Ghost drops to one knee, holding his injured leg, stun baton dropping to the ground. He sits there for a moment, the shock of battle, and the flow of adrenalin coursing through him.

My god what did I do, I didn't think, I just thought he shouldn't be dead like that, oh drek, what did I do.

Ghosts age shows through as he looks around, bodies and parts cover their ground, he fights hard not to puke. He hobbles up, retrieving his baton from where it fell. He looks around again, this time in earnest, trying to separate the dead in his mind.

"Blitz," he yells out, knowing the troll is still alive, "form a party, separate the dead, search the losers for whatever we can use, Munk's boys get first dibs though."

Ghost continues to hobble through the mess, clasping his wound tightly to controls the bleeding. Then he see's him. The memory comes back quickly, a loud bang, a brush of air, the grunt of impact from behind him. Ghost stands above the body of Jake. A single tear rolls down his cheek, the kid had looked to him for protection. Ghost had saved his life only to take it away for nothing.

His hand hovered near his holstered Colt, he gripped it. His SG link engaged telling him he had 14 rounds remaining in the mag and the safety was off. I understand now Promo, why you did what you did.

Ghost drew the weapon, holding it out in front of him, the temptation and guilt overwhelming. He had killed them, murdered them. They did this because he told them something that was a lie to protect the image of his lord. And now they were gone. Dead. Deleted.

Ghost looked up, the barrel of the gun rested against his chest, directly at his heart. A moment. Two. His finger slowly squeezed the trigger. Then he stopped. No. I can do better. I have failed. But I can do better. I will not take the easy way out. I will not.

He slid the pistol into it's holster, whipped his face, and sat down next to his friend.

I will do better.

"I promise Jake, I promise."

When all was said and done, and the remaining Losers broke into a pannicked run, Blitzkreig stood tall. His face was a mask of stone, the red of his mask was streaked with real blood now, the blood of the fallen. Friend and enemy alike. Slow fired burned behind his eyes, the urge to give chase and rend the skin from the cowards coursed through his veigns. As he unlooped the blood slick chain from his fist, he marked each face he could see in his memory. A man should walk away from the field of battle, never run.

A small eternity later, he turned about amidst the carnage. The men that died here did so with honor; as much honor as you'll ever see in the streets. They knew what the cost of defeat was, and they fought hard. His eyes went from the fallen, to one of the still standing. His adrenal rush coursing down, Blitz began to walk; a slow methodical walk. He locked eyes with the other Troll when his approach was noticed, and he stopped a mere two feet from Munk. His face was still a mask of emotionlessness as he stared right into the other Troll's eyes, and after a pregnant pause he grabbed the older man by the wrist. Before it could be seen as an attack, he brought Munk's hand up, and with his other clasped it, a wrist to wrist shake.

`You fought well today. If ever we meet on opposite sides of this field of battle, I will remember that.`

He broke his doubled grip on the older Trog's hand now, and took two steps back.

"Blitz,"

The call came from behind him, though he kept his eyes on Munk.

"form a party, separate the dead, search the losers for whatever we can use, Munk's boys get first dibs though."

He nodded then, wether to the older Troll, or to Ghost was a mystery, and only then he turned. He silently points out several of the still breathing Edge members, and waves them to him. Time to pay proper respect to the dead, even as he picks their pocket.

Nick slides the brass knuckles off his hands, and drops them in his duffel bag full of guns, then recovers his M-23 and puts it back in the bag as well. Zipping the bag shut and hefting it over his shoulder, he whistles as he surveys the damage all around him. He wipes some blood of his face. Not his blood, though.

"Didn't even get hit....guess I'm a lucky one,", he thinks to himself, noticing Jake's body splattered all over the pavement, "Not like 'im." He takes a seat next to next to Jake's body, on the opposite of Ghost.

"'E was a good kid. It's a damn shame. But ey, at least we avenged Promo. He'd a liked that.", Nick says, hoping his words help Ghost more than angering him, as he's had the talent for lately.

With that, he goes off and joins Blitz.

Kake sighed as he leaned on his staff. He glanced around wearily and picked himself back up. He tapped both ends of the staff on the ground and shoved the ends back in, then slid it back up his sleeve.

"Time for 'nother pyre, eh, Ghost?"

He began a hunt through the bodies for any valuables he could sell or keep, mainly weapons and ammunition. Anything he found, he kept, except the Pred III knockoff. That he casually threw over his shoulder. He glanced at Jake and Tyler and closed his eyes, muttering a quick word of hope and peace.

"'Ey, who 'ere knows a good street doc? Mebbe we can strip a few o' these guys 'ere for parts!"

He points to a Loser with some obvious 'ware sticking out of him.

Ghost stands up, looks down at Jake one last time and turns to the business at hand.

"Ok people, let's get to it. I want all our people carried back to the house for the pyre. The losers I want separated by those who have 'ware and those that don't. The ones that don't we pile right here," he points in front of the Losers clubhouse, "and we light 'em up."

While he speaks he turns over the dwarf, leans down and takes the keys and cell phone. He throws the keys to Nick, "search their dos, if it's better than ours were moving in, if not, take anything you find valuable, take one of the boys with you."

He opens the cell phone and peruses the list of number in the phone book, then he dials Badger, his street doc.

"Yo Badger, I need a couple of things Omae, some healing for one, and I got some used cyberware that might make you a few bucks, 'course it's still attached to the user. But I figure a ingenious guy like yourself can work that out. Let me know when a good time is and we will load up and come buy. Thanks Omae." He hangs the phone up, and slides it into his pocket.

"Ok, let's be about it."

The Losers doss is actually 3 apartments upstairs that have had the walls between them knocked down. Everyone had taken most of their valuables into the fight. There's really not a great deal left. The combination of the three livingrooms holds a number of dirty matresses, which show signs of people having slept on them. Half-hidden under some blankets is a Novatech Hyperdeck-6. It's obviously been ripped apart and put back together several times. There is a trid unit in one corner, and up against one wall is most of a Harley Scorpion, with the remaining parts spread about around it. (Motorcycle B/R TN# 4 will get it running again.)

Leaning in a corner, perfectly clean and unbothered by its' surroundings, is a katana. It's not the kind of katana you normally see on the street, either. It's beautifully made, and it has what appears to be gold embossed into it.

The three master bedrooms are quite different from one another. The one has a traditional king-sized bed, well kept, with new furniture. It's like someone took a lower-middle class person's bedroom and put it in the sprawl. There's not a great deal of interest, really. The next one is a cluttered but well-ordered room. There is so much stuff, most of it junk, that it seems like it's actually a small closet. The bed is *very* well made, military style, and there are several simrigs (and pieces of them) spread all over the desk... and floor... and just about every other surface. There is also a mini-fridge, containing some pizza, milk (it's not even bad) and a large package of novacoke. The last of the master bedrooms is a mattress surrounded by heaps and piles of dirty laundry, empty alcohol containers, and discarded porn.

This place is smaller than the house, and less private. It is *very* close to the pub and convenience store (both right down stairs), but other than that, there isn't anything special about this place.

Badger replies, in the gruff, grumpy sounding voice that earned him his name. "Sure. I got something to run by you, though. I have a girl that someone dropped on my doorstep. She's been fragged and fragged up. I fixed her up, and she's sleeping it off. She can't remember anything before waking up on my table. I can't really keep her here, 'cause there's no room, and I can barely afford to feed myself. So, I'll trade you healing and deal with your cyber if you take her in. Good?"

Nick opens up the doss and surveys everything around him. He puts the Deck and Katana in his duffel bag, then looks at the bike for a bit.

"Hey, theres a bike here. Not as good as mine, but I'd like to fix it all the same. It might take me awhile. I'll be along."

After he fixes the bike, he gives the place another once over for any guns or anything, then leaves.



(OOC: 1 success on the B/R check)

When he's done leading the search team, and seperating the bodies as Ghost has ordered, Blitz moves to where the gear is gathered. He takes a moment to look the things over, and taps the BTLs.

`I know a guy, who may know some people who'll take these off our hands.`

Action Jackson, usually a supplier and not a middle man, but he does know people. People Blitz could get a meet with. He gathers up the BTLs, and looks across the street, to the Losers' doss.

`I'm going to find me a new place to crash. Can't hurt having more space.`

That said, he heads off to go do a search of his own. Sure, it'd already been searched, but he may find something overlooked, or underestimated in value. When he finds the Novacoke, he adds it to the small satchel he's holding the BTLs in. The pizza he takes too, hell, he's hungry. He eventually settles on claiming one of the master bedrooms. The one with the King Size bed. Just right for a Trog who's been sleeping on a couch for a while.

As the battle fades to black, Mickey surveys the field of victory. A lot of fallen soldiers...a lot! All for a lie. Ah, well...life sure ain't no simflick! There aren't always happy endings. Still, he was on the side of the victors and none the worse for wear. He surveyed the 3 who'd made the box with him and saw they were generally allright too. Good solders. They'd followed orders well.

He joined the scrounging team, working like a machine, seaparating living and dead, dead from their goodies and fallen Losers from life. A mercy, really. Rat's would eat them while they were still living otherwise.

Cybered separated from non, though after a war like what just transpired, it probably wouldn't all be operational. Then he came across Jake. He lowered his head, shaking it a little. He'd seemed a decent sort. No chance he had at all with that wound. He gave jake a nod of his head, acknowledging his sacrifice and his value to the Bleeding Edges. "Loyal to the end, my friend."

Finally, when the battlefield was cleared, in the erea he figured was most dead center, where there was the least blood and bodies, he took out his spray cans and painted his trademark on the ground...a big R with the red circle-slash through it! Another little victory over the evil that was Renraku! They'd never get him again! He'd never suffer like that...

He stepped over to Ghost. "Job's done, field cleared and claimed. If anyone's injured, I know someone who can help, but not for free." His demeanor suddenly changes from calm professional to...tired. "That...was rough. I do hope we not have to do that again soon. Do we have enough left to hold what we have gained?"

The remaining few gather the dead in silence, including those with 'ware. There aren't enough alive to carry all the dead in one shot, so everyone makes two trips.

Once everyone is back in the house, the Edge members ate piled onto what's left of Promo's pyre, stacked with fresh wood, and lit ablaze. No one really has the energy to be sad, or angry. All anyone is really up for is sitting and staring at the fire.

It isn't long before Badger arrives. He walks right in and, seeing everyone sitting around, drops the young girl in a bundle of coat that was over his shoulder onto one of the couches.

He simply stares at the fire with everyone else, silent, until it's down to its' embers.

At that point he tends to everyones wounds. Using a combination of healing magic and a field surgeons kit, he manages everyone's cuts and bruises. When he comes to stitching up Ghost's leg, he finally say something besides "hold still" or "keep ice on it."

"I wouldn't've asked if I knew what was going on tonight, but she can't stay at my place. Maybe she could be lookout or something?"

He looks around.

"I don't mean to be rude, but you guys *do* seem a bit shorthanded."

"Yeah, no problem," Ghost says to Badger as he cleans the wound. He grimaces from the pain as the shaman pokes around in the cut.

"We have some extra room, and we could use a look out," Ghost turns his head to the kitchen and hollers, "Mother, come look after this girl will you, make sure she's okay." When Badger is finished cleaning up his leg, "good work omae, thanks."

"Okay everyone, we need to get some rest tonight, so we go on two man shifts, 2 hours each. Guard duty sucks but people are going to be looking to take us out if we show the slightest sign of weakness, we have to show them were still strong." He nods at everyone, letting them know that he thinks they are still strong.

"Okay Nick, let's have it, what did you find in the place, spread it out, and let's see what we got. "

Mickey turns as the doc comes near, waving him off toward more injured Edgers. He looks over the girl that doc brought with him, though. There was no subtlety to it...merely an outright appraisal. Was she one of Them? It would be just like the corps to try and stick a spy in during a moment of weakness. He'd have to keep an eye on her...just in case. Once MOther came over, he turned his vacant gaze back to the blaze. All those Edgers...they were once Edgers. Now they weren't...

The Bleeding Edges were his all! To lose so many at once...he turned and walked away from the blaze, silently volunteering for first watch with a nod to Ghost, trudging to be on his own a little! This hurt! Did the rest of them see? He couldn't let them see! He could not allow himself to be vulnerable! Once out of sight of the mourning members, he buried his head in his hands for a moment to stifle any tears and think about the events of the day...

...It all started with Prometheus. Somehow, that damned arcology must have scarred him, weaknened his resistance to...then the Losers fighting so hard...refusing to give...then the screams! Oh the screams...how long had he screamed? The drones were merciless...and they...and they...

He shook his head. No, that wasn't today. The fight and the losses must have shaken him more than he thought! Oh, Renraku would pay! They would suffer...they would burn! Purged in beautiful, purifying fire...just like Promo...and Jake...and...

The names ran through his mind, a tear finally dropping for each. Then he gathered himself together again and set about to do his job...to protect the rest of them!

Nick sniffs a bit as he wheels the Scorpion out. Wishing he could help the fact that he actually feels kind of happy. He beat up a couple people, and got a new bike, to boot.

"I didn't talk to Jake much...he was an Edger though. That makes him family.", he thinks to himself. Then he spots the trash cans sitting on the roadside.

"Man, when's trash day? I haven't beaten up a garbageman in a while...", he wonder aloud.

Nick swings onto the bike, and revs it up, riding the rest of the way to the ganghouse. After he rests the Scorpion on the wall next to his Diablo, he wonders who it used to belong to.

"Ah well. Mine now. The old owner's probably dead.", he thinks, walking outside and stopping next to Mickey.

"Hey Mickey. You hungry? I'm hungry. Wanna go get some Fried Chicken, or something?", he asks.

Mickey looks at Nick and his new toy. Spoils of war. He was quiet for a few moments, then responded in his soft, calm way, his voice stoic. "Perhaps another time. I'm on duty right now. We're all on alert in case some other gang gets any ideas. The others are inside." He looks at Nick again, looking him up and down. "You seem to be in a good mood. Perhaps you might share that with the rest. A good story or two about the fallen Edgers might help them...adjust." He spoke in a clinical, straightforeward manner as he casually checked the rounds in his pistol. He chambered a round and smartlinked the safety off. Now he was ready for duty.

Stashing the BTLs and the NovaCoke for now, Blitz tries to get some sleep. Problem is, he's still got the blood of the fallen on him, and memories of 'metheus fresh in his mind. He understands dying just fine; he's cool with it. But he didn't expect him to go like that. He expected the old man to go out fighting. Instead some Loser had taken him out in his sleep.

After a fitful half hour or so, he growls and rolls off of the bed. Stripping off his leather jacket for the moment, he looks for something to keep him busy. He liberates the fridge from the other room, but even lugging that over is too easy to keep him from thinking. He doesn't like that, the thinking that is. You get to thinking and you worry, you worry you get paranoid, you get paranoid, and you get stupid. He'd rather let instinct guide him. So after finding some water to clean up the blood off his face, he grabs up his leather again, and checks the rounds in his Deputy. There's a pub downstairs. He's gonna go unwind, maybe bust some skulls.

It's a few minutes later, and in he walks. The pub's a Loser dive, and from the looks of the patrons, some of them haven't heard yet. There's a new hombre in town, and he's lookin' to bust skulls.

`Give me a bottle of something strong...`

Nick nods and says "Alright, we'll get chicken some other time, man.", then pats Mickey on the shoulder a couple times, and walks into the ganghouse, to see everyone fussing over the girl.

"Who the hell's she? What happened to her?", Nick asks, dropping his duffel bag on the ground next to him. "No, you know what? Nevermind. I don't care." Nick picks the duffel bag up again and tromps down the stairs to his bunk. Zipping open the bag, he pulls out the two treasures he liberated, then slides the bag back under his bed.

"I could give this deck to Mickey...maybe he could do something with my record in gratitude.", Nick thinks. He sets the deck next to him, then examines the Katana more. After a bit, he puts it back in the bag and hides it, deciding not to tell anyone about it for now. Nick stands up and changes his shirt, tossing the blood spattered Sex Pistols shirt into the corner with his other laundry, and goes back up, deciding to show off his tatoos and muscles. Its something he hasn't done lately. Once back up the steps Nick asks

"Hey, is anyone hungry? I'm hungry. I wanna get some fried chicken, or something. Anyone want to come?"

Kake glanced over at Nick, shook his head and sighed.

"Kid, dere's a time an' place fer dat, an' I don't tink dis is it."

He took a glance at the girl, finally, after staring at the embers for so long.

"So, what, we gonna take 'er in as if she were one o' us?" He spits. "Ain't no Edger. Ain't family."

With that, he walked over to Ghost and kneeled down next to him.

"Drop 'er, man, jus' drop 'er. She gonna be high main'anence, an' we ain't got the time or money to take care o' her after all dis drek."

He looked Ghost straight in the eye, hoping to hear him voice his agreement.

Nick starts to get a bit mad.

"Fine Goddammit! I'll just go get some by myself!", then goes downstairs and puts on a new shirt, then his concealed Ceska, then his armored jacket. Then walks back up the stairs. He starts to go out to the garage, but stops when he hears "Drop her"

"Whoa, you mean drop her like kill her, or drop her like just kick her out? I mean, we can't kill her. We got a member gap, we lost 7 guys out there! We need all the freakin' members we can get! She could join, if she can fight."

"She can't fight in dat condition, kiddo. It'll take a while ta get 'er back on 'er feet so she could fight fer us. Oh, an' I meant ta jus' boot 'er. No use killin' 'er fer no reason, ya know?"

Nick shrugs and says

"I can understand whar you're comin' from, man, but...people heal. All we have to do is feed her. Although she might not even make it past initiation, even after she's healed."

Then remembering

"Oh yeah, Ghost, all I found there was a Cyberdeck and some food. I'm gonna give the Deck to Mickey. He's been wanting one."

"Good deal Nick, maybe he can do something with it, the way he's allways talking." Ghost wanders over to the girl, kneels down ,letting out grunt as pain shoots through his wounded leg, and try's to determine what she looks like, how old she is, race, etc. "I don't know Kake, maybe she can't fight for us, but she could assist Mother in the kitchen. I just have a feeling about her... besides, she's the price for getting our wounds mended."

Kake mutters under his breath, nothing worth mentioning, just a random garble of incoherentness.

"Yeah... I guess so..."

He quickly changes topic after so obviously being shot down.

"I think I'll go help Mickey with patrol. Least I can do."

With that, he walks off to his semi to grab his shotgun. He quickly checks to make sure it's loaded properly and commences to reloading his pistol. After that he locks up the semi and heads out for some patrolling.

Nick looks at the girl.

"She looks pretty messed up. I've seen worse, though. Well, I'm gonna go for some food. You want me to bring you anything?", he asks Ghost.

After that, he gets on his Diablo and drives off to get some chicken.

Just then, for the first time in several days, Junkie removes himself from the bathtub. He wanders, shirtless and shoeless, a skinny ork with every sign of every addiction known to man, into the main room. Without even surveying the scene, he asks "So, anyone got anything on the stove? I smelled some overcooked meat, earlier."

He stops a minute and looks around. "Hey, what's going on, where is everyone?"

Widow, who's nursing a bottle of beer and is still wandering around with pistol in hand, points to the pyre.

Junkie looks out and sees the obvious remains of a recent Edge funeral. His eyes get hard. "Who got cacked?"

Widow goes into the list. Once she gets to Techie, his eyes get *really* hard. "I see. If anyone needs me, I'll be locked in the storage closet for a couple of days getting clean. Nobody let me out for at least three days."

With that, he gathers some food, some buckets, and a couple of porn magazines and goes into the big storage closet in the hall. Once he's there, you hear some hammering for a bit, and then nothing.

The pub, which seems to have no name as far as anyone can tell, is fairly empty. There are only about a dozen patrons, and a young lady with a predator on her hip behind the bar. She hands Blitz a bottle of vodka with nothing else to drink it with and levels a cold stare at him.

"First, you kill some of the best people in this neighborhood, for something they didn't do, and now you're moving to not only their territory, but their doss? You are a cold sunuvabitch, and you are not welcome here. You'd better take your bottle and go back where you came from."

As this speech has been going on, most of the bar, at least half of them orcs and trolls, have stood up. To a man, almost every part of the lower-class pub full of working stiffs has a club of some kind. Some have guns, and there's even one that has an Uzi.

"You have three seconds to either explain why you shouldn't die, or leave."

With that, she moves out of arms reach (out of lunging reach, even), and draws her Predator.

"And wherever you end up, hell or the clubhouse, tell 'em Maggie sent you."

The girl starts to sit up some, and Mother heads over to help. They converse a little, and everyone can see that besides the trench coat she was wrapped in, the girl is wearing nothing but a paper hospital gown. She's a bit dirty and scraped up, and she looks like she just came down off a three day bender, but otherwise she's a fine, healthy teenaged elven girl. After a bit of discussion, Mother takes her down to the barracks, and they aren't heard from for a while.

"Well Maggie... the way I see it, your boys lost," comes a voice from the back corner of the bar. "The sprawl works kinda like that, as you well know. Eats people up and spits out the pieces."

Nodding his head towards Blitz, the man says: "He's yours now, just like you're his. You wanna leave this place without protection? 'Cause that's what you'll do if you flip off the Edgers. You ever thought about this place getting torched because some go-boy don't like the look of the place? Be a sad thing that would, I kinda like the... 'ambience.'"

"Kicking the piss outta this slitch may feel good, but whatd'ya think it's gonna get you? The Edge is fraggin' pumped up right now, but they're hurtin'. Do you really think they'd stand for one of their own getting jumped by some bunch of nobodies?"

Looking around the room, the man brushes some of his long black hair out of his face. Shaking his head, he continues, "'Cause that's what you lot are. Nobody. You guys just make your way through life, wandering from day to day, moment to moment. What do you think putting the boots to this guy will do? It'll just hurt yourselves."

"Sit down, all of you. Keep it up and your just asking for trouble." Reaching over to the table on his right for his drink, the long jacket falls open to expose the SMG slung under his arm. Sipping his drink, his gaze sweeps across the bar, making no motion to hide the menacing chunk of chrome.

The odds weren't good, but then again, that was the way of things. Adrenaline, sweet adrenaline was building. He'd tightened his grip on the vodka bottle, had the guy with the Uzi lined up out of the corner of his eye. Take down the alpha, and the rest of the pack tend to fold.

Just before he'd gone and thrown though, this guy in the corner went and spoke up. Blitz grunts, and looks to him. Guy's packing too, but he's just showing. Guy's on his side, eh? Blitz allows a smile to creep over his fang laden mouth, and he looks to Maggie.

`He's right, lady. You off me, you lose your only shot at peace. Not that yous could do it.`

He leans on the bar, and levels his eyes with her.

`Now hows about you play nice. I's just looking for a drink. Lost chummers of me own, eh... that's the streets.`

He looks to the nameless guy who's got his back, and nods. Good to see someone here's got some brains.

Mickey continues his vigiliance. No more booze! It had cost too much! For a while he had used alcohol to help him...not forget...but to not feel about what he remembered. Now even that small comfort was not to be his. Someone had to watch over them all. Someone who knew and understood. Let Ghost be in charge. Mickey would be the one to keep them safe. He patrolled their ground untill he saw Kake exit the HQ. He looked left and right, up and down, then decided it was no more dangerous than usual right now. He walked over and asked, "You are here for patrol duty as well?" His semi vacant eyes were alert, looking past Kake as he spoke.

Kake nodded.

"Yeah. Didn'' like dat girl. Ghost's taken 'er in, and I jus' don'' tink we can af'ord 'nother mouth ta feed. Sure, we lost a few guys, but dis is diff'rent. Don'' even know if she can fight er not."

Maggie nods. "I understand you lost people too, but you killed ours and wander into out bar? Tha's not smart. Maybe you and your new friend should go for a walk anyways."

She levels her gaze.

"I intend no offence, this's just kinda a private function, y'understan'?"

Mickey nods once in response to Kake's comment. "I too have my suspisions. But this is Ghost's call to make. It is up to me..." He looks at Kake, nodding once again. "...up to Us, I suppose, to be vigiliant. She may be a plant or she may not. If not, well, we have another in the fold. If not..." He takes his spray cans out of his leather jacket and shakes them up, painting the R with a red circle and slash through it on a bent and non functioning lamp post. His face is cold and businesslike when he paints his trademark on the cold, dead metal. He backs away several steps and pulls out his predator 2, firing a single shot in the R's "head." Now he was short 3 bullets, but the action made him feel a little more relaxed.

"You know, that battle was brutal! I am amazed that I came out unscathed. But then, I suppose the supporting players do not gain the glory. How did you fare in the fight? Anything memorable?"

"Jus' traded a few blows wit' a slot in a synthleather jacket. Nuttin' worth mentionin'. I did manage ta pick up some extra weapons and drek."

He stretched out his arms for a crack, then his knuckles.

"It only seem fair dat Ghost pick who in an' who out. He did take care o' dat Loser..."

He glanced down and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"I still don'' like it, dough... I hope she' more dan a pretty face, ya know?"

"Indeed, time will tell. Shall we give her a wary benefit of the doubt?" He half smiles. He put his predator back in his holster and continued the patrol, waiting for his relief.

Nick parks his bike outside the store and gets off, then examines the bike, and rubs some dirt off the airbrushed name "Dream Shredder" with his jacket sleeve, then steps back to admire it a bit. Nice bike, thats for sure. Then he spots the row of payphones.

"Damn, gotta call my PO tomorrow...then go see her in a couple days after that. Damn bitch.", he thinks. Then he walks into the store. Once at the counter he orders a large bucket of fried chicken to go.

Driving back with the bucket secured to his bike, he keeps a lookout for garbagemen, or pimps, or whatever.

`Private I understand. You gots tonight, tommorrow I come for a friendly talk, alright?`

He tosses down some plasit-weave nuyen for the vodka. Tapping the stem to the bar. No one would ever acuse him of not respecting his neighborhood.

Blitz looks to the other guy, the one who spoke up.

`You want ta take a walk? These people need their time...`

Like he'd thought of leaving all along. He pushes off of the stool and waits a moment looking to the other guy, then heads for the door. If he's concerned with all the guns on him, it's not showing.

Digging a couple of bills out of his pocket for the drink, the dark man leaves them under his now empty glass and stands up, swishing his coat back into place as he does.

Heading out the door just behind Blitz, he speaks up as they walk. "I can't say I think going in there was very smart of you, but I gotta admire the cajones it took to actually do it."

Extending a callused hand he says: "By the way, most everbody calls me Gent. Who're you?"

After Nick returns

"Ok, we have a lot of work to do tomorow, we need to consolodate our territory, and make sure everyone knows who's in charge. I want Kake to take two people with him and visit the local buisinesses. Let 'em know that we are the protection now, and they can pay us starting immediatly. No crap though without my approval. I don't wan't a rebellion. Anyone who doesn't want to pay will have to talk to me and Blitz. And I am sure they won't like that.

Also, we need to round up the BTL trade here. It looks like the Losers had it going and we need to move in and take over. Nick, I want you to find out who is dealing and let them know that the price of dealing on our turf is %50 NET. Anyone failing to pay the price once get's roughed up, twice and they fall down and don't get up. Three times and it's beyond the pale time. Mickey, I want you to round up all the working girls in the territory, let em know were the new bosses. From now on we get %25 of everything they make. In exchange, if anyone lays a hand on em, their dead. Period. Also, if they let us know where their going to work we can arrange patrols. Ok what else, recruitment. We need some fresh blood, and we need it before the word get's out about how badly we really got hurt. I want everyone to keep frosty, if you see someone who looks like they could cut it, bring 'em in. Anyone have any questions?"

After being relieved and returning...

Mickey listens as Ghost speaks, approving of the manner in which he is rallying the troops. Themn he hears that he has hooker duty. Hmmm. A little different than his usual bodyguarding tasks, but in a way it was a promotion. He'd be in charge of something! He grinned slightly, the corners of his lips curving up a little.

"I'll need four men, one with a vehicle...a motorcycle would be best. That way I can cover a large enough erea during the aquisitions while remaining secure and keep in touch with the base. Do we have patches to mark them as ours? I'll need some of those. If not, I'll think of something. Nick, I'll have to coordinate with you. Prostitutes are ofton chipheads or druggies, or facilitate as well as work. I'll be sure to pass on what I discover when I brief the breeders."

Kake returned just before Mickey, hearing his call as Ghost glanced at him.

"Yeah. Got one. You want dis approach to be bus-ee-ness like or like we be mean fraggin' trogs with a mind for danger?"

"Be as business like as you can. We don't want to scare so bad they wont pay. So don't destroy anything, but let 'em know, were the new sherif in town. If anyone gives you grief, I'll handle them. And make sure you let them know that."

"Mickey, give 'em the red bandana we wear, tell them to tie them around their ankle. That way their easy to identify."

"Arright, let's do dis!"

Kake points to the two biggest, meanest looking guys around with him and Ghost, then motions for them to get ready and to meet him outside of his semi.

Meanwhile, an ork approaches the Loser's (former) hideout. Physically, he's a little short for an ork (about 6 ft. /1.80 mts. tall), but his shoulders do some justice to his kin. His short black hair contrasts with his rather pale skin. The guy's black long coat seems to have some reddish stains here and there. His neckerchief has the Bleeding Edge's colors, and so does his backpack.

His dark brown-reddish eyes locks on those outside the building.

"Hoi, chummer. I was heading for the ol' place, but word on the street is that you showed who the Losers who are the real hombres after Prometheus bought it, so here I am."

The ork looks at those present.

"Come one, remember me? It's me, Painkiller. Where are my brothers? Techie and Junkie sure have a couple stories to share with me."

As he steps out of the bar, Blitz's eyes fall on a figure making for the old Loser doss. His new digs. He lets out a steam of cold breath from his nostrils as he squares off with the intruder. Must be one of them cowards who ran decided to try and sneak back. He'd been hoping for that. Visions of flaying the flesh off of one of them bastards flashed through his head, and he took one long stride forward, hand reaching for his chain.

He stops short though, knuckles cracking, and the anger quickly fades. He recognizes the voice. But it isn't until a name's given it clicks.

`Painkiller? Man it's been too long...`

He rushes forward to grab up the wide Orc in a bear of a hug. Hell, if he'd still been anrgy, his grip'd be lethal.

`Frag I ain't seen you in... what, at least a few...`

He trails off after a moment, and falls silent. Bowing his head he grunts. He'd forgotten about Techie with the return. He'd let himself forget for a moment. He turns away a moment, holding himself back barely from punching himself in the face for his idiocy.

`Junkie's inside... Techie...`

He pauses a long moment, head cast down.

`Techie's dead... some Loser got him...`

He can't look back.

Mickey nods once and gathers up a bunch of bandanas. He picks out 4 gang members, one with a motorcycle, and heads out to the stroll.

Ah, the stroll. Any vice you can imagine at bargain basement prices. Every gang has it's own stretch along the stroll. He sends one Edger to either end of the Losers' former stretch, with orders to keep an eye out for trouble. The cycler he has on the street in the middle, to support as needed. He and the remaining edger begin the work of taking over. He approaches the first breeder, standing straight backed and authoritive, red bandana prominently displayed on his arm.

"I imagine the word's out by now. The Losers are out, the Bleeding Edge are in. I don't know what your previous deal was, but that doesn't matter. I'm here to let you know the new terms. As of now, you're protected by the Edgers. Anyone touches you or gives you any drek, we elimenate them. You need something, you come to us. In return, we get 25%. And you wear one of these on your ankle. Understood?" He hands over a bandana to her, wary and watching for trouble, but maintaining a professional cool while the other Edger supports him with arms crossed in front of him.

As Blitz gives him a hug that would make momma bear proud, Painkiller manages to hear the bad news. His grin vanishes into a mask of pain and barely contained rage.

"Oh frag, you mean he's a deader too? Mierda... How bad is the situation? I was thinking in having a couple drinks of 'Burn, but if you chummers need me, blood is blood."

The hooker stares Mickey up and down. "Yeah, that's better than the deal I was under." She takes the bandanna. "To save time you might want to go talk to The Gaggle before they all take positions for the night. They're three blocks over in the abandoned diner."

She looks Mikey up and down again. "And I wouldn't recommend trying to force your will on them. They're stubborn, and they fight like madcats for each other."

She puts the bandanna in her purse and lights up a smoke.

"So, you want a quick once-over before you go?"

Mickey looked her over after handing her the bandana. It had been a long time...a very long time...
Business. Take care of biz first. "Perhaps I'll look you up after I take care of the rest. Keep the bandana on your ankle so we know to protect you." His trigger finger twitched nervously. It had been too long and it was tempting. "3 blocks over, hmm? Spread the word. BY the way, what is your name? I am Mickey." He nods to her, a basic bow he'd learned when he was young and was ingrained in him enough that he still did it on occasion as a reflex...all proper japanese form. He waited for her response, then he headed over to the abandoned diner, bringing his fellow edger with him. How to play this?

He opened the door and stood in the doorway, his bandana prodly displayed and his leather jacket zipped up tight. "Greetings. I am Mickey. As you can see, me and my friend here are Bleeding Edgers. I assume you all know what went down. I am here to make sure things do not dissolve." He stepped through the door, looking at each hooker independantly for a moment, to give the appearance that he was talking directly to each. He stood in a spot where all could see him clearly, letting his fellow Edger stay by the door. His hands were empty and open, a subtle display of peacefull intent.

"We Edgers understand that you might feel orphaned...uncared for and unprotected. The Bleeding Edge is here to take care of that. To protect you from those who might think themselves above you, think themselves better than you. However, as with everything else in life, this comes with a cost. In return forpreventing any harm coming to you and avenging any to which, somehow, harm does come, we will take a percentage. 25% of your gains. A small sum considering the returns. We edgers take care of our own and avenge our losses. Be a part of something greater than yourselves. Become one of the Bleeding Edge!"

He pulls a bandana out of his pocket. "All it takes is placing one of these on your ankle and all will know who you are. A part of a proud family." He looks about for the one who's lead they will all follow, handing her the bandana first. "What say you?"

The young lady's name is Tabitha, she smiles at Mikeys bow and bows back, also in perfect form.

Later, in the Henhouse, there are about twenty girls standing in what used to be a diner. They are having coffee and chatting among themselves until Mikey makes his little speech. Upon completion, an older, skinny woman with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth steps forward. She is as old looking as anyone can possibly look without being dead.

"Well, hun, that's a nice and tempting offer, but there's a problem. Most of us don't see but 10% of what we make. Usually, our pimps take it all. If you want 25% of nothing, your welcome to it. On top of that, there's alot of ignorant fuckers that send a girl or two to go get stitches before they hit the streets again. So, I can't officially speak for you, but this is what I'd do. I'd ask that you make me a free agent and that you prove you'll back us up. If you did that, I'd gladly hand over a quarter of what I earn."