The sun shone down upon the steaming, red, cracked ground. It was nearly seven at night - the sun was going down at a rapid rate, but that did not stop it from turning the dustbowl that it covered near Yerington, Nevada into a reddish hellhole every evening, especially now in the height of the summer months. It was here, just outside of Yerington, in which the bar Magpie was situated. Despite the fact that the population of Yerington was just under 3,000 with nothing to do, the Magpie was almost always empty.
At this point in the night, the lights were dimmed, giving the small bar an unreal feel. No one but the bartender stood in the main room, the two pool tables and six regular tables empty. The bartender was an old bastard by the name of Clyde, and no one would've been surprised if he'd seen the twilight years of the Civil War. He was small and hunched, but one could tell that his frame once supported a large, muscular body. He wore thick glasses and seemed to be always cleaning a mug or glass. Behind Clyde's bar, however, was the manager's private room.
This room, which was where most of the Magpie's current population was crammed into. The room was small, and barren, and in it was a round table that could seat six at most, but some stood. It was smoke filled and musty, mostly from the Cigar of the manager. He sat at the table, one leg's ankle balanced on top of the thigh of the other, smoking a large cigar. While having been discharged from the army some years ago, he still sported a camouflaged fatigue uniform. His eyes shifted from one face to another. After taking one more large drag from the cigar, he smushed it into the plain, ceramic ash tray that was the only thing to decorate the hard wooden table. He blew out the smoke from his nose, and then leaned forward into the table. "Gentlemen. And gentle-ladies. As we all know, there's an increasing amount of violence that's sprung up here recently. The bikers and 'spicks have begun murdering each other again, and it's for this reason." He picked something out of his pocket. It was white-greyish, and crystalline in nature. "Meth. This new wonder drug everybody's been talking about recently isn't even new. It started being used in the Second World War by the Japs and Americans as a substitute for Adrenaline, but after the war, soldiers knew it could be used as a substitute for another drug," He paused for Dramatic effect. "Cocaine. It's cheaper to make and sell, has similar effects, and it's more addictive. It's a beautiful bastard. If you know how to make it properly."
He leaned back again, and took a deep breath. "Now look. I've called you all here for a reason. Whether you're a chemist or you got ties, I'll be needing you. Consider yourselves all a vital part of my new industry. That is, of course, if you're up for it." He took out a folded piece of paper and put it forward gently on the desk. It was neatly titled, "Mwalilwa's List", where it was clear he wanted people to write down their names if they were interested.
Judging by the above introduction, Methland focuses on the creation of a complex meth operation, not unlike Breaking Bad. However, this RP won't be exactly like Breaking Bad, as it is unscripted and the players are left free to accomplish their objectives by any means. Your team will vary, from meth cooks and hired gunmen, to former federal agents and high-powered businessmen. Your team will be powerful and capable, but the world of crime is unforgiving. Deals can go wrong at any time, alliances can be broken, and even your own friends might put a bullet in your back when you're not looking. Be on your toes, criminal.
- Code: Select all
Name:
Age:
Gender:
Appearance:
Special Skills: (Why did Mwalilwa contact you? Criminal connections, chemist, strongman, etc...)
Ethnic background:
Likes:
Dislikes:
Personality:
Biography:
Accepted participants
Cylarn - Kurt Ross
Fascist Russian Empire - Wilhelm von Ubel
Taijan - Vinnie Marcone
Gamerfire - Jason Bauer
Treneria - Brian McDruff
The Wonderful Ms. Wilde - Emily Fleming
