLLE pouches on his Beskar'gam, or BG as most called it. As he finished his other prep work, he felt better for it. Argonia was like the Mexico of Fatal Terrain. Sure there were uglier places, like the Skull Kingdom but that wasn't even really a country. This place was supposed to be a country, and it looked less and less like it.

Teek eyed the foreign detective oddly. When he'd said 'gear up', he hadn't meant to storm the beaches of Normandy...

"Somehow I think we're going to be okay should those crazy bastards fuck with us..."

At about that time a pair of patrol cars pulled up, at which point Teek exchanged a few words with the two uniforms driving them before walking back to Jaro's car. In comparison, the detective was lightly armed. He had his pistol, the mouse-gun, the dagger, and his well-worn kevlar vest that wasn't much good for anything better than a .357 magnum. The Argonian National Police issued the level III soft armor for his line of work. For now, at least. Apparently Reez had put in for some military-grade stuff before he'd gotten himself perforated, but that was still in the works...

"I'd ask if you were ready to roll but I think that's an understatement. Let's head to the docks..."

Without another word he got into the car and checked his USP one last time...

MB had completed his task for the evening, and now felt it was time to report back to the Dark running the dock-side operation. He hoped Mantis was happy with Mano's large request, that ought to keep the would-be gangster in the kingpin's good graces.

The undercover pulled the massive Lincoln into the parking spot he'd used previously, wondering what had become of the two odd-looking humans that he'd seen at the club earlier that night. He had no idea that a pair of honest-to-god cops were going to be rolling his way armed to the teeth and wanting to ask questions. He'd missed the check-in with whoever Reez had sent in his place due to that unanticipated shoot-out with the GCK bangers...

The already big Jaro squeezed into the compact with his gear. "Hey, you had one of your agents nearly confettied and then a hit on an entire gang hit squad. There's some heavy firepower rolling around the town tonight, and I can guarantee you its gonna escalate."

He belted in and started the car, pausing a moment to look at Teek. "When we stumble on more GK or their bosses find us, would you want to hope they keep to pistol calibers?" He shook his head. "I got a girl at home, bud, and her brothers would be pissed if I get myself killed and hurt her."

Teek just nodded. Relationships had always been an issue for him, so much more so after the war. That might have been part of the reason he'd been so successful with the National Police, there wasn't someone at home waiting and worrying if he'd survive his shift or wondering why he didn't come home at all the previous night. He was married to his job for the most part. Sure, there'd been a few inter-departmental flings with a few of the female uniforms but they never lasted...

"Look, we're already here..."

The whole dockside was mostly dark, with probably more than a few of the 'workers' lying in wait for them if they didn't play it quiet-like...

"Kill the engine, we're going to have to go in on foot and take a look around..."

Ah'ron killed the light and then the engine. The large Catawaban opened his door and squeezed out of the car. He stood behind the half-open door of the car while his eyes acclimated to the darkness. He used the time to get accustomed to the sounds of the docks at night and get a good look around. When he had a good feel for the norms hereabouts, he glanced towards the Argonians. "You ready?"