IC: Bleeding Edge Options

[Fresno Bob]

Nick looks at his hand.

"Oh...yeah. I haven't had a smoke in a while. Must've picked the twitching up from Mickey there. Smoking is just a result of living in the sprawl.", Nick says, also smiling.

"So...Sue...if you're looking t' join, we could always use more members, and we ain't as fucked in the head as some gangs out there, like the Drakes, or the 'Weeners. And we won't make you do something like stand in a circle of fire to join, or other crazy shit like that."

Then Nick turns to Mickey.

"Hey man, I didn't mean anything by it. Just showing him the colors. You and me, we're like partners in crime. Hey, don't look at me like that."

[kevyn668]

Sue nods to the newcomer, sizing him up. "Like I was tellin yer friend here, my name is Sue. Nick was just fillin me in on yer current predicament. You the Big Man? Maybe I should talkin to you then." Sensing the newcomer's tenseness, Sue unzips his jacket to give him easier access to the predator on his hip but takes care not to show the gun or make any overt acts of aggression.

Seeing the twitch, What is it with these guys and the twitching fingers...?

After hearing the exchange between the two men, Sue turns back to Nick. "Nuthin personal, friend, but I'd like to hear what the Big Man here has to say before I hand out one of my last smokes."

[last_of_the_grea...]

He looked at Sue, not realizing his finger was twitching. "Just homelessness. As for biz, what do you bring to the table, Sue?" That name...it reminded him of some old, old song...by some guy called...the man of black?

[kevyn668]

[OOC: the itallycs w/o quotations are thoughts, sorry for the confusion]

"Thats a good question, omae. A better one is what is it you need brought?"

[Fresno Bob]

"We ain't got a Big Man yet. No one's too eager for the job seein' as how it seems to be cursed. But Mickey does have the most votes now. Two out of three.", Nick says.

"We need anything right about now. Fighters, gunners. I see you get a Pred and something on your back. If you can shoot someone, we can use you. Thats pretty much it."

[kevyn668]

Sue raises his eyebrows when Nick mentions the Pred. He takes a deep drag as he ponders his options. Apparently coming to a solution he shrugs and hauls out the 'Nails. He shucks one half way out and hands the pack to Nick. "Two-thirds, huh? You can have a smoke...And I can do what you're talkin 'bout. But I'd like to hear it from the closest thing you got to a Big Man. No offense, friend."

He turns to Mikey, "So whats it gonna be 'yea' or 'nay'?"

[Fresno Bob]

Nick pulls the cigarette out, and places it between his lips. He pulls a out silver Ronson with a red Hammer and Sickle on it. Then he flicks the lid open, spins the thumbwheel, and places the resultant flame on the end of the cigarette. He sucks down a long drag, then opens his mouth to let the smoke out.

"None taken...friend.", he says around the cigarette. He hands the pack back.

"Thanks."

[last_of_the_grea...]

He eyeballs Sue, unsure what to think. "Give me what you know about this erea and the players in it. If you're usefull you're in."

He looks at Ricks, blinking several times, trying to signal the mage to scan the Boy Named Sue with astral sight, magic, whatever.

[Digital Heroin]

Ever had one of those days? You know, the day where nothing goes quite right; where everyone's out to take a steaming drek on your lawn? Usually a guy complains about a day like that, says everyone's out to get him, he gets laughed at and called paranoid. I'd like to see you try that with a 750lb. Trog; especially when the Trog in question can bend rebar into balloon animals. Yeah, call Blitz paranoid, and see how it feels to suck baby food through a straw for the rest of your life.

Since he'd hung up the phone from talking with Friday, his Lone Star insider, Blitz'd had a bad feeling growing in his gut. Not three times nuked week old burrito bad, but close enough to be uncomfortable. He shook it off, though, when he walked into Skags looking to recruit. Can't be going into a place like that with worry playing across your face. Attitude. No matter what drek life throws your way, you've gotta steel up, suck it in, and put on a good face; the kind of face that tells a man that messing with you'll result in being lynching by his own large intestine. Blitz had summoned that face by remembering the words of his father: One of these days, you'll wake up dead...

`I'm looking for some guys who might be up for a rumble in the sewers. Got a few Losers to take care of, if you catch my drift. Spoils of war go to the guys you can find to come along, hell, I don't care what they take. I'm not in this for the money. Think you know anyone who might be up for a fight?`

Now, there are certain things you just don't expect from your favorite bar. Sometimes you can't anticipate the kind of things you don't expect, especially if you're a none too bright Troll, and a thought like that confuses you, and the change is somewhat subtle. Well, ok, some would call it pretty fragging obvious actually. You see, almost every one of the half a dozen or so fresh bodies in Skags at that moment had done some accessorizing that morning. Bandanas, caps, doo-rags and the like, all in nice bright shiny new Loser colors. Funny, how a Loser is a lot like a roach. Leave even one of the vermin alive, and they multiply pretty damn quickly. There'd been a good number of chairs pushed back, a few drinks finished, some iron produced, and a whole lot of angry eyes looking the way of the big ugly Troll.

Of course Blitz wasn't the type to back down from long odds easily, and this was -his- bar after all. A greasy loking guy with a flock of seagulls haircut and a beat up looking

Warhawk in hand started to speak up -he probably figured he was the senior Loser present, and he'd deliver an ultimatum- but Blitz wasn't giving him the chance. The towering Trog let out a warcry and heaved the nearest table to him from the floor, throwing the heavy topped furnishing into an end over end tumble which sent neo-Losers scrambling. Not all of them made the dive in time, however; the large table took down a pair of butt ugly twin dwarves and a kid who didn't even look old enough to shave in it's fall. He'd let these bastards kill too many of his fellow Edgers, he'd failed for long enough. These guys may not have been Losers for more than an hour, but they sure as hell were going to pay for signing on. He didn't intend on letting a single one of them so much as crawl out of Skags that day.

Blitz's flurry of disjointed, rage infused, internal monologue was cut off by the dull impact of a Browning slug in one shoulder. Snapped back to a somewhat higher plain of consciousness, Blitz realized two things: the slug had hit a dermal deposit, and some idiot was rushing him with a baseball bat. As the guy rushed, Blitz looped the chain around his fists in an eerily casual, practiced, gesture, leaving the bulk of the chain's length hanging. He grunts as the flock of seagulls guy manages to score a grazing shot along his thigh, but he was too focused to even care. He takes two quick, long strides to intercept and pass at an angle the guy with the bat, easily brushing the incoming swing aside. With a quick twist of the heavy chain as he flips it towards the guy, Blitz caught the hapless Loser around the throat, securing him in a hangman's choke with the chain. In the same fluid motion, Blitz used the momentum of his sprint, along with some brute force, to haul the guy clear over his own horned head. Releasing one end of the chain in mid throw allows the Loser, who's neck has been snapped by the force, to twist free and tumble right into Mr. Warhawk.

For the time being, that just left one Loser standing. Said Loser, after witnessing that outright scary display of strength and unbridled rage, actually managed to yell something to the effect of 'die motherfragger,' as he fired off a shot which drew a thin line of blood from just under Blitz's right armpit. Now, had the poor guy known that only a few short seconds after firing the blood drawing shot in question the frontal lobe of his skull with be caved in by the end of a heavy length of chain, rending him a vegetable for the rest of his life (albeit a rather short life, given the quality of medical care avaliable to the denizens of the Redmond Barrens in this day and age), he'd probably have tried to make his last words a little more elloquent.

The blood and cerebrospinal fluid slick chain hanging loosely from one hand, both fluids dripping down his front, Blitz turned to regard the guy with the flock of seagulls hair.

He turned just in time to catch lead in the hip. The force was enough to stagger even the big Troll a step or two back, but it just added more fuel to his rage. Two painful steps foward, and he kicked the heavy pistol clean out of the guy's hand. Flock of seagulls tried to push Blitz back, but all he ended up with for his efforts was a crushing hand grabbing at his wrist, and hauling him just high enough so another crushing hand could get ahold of his throat.

`Alright chummer, you's got one chance ta tell me where in da sewers yer doss is or...`

Before Blitz could deliver the actual threat, the sound of a shotgun action being levered came to his ears. He slowly craned his neck to look over his shoulder. There behind the bar, the 'tender stood with a double barrel granddaddy of a shotgun levelled at the big Troll's back.

`Drop him, and get the hell out of here. You're not welcome at Skags no more.`

Blitz grunted, flexing his fingers effortlessly to crush the guy's windpipe. No more bad hair days for that Loser. With a disbelieving frown creasing his visage, he dropped the guy, and turned to the tender. This wasn't happening. He was the fraggin' champ here. Now suddenly he wasn't welcome?

It was one of those days.

Stepping out of Skags, a gut full of lead, and a head full of confused anger is bad enough; it's even worse when the 'Star are there waiting for you. Good old car 665, a step away from Satan; Friday's cruiser. Officer Friday was leaning back on the wall by the front entrance to the fight bar, having a smoke, when Blitz came out. His partner, whom Blitz had never met before, was sitting on the hood of the cruiser, shotgun lazily held over his lap.

`Well now, don't you look like drek warmed over.`

Friday laughed a rough laugh, and flicked the cigarrette to the ground, stepping up beside Blitz.

`Been one of those days.`

Blitz was muttering, both Friday and... hell, the other guy must be Saturday. Neither of the pair caught his words.

`So pal of mine, you promised me the bust of my career. Where, pray tell, is it at?`

`You're sounding mighty brave today, your boyfriend decide to play catcher last night...`

`Come on now Blitz, mind your tounge. From what I see there's no drug but gonna go down here at all. That means we just wasted company gas coming into an off limits zone, for nothing. Say, that's a nasty looking GSW you've got there. How'd that happen?`

He could see it coming; Friday was covering his sidearm, and Saturday was shifting to stand up. Little rat bastard figured he needed a bust to make quota, so he was gonna try and bring Blitz in. Fraggin' rent-a-cops, all the same. Blitz moved before either of them realized he knew what the deal was, though. He sidestepped and grabbed Friday's wrist, wrenching his arm around behind his back. Now, from Saturday's perspective there's a problem. Sure, Friday doesn't even come all the way up to chest level on the big Troll, but if he takes the shot, and missed, well he's in a world of drek. The look on Saturday's face was enough to tell Blitz he'd already won this one.

`Drop the meatgrinder, nice and slow.`

Saturday shoots a look to Friday for guidance, but all he gets is a pained expression of urgency. Reluctantly, the officer set the shotgun down on the pavement by the cruiser. As Saturday was bent over placing the boomstick down, Blitz liberated Friday's Thunderbolt, giving the cop's wrist an extra twist to discourage any retaliation effort.

`Good, now slide your sidearm on over here, then walk on over to that parking meter.`

He indicated a bent old broken down meter across the way. Saturday again reluctantly complies; when instructed to cuff himself to the fixture, and toss over the keys, he does just that. While the officer is not looking, Blitz takes a moment to bring the novacoke out of his pocket, and stuff it into Friday's jacket pocket, while patting him down for other weapons.

`Now you see what it feels like to be hearded around by some fragger with a gun? Not too funny now, is it?`

`You're gonna pay for this Blitz. Assaulting an officer, destruction of...`

Friday was sound desperate, and Blitz didn't like it, so he just grunted and cold cocked the cop with his own pistol. Tucking the Thunderbolt into his belt, Blitz walked over to pick up the other sidearm as well, tucking it in with the first. He then smiles, and picks up the handcuff keys, walking over to a nearby sewer grate, he drops them on in.

While Saturday let out a stream of curses, Blitz walked over to the squad car, and hauled open the driver's side door. A little bit of bending, some extra effort, and a mighty heave and Blitz hauled the door clean off of the car. Silent now, worried about what the angry Troll's gonna do with the door, Saturday mutely watches the display. Sitting the door on the side of the road, it didn't take Blitz long to find a suitable piece of 'crete for a re-enacment of one of his favorite childhood games: runaway car bowling. He leans in to twist the keys and start the car, then he puts it into drive, drops the brink, and pulls clear.

He didn't even bother to watch where the car hit. Shotgun resting on one shoulder, cruiser door in the other hand, he headed back towards Bleeding Edge turf as he knew it.

Of course, it was still one of those days.

Hollywood. It wasn't familiar; it wan't likely friendly; it sure as frag wasn't home. But that's the way of it, and so here he is. Biltz pulls up alongside Kake's truck on his Scorpion, both him and the bike looking worse for wear.

His warpaint is all but gone now, most of it run down his throat, streaked with sweat; he's covered with blood and craniospinal fluids. Some of the blood's recent, some is actually his. Well, plenty is his in fact. Added to the flesh deep trails and the now bandaged (with the colors of a falled Loser) gut shot wound, he has a rather nasty looking cut just under one of his tusks. He'd come across some dandellion eater trying to hotwire his bike back at the old Loser doss. Seems this was the only guy who wasn't out celebrating newly acquired turf with the alliance. Hell, he probably wasn't even part of the deal. Little slitch was quick though, that Blitz'd give him. Of course, now he was just dead. When he approaches the hotel, he's got a large military kit bag in one hand, the shotgun strapped to it; the bar fridge from the old Loser doss strapped around him; the pair of liberated Thunderbolts in his belt; and by the Ghost he's still carrying the cop cruiser door with the number 665 on the side in one hand. He's favoring his wounded side jsut a bit as he approaches, as little as possible in fact. He stops by the gathered persons, and nods solemnly.

`Been one of those days, hasn't it?`

[last_of_the_grea...]

Mickey turns to look at the cruiser door coming his way with the troll attatched to it, eyes agog. "Good lord, Blitz, what the hell did you do? If you've been playing chicken with the star's vehicles again you can pay yer own bloody hospital bills this time."

[Fresno Bob]

"Holy shit, Blitz...holy shit. You know what, though? I'm not going to ask. I don't need or want to know.", Nick says, a look of surprise on his face.

[Digital Heroin]

The big Trog shakes his head, and can't help but letting a drek eating grin cross his face.

`I had to keep a souvineer.`

In time, maybe he'll explain, right about now he needs a nap something fierce.

[kevyn668]

@ Mickey:
"Well, ta be honest with ya, I'm kinda new to these parts m'self. But I will tell ya this :[states LM's IC "state of the union" post] Will that do?"

Sue takes another drag and flicks the ash away as Mickey responds to Blitz. He leans towards Nick and whispers, "I think I'm startin to see why its only two-thirds," and winks.

He turns towards Blitz, taking in the scene. "Been one those days, huh, chummer?"

With deliberate slowness pulls the flask of snyth-scotch from the inner pocket of his jacket. "I reckon whatever you did deserves a drink. I'll trade ya the rest of the booze in this, here," shakes flask. " For one of them Thunderbolts." Sue extends the flask to the big Troll, " And if that price is too steep....well, shit you can have it just for bringin' the door back."

[Digital Heroin]

Blitz regards the new guy a moment, and cocks his head to the side. He looks over to Mickey and Nick.

`'e with us now?`

He was gonna have to get used to the new faces. Only hoped Mother was still around, he needed something easy on the eyes. He looks back to Sue.

`No thanks, I think it's about time I quit. As for the piece, they's got a bit o' sentamental value to 'em. Had to lose a decent insider for 'em.`

He'd miss Friday. Hell, it was fun having a cop scared drekless of him.

[kevyn668]

"Fair enough, friend." Sue takes a swig from the flask and replaces it in the jacket pocket.

[last_of_the_grea...]

Mickey looks at all the guys getting along with Sue. Idiots! He could be a Renraku plant! Still, keep your friends close and your enemies closer...

"Allright Sue, you're in on probation. Do good and we'll make it permanent. Now, down to biz...let's get to that recon. Sue, you're with Nick and Painkiller. You're Alpha 1, Alpha two and Alpha three. Ricks, you and Yellow are with me. We're Omega one...that's me...Omega two and Omega 3. Blitz, hold down the fort here and guard the truck with the rest. You're Gamma Team. Let's get to it people."

[Fresno Bob]

Alpha Team? What the fuck?, Nick thinks to himself.

"Kssht. Thats affirmative, Red Leader. Making my attack run on the Death Star now.", he says as if over a radio. He then chuckles at his own joke.

[Digital Heroin]

`da Frag?`

He's not so delicate when it comes to expressing his confusion at the designations. When was it they became military exactly?

`Musta missed more dan I thought...`

He grunts, and looks up to the hotel. Well, 'least he can claim a room now. He looks over the collection of people, some of which he ain't got a clue who they are. He grunts, and nods in the direction of two of them, since his hands are full.

`You and you, you's got front door duty. No one comes in or out without you either knowin' their face, or me clearin' 'em.`

He indicates another.

`Take da truck. Sittin' up in da cab'd be best. Remember it's got mirrors ta watch the sides, no pokin' yer head out. Ya do that, yous might get shot. The door guys can watch yer ass.`

The hefts the duffel up a bit more, and grunts as a pain lances through his side. Some more blood soaking through his bandages on the gut wound.

`The rest of yous, come wit me. I'll gets someone on any back door this place may 'ave, and a runner to communicate back 'n forth. If drek goes down an' tha runner's not 'der, yell.`

He starts into the hotel now, having to manouver for a few to get through the door with his odd load of goodies. First order of business for himself is to find a nice room with a view, second or third storey'll do.

[Fresno Bob]

"In any case, Sue, Pain. Let's go do some Recon.", Nick says. He puts his Ares duffel bag down on the step platform on the truck, and begins pulling out guns.


"Now, the Nick Rowden way to do recon is to find a nice watering hole. Maybe a nice prefab shanty with a name like Piss Alley, and one or two kinds of very hard drinks. Bartenders in places like that tend to know everything. The second step is to begin a long habit of patronage. After that, you've got everything to know in this place down.", he says while looking over each gun.

"Either of you want to borrow something?"

In the bag is a sawn off double barrel shotgun, a Defiance T-250, an AK-98, a Colt M-23, a Beretta 70 SMG, a Predator, a Warhawk, a Ceska vz/120, and lots of ammunition for each one. Nick pulls out the Warhawk and sticks it in his belt. Then he pulls out the katana he found in the Losers doss and adds

"Huh...I found this thing. I wonder where the Losers got it. It's real nice."

[kevyn668]

"I like how you operate," Sue cracks his knuckles. "Lets do some recon..." he smiles.

Sue peers over Nicks shoulder into the bag and lets out a low whistle, "Jesus H Christ, Nick. Do you know something I don't?"

He picks up the T250 and sawed off shotgun, puting them through the paces. "Nice pieces of work, here. I might take you up on the offer if thing go sour down the road, but for now I think I have enough. I have been meaning to pick up another pistol at some point, but that can wait."

He checks the action and load on both the Predator and his Sawed-off Shotgun. He replaces them in thier respective holsters and nods at Nick, "Ready when you are, omae."

[last_of_the_grea...]

He frowns and looks at Nick with his half vacant stare through narrowed eyes. "Alpha 1, that's you Nick, do take an actual look around, hmmm? Before you actually enter any bar or consume any alcohol."

He figures his labelling Nick "Alpha 1" and himself "Omega 1" would let the rest know that the "1" meant they were in charge of the team. Nick seemed to be taking charge, so that was good. Blitz was doing the same. There might be hope yet. By the Corporate Court, Renraku would not get any more shots in if he had any say in the matter!

"Gamma 1, if anyone is in the place who seem tough and amenable, invite themto stay and meet me when I return. Make them comfortable and make them not want to leave." He figured Blitz would translate that to mean "hold 'em there 'till I get back. If they bolt, capture with extreme violence." Like he did anything without extreme violence. Still, a loyal pitbull was a usefull tool. Point at what you want bit and watch the pitbull go.

"Allright, Alpha, move out." It was amazing how easily corpsecspeak returned. He adjusted his weapons, carrying his broken wrench. He'd need new spray cans soon. If there was a store that had some around he'd pick up a few. He gestured for Yellow and Ricks to flank him and started to stride away to circle the block, then lead them in an outward spiral search pattern. He expected Nick to do the same right up until he found a bar. Hopefully he would find the establishment first.

[Grey]

((Ugh, no action for days and when I get too busy to post, you all come out of the woods))

Durring the exchange with the newcommer, Ricks gives the guys a good look on the astral. Once Mickey is ready to get moving, Ricks looks to him and asks, "I can call up those watchers like ya wanted, but what exactly do ya want me ta do with em?"

Ricks snaps his fingers, his will casting out to the astral world, calling a few watchers to his side.

[last_of_the_grea...]

"The watchers are for advance recon. I want them to scout a 2 block radius and give a report on their findings."

[JongWK]

[Grey]

"Sure, no problem, but main, Watchers ain't too smart. You'll have to be more specific. Should I have them look for groups of people? Say groups of four or more?"