ICC- Kilrick Salvage Inc.

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A minute later, another man emerged from the building. He wore dusty fatigue-style combat trousers, while his torso was covered by what seemed like several lengths of greyish cloth sewn together and twisted loosely around his burly frame. The most remarkable thing was the way in which he seemed to fade into the background when he stood still.

"Gentlemen, might you care for my company?" He spoke softly, with a curious accent. "I believe you don't know me; few people do, except briefly." A fleeting smile crossed his tanned face; he might be in his early twenties, but his eyes were those of a man wise and hardened beyond his years.
"You may call me ... Aaron. It is as good a name as any other. I work for money, and you must be paid well enough to have assembled such a large team, or maybe you don't expect many of them to survive 'til pay day. In my job I get to visit many places, often at night, places that are ... awkward to get into. You might need my skills sometime soon."
Note: If you accept my joining this RPG, it will be my first one online, so I would be glad for some advice if I get things wrong.
 
Reik hopped out onto the road, flicked his zippo lighter into life and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag, then looked up at the newcomer.

"What outfit are you from?" he asked. Reik was new to the team as well, but hey, he knew he was trustworthy, he wanted this mysterious character on the level.
 
Jake stepped down next to Reik, dwarfing him quite a bit.
Jake stared intently at the stranger.

"We can trust the bloke." Jake said mysteriously.
 
"What outfit am I from? Oh dear", Aaron chided Reik, "I expected better of you. Curiosity is not a survival trait. Anyway, I'm ready to go. No luggage, I don't believe in anything that restricts my ... freedom of movement."
As he walked past Jake to the truck, the short stranger pulled something out from the folds of his tunic. "I am not in the habit of holding a gun when I don't intend to use it, but I will make an exception so that you know where you stand with me." The gun was obviously a custom job, a unique item treasured by its possessor; it seemed to have started as a Desert Eagle, but the end of the barrel had been sawn off to accommodate a built-in silencer, and the whole weapon was darkened to prevent it from shining. "It belonged to my father. I followed the family trade."
Smiling, but not with his eyes, Aaron secreted the weapon in its hidden holster and climbed into the back of the truck.
 
Reik stood still, examining his cigarette end.

"Curiosity can get you killed. That's one thing..." he said, turning.

Reik paused and did a slight double-take, seeing Jake standing tall and noticing his bulk for the first time.

He had maybe 6 inches over the tall ex-soldier and easily a hundred and twenty pounds, probably more. Reik's eyes lifted to Jake's face and he was both impressed and worried by how long the movement took.

Then he continued, "Knowing who's watching your back is another. I work alone or with people I trust. No compromise."

Reik caught Kilrick's warning look but he was damned if he was going to let some Ghost on a Mr Mysterio trip, ignore him.

Captain Reik had not asked enough questions in the past and the army had taken too much of his life. He wasn't going to make that mistake again, not now he was free and had so much more to lose.
 
Kilrick waited for the others to get through the formalities.

But he had only enough patience. "Alright, now that we are settled with the pleasantries, lets talk business. There's a big pot at stake, but we still need some hardware."

"What about O'Neil?" Asked Jake.

"Yea, O'Neal? I owe him a visit." Said Kilrick.

O'Neal was a salvager, but he played a different game, a vulture. He would wait for a battle between one of the color factions (the Greens, the Greys, the Blacks or any of the others) and watch while they shot each other. Then he would go in and clean up what was left. The weapons and armor he would sell to the highest bidder.

Remmington was nodding. "Yeah, I hear he's out in no-man's land."

No man's land, was basically a misnomer. Territory not controlled by any of the Colors, No man's was often a lawless hive of activity. O'Neil had set himself up a shop out in a desolate village a few dozen miles away. It was a better place to do his kind of business.

Reik took the cigerrette out of his mouth. "Won't be easy. O'Neil still works with a raider outfit, Crimson Razor's or some such. An old Red's outfit that went private. Nasty as the like tend to go. They own that town."
 
Aaron paused, his left hand already gripping the handhold to pull himself into the truck. He let go slowly, then relaxed.

"I understand, Mister ... Reik, isn't it? Do not concern yourself, I kill only two kind of people: those I'm paid to kill, and those who attack me. I have no contract on any of you, and I'm sure nobody here would even dream of backstabbing a venture partner." The enigmatic smile appeared again briefly. "My loyalty lies with whoever is willing to pay me; however I have but one word, so I will not be swayed from a contract by a better offer. Oh, and if you were wondering about my accent, my father was French. Are you satisfied now?"

Turning to Kilrick, Aaron said in a business voice: "I believe you mentioned O'Neil's hardware. Will our expenses be covered separately from completion bonus by our employers?"
 
"We're talking 50K in chips. But that's the starting price and we're still negotiating. We go to New York, we take us a couple of passengers, we come back with an item, we get paid. THat's it. It's a Green contract, meaning they can't do it themselves."
 
Reik looked over at Aaron.

"I take it a share of 50K plus will hold you to us?" he asked. The ghost nodded and Reik, normally cynical and suspicious of everyone, found himself believing the man. He was so serious, so sincere in every movement. Despite the shadowy appearance. He seemed like a calm rock.

The merc shook his head and concentrated on not thinking crazy symbolic shit. He was a soldier, a killer, an ass kicker. Not a poet.

"Like I said, O'Neil is a tough man to see." he paused, thinking as he ran a hand back over the receeding hair. "I guess we'll just have to make sure we get this right." Reik said, smiling slightly.

"That mean you're in?" asked the team leader. Reik nodded.

"Collegues again." whispered the now gainfully employed mercenary.
 
O'Neal's place was in midst of No Man's Land in a place called the Brahma Chop.

For years the Greens and the Greys had been fighting over a a few dozen square miles of land to the West. It wasn't because there was anything especially strategic about the land, it was just an issue of reputation, prestige. Who could put more hurt to the other, who would back down first.

Like two stubborn dogs fighting over a rotting leg of brahma.

Each side would move through the land, picking fights, setting up temporary fortifications. Fights would flare up and then subside quickly, like sudden bolts of lightning on a clear day.

Last year, the fighting and been especially explosive- heavy weapons, this year it had been more knife-in-the-dark. A sign of the times perhaps.

O'Neal had set up shop in the midst of this battle ground because it gave him greater access to inventory. A sudden fight would leave dead and wounded, and desperation for profit made the vultures quicker to come in for the kill and plunder.

It was a dangerous place to operate, but life is short and painful. Maybe the after-life was better than the present.

O'Neal moved through the Chop like the angel of death, invulnerable to outsiders. As if protected by the devil himself.

It had been that way since the Reds had withdrawn, leaving the Crimson Razors behind.

The Razors were now in it for profit. Loyalty to kin, to clan, to leader, all went out with the Reds. Now it was just a matter of money. They profitted from their protection of O'Neal, and when necessary by working for what ever side paid better.

Since both sides used O'Neal, no one bothered to take them out. O'Neal and the Razors had become the new pirates of the Chop.

And O'Neal grew fat and lazy. It was easy. There weren't any other predators out to keep him lean.

The only real predator for a pirate these days was another, meaner profit, that was hungry for his own cut of the chop.

And so O'Neal had set up shop in an old church on a hill surrounded by mines and barbed wire, and honeycombed with hiding places for shooters. Even rabid dogs knew better to stray into that place.

The old stone church, a remnant of better times, stood on a hill, a atop a city of gravestones. Nearer the bottom was a wall made out of old rubber tires, sheets of corroded metal, derlick cars, and bones. Landmines lay around the church like pixie dust, and the walls of the church were ancient and thick stone, capable of taking direct hits by heavy weapons.

There was only one way in, a singular road through a gate, and watched all the time.

It had been an expensive place to build, and was an expensive place to keep. But it was high valued real estate, and you get what you pay for.
 
"This must be the one..."

A woman wearing a white sleeveless shirt and a pair of trousers with desert camo approaches the group. She was unarmed, except for the M93R holstered on her right thigh. If it's not for the long, bright red coloured hair she've got, she would just look like a typical person living in Brahma Chop.

"You're Kilrick right? Fenilis here. I've heard that you're needing men for a job in NY..."
 
She smiled. "Not today. Come on, I'll show ya the way." And with that, she hopped in, and directed them past all the mines, right up to the door.
 
Aaron merely nodded towards the woman, and smiled briefly at Jake's crude comment.
He strolled casually after Kilrick, yet his eyes were taking in every last detail. A good professional gathered as much information as possible on the people he encountered; no other type of professional survived.
"Nice place this, but I bet it's full of draughts."
 
OCC- Ok, Smar, a bit quick through the minefield but we will go with what we got.

ICC-

So there I am, Kilrick, Salvager, 6 plus feet of kick ass and nasty, in the midde of No Man's Land, at the Brahma Chop, in a huge modified cathedral occupied by the Crimson Razors. O'Neil's place.

We might have gone in careful, stealthy. We might have been more tactical and clever. THis is not how I might have played it. But sometimes, well, ya just gotta say, "what the fuck."

So I walked through the big double doors. THe Razors saw us comin' up, all cocky and ready. They must of thought we had come to buy. But we got nothing to trade but lead.

O'Neal is standing behind the bar. He's got Ruger the Red, Chief of the Crimson Razors, sitting next to him. There maybe half dozen other Razors lounging about with a bunch of hookers they picked up from some gutter. They see us comin and start itching for their triggers. But they been drinkin and whorin', and it made them slow.

Outside I figure there might be maybe a dozen, maybe two dozen more. Fuck 'em. More booty that way.

I got my shotgun in one hand, my pistol in the other. My crew is behind me.

I walk through the doors right up to where O'Neil, fat slob O'Neil, is standing behind the bar, watching me come up.

He figures we going to do business. Yeah, but business on our terms.

O'Neil looks at me, casually. I know he's got a hand on his pistol, but ain't showing it. Just being careful. It won't do any good.

I walk up to O'Neal so that I am almost at the bar. O'Neal has a greasy smile that fits his greasy hair and he says, in that low gutter voice of his. "So Killick, haven't seen you in a long time. What's your pleasure?"

I smile. I am going to enjoy this.

"O'Neil," I say, "I got only two pleasures in life. One of them is chewing gum, and the other is kicking ass. And I'm all out of gum."

His eyes open, cause he knows hells come for lunch.

I bring the shotgun down so its point blank, and let both barrels fall.

The boom is like thunder, and O'Neil's chest disintergrates in double buck shot.

I don't wait, jump over the bar, pistol out as a storm of gunfire and smoke fills the room.
 
Before the echoes of the shotgun had time to fade, there was a horrible gurgling sound from one of the door guards as he sank to his knees, desperately trying to stench the flow of blood from the gashing wound that Aaron's Desert Eagle had opened in his throat.

The other door guard had seen the pistol appear, and he lunged towards the assassin. Side-stepping quickly, Aaron whirled round and fired two shots at point-blank range; the guard went down heavily and received a bullet in the head for good measure.

Chips of stone started to fly as the Razors opened fire, and Aaron took cover behind one of the large double doors.
 
CHATACHATACHATACHATACHATA went Jakes assault rifle, disintegrating 3 heads, the red guys, and two others nearest him. Jake then ducked and hid behind the pillar, brough out his last frag and let it fly to where he'd seen most of them whorin.
 
The explosions coming from with the shop had now alerted the other Razors.

Quickly, those outside began to converge on the old church.

Nix, assuming command, looked at the others. "Alright boys, let's frag 'em out."

He reached into his vest, and pulled out the pins of two grenades and got ready to toss them through a window.
 
As gunfire exploded everywhere, Reik tried to keep up with the frantic pace. He knew Kilrick was planning to jack O’Neil, he just hadn’t expected such a lack of finesse. Reik didn’t mind, not being a big fan of the softly softly approach, himself.

The rest of the team had reacted quickly and most of the Razors were dead. Only a few tenacious stragglers remained to threaten the Salvage crew.

Now the mercenary was moving, ducking and weaving as he tried to find some cover. The first Razor he had encountered lay bleeding in Reik’s wake. He had been standing next to Reik when the gunfire opened up. The powerfully built thug had taken the mercenary be surprise, and grabbed his gun hand before he could draw. Reik had been forced to stab the man in the neck while the triumphant smile was still splitting his opponent’s face.

Reik saw the others ducking behind cover and he also saw a Razor drawing a bead on him. He squeezed off a round from his Magnum at the thug but the man was making good use of the cover and the bullet whistled past him.

Having wasted time with the shot, he was still out in the open. Reik knew he was a perfect target, and that meant he had to act fast.

The mercenary dived forward, as bullets filled the air above his head. He landed and slid a few feet on the smooth stone floor. Then Reik was up and firing, his bulky Magnum belching fire. The .357 slugs tore massive fissures in the masonry around the sniping Razor, who ducked away, trying to avoid the hail of bullets.

Reik used the break in incoming fire to race for the small alcove set beneath one of the large windows. He glanced back and saw the machine-gunner’s head disintegrating as Jake turned his assault rifle on him.

Reik reached the window as a grenade smashed through the glass and thudded onto the floor a few yards away from him.

“Fuck.” He muttered, turning away from the blast and launching himself away.
 
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