He's probably off doing hoodrat shit by now.
You tell him that you'll give him a hand. Not an arm, not your axe or bow or sword. A hand. You give him a business card, your expediter's specifically, he should be able to get him out of town. You ask for his keys and his wallet in return though. He hands them over without question. You warn him not to deactivate any of his credit cards before you get a crack at them. He concedes unhappily. Suspicious. You tell him that if he's trying to mess with you again you'll break more than just his nose next time. He grimaces, thanks you and then scuttles off like a rat. Now it's time to clean up his mess. You immediately go down to his place. Not unexpectedly some people are waiting for him. You recognize them. If you hate him, you want them dead. So you shoot all three of them in the knees. Good job P99. The mods were worth the time. The three goons fall over howling in pain. You knock out the stupider ones and leave the leader awake. You tell him to shut his face before you turn it to hamburger meat. He stops blubbering long enough to tell you that they were waiting for your employer to return and some people were headed over to torch your place too. You tell him that you're going to either kill him or call the police. He asks for the police. You tell him to get out his phone. You claim the three men tried to rob you, they corroborate. Everything works out fine. You enter the apartment to loot a few things before [] Heading back home. [] Heading to the garage. [] Heading to the safe house. [] Calling Remiel.
this.comment = true;
Five years for me.
The two of you eat together. You in silence and he not shutting up for a second. He goes on and on about how much you owe him and how it helps you too to help him and so on and so forth. He doesn't seem to get that you're just as likely to off him as they are. You mention this to him and he pales. You smirk, it's not like you'd shoot him in public you remind him. He calms a bit. After you're both finished he picks up the tab and you make to leave. He grabs you by the arm, prompting you to drive your forearm into his neck and trip him up, leaving him on the ground barely able to breathe. He laughs. You frown. You tell him that he's on his own unless he's willing to pay you some serious cash. He says he hasn't got much and was hoping you'd put it on his tab. You tell him that you don't run tabs, it's unprofessional and stupid. He wonders if he could make a trade. You inquire about what he'd like to trade. He says he's got some vintage guns and a house. It's not much for your trouble but it's not a bad deal. You [] Take the job. You've got this. [] Reject the job. You don't have time for this shit. [] Leave without a word. [] Tell him about your commitments for the next two years.
You're not really all that busy, but this guy is horrible and you hate him. He gripes a bit, but then he says that it's super important. You press him about what it is specifically, but he claims he can't say it through the door. It's sorta private. You tell him you don't wanna hear about his personal issues. He says it involves you. You pause. The last time you had anything to do with this piece of crap was the last time you were in this town three years ago. He turned one of your clients against you and you ended up having to skip town. Maybe it was something to do with that. You add your P99 to your inventory and exit your apartment. He was a pretty pony. Got everything he ever wanted because he was tall blonde and traditionally attractive. So you punch him in the nose. He doubles over in pain, swearing at you and practically sobbing. You say thanks for the harsh on your buzz and pull him back to his feet. He claims that you broke it, damn straight you did. He grumbled over it until you pull your Double Eagle out and tell him it get a move on. As you two walk through the nearby park towards a family restaurant he suggested, he explains that he's in a situation with some people who want you dead, his as well, but that's unimportant. You near the restaurant and he's finally nearly done with his stupid story and you [] Let him pay for the meal and let him finish. [] Leave him to die now. It's not your problem, you're out of town soon. [] Kill him yourself.
A couple families or very specific secluded communities have different blood markers, ie, a different type of blood from 99.x percent of people. It's supposed to be due to the way it propagates the mutation or something. I'm no expert on it either I was just curious if it was one of the standard eight. But yeah being AB- is pretty useful regardless. Cool story in all seriousness.
AB- or mutation type?
You decide to read over the case file again while you set up your desk. Two years. Twenty four jobs. Nine and a half millions dollars. Team of nine including yourself and a spy. Only the first location is disclosed but detailed blueprints of the area, weather maps and traffic history have all been included. You could practically see what it was like in Bristol. You also see that transportation has been arranged. The nine hundred fifty thousand you were given to cover expenses was likely meant to cover passports, lodging and equipment. Nothing too far out of the ordinary other than the number of missions. But without their locations, you have no idea what the connection might be. The job description for the first stop doesn't exactly tell you much either. Almost anyone would want you to do this. If you weren't so damn professional you might have done this one yourself years ago. Whatever. You've got work to do. It takes a couple hours, but your P99 you bummed off of a police contact in Canada is now finally in a usable state. Not that it was broken before or anything, you're just really picky about your guns. Hence none of them are still composed of all their original parts. You wish manufacturers would get it right for once. Just as you are contemplating sending in a few design hints you hear a knock at the door. You pretend to be out but the annoying thud of bone on wood continues. You break down check your surveillance camera. It's a familiar face. If that face's owner had a face, you'd punch it. You don't disarm the traps but tell him to come in anyways. He asks if the traps are disabled. You ask him if he's feeling lucky. He says that he's got stuff to talk about. What do you say?
What a downer, bro. I like the Kay-esque fake out though. I can track my thoughts to something around these lines, "Aw this is gonna be a cheery little pick me up. It's gonna be gr-- what? Maybe I'm misunder... okay, yeah, you got me. Downer as **** up in this failed example of human interaction." Technically pretty solid. Gonna say that clarity isn't exactly abundant here, but it's not necessarily supposed to be so I won't complain about it. Though, I might have taken it a little further made impression that everything was alright a little more solid before wrecking it. Don't know if that fits with the tone though. Either way, nice job.
You aren't foolish enough to just sit around doing nothing at the moment. He might seem trustworthy but you've worked with enough people to know that trust isn't a thing that should exist in anything but small, controlled and carefully measured quantities. So you make a few calls, send off a few e-mails, wait a bit. You discover that Remiel Wesson is indeed his real name. He usually works under an alias apparently because there's no real records of him having a job, he seems to be living off the wealth of his rich uncle who, surprise surprise, never existed. Uncle's name is Istvan. You can't find much on his aliases though. He's done a good job separating them. Possibly better than you've done with yours. You look in the mirror quickly, you look pretty average. Not like in the middle average, like if you averaged out the features of all women your age you'd get something like your face. That said, you never really gave much thought to your appearance, though. It wasn't your job to, and you didn't like doing things that didn't get you paid. Though, statistically, tall pretty people get paid more. You wonder whether that applies to your field as well for a bit when you receive a reply to one of your e-mails. It's a warning, telling you that you're probably in trouble if you're looking up this guy. It's only a rumor, but everyone who's ever worked with him is dead they say. Whatever, most of the people you've worked with are dead, it's not like that kind of thing means much in this industry. It's afternoon now and you've recently received your pay for the Spain job. It's about time that you [] Mod your 9mm you've got the design on the napkin, remember? [] Go out for a walk, need to run some errands. [] Look into the case file again, maybe you missed something important before. [] Go to the firing range, you're a bit stressed from all this socializing.
Simplify characters enough and they all seem quite similar. There are only so many story arcs that get used. It's all about specific implementation of these general templates. When people do stuff like this, they're merely showing how much they want something to be when it really isn't.
He doesn't flush this time so much as he simply changes color entirely. From his neck to his ears, red. As a ripe and ready to harvest tomato. Either he's a very talented actor or he just really knows how to make these things work for him because you can't help but feel half a pang of sympathy before you start laughing at him. He says you looked peaceful after you manage to quiet down enough for him to talk. You thank him for being so kind. He insists that he wasn't lying or trying to spare you. You looked genuinely happy while you were sleeping, he even wondered if you were having a particularly nice dream. You don't remember. You ask him why they hired him to collect everyone if he was going to be on the job too. He answered simply that he was supposed to be a coordinator, his experience is primarily in brokering deals and hostage negotiations he explains. He even goes as far as saying that he's not exactly good at talking to women, which is why he couldn't get a proper job as a spy. Though, he technically did have all the training. You reply that if he really was a spy he'd say that. He laughs with a good natured tone and tries to convince you that he's not really a spy, just a businessman. You assure him that you don't see a palpable difference. He finally gives you a business card and tells you to call the number for further instructions from their employer. With that, he says he has to go and leaves, not before you disarm the front door trap for him. He stands by sheepishly while you unhook the trigger mechanism carefully from the claymore and shotgun in the cocktail dress. When you're satisfied that you won't be cleaning up bits of him for the rest of the day you allow him to pass. On his way you you ask him if he might unzip the dress a bit for you so it's less trouble getting out once he's gone. Not without a slight pause, he acquiesces and goes on his way as fast as possible. You snicker. Whether he's real or not, he's funny. When he's gone you reset the trap and change into something move comfortable. Now you've just got to wait for the money from the Spain job and prepare what you can for the new job. First you should [] Check your inventory, get some stuff in order. [] Look up Remiel Wesson through your informants. [] Go back to your room.
Aw, fuck it. You're taking this job. His face lights up when you accept. He hands over the briefcase immediately and extends a contract for you to sign. You read it carefully, sign it and then hand it back. He thanks you profusely, he even goes so far as hugging you. You ask if this was his easiest job this week and he nods furiously. You say that it's too bad because you were trying to give him a bit of a hassle for stealing your gun. He apologises and reminds you that you looked dangerously close to pulling the trigger on your own gut when he found you. He also apologizes for breaking in through your window, but he was told you booby trapped the front door. True enough, had he tried to get in the other way he'd be dead. You ask him if you'll see him again and he says yes. IN fact, he's a part of the team. You [] Ask him what his job is. [] Ask him how much of that was an act. [] Ask him what you looked like while you were sleeping.
It's probably fine to ease up on him, he seems like he's not gonna deal well with all the pressure you've been putting on him. You address him by name the next time you speak, which is to ask about how he's feeling. He seems relieved that you're no longer pushing him for anything and says that he just wants to get this over with. You tell him he's free to walk around as long as he promises not to leave you alone before you make a decision. He nods and immediately stands. You take the opportunity to look around a bit on the pretense of giving him some space. When you're satisfied that all is in order you return to your place on the counter, the unfamiliar sound of heels clacking against tile following you all the while. Carpets are no good when you're dealing with tiny springs and parts all day long after all. He's not there when you return, but Remiel soon shambles back into the apartment smelling distinctly of the onset of lung cancer. You ask him if he was a smoker. He flushed again that you noticed and says that it's only when he's stressed. You apologize for being such a burden. He assures you there are other things. You don't mean to pry but you really do so you ask what sort of things, if that's allowed of course. He doesn't see the harm in telling you that he's the one that was hired to get the entire team together and you're not even the last on on the list. All of the members of this task force are apparently some kind of hermit or another and none of them were quick to answer, one even tried to kill him. You ask him how he made his way out of that one. He claims he was just lucky. By now he seems a lot more comfortable around you, he's even looking directly at you from time to time now. You chat with him a little more, continuing to play the friend as best as your limited social skills allow and he eventually lets slip a few details like the fact that his employer has hired you once before and that the entire team is famous in the industry. That's good, you might as well [] Press further. You have a foothold, you need to get everything you can even if it ruins relations with him, he's just a peon anyways. [] Accept job offer. You know enough to know this is going to be interesting. [] Decline job offer. This kind of thing is how you get yourself killed.
He flushes slightly at hearing you say something so provocative. He says he's fine. You ask him if it's because he doesn't like you. He says that you have been less than cooperative so, no, he has no particular fondness for you, but he added politely that you look lovely in the dress. You approach him slowly, he recoils. You ask him if he's gay. He doesn't subscribe to labels apparently. It's his way of saying no. He gets out of his chair when you get sufficiently close and makes for the door. You cut him off, telling him that you haven't made a decision yet and that he wasn't going to leave without it. He agrees hesitantly. You smirk at him and drag him back to his seat by his tie. You ask him if he'd like something to drink, not that you've got anything to drink, but hey it's politeness in a way. He declines anyways. You ask him why he's so uptight, it's just a job. He doesn't respond. Your use of 'Mr. Repressive' might have something to do with it. You change tacts and ask what his name is if he doesn't want to be called things like that. He's called Remiel Wesson. His parents must have hated him. Either way, he's a bit looser now, maybe nows the time to [] Try and get a little more out of him. [] Make him more comfortable, he's not friendly enough to give up anything yet, but he will soon. [] Leave him to stew for the moment.
This is kind of a huge decision. It's at least gonna take two years of your life away so you'd better be damn sure about it. You inquire as to whether or not it really needs to be today that you answer him, perhaps tomorrow. He insists that he cannot leave without your answer. You do the only logical thing and invite him to stay a while. He can be a valuable source of information if you play him right, you're fair certain. You also are quite certain that he's not going to be that hard to play. He accepts hesitantly. He hasn't really been looking directly at you for a good while, he's been doing his best to keep his eyes anywhere but at you in fact. You take this opportunity to slip off the counter and back onto the floor to take a look around, see if he messed with anything else of yours. He asks you what you're doing. You [] Ask him what his name is. [] Tell him that walking helps you think. [] Tell him that it's okay to look, you don't mind.
I actually did nominate you for everything, the staff all gave me funny looks about it and everything. But you need more than one nomination to get on a poll you silly billy.
You can't be too aggressive with this kind of situation, so you give him a break and listen. He informs you that he's there to inform you about your next job and then informs you thusly. He even hands you a proper case file and everything. It's a two year long contract for a series of jobs actually. The pay is six figures, nearly seven, and apparently you're going to be working with a team this time. He then puts something else on the table. You know what a briefcase full of fresh nonsequential Franklin clones looks like and this sight is eerily similar. Ten percent up front to cover any costs of operation that might be incurred by the mission itself. You'll have to ship out in two days if you accept. When pressed he protects his employer's identity like any good flying monkey would. He also asks that you have your answer ready now as the first task is very time sensitive and his employer is very impatient. This job would be enough to retire you in fair comfort and safety if all goes well, but there's a few things not right here. There's the fact that you hate working with others and then the secretive employers paying you more than anyone's ever paid anyone for this kind of work. Do you [] Accept. [] Decline. [] Ask for an extension.
