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No Place For Desperate Men; "Revenge can bring men to new heights.."
Topic Started: July 19, 2010, 8:12 pm (380 Views)
ZanNight
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Prologue

Cole Mallory, known as Manco to everyone but a handful of people, felt old. It seemed to always be snowing in Moscow, and the cigar hanging from Cole's lip didn't warm him up enough for him to be comfortable. It didn't seem to matter, since some man was waving him over. Manco took the cigar out of his mouth and threw it down into the snow, which extinguished it with a hiss.

"Let's go."

Cole, and four others dressed in heavy coats with an assortment of rifles and one with a shotgun, started walking through the crunching snow down between two old warehouses that seemed to have been out of work for quite a long time.

As they walked, another man from behind the truck they had been resting against, held a briefcase and scurried after them. Tiny snow flakes were floating around them, shrouding the way ahead of them only a bit. Cole saw the familiar yellow trench coat of Basile the Middleman.

Basile, obviously french in origin but calling no country his home, was infamous among big league criminals. He was known as "The Middleman" because he was solely responsible for organizing big important deals. His most likable feature, was his ability to keep both parties anonymous. After any deal was exchange, Basile was unconditionally awarded a 20% - 10% of any money exchanged from both sides.

"Monsieur Manco, please wait a moment." He said, with a heavy french accent. "The second party will be here shortly."

Cole held his SG551 close, and eyed the rooftops. His thoughts were interrupted by a pair of headlights blinding him briefly through the snow ahead. The men behind him shifted nervously. Cole kept on the appearance of control.

"I thought we agreed on 5 and a courier. Nothing more."

"A mere transportation, Monsieur."

Cole didn't normally stand for this shit, but he was in little position to complain. He was taking charge of this deal for a bigger fish, so it needed to go smoothly. Squinting into the light, Cole could see a lone man walking forward. Cole waved a hand and their own courier with the briefcase walked towards him at well, Basile in between.

Cole had a bad feeling, watching his own courier open his briefcase to the other man, who nodded. It took a moment for Cole to realize the other man was bringing out a gun, and that Basile was gone. When their courier fired the first shot, Cole brought his rifle up to fire. The other men went down, and blood was already leaking out onto the snow. The briefcase was laying on the snow, and Cole ran forward towards it.

Gunfire erupted from the headlights ahead, chipping the snow ahead of Cole right before the briefcase, causing him to stumble backwards. His men fired, but went down from the disadvantage of having a bright light in their eyes. Cole fired his rifle, then turned and ran. The snow chipped around him, and several rounds pinged off of the old warehouse walls. A bullet pierced through his left shoulder, causing him to stumble to the ground, cursing. Another bullet grazed his leg, making him push himself up and dart around the corner of the warehouse. Hearing footsteps behind him, Cole dove into the truck, and kept his head low as he turned on the ignition. Rather than drive, he decided to use the same trick against the men coming for him. As they rounded the corner, he turned on the high-beams, causing a few men to shield their eyes with their hands. He then fired his rifle through the windshield and clipped all three of them.

Cole put the truck in reverse, and made for his escape. He was alone on a main road, and clutching his shoulder.

"Fuck fuck FUCK!" He said, pounding the dashboard of the old truck with his right arm. "They are NOT going to like this shit..."


*****


Six days later, Cole sat in a black van with his crash team of various criminals he scraped up on his way over back to the US. He didn't even know if he could trust half of them, but usually money was a big motivation. The "bigger fish" had a simple demand. Get back our money, or you won't live to make another deal.

So here they were, driving towards Las Vegas International Airport where Basile was supposedly arriving in 30 minutes. Once off of his plane, he would be protected under the general shield of Airport Security. And if he made it to his limo - bulletproof - there would be no snatching him from his bodyguards.

Simple. Take Basile right off of his flight. Cole's plan was ruthless and probably hard to pull off. Getting away was the hard part. Cole pulled a Balaclava over his face, protecting his face from the various security cameras that the airport would have scanning around constantly for terrorists.

The things you do when you're desperate...


No Place For Desperate Men
A Crime RP from ZanNight



Starring
Cole "Manco" Mallory - Played by ZanNight
Katyenka "Katy" Khavin - Played by Nikkia
Kadience "Kad" Monroe - Played by Midnight Insanity
Grigori "The Bear" Volkov - Played by Third Time
Hikotaku "Crosshair" Yorusaka - Played by Kirakushi
Ion De Marko - Played by fuufuublue
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Longo Bongo
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“And remember, Sweety. Trust nobody,” General Khavin repeated the same instructions to Katyenka for the third time. “Reveal your identity to no one,” he spoke in hushed whispers as his eyes darted around the busy Russian airport. Katyenka smiled and hugged her father. He frowned, “I'm serious, Katyenka. If anyone finds out that you are my daughter, it will be much harder to get you home safely, if not impossible. Guard our identities with you life.” She simply hugged her father again.

“I'll be fine, daddy,” she shook her head softly, a slight smile dancing on her lips. General Khavin shook his head and frowned. Katyenka's posture stiffened. She moved her hand to her forehead and saluted, “Permission to speak, sir.” General Khavin chuckled.

“Oh stop,” he smiled and hugged her once more as her flight was announced. Katyenka turned away from her father and sighed heavily as butterflies rose from within her. She was hoping this feeling of unease and nervousness would fade before she arrived in the United States. Katyenka glanced at her watch – “Twelve hours and fifty-two minutes,” she whispered aloud.






Katyenka sank into the plush, leather seats of the black van. Looking back on her last day in Moscow, she found it hard to believe that it has been nearly five days. She replayed her father's strict instructions in her head again and smiled to herself. In comparison to the group she'd been with, her father had a thick Russian accent.

“Is it almost time?” Katyenka sighed aloud. She spoke only to hear her own Russian accent, which was fading with each and every day in America. America was much different than she thought it would be – and much different than Russia, that was for sure. Katyenka pulled the balaclava from in front of her face. For one, the heat drove her mad. Katyenka had never sweat so much in her life – even during drills with her father.

Secondly, and Katyenka noticed this upon her meeting with Manco, the level of respect one gives another is quite different here in America. In Russia, a man would open the car door for a woman, pull out a chair for a woman, order food for a woman – among other things. In America, you're lucky if a man does not pull that chair out from under you.

Women did not behave this way though, either, in Russia. Katyenka peered around the car for just a moment. She was surrounded by two other women, and three men. The women, she noted, would survive not a day in Moscow, Russia. The first appeared to be slightly younger than Katyenka. She was much taller and appeared to be American. The other woman was a bit younger than Katyenka, and of European descent. Katyenka shook her head and peered out the darkened windows.

She spoke again, but with intent this time, “Is it time?” Katyenka was obviously growing impatient. Her leg shook just barely causing her heel to lightly tap the floor of the van. She attracted the attention of nobody in the van as they sat silently, and Katyenka sighed heavily, replacing her balaclava.
i've got another confession to make;
i'm your fool
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Kirakushi
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Hikotaru stood calmly in front of the private jet his family owned for business, yet another job for the Yorusaka Assassin Clan. He wouldn't have to worry about killing the target this time. It was an abduction, something easily done. "Be safe, son, beware gaijin deception." His mother gripped his shoulder with concern. The only reason this woman even cared about his safety was because she was his mother. That care would go away in an instant if it benefited the family. "Hai, mama-sama, I'll be sure to go carefully" Hikotaru's accent was thick but his english was nearly perfected, as was any language he spoke. Years of constant training as a child and even now kept him on his toes with everything from spoken languages to killing someone next to you at a dinner table.

When the family had gotten wind of this job they sent their honored youngest. Once he was on the jet he opened his suitcase and inspected his rifle parts, making sure to oil and lubricate every piece and study every curve as if it were his lover. During jobs, in fact, it was the only thing he could trust. He nodded in satisfaction and set the case between his feet and kicked back, he was the only one on the plain aside from the pilot and a very sweet looking stewardess. She smiled brilliantly at him and offered him a bottle of sake, which he declined, there would be time to drink after the job was done. From the details of how things were going to be done there could be no room for error.

* * *

Hitokaru sat on the comfortable leather seat the black van offered, his client had gathered a strange assortment of people here. Three women and only one other man, strange indeed, but it seemed that "Black Widows" were preferred to their male counter parts. It seemed that the Hollywood portrayal of women assassins were dead wrong as well. He kept his eyes down for the most part, seeming to not exist until he either shifted or checked his watch.

The inside of the van was stifling to him, the sniper much preferred the open air, confined spaces didn't bother him at all, but it was the close proximity to those around him that created an uncomfortable heat. He sighed and looked at the girl with a russian accent, she was impatient, not much of a black widow type that was for sure. He shook his head once and went back to studying his own watch, waiting patiently for the hands to tick down to their designated time.

The man was a sniper, trained to wait days and days for his mark to even appear. He would have much rather been in Las Vegas and be in position at least three days before the mark but that's not how the client wanted this. It was a rush operation, or so it appeared. Hikotaru would simply deal with it and bear with it, but he didn't like just sitting there without a plan. They were a unit, no matter how short the time was that they were so, and they should be acting like it.

He raised his head and looked at the others for different amounts of time, studying their features. "Konichiwa, It's a pleasure to be working with all of you...any plans on how to do this?" He sat up taller, looking like a hungry predator with his prey just in reach. His eyes were cold steel at this point, he wanted to get down to business, he even managed to make a fresh batch of origami butterflies on the plane trip here, his trade mark. They were always within easy access, and this time they were all settled gently in his shirt pocket.

He wore, due to the heat, normal street clothing so he could blend in with the citizens of the city should he need to. A simple white cotton t-shirt with a low cut neckline underneath a brown button up over shirt, only half buttoned from the top down; and blue jeans. He didn't look even close to what an assassin should, but that was the point.

While he waited to see if any of them even wished to communicate his hands idly removed a couple small sheets of rice paper and began to fold them. Before long, the shape of a butterfly would be revealed on the first sheet and Hikotaru hardly noticed his work.
The Group


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March 1, 2012, 6:50 pm
Blue Miller: And Elise, remember; we're naught but harmless nutjobs. Minus Kira. He will actually attempt to cut off your face.


Current RP(s): Soul Eater: BtSV (OOC) Status: Accepting/ IC Status: Active; Kindled Spirits 1x1
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Curiosity Calls
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"Kadience Monroe," Kad thought to herself, "Look at you, working in a group now. And no killing on the agenda either. A shock, a shock indeed. But hey, money's money."

Kad smiled to herself, her bright red lips spreading neatly across her face. She slipped a compact out of the small purse she was carrying and began to apply a coat of fresh lipstick. The lipstick was all a piece of her deceitful attitude. She learned quickly that a pair of bright lips talking sweetly would distract any eye. It's a kind of hypnotism she developed, and she used it well. Kad put the compact back in her bag and pursed her lips together gently. She was ready for an eventful day.

Her eyes, rimmed with eyeliner and mascara, scanned the rest of the criminals who sat in the back of a roomy black van with her. Two other females, and three males, a ragtag group of people. It seemed obvious that this had been put together quickly, which she knew anyway having only recently been called to this job herself. This Manco character had been the one putting the group together. He was an interesting one in itself. Interestingly enough, she had been offered a job to take him down once, a fact she would never share. But she unfortunately, or fortunately, had to decline the job due to other commitments. The others she knew less about, especially the women.

The Russian girl was whining now, asking if it was time yet as a young child would. Kad shot her a glare before turning away from her, not responding further to her questions. This girl she had never heard of before. She was a curiosity to Kad, but it was a curiosity that she did not feel like following. The other girl, Saskie as she called herself, Kad had heard of. European born and raised, though not traditionally she could tell that. The oldest man in the group, Grigori, another Russian, she had seen him around and heard a little about him when on jobs and things. Nothing stood out in her memory. And then the last one, a young Japanese fellow who was now trying to get a plan out of this motley crew. From what she heard, another assassin, though he was a lot cleaner than Kad was. Which in her opinion, took all the fun out of killing.

"Kad, Kad, Kad," she scolded herself, "This is why you don't take group jobs. Someday in the future, you may be asked to kill any number of these poor bastards. Just keep yourself distant from them. No friends, no loyalties, no responsibility."

She toyed with the balaclava in her lap as she stared out the window, ignoring all of them. It was hot enough already, she didn't want to wear this black face mask. In her usual line of business it was her face that did the work, now she had to hide it. Hopefully the plan would work out in her favor and she wouldn't have to do any of the dirty work.

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Formerly known as Midnight Insanity.
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Third Time
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Four days ago

Grigori woke to the sound of his phone ringing. Annoyed at himself for falling asleep in front of the TV, and more annoyed that he'd knocked his beer over while he napped, he made his way across the small apartment to the old, slightly battered phone hanging from the kitchen wall. As he answered, he did his best to mop Baltika 9 out of the leg of his jeans where the lager had sloshed when he kicked it.

"Who's this?"

"Hello, Grigori. It's Peter."


Grigori gave up trying to clean up the beer. "Skinny Pete! Been a while. You're calling during the game, so it's probably important. Dynamo Moscow is killing today."

"Listen, you busy? You should come down to the club."


That was Pete's favorite code for a job. Grigori got a bit more serious. "Sounds good. How busy is it?" Or, in the simple code between a hitman and his favorite go-between, 'how big is the job?'

Peter's smile could almost be heard over the phone. "Not too crowded, but there are some important people here. Come over, they'd like to meet you. I've been telling them war stories."

_______________________________________

Well, Peter hadn't been kidding. Not the biggest job, but with people as connected as this, you had to get your foot in the door first. He sat with the team in the van, the air conditioner straining against the weather. He wore his favorite leather coat despite the heat, his face a mask of quiet readiness and menace as cold and hard as Siberia. The large metal case in the trunk held his longarms, both the Saiga and the AK, but his Makarov was clipped to his belt. In quarters this close, it was really just for show. The knife would be his first choice if the the team went for each others' throats.

The diminutive Japanese man asked about plans. Grigori turned his eyes towards Hikotaru. When he spoke, it was in measured tones, colored heavily by his accent. "We do this like good little Russians. We kill anyone who stands in the way, and take him. Given that he's flying, the Frenchman will probably have to hire a car and driver. I doubt he will be flying in his own. We create an accident, nothing too big. The driver gets out, we shoot him, shoot any bodyguards who fight back, beat Basile until he stops screaming like the French coward he no doubt is, and then drive away."

He turned to Manco. "While I appreciate that you included me in your team, I am curious. There are enough Russians looking for work that you could have thrown a brick and hit a few former Russian military that would be happy for a job. You work in Russia, so why so few Russians?"


NOTE: Dialogue in italics is spoken in Russian
Ask me something here, or read my blog, Yelling about Everything.
See my duel with out resident Greek Hero here.
And never forget, Timekeeper is way more awesome than you will ever be.

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fuufuublue
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2 weeks ago...

“Kill him!” a man screamed over the voice of the crowd as another yelled “Rip his head off!” The crowd was just as hyped up and equally if not more violent than the actual fighters them selves. The crowd cheered on as the metal bars of the cage rattled. One fighter was pinned up against the bars as his opponent cocked back his fist and fired down full force. The blow shattered the mans lower jaw almost tearing it completely off. The mans eyes rolled back, his blood mixing with drool in a puddle as he hit the hard floor of the arena.

“Kill him!” another man screamed out. “Finish him!” called the high pitched scream of a girl. With that the man grabbed the hair of the fighter on the ground and lifted him up and pinned him against the metal bars and blow after blow he landed another hit into the mans torso, shattering ribs, and other bones until the man finally lifted up his victims body over his head and listened the demand of the crowd. “Kill him!” they cheered. “Kill him!” the cheered louder, and with the smile that would scare a devil the man slammed his victim head first at full speed against the hard floor. The crunch of his spine cracking was enough to prove this man was dead and that he was the victor once again.

The fighter that stood victorious has several tattoos and black curly short hair with green eyes and pale skin. He was built like a train and hit like a missile and for tonight he was one of the heavy hitters that made it to this nights illegal, underground, death match, cage fights. His stage name was The Devil, and he is a escaped convict on the FBI's, CIA's, and any other secret service list on the planet, and is worth 200 million USD dead or alive. His victim tonight was something of a bold guy that though he was hard shit until he looked at the building pile of dead corpse.

“The Devil wins again!” the announcer calls out from behind the DJ booth. “Is there no one left to challenge this Devil for the thrown? Or has he claimed just enough blood to win the night?” The crowd raged on in the hype and hope of another blood bath, yet one person sitting at the bar shook his head and took another sip of his lemon edged cold water. He shook his head as looked back over his shoulder at this walking pile of money walking around like a Devil and these deluded demons worshiping him didn't help to cure his over sized ego.

Just as he finished his drink a women sat down and smiled at him. “You don't like the fights?” she asked. The man just looked at her and started to suck down his lemon. “Oh I see, you come here because of the peace and quite right?” he didn't pay her any mind this time just focused on the sour taste of his lemon. “Well I have a job for you, and if you think you can handle it give me a call.” she slid a card over in front of the man and then took her leave. “Oh and don't lose I have a lot of money on the honorable wind.” she let the last words roll off her tongue leaving the man guessing as she stood up to take her leave.

“Oh wait!” the announcer called out. “It looks like another participant has entered the game.” Ion put his rubbed his forehead as he knew what was coming. “Will the Honorable Wind please take the stand.”
Ion smiled a bit to himself but his smile quickly faded as he stood up and made his way through the cheering crowd and onto the bright stage that hadn't been cleaned of any blood or teeth. He took off his shirt to reveal that his body was coated with hundreds of tats. He wasn't even half The Devils size and a good size smaller in build then him, but all his mind could think about was how he was going to spend 200 million. “Well folks this is the last match of the night, winner takes all! Who will win the in the epic match, the Devil!” the crowd cheered over the announcer. “Or the Wind!” the crowd cheered even more for the excitement and promise of blood. “Lets get this battle started right now!”

The Devil was the first to charge, but Ion simply remained leaned up against the cages bars. He shook his head as the Devil pulled his fist back and lunged at him. He simply side stepped and the mans whole hand smashed against the metal bars and Ion laughed a bit to crunch of some of the bones against the metal. The Devil pulled back a bit in pain and held his hand as he let out a small sound that sounded somewhat like a dog whining.

Ion jumped connected his knee into the mans throat, and before the Devil could react Ion wrapped his legs around his neck twisted his body around and then flung himself backwards lifted the man up and tossed him full force into the metal bars on the other side of the arena in something that looked like a back flip. Ion stood up and whipped himself off as he started over to the bruting giant that attempted to stand up but still coughed up blood as he made his way to his feet.

The Devil barely standing straight let loss something of a roar as he charged Ion and before Ion could move close lined him and ran him into the metal bars of the cage. Ion coughed up blood as he could feel some of his ribs crack. The Devil listed his arm which gave Ion a brief moment of breath before the fist connected into his face. Then the Devils fist pulled back again, but this time Ion used the cage to thrust himself at the monster and used the momentum to knock him back. Ion kicked his foot down as hard as he could at the Devils knee and made sure to shatter it. The Devil fell down to his knees and Ion launched himself up and wrapped his legs around his neck again but this time looked down at the monster and smashed his head into his face, again, and again, and again, until he had caved in every feature of his enemies face, and his face was cover in the blood of the Devil.

He took a breath as he limply rose up from the pool of blood and looked around at the silent crowd.

...

“WINNER!” the announcer said but Ion simply looked back and grabbed the hair of this so called Devil and started to pull him out as the crowd cheered. He made his way over to the bar counter and looked at the card then at the body he was dragging around. He grabbed the card and smiled.

“Guess I could use the extra cash”

((srry this is so long, but i will add his present statues in later on k))
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and on the day that Ash traveled to the famous raccoon city to defeat the gym leader and earn his umbrella badge he discovered a new form a pokemon before he met his horrible end, they are called the end dead!


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ZanNight
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Cole was driving the van, ignoring any questions that surfaced from the back of the van. Most of the team he'd put together were busy checking their weapons, or putting their balaclavas on. The rest of the crew seemed to be dozing. After seeing this, he removed his hand from the steering wheel and gave the divider between the cabin and the crew a good bang.

"We're almost there. Wake the fuck up back there and check your gear."

The van pulled into Las Vegas International Airport and parked in the "Arrivals" loop. Cole waited until some girl "Kad" got out from the back of the van and headed inside the airport. She had been reassuring that she could place the tracker on Basile without him knowing.

Minutes ticked by, and eventually Kad got back into the van, passenger door. She handed him a small thick screen, which showed two blips on a GPS. Orange was him, Red was the mark. Cole looked through the windshield at the various people bustling about. Not being able to see Basile in the crowd made him squint. He looked down at the screen and saw the Red dot start to move forwards. The van pulled out of the loop and followed suit.

After a few minutes on the highway Cole caught up to a limousine with completely tinted windows, concealing anyone inside. He moved his van slowly into the adjacent lane, and then positioned himself in front of the other vehicle. He reached back and banged against the divider again.

"Alright, here we go."

Cole made sure his balaclava was on, and took a breath. The back of the van was reinforced, and hopefully would be enough to damage the limousine's engine, while keeping the doors shut and in tact until they opened and the crew stepped out. Hopefully, none of them would break their necks either.

Cole slammed on the brakes, and then felt a huge lurch as the limousine crashed into him. Then a second, unexpected lurch, probably another car crashing in from behind the limo. Cole looked into his side mirror, and thought the front of the limo looked smashed inwards hopefully disabling the car. A pissed of chauffeur, got out of the vehicle without even closing the door, and walked hurriedly towards the van. Cole followed suit, and opened his van door.

"HEY! WHAT THE HELL'S WRONG WITH YOU?" The angry driver screamed.

Cole chose that moment to step out of the van, his AMT Hardballer in his hand rising up to meet the driver. The driver didn't even seem to register the quick movement until he was staring down into the barrel. Without a moment's hesitation, keeping the motion smooth, Cole pulled the trigger the moment the barrel lined up with the driver. A storm of blood and brain matter erupted from the back of the driver's head, spraying the windshield of the limousine. Cole then pulled a smoke grenade - very light smoke - out of his pocket and pulled the pin. He tossed it underneath the car, still part of the same fluid technique that he had practiced mentally in the car.

The smoke wasn't for obscuring their vision. It was in fact a very light smoke that popped from the grenade, easy to see through. It was to smoke the inhabitants out of the limo. At that moment, Cole heard the doors to the back of the van, push open.

"WATCH FOR THE YELLOW TRENCH COAT!" He yelled to the crew inside.
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Katyenka felt a rush of butterflies – the first time since arriving to the states – as Manco jumped out of the van. She whipped her head around and watched as the chauffeur stumbled backwards, ultimately crumbling to the ground. Manco shot him right in the head, evident at the blood splatters staining the limousine. Katyenka was grateful for the military experience she had acquired over the years, otherwise, she wasn't so sure she'd be able to stomach this.

Manco swiftly tossed the grenade beneath the car – as planned. This was their cue to evacuate the van. The six of them filed out quickly as the limousine doors swung open. It seemed the plan was to kidnap this Basile character – which Katyneka did not understand. Why wouldn't they just kill this “middleman”? Didn't Manco have the weapons? It would make much more sense to kill him, get the cash, and get out. This plan however, Katyenka had no control.

It was obvious that Katyenka had never been in this situation before. In fact, she was probably the least experienced “criminal” involved. She remained stationed beside the van, her Makarov trained on the limousine. ”Yellow trench coat,” Katyenka repeated silently. She snickered to herself. A yellow trench coat isn't exactly inconspicuous. A large man with sunglasses emerged from the limousine – yellow trench coat? No. Katyenka squeezed the trigger quickly once and then twice, firing two rounds into the man's chest.

This did not hitch the large bodyguard, however. Blood stained the cheap dress coat he was wearing and he stumbled for only a moment before raising his own handgun. He fired three rounds in Katyenka's direction and she jumped away from the van as each and every shot ricocheted towards her. The first two shots were evaded successfully. The third, however, hit the van and reflected right into her calf. She gasped sharply, and fired another shot in the bodyguard's direction – she missed. “Fuck,” she growled aloud, staining the air with a thick Russian accent.

Katyenka fired again, clipping the bodyguard in the shoulder. He went down, finally. She could feel warm blood spilling down her left leg, but kept her eyes trained on the limousine. Thankfully, nobody else emerged from that side of the vehicle. Katyenka heard shouts and a few gunshots on the other side of the van. She shifted on her heels and grunted, applying pressure to her left leg. She limped forward, to the back of the van, and peered around the corner. Basile should be out of the vehicle in any second – there was no way she was putting herself in the line of fire again.
i've got another confession to make;
i'm your fool
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Hikotaru instantly opened his suit case and put his custom Barret .50 caliber rifle and moved to the back of the van, aiming out of the opened doors and sighted down the iron sights for the close range, and caught two body guards getting out of the limo in the head between the eyes. Both of them dropped, his manner changed from being talkative to giving the others a look telling them to get moving and do it quick. He didn't move from his spot, but as the armed men tried to pile out of the car he would continue his practiced head shots so that the others could deal with the light work.

He watched as a bodyguard tried to peek around the door. Crosshair shook his head and shot him through the door. He heard a short cry of pain and he rolled his eyes, the same sound from all people he shot. It was getting rather boring. He leaned out of the van fully, reaching down to get a grip on the young russian girl who had been shot and making sure to check for gawkers before pulling the wounded woman into the van. "Baka! Aim for the head!" His accent was even thicker under pressure, scolding the young russian as he stepped out of the van and watched as yet another man rose from the car aiming his gun at Hikotaru at the same time he shot it.

The japanese man barely flinched as the bullet hit him just below the heart, putting a bullet between the man's eyes in return. Damn it...mama's gonna be pissed... He coughed and pulled out his gunshot pack as he quickly jumped back in the van, ripping open his shirt and compressed a thick high grade military gauze on it. Within seconds the bleeding slowed and stopped, he threw the gauze down, setting his rifle down and grabbing his tweezers, plunging them into the wound to pull out the bullet and stuffing more gauze into the wound as soon as the tweezers came out with the bullet. "Ah...son of a bitch this hurts..." He wrapped a roll of ace bandage quickly around his chest, binding the gauze to his chest.

He grunted, grabbed his rifle and jumped back out of the van, he'd have to be careful or he'd go into shock. Carefully moving forward towards the limo keeping his rifle up and finger ready to squeeze the trigger in split second's notice. He just hoped that by now the body guards had been handled by the others.
The Group


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March 1, 2012, 6:50 pm
Blue Miller: And Elise, remember; we're naught but harmless nutjobs. Minus Kira. He will actually attempt to cut off your face.


Current RP(s): Soul Eater: BtSV (OOC) Status: Accepting/ IC Status: Active; Kindled Spirits 1x1
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Third Time
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As Grigori exited the van, he watched the brief flurry of violence and death. It was nothing new to him. Part of his mind made detached comments as though critiquing the fight. Sloppy, but fierce. Ferocity can carry a fight or two, but be sure to teach the team proper techniques if you have to work with them again. Walking calmly towards the blood-splattered limo, he saw their target practically fall out and take off in a stumbling run down the side of the road, away from the team. Grigori did not chase him.

Instead, he walked towards the open door of the limo. As he reached it, the walk became a dive, and he rolled under the bullets fired by the remaining bodyguards. Grigori had expected them to wait and shoot, given that they had not yet come out to fight. As he came out the roll into a crouch, he sprayed the interior with automatic fire. Soviet 5.45x39mm rounds do terrible things to a human body, and Grigori was unmoved by what remained of the bodyguards too stunned or inexperianced to have exited the car already.

As he checked the limo to ensure the bodyguards were dead and not merely wounded, he shouted towards the van, "Will someone shoot him in the leg already, or do I have to run him down myself?"
Edited by Third Time, July 27, 2010, 6:43 pm.
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Kad exited the limo as soon as it pulled to a stop. She gave a quick little smile and wave to the rest of the group before she walked off, heels clacking. It was time to do something she was born to do, deception. She made her way through the airport, looking for their target, a man named Basile. She had merely been given a description of the man, but she was positive she could find him. If there was anything she was good at finding, it would be men.

The woman pursed her lips as she scanned the airport terminal, he would be arriving soon they had said. And that's when she spotted him. Exactly as he had been described. A smile curled up her lips as she approached the man, the tracker hidden in her curled up fist. Kad moved closer to him, averting her supposed attention to another section of the room, while in reality her entire focus was on this man. She then executed a carefully planned bump.

"Accidently" she bumped into him, her swiveling hips hitting the man decisively in the side as her hand slipped the thin tracker into his pocket. The woman apologized profusely to Basile, her red lips distracting him from the act she had just committed. Then, they finally parted ways, each heading to their own cars. Kad knowing of their upcoming reunion, Basile oblivious.

Kad hopped into Manco's car and nodded to him, handing him the screen that showed the trackers. She had done her job, and she had done it well, but it was no time for satisfaction. The party had only just begun. The car swung along the roads, following Basile until they crashed into him and the real fun began. Manco started off the killing frenzy by taking down the driver, showering their car in bodily fluids. Kad was revolted; her killing was clean and quick. But this was not her usual type of job. She had to get used to it.

She jumped out of the van with the rest of the bunch and held her ground. Kad wasn't very good with a gun, but she would never admit that. The rest of the group sprayed the bodyguards with bullets, a few bullets being shot their way as well. Two of her team was shot and Kad tried very hard not to raise their numbers. Still yet to shoot a bullet, she noted their target exit the car and attempt to get away. That she wasn't going to let happen. With a deep breath, she pulled the trigger of her gun, aiming for his leg and desperately hoping that she wouldn't miss.


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The bottom of Basile's foot exploded from under him, causing him to topple over down onto the highway. Cars were stopped now, blocked up from all the panic of the scene in front of them. Whoever shot Basile made a lousy shot, hitting the foot not the leg. Police were going to start making their way to them. If traffic hadn't slowed to a complete stop, the police would probably be on them already.

Cole ran over and propped Basile up, dragging him over to the van.

"GET IN! WE GOT HIM!" He paused after seeing a few of his own people wounded. He hadn't noticed it until the excitement had clipped Basile. "AND GET THE OTHERS UP!"

Cole threw the wounded and bleeding Basile into the van. He climbed in and tore of a piece of Basile's trench coat off and made a tourniquet to tie around Basile's leg to stop the bleeding. He'd probably lose the foot. He'd probably lose his own head later too, so Cole didn't really give a damn.

One of his, Katyenka was bleeding in her calf, and Hikotaru looked wounded near the heart. The man looked pale. After he took a few steps trying to help the girl up to her feet, he started to stumble and wither back down to the ground. Cole lept over quickly to partially catch him, moments before he passed out.

"Hop over and get in the van, you're not that badly wounded." Cole said to the girl, slinging the Jap's arm over his shoulder. He pushed him into the van, and stepped away so the girl could get in.

Before he closed the van door behind the team, he noticed one person inside who hadn't budged during the firefight. Some other girl who had come for the ride, had broken her neck. It was probably Cole's fault, when he backed into the Limousine. It took a moment for Cole to climb in and take the girl's body and dump it outside of the van.

"GET IN!"

Cole was yelling because they had to move, a few of his crew still outside the van. You didn't just shoot up a Las Vegas Highway and stay in one spot. There was a warehouse they were going to be stashing Basile in. Then they'd get the information they needed. Cole looked into his side mirror and saw the girl who had broken her neck, dead. She looked peaceful. It's a shame they had a casualty already, but Cole wasn't taking the body with em. It's not like the girl was using it anymore anyways.
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“Fuck,” Katyenka slurred in hushed whispers. She hobbled to the passenger-side door and swung it open, gasping as she stepped into the vehicle. Warm blood spilled from the small bullet hole in her calf and ran down her leg and over her ankles. From the hem of her tight-fitted jeans blood seeped from beneath and trickled over the top of her foot. She could feel her foot slide within her heels as the blood pooled between herself and the shoe.

Manco was driving off before Katyenka had even slammed the door of the van. She pulled the door closed and whispered more slurred obscenities. She had not a care in the world for the others in the van – plus, only the fellow Russian would understand her thick Russian obscenities. Katyenka wasn't sure where they were headed and she didn't much care. In fact, she wasn't even interested in Basile who was sitting only seats behind her.

“Anyone got a fuckin' knife?” Katyenka growled before pulling open the glove box. Slight murmurs were heard from the back of the van – mostly inaudible. She sifted through random notes, insurance papers, pens and pencils before growing frustrated. She mumbled a bit more in Russian before pulling a set of keys from the glove box. She frowned when she sighted the small pocketknife keychain. “You have got to be kidding me..”

Katyenka was quite surprised – the blade was surprisingly sharp and not too dirty. She decided the knife was more for show that it was for use. She retrieved a small lighter stored between her breasts and slid the blade through the flame. Katyenka yanked the blade roughly against the hem of her denim jeans. Once she made the rough initial tear, the material ripped to just about her knee – much like canvas.

After examining the bullet hole, Katyenka decided that the bullet must only be lodged an inch or so deep. She slid the blade through the flame again and inhaled sharply before slowly prodding the blade into her wound. She grunted lightly once as blood rushed from the wound, staining the upholstery of the passenger seat.

Minutes passed by this way as Katyenka pushed the blade deeper and deeper. Eventually the bullet became visible – she was right, about an inch deep. Regrettably, the van swerved then and Katyenka's steady hand faltered. She accidentally thrusted the blade into the bullet hole and roughly gasped. “Fuck,” she groaned in whispers. “You want to learn to drive?”

With the blade buried beneath the bullet, she flicked the blade upwards, popping the small bullet to the surface. Katyenka pitched the bullet to the floor and ripped her pant leg into pieces. She tied the denim around her calf, securing the wound and exhaled, finally. She closed the blood-soaked blade and pitched it to the floor with a frown.

“We anywhere close?” Katyenka mumbled as nausea rushed over her.
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It was a ten minute drive to the warehouse Cole had purchased just for this occasion. It took another ten minutes for him to drag the unconscious figure of Basile into the musky and dim room with a lone chair resting in the center. Cole walked back out to the van, seeing that the equipment was to be unloaded and for his crew to take care of their wounds.

Once he was satisfied, he returned to this musky room with a rope to tie Basile to the chair. The only companion to the chair was a long, stainless steel table resting against the wall beside the door. Cole waited for a few minutes until he saw signs of Basile starting to stir, and then he walked out of the room.

He listened around the corner carefully, until he heard what sounded like french curses, and then returned into the room, making a show of shutting the small steel door. Basile's face looked up in surprise. Cole removed his balaclava and made a show of removing his light gray coat. He then dramatically rolled back his sleeves. If he was wearing a tie, he would have loosened it.

"Theatrics seemed beneath you Monsieur Manco." Basile spoke perfectly in English, only a twinge of accent.

Cole took two cigars out of his coat and a lighter, then tossed the coat onto the table. He put a cigar in his mouth and flicked his silver lighter to produce a vibrant orange flame, the only color against the gray rotting walls. He held up the other cigar with a raised eyebrow, and Basile nodded. Cole inserted the cigar into the Frenchman's mouth and proceeded to light it for him. They spent a minute staring at each other, inhaling and exhaling smoke. Finally, Cole broke the silence.

"Let me be frank. I'm going to smash your face into your skull." Cole paused to let that sink in for a moment, which didn't seem to phase the Frenchman. "I'm going to smash your head in, but it'll be a lot less painful if you tell me what I want from you. Wrong answers, will be very bad for you."

They continued to stare at each other, a beat of silence passing by.

"Where's my money?"

Basile turned his head away defiantly. He gave an angry look, like he was trying to shoot fire from his eyes. Cole got the impression that he would if he was able to. Cole smiled, and walked up to the tied man. He reached up to his lips and took the cigar gently out of his mouth. He twisted the cigar around in his hands, the burning side facing Basile - still unmoved. Cole reached to Basile's face and held his right eye open with one hand firmly, feeling resistance. Now Basile was attentive.

"Your money is in the hands of the opposite party like agreed," Basile said quickly and nervously. "What happened between both parties during the actual exchange is not my concern."

Cole stabbed the lit cigar into the Frenchman's eye, who howled in pain. Cole wouldn't allow Basile's eye to shut, letting it burn a little against the cigar's embers. Once it looked like his eye had put out the smoke, Cole threw the cigar down on the ground and crushed it with his foot. He stepped back away from the Frenchman and let go of his eye, now black and quickly shut tight.

"You can't fucking touch me! I'm 'The Middleman' you fucking pig! Nobody touches Basile! You hear me you American Pig? NOBODY!"

Cole made a point of not speaking again until his question was answered. So after Basile muttered a few curses under his breath, he looked back up. Cole gave him an expectant look, and when nothing was said, Cole clenched his fist tight and rammed it into Basile's nose, knocking him toppling backwards in his chair. Cole could feel his nose crunch and break when he punched it, and watched blood splatter the floor. Basile made a choking sound, snorting blood from his nose.

Cole immediately bent downwards and brought the chair back up to a sitting position, noticing Basile's head sway around weakly for a moment before looking back up at him. He waited another beat of silence, and grabbed his face tightly with his left hand, a scar running down it's length like a river flowing directly to Basile's head. Cole pulled back his right hand, balled into a fist, and started to swing when Basile spoke up quickly in defense.

"WAIT! Wait-wait-wait-wait!" His voice was shaky already from only two attacks in the right places. "The Richesse Palace, here in Las Vegas - in the vault."

Cole squeezed with the hand holding onto the man. "Bullshit!"

"Why do you think I'm here?! That's one way we launder money these days. Billions of dollars flying in and out all day. Impossible to trace bills that we cycle in and then out through the Casino."

Cole released his grip on Basile and spun around, opening the door to leave. He paused as the door swung open. He turned and ran at Basile, his left arm swinging back and then pounding into Basile's jaw, sending him sprawling backwards, hitting the ground and skidding back a few feet.

Cole turned away from the now whimpering Frenchman and gathered his jacket, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. He walked through the warehouse, ignoring any comments or questions from his crew, and arrived in an old office with a worn down couch. Cole laid down onto the couch and rested. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, and then drifted off into sleep. He slept for about twenty minutes before a flourish of his past danced from his head, causing him to wake up breathing heavily and sweating. His arm ached, and he decided to walk off his nervousness, brought on by the haunting from his past. An old Jamaica incident which had caused the long scar down his left arm.

Cole picked up his coat and headed towards a small exit, staying out of view from his crew. He didn't want them to see how badly shaken he was. Cole took another cigar out of his jacket, lit it, and smoked it as he walked a block or two. He liked expensive cigars, not the cheap cigarette shit. He had a strange sense that cigarettes would kill you, despite coming close to death in his line of work. After a few minutes of walking, Cole turned back around and headed back to the warehouse.

As he walked, he thought over details in his head about the Casino. He was going to get his money, no doubt about it. He stood on the sidewalk away from the warehouse, staring at it. He took a deep sigh, and then took a step forward.

BOOOM

The warehouse exploded into a hurricane of fire and smoke, a blast of heat and debris knocking Cole backwards onto the ground. Dizzy, he picked himself up to look at the burning mass of twisted metal in front of him.

"Well shit. That's fucking strange..."
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As always, Katyenka's persistent questions went unanswered. She dozed off in the van briefly, stirring only when her forehead smashed against the window. Surprisingly, Katyenka felt weak. The blood loss caused her to feel nauseous and dizzy – she was almost ready to call it quits and go home. Her father, she frowned, will be rather upset when he hears of her carelessness – she promised to be cautious. Finally, they all arrived at the large warehouse. Katyenka estimated that they'd been driving at least forty minutes and were well away from downtown Las Vegas.

Manco quickly hopped out of the van and pulled the back door open. Katyenka noticed that the rest of the crew was not in much of a hurry. It didn't matter, she decided, because Manco seemed intent on grilling Basile by himself – which Katyenka had no problem with. In fact, Katyenka seemed quite uninterested in Basile, considering the task she was sent to the United States with. She sank back into the soft seat of the van and allowed herself to drift off once again.

When Katyenka awoke, the van was empty. She quickly (but carefully) pulled on another pair of jeans and slowly pushed the van door open and stepped out – standing lightly on both feet. Katyenka walked unevenly through dying grass to the warehouse and opened a large metal door. Thankfully, the group was on the first floor – she would not have to walk up any steps. Katyenka found the crew in a small waiting room area – it appeared that this warehouse could quite possibly have been used as a hospital or doctor's office. She was surprised that they were lounging around.

“Anyone know where Manco might be?” a sudden interest in the ordeal seemed to puzzle a few of them. Katyenka smiled lightly.

“Ain't like it matters, our job here is done,” one of them replied. Katyenka's smile remained, which seemed to puzzle them further.

“Oh, I know. I'd just like to know where he's at, where Basile's at, you know..” They watched her for only a moment and shrugged. Katyenka was rather unsatisfied with their response. She shook her head and her smile faded. She quickly – despite her wounds – turned from them and walked straight through the door.

Suddenly, Katyenka heard a sharp cry in the narrow hallway – not far from where she was standing. She headed quickly in the direction of the yelps and peeked through the narrow window of the metal door. Manco was interrogating Basile – if you could call it that. He demanded information from Basile, information that Basile wasn't sure he wanted to share. From the looks of it, Basile had been stabbed in the eye – Katyenka glimpsed the cigar now crushed on the ground – stabbed with perhaps a cigar? She winced lightly at the thought and peeked through the window again.

Katyenka's eyes widened as Manco slammed his fist into Basile's face. She was surprised when Basile was picked back up – still conscious. When Manco went to hit him again, Katyenka winced and ducked beneath the window. She listened intently through the metal door.

“The Richesse Palace, here in Las Vegas - in the vault..” Basile whimpered. Katyenka gasped and hopped to her feet. She headed quickly down the length of the hallway and disappeared around the corner.




30 Minutes Later

Katyenka smiled as she stood next to the van. She watched the entire warehouse erupt into flames – along with everyone inside. It was about time she'd gotten rid of them – especially that Manco character. If anyone would be a problem for her in the future, it'd be him. Now, Katyenka would have no problem heading to the The Richesse Palace, contacting whoever is in charge of this deal and finally flying home. She smiled at the thought.

Quickly, Katyenka circle around the van to the driver's side. She swung the door open and popped her leg on the floor of the van for a moment. She quietly examined her wound and frowned – she was still bleeding quite heavily. She decided to quickly re-wrap the wound and scoured the vehicle for a set of keys.

After only a few seconds of destroying the van, to no avail, Katyenka exited the van and popped the hood open. She peered inside, almost clueless. “Damn American vehicles..” she scrunched her nose in disapproval. Katyenka huffed quietly, only once, before lifting her head.

Katyenka's jaw dropped. Only a few feet away from her, Manco stood staring at the burning building. His eyes were wide and his mouth just slightly parted – he seemed shocked, but alive. Alive, Katyenka repeated quietly. Alive..

”Fuck.”
i've got another confession to make;
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Cole stood watching it rain small, orange snowflakes made of warehouse. He wondered if any two of the fiery flakes were alike. He chuckled at the thought, and chuckled at his humor despite the smoldering building that could have taken his life. Police sirens started wailing in the distance, his cue to turn and get as far away from this site as possible.

He looked around, seeing who was watching him or enjoying the view in front of him. His eyes happened upon Katyenka, looking surprised - probably from the explosion.

"Looks like you get a raise." Cole gestured for her to follow, away from the growing sound of the police sirens.




An hour later, Cole was peeking through cheap curtains of an equally cheap motel. The cheap digital alarm clock on the nightstand displayed "11:00" in glowing red characters. The girl was sitting on the bed, watching him. Satisfied that no blue and red flashes were waiting for him outside, he moved away from the curtain and turned to face the girl on the bed.

He told her what he had learned from The Frenchman, about the money being laundered in The Richesse Palace Casino - and how he was intent on getting that money back. He let her chew on that idea and headed into the bathroom, taking a silver flip-top cellphone out of his jacket pocket. He sat down on the toilet and locked the door. He punched a number into his phone from memory, and clenched his teeth when a familiar, raspy female voice hissed at him over the phone.

"You better have some fucking good news this time." The voice hissed in Cole's ear.

"I do. Money's being laundered in 'The Richesse Palace Casino'. Beat it out of The Frenchman myself."

"Then dump him in a river somewhere. I don't care who he thinks he is, nobody fucks over Sachiko Ogawa and keeps their head."

"I already took care of him." Cole lied, but thought it better to take credit than to admit a fuck up.

"Just get the mone-"

"We can't just walk into a god-damn casino vault and take whatever we can get our hands on." Cole interrupted, voice rising. "I'm going to need some more supplies and manpower."

There was a pause on the end of the phone. Cole waited it out. He knew the voice on the other end trusted his opinion. After a while, the raspy voice came back, almost startling him.

"Then you better grab some more cash to make up for this additional investment, Manco."

Cole flipped his phone off. He knew that no "goodbyes" would be exchanged anyway. He exited the bathroom and gestured to the girl that the room was free.

"I'll take the couch. Don't leave the room without asking, don't make any phone calls. You're still on my payroll."

Cole took off his jacket and sat down onto the brick-firm couch. His exhaustion outmatched his comfort, and he closed his eyes, listening for the first few minutes before starting to give in to exhaustion.

"I don't have to ask to do anything, and I don't need your money either." She replied.

Cole's eyes shot open and his muscles tensed. He almost sat up when he noticed she was smiling. He relaxed. She was joking. Anything else and Cole would have shaken the life out of her from back-talk. It was a long time since he had taken anything less than seriously. It made him smile just a little bit, which he immediately tried to hide.

He chose to reply with drifting off to sleep.
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Katyenka waited for Manco to retreat into the bathroom. She lightly tip-toed her way to the door and pressed her ear lightly against the wood. It appeared that he was calling whoever he was working for – quite an uninteresting conversation. Katyenka froze when she heard the phone snap close and quickly returned to the bed as the door opened.

Manco gestured with his hand that the room was now available, but Katyenka made no intent to move. She watched him as he took his place on the sofa and peered over her shoulder. The bed in the room was rather large, she smiled. She'd never slept in a bed of that size – at least not alone. She was surprised to find that she was actually excited. Katyenka turned her gaze back to Manco, who appeared to be drifting off to sleep.

“Manco?” she questioned aloud. Nothing. “Hey, Manco? Still awake?” Again, nothing. Katyenka smiled. She stood up slowly and moved to the other side of the room, where she left her things. Before kneeling to the ground, she looked back towards Manco. “Hey, you awake?” Katyenka knew that she couldn't trust that he'd actually be sleeping – he could very well be pretending, just to see what she'd do behind his back.

Katyenka knelt to the ground and gasped as a sharp pain rushed to the wound in her calf. She quickly rifled through a small, drawstring bag. She pushed past her pistol and felt for a small prepaid cellphone. She pulled the cellphone from the bag and stuffed it in her pocket. She then took the pistol and placed it under the waistband of her jeans. She stood quickly and turned to the man “sleeping” on the sofa.

“Well, I'm off to make a phone call,” she said quickly, swiping the room key from the large chiffonier. Katyenka was surprised when she opened the door, stepped out into the hallway and turned back the Manco. He was still laying on the sofa. “Huh, must've been one long day,” she whispered aloud. She quietly closed the door and headed down the length of the long hallway.

The prepaid cellphone Katyenka was holding illuminated quickly, as the phone started. 4 Missed Calls, the phone read. General Khavin had called repeatedly, and her heart sank. For her father to call her that many times, in under only a few minutes, under the given circumstances, something must be wrong. She pressed the call button and put the phone to her ear. Her father answered instantly.

“Daddy!” she sighed in hushed Russian. She was surprised when General Khavin whispered as well.

“Katyenka,” his voice lacked the excitement that her's had. He was silent.

“What's wrong?” she whispered again. General Khavin remained silent. “Father, what's wrong?” General Khavin sighed.

“When will you be ready to return home?” he asked sternly, he sounded rather unhappy.

“I'm not sure,” she sighed. “I know where the money's stashed, but I don't know of the plan to attain that money. And I still have to rid myself of that goon, Manco.” The General sighed again, heavily. He rarely showed his discontent, most of the time feigning contentment when in reality, he was anything but. Katyenka found it odd that he was so vocal about his discontentment.

“One week from today, 12PM noon. There will be a flight waiting, private flight. You must make this flight, Katyenka. I cannot stress this to you enough,” General Khavin grew silent again.

“I may not have the mone–“ she started, before her father abruptly cut her off.

“God damnit, Katyenka. With or without the money, you cannot miss this flight. You cannot.”

Katyenka was worried then that they were both in grave danger. Did someone know she was here? Did someone know about her father? Katyenka sighed. “I will not miss it,” she promised. Her father hung up.

Returning to the room quietly, Katenka stashed her things back into her bag and quickly changed into comfortable clothing. She examined the wound on her calf slowly, brushing the tip of her finger over the deep bullet-hole. Her father was going to be so angry. Katyenka pulled the blanket off of the bed before sinking into the cold sheets. She pulled the blanket over her and sighed. She wasn't as excited about sleeping in a bed this large any longer. In fact, she prayed that she would be able to fall asleep at all.

Katyenka's last conscious thought was that of regret and worry – she should have never made that phone call.
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Cole awoke to the sound of screeching car tires outside. The digital readout on the clock said it had just turned six in the morning. Cole turned his drowsy face from the alarm clock to carefully peek around the curtain. Through the window, he saw a dark cloudy sky with no moon, and a swat van open to the parking lot full of dirty and old cars. Several armored figures were stepping out onto the pavement with rifles slung around their shoulder.

Cole suddenly snapped out of his hypnotized state and opened the curtain a little wider, hoping that it would reveal that this was just a dream. He was rewarded with an unrewarding view of two uniformed police officers knocking only three doors down.

"Hey." Cole whispered. He waited in silence for a moment before the urgency dug up more volume. "Hey! Wake up. We've got visitors outside."

Katyenka stirred, first clenching her eyes shut and then sleepily rising from her bed. She opened her eyes, squinting.

"Huh?"

"Police. Outside."

She pulled the covers closer to her and blinked, then stiffened.

Cole suddenly found himself sad or embarrassed for waking her up. He couldn't really explain why he felt that way, and chose to ignore it, looking back through the window.

The two officers outside were walking to another door, two away now. Cole watched the knock, wait for a few moments and then knock again, shouting "Police!" to whoever inside. A light flickered on, and the door opened only a crack. There was a brief moment of some discussion which Cole could only pick up in bits and pieces. His eyes widened when he heard the taller officer mention something about a "fugitive". The tall officer held up a picture and said something Cole couldn't make out. Then the other officer, the shorter one, said something about searching the room. The door shut in their faces. The two officers looked at each other with an annoyed expression, and the shorter officer Cole had nicknamed "Fatty" kicked in the door in a slight rage. Both officers stepped in, and Cole kept watch, seeing some older man behind the door swing his arms up in protest.

Fatty was able to land a punch on the guy, while his partner disappeared into the room. A moment later, he came back and shook his head towards Fatty. Both started to exit the door, with the older man starting to shout in protest, something about brutality. Fatty turned, and swiped a nightstick across the man's face.

When the two of them knocked on the next door, Cole closed the curtain and whispered over to Katyenka while standing away from the window.

"Somebody knows we're here and sent friends."
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This roleplay is closed due to inactivity or by request of the Game Master. Please contact one of the Roleplaying Moderators to have it reinstated.

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