So you say you want a Revolution? [TF only, attn. TF]

[Puzikas]

Its too hot for this.
The heat of the Lanosche sun was bad enough as it was. But the heat radiated off everything around Alexander. The pavment of the road, the concrete sidewalks, the windows of the parked cars behind him. There was no hope of shade in sight. The backpack he was wearing had begun to feel like a stack of cinder blocks, and the guitar case suddenly felt as if it was made of lead. He could feal warm sweat dripping from his brow and across his dry, cracked lips and off his jaw. He looked at his watch, squinting as the glare hit his eye.
2:46
Sixteen minutes late.
Even the cars moving buy at some 70 kilometers per hour, the only source of moving air, were of no relief. They spewed inky black smoke as they accelerated past him, leaving him in a haze of filth in the modern world. He watched people go about, wearing all manner of beach clothing for such a lovely day. But no, he had chosen to wear Khakis and a black polo. He admitted, mentally, an envy of all those who would be heading to the beach today. He, however, hand a party to attend.
Remember, eight steps forward from doorway. Right hand side theirs a window.
Alexander had been over the building in his head many times in the past three days. He knew its layout well. And he was ready, as nervous as he was. He held the guitar case tighter.
I hope they like my music.

What was perhaps the worlds most disgusting green car slowed down about 40 meters before him. A very large sign reading TAXI stood out on top, the only part of the car besides the windows and interior that wasn't green it seemed. The cab came to a stop in front of him, and the driver reeled down the window. His skin was stained dark as earth, a far cry from Alexanders own pale nature.
"Mister E..Er..."
"Ardalni"
"Ah, yes, im sorry"
Alexander nodded and threw the bag into the backseat, climbing into the back as well after placing the guitar case on the floor. He closed the door and handed the cabby a small peace of paper. He took it and looked at it momentarily, before putting the car in gear. He squealed away from the stop and accelerated well past the speed limit as he got onto the freeway. The radio was playing some sort of local jazz-pop blend. The cabby was tapping along.

"Puzakk?"
"Sorry?"
"You, are you Puzakk? I saw the flag on your backpack"
Alexander hand not even seen that he had the flag on, quite frankly it was an after though to him. He flashed a small smile.
"Yea. Im from Tselgrada"
That, of course, was a lie. He was Puzakk, but he was not ethnically Puzakk. And he had spent about 4 hours of his life in Tselgrada, all of them at the airport. He had come from somewhere much more east, and much more north. His last name was even a lie, it was Erdeli, the other name was a kind of pastry. Not that anyone would know that.
"Very nice to see someone from all the way out east here, normally you all stick to Costa Mejis! What brings you down here?"
"Im here for a party."
"And a lovely neighborhood for one it is. San Gualichlo heights, one of the richest neighborhoods in all of southern Lanos!"
"Yeah? Good to know."

The cab slowed as it rolled into traffic. Alexander looked at his watch again. 3:06. The way this guy drove, he had made up the lost time it seemed.
"My name is Arturo, by the way"
"Alexander. Mind if I ask you something?"
"Go ahead, sir."
"Why..uh...why pick this color?"
Arturo simply laughed. A question, he was sure, he had gotten many times before.
"My fiend, have you seen any cabs around?"
"A few, yea. None this color..."
"Eaxactly. Every driver is some bland, any old color will do kind. Black, navy, silver, tan. Its disgusting I tell you!"
He stopped talking for a moment to cut the wheel hard to the right, swerving to avoid another car and driving onto the gras, cutting though a small patch of grass and onto an exit ramp.
"Madre follando chupadora de pollas! Comer mi culo!"
This guys batshit! Alexander thought internally, as the rear of the car skidded back into alignment with the body.
"Sorry about that, amigo! Anyways, when I got my first cab, I asked for them to paint it a color that stood out. But the shop was owned by some Germans, and I guess the translation was off, and it ended up being said as 'something annoying.' The car was such a big hit though, I was able to hire three other drivers and needed three other cars, and Benia here, or as I call her, the neon green machine, is still alive and well!"
"Hmm. So your quite the success story then, if you don't mind me saying."
The man smiled and nodded
"I live comfortable, yes. And what about you? Musician I take it?"
Alexander nodded, with a chuckle. "Yea, I play whippet. Pretty popular back home, especially in rural areas."
"I have never heard any, I must say. But it sounds like my kind of music if its rural!" Arturo said with a grin.

This guys not so bad after all. Friendly to say the least. Alexander thought to himself. Clearly he was doing everything he could to make a stranger in a strange land as comfortable as he could. He looked out the side window, just in time to see an older Duce and a half sitting burned out on the side of the road, with the letters "MSL" sprayed on the side.

"Arturo, whats the MSL?"
He turned the radio down and spoke slowly.
"Movimiento del Sur de la Libertad. A southern separatist movement, who seek to separate South lanos from North Lanos peacefully. However, there are a few...shall we say extremest? But you know all about that, you Puzakks. Chechnya, right?"
"Right".

It want but another two minutes when the cab pulled up to a gate, directly in front of the house he was to be at.
"Could you do me a favor and ring the bell? Their expecting a cab, this stuffs a bit heavy and I dont feel like walking more than I need to with it."
Arturo pressed the button. A few moments later, the massive iron gates slid open. The house was blocked from view of the road by a 6 meter tall wall, and the additional 400 meter driveway he was sure helped. Arturo stopped the car by the front door, and placed the car in neutral. Alexander slid out with his things propped against the side door.
"I really appreciate the ride, and thanks for the...information. Here, let me shake your hand"
Arturo rolled down the window. Alexander was quick. He reached into his hip and pulled out his M1895 Nagant. The 88 millimeter long suppressor muzzle was placed directly on Arturos now pale face.
"Dont fucking scream, don't yell. If you do, i'll shoot this fucking gun I swear to god. They wont hear it, and you'll be dead. Listen, im not going to hurt you if you comply. I dont want anything of yours"
He reached into his pants and pulled out a set of handcuffs, putting them on Auturo, around the wheel. He removed the keys. He planed the revolver and they keys away.
"You aren't going anywhere. You wait rite here, I'll be back in...
He looked at his watch again. 3:24, a full six minutes early. Perfect.
"Eight minutes."
Alexander put his hearing protectors, unzipped the guitar case slightly, and ran to the door. He could hear Arturos breath from 10 feet away. He knocked three times on the door, just as he was told. A man in a black suit answered to door, with a revolver in his hand.
"You got the stuff?"
"Right hear."
Alexander motioned to his backpack. The man lead him in though the front door.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
He cocked the hammer on his revolver. He had seven shots of 7.62x38 Nagant +P+, firing a 108 grain round at some 360 meters per second. He brought the revolver up.
Eight.
As his foot fell on the eight step, he raised the revolver and shot the guard in the back of the head. He rotated on the heal of his right foot and fired two more, striking two guards about 5 meters away square in the chest. The muffled plunk of his gun kept others in other parts of the house blissfully unaware of what was happening. He ran forward 12 more paces, and at point plank shot two more guards. He turned right and caught a sixth with two rounds to the chest.

The revolver was returned to his holster hidden in his waistband. He reached back and produced his Browning auto-5 whippet from the guitar case. He tucked the stock squarely below his shoulder and griped the for grip, and ran forward. 5 paces, turn right. He did. Sure enough, three guards were sitting outside the meeting room. He sent two rounds of 00 buck down the narrow hallway, quickly eliminating all of them.
Seven, six. Eight steps, right.
He kicked the door open, and one was there were waiting for him. This time, they fired. a bullet caught Alexander in the chest, and he fell, gasping for air. The guard moved to confirm the kill. As quick as he could, Alexander produced his Obrez, a Mosin-Nagant rifle cut down to about the size of a .357 revolver. He fired a single shot, and with an earth shattering boom and a fireball that would make the devil himself turn green with envy, the mans head was no more. He jumped to his feet, the bullet proof vest had done its job. He tucked the obrez back into the ankle holster he had made for himself.
Second door, ten paces, left, right
He slammed his massive frame against the door, whippet in arms. The doors swung open, followed by two shots from the muzzle of his gun. He moved faster.
Four rounds
He rounded the corner, and fired another, this round catching a single guard in the torso. fourteen 7mm shot at less than two meters will kill anything.
Three
Five more paces.
He kicked the final door, which gave way with ease. There was the man he was sent to trade. 8 kios of cocaine for $24,000, something he so dearly needed. But he wanted the cocaine, too.
Emilo Hernendez was one of the biggest coke fiends in San Gualichlo heights. He made a living of of constructing buildings people didn't need on land people did. The world was better off. Alexander didn't reflect on these moralities, as he didn't care. He just needed the money. He sent a single slug though Emilos chest.
Two.
As quick as he could, he gathered up every single dollar bill and bearers bond on the table His initial thought was maybe $12,000 for this but this was at least eight times that. He shoved them into his backpack, right on top of the cocaine.
He ran out of the halls with every fiber of his being working in overdrive. 48 steps. The final two guards were right where he knew they would be. The first ones back turned to him, he sent a single slug between his shoulder blades. The second was to his right. He turned just in time to see the muzzle flash of Alexanders shotgun.
Empty.

He ran out the door and threw the shotgun into the back of the cab. He undid Arturo's handcuffs and handed him the keys, placing the barrel of the Obrez against his head.
"Drive. I don't care where, just out of here."
Arturo started the car and peeled away, swearing the whole time in Spanish. He drove at some 80 kilometers per hour until Alexander asked him to stop. Arturo did so.
"I owe you for services rendered."
"You damned outsiders, your all the same! You come here, you get drunk you cause damage, you make the place hell! We should close the borders, keep you and all you damned people out!"
Alexander placed a brick of $2,000 into Arturo's lap.
"Will this do?"
In disbelief, he chocked and thumbed though the money.
"Now, I want some information."
"S...sure. Whatever you want, friend"
"I need a bar. With a hotel. One thats Puzakk friendly. No Cordan, no Emerian, no fucking rice patty people. Puzakk. One with a croud, if you know what I mean."
"Y...you'll want Rudolfs"
"Sounds kraut."
"I....It is, its more Lanosche..."
"No Puzakk bars? Spreewerken?"
"No...not unless you want to go 4 hours. Its a good place, I drop off a guy, kinda like you, there a lot."
"Alright. Take me there"
"Where?"
"Dont make me get mad. Rudolfs. And whats this fellows name?"
"E...Erich I think."

[Costa Mejis]

“Aquí vienen” the man sitting in the back of the van whispered

“You don't have to whisper.” the man in the psassanger seat said, turning around to face the man; young boy, really. “They can't fucking hear you.”

“I...I know señor, I am sorry.” the youth relied, sweat beading on his brow despite the vans efforts to combat the oppressive heat of the Val Nube sun.

“Don't be sorry, think.”

“I'm sorry Erich.” the youth replied again, causing the third man in the drivers seat to bark a harsh laugh “He told you not to be sorry.” he said, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting it from the glowing amber end of the previous cancer stick.

“I-” the nervous youth began, the rest of his sentence drown out by both men laughing rancorously. Suddenly, with no warning or sign of a change, the man in the passenger seat, the one addressed as Erich, snapped his mouth shut, whipped his head around to affix the man with a savage snarl and hissed a single word, “Silencio”

All three men turned their attention to the cafe across the street, where two police vehicles had just parked, the officer exiting them and speaking for a moment before heading inside. Erich nodded thoughtfully, then turned his attention to the driver. “Its them?”

“Si.”

“Bueno.”

“Come on, what are we waiting for then!” the man in back asked, his question punctuated by the sound of the bolt on his AdI-18 sliding forward.

“No.” Erich aid simply.

“¿Por qué?” the man asked, a look of puzzlement crossing his face.

“We take them when they leave. You never kill a man at dinner. Let him eat, enjoy his food, and then kill him, its the rules.” Erich explained, letting his head slump back against the seats headrest, “and did I tell you to shut up?”

The rest of the wait passed in silence, with Erich lightly dozing against the headrest, the driver chain smoking himself to an early grave, and the man in the back restlessly playing with his battle rifle. Erich was about to tell the man to stop before he put an eye out when the driver spoke “They come.”

Erich raised his head and saw that, indeed, the two officers had exited the building and were standing in front of their patrol vehicles, chatting away holding cups of coffee in styrofoam cups. “We go.” Erich said, reaching down and grabbing his own battle rifle from the clamp on the console. Opening in the door in synch with the driver, the rear door grating against rusty tracks as it was flung open, the three men exited the vehicle, the driver remaining on his side, with the third man takin a position beside Erich. Whistling sharply as he racked the bolt on the rifle, he shouted

“Hey policía, ¿Que onda?”

As both officers turned to regard him, the three man raised their rifles to their shoulders. Erich smiled as a look of pure terror spread across the officers faces and they dropped their coffee cops to claw for their sidearms as he shouted “¡Abrir fuego!”

All three men opened fire, the automatic rifles hammering into their shoulders savagely, the 7.62x54R rounds hammering into the wall of the cafe, the police cruisers, and the officers themselves with equal ferocity. The officers jittered and convulsed as the rounds tore into them, sprawling to the ground haphazardly. Erich reloaded, and sprayed a second magazines across the two vehicles, raking them with fire before shouting “Lets go!”

The men piled into the van, the driver putting it in gear and tearing away, sending gravel and dirt spewing in all directions even before the doors were closed.

---

“It was a good hit, Señor Nostra” Erich said politely “I do not understand.”

Enrique Nostra sat behind his polished oaken desk and smiled. Erich did not know if that smile had ever contained humor or good will, but it had shown nothing but mirth and malice since Erich had meet the man nearly 5 years ago.

Luckily, that malice had never been directed at hm. He hoped his luck had not run out. He knew all too wel what happened to men Señor Nostra smiled at.

“It was, Erich, it was, and you are to be commended.” Nostra said, raising his considerable bulk out of his chair and walking around the desk and towards the sidebar. “Alas, there were too many witnesses. Too many people saw the crime.” As Erich began to speak, Nostra silenced him with a glance “Ah ah, Erich, I am speaking now. I told you to make the execution a public affair, I did, and so you are not to be blamed.”

“Thank you, Señor Nostra.” Erich replied

“But the investigators, they are getting close.” Nosta said, sighing as he turned away from the bar, handing Erich a small glass of rum, already beginning to sweat in the oppressive heat. “They are getting close, and you can not be allowed to be captured.”

“No, Señor Nostra, that would not be good...for me, anyways.” Erich said

“Just so, Erich, just so, and I would hate to lose such a valuable asset.” Nostra said, taking a drink from his glass. Sighing with satisfaction, he said “So I have spoken to your chapter president, and we agree that you should be sent away. We will smuggle you out of the nation as soon as possible.”

“To where, Señor Nostra?”

Nostra smiled “To the south of Lanos.”

Disgust spread across Erich's face. The Lanos government had been on hard on right wing Fascists since the 1980's, maybe even has hard as his own homeland had been. He had no love for the Lanosche and their so called 'Freedom.'. “Do I displease you that badly, Señor Nostra? I beg forgiveness.”

Nostra laughed heartily and slapped Erich on the back “No, my boy, you do not. I have business contacts there, and as you know, the [i]Hijos de la Revolución chapter there is, how you say, not doing so well? We'll get you there, and we'll assist you in getting the weapons you need to both fund the operations and protect the clubs interest."

Erich smiled for a moment and asked “The South of Lanos, eh? Is it cooler there?”

---

[/i]

It was not.

Erich Schuessler was no stranger to the heat, having grown up in Costa Mejis and lived in Val Nube, he could handle the heat of the South of Lanos. It did not mean he wanted to deal with it while he sat in the scuzzy bar the Hijos used as a club house, nursing second rate tequila and biding his time listening to 1980's Emmerian rock bands singing out bringing on the heartbreak.

The door to the sunken bar opened up, flooding the interior with natural light monetarily as someone entered, causing several of the patrons to grumble the air produced by the buildings antiqued air conditioner rushed out. Erich looked down tino his glass, and seeing it was little more than drops and condensation, through the last of the clear alcohol down his throat. Gripping it and sanding, he wandered towards the bar to refresh.

As he approached the bar, he noticed a man built the same as himself, but much shorter, standing with his back to Erich, speaking to the bartender. Even over Mr. Collins singing about what was coming in the air tonight he could hear the clear traces of Russian in the man's Español. Fucking Communist! Erich thought bitterly. He stalked up behind the man, the communist you dared show is face in front of a somewhat intoxicated Erich Schuessler in his own bar, and landed a hand on the mans shoulder, saying “I think you're in thee wrong fucking bar, comrade. Behind the bar, the man tending said humorously to the Puzaki “He's right there, mister, you found him. Have fun.” Turning his head to Erich, he said “Do it outside, Erich”

Erich, however, had realized two things at once as the smaller man turned around. The first was that the mans shoulder felt as hard as iron, as solid as a rock, and the muscle underneath were taut with strength. The second was that, as the man turned around revealing a pocked, scared face with a hollow socket where an eye should have been, a menacing glare casting forth from the remaining orb, that this man was not to be trifled with.

Not removing his hand from the mans shoulder, Erich said “Um, no, Jose, I think I'd rather buy my new friend a drink inside the bar. Now

Jose, to his credit, hurried to busy himself in preparing some sort of alcohol for the two men as Erich spoke “You were looking for me?”

“Si” the man replied simply.

“Who the fuck are you?” Erich asked, his voice part wonder and part suspicion.

Instead of answering directly, eh man looked at the flat screen TV above the bar and smiled “Jose,” he said “turn off the music and turn that up, now.”

Erich turned his attention to the attractive blonde reporter framed on the TV, the local news emblem emblazoned in the bottom right corner of the screen

“...police have not yet released the identities of the men killed in whats being described as a home invasion of an upscale San Gualichlo home. Right now, we simply know that witnessed have reported a single gunman entered the home sometime within the last 2 hours, and that multiple shots were fired. Judging from the scene, we have determined that not less than 5 people were killed in the robbery, and it is presumable that a large amount of money or other items were stolen form the home.”

“That is me, Erich.” The man replied simply

As the TV was drawn out by the Beatles asking if a revolution was desired, Erich stared at the new comer and simply said “I believe we have much to discuss.”

[Spreewerke]

The wind was blowing gently in to the coast when Alise Dukurs stepped off onto the dock. She had just arrived to Lanos from Spreewerke, and she was relieved to finally be on land once more. She had travelled lightly, bringing only her primary essentials as she had been given directions to the safehouse located just a few kilometers away. She was organizing her things and preparing to leave when the captain of the boat asked her to step aside to talk.

"Alise: do you remember what your goal is here?"

"Yes. Find some blood-crazed Puzak and give him an offer he can't quite refuse, eh?"

"You need to find Mr. Erdeli and give him this flash drive. He's a lone-wolf, so you might have to convince him to listen to you."

The captain laid the flash drive down in Alise's hand. She hadn't seen it before and hadn't even been told of its existence during her briefing back in Spreewerke.

"What's on this drive," she asked the captain.

"A proposition."

Before Alise could ask what was on the flash drive, the captain was gone and preparing the ship to leave the coast of Lanos once more. Alise looked down at the flash drive one last time before slipping it into her travel bag. She crouched down further and opened up her bag to recheck its contents. In it, she had several days' worth of clothes, casual and formal attire, toiletries, shoes, and an envelope containing Erdeli's photograph. She dug further into her items to retrieve her handgun, a P-92, Vietierocu-made, straight from Spreewerke. It was her issued sidearm while a conscript in the Army. She knew it well, and never left home without it. Traveling to Lanos on "business" was no exception. She checked the chamber to make sure it was loaded, then pressed the hammer back into the triple-action position before holstering it under her sundress. She put two spare, 12-round magazines in her purse, donned her sunglasses, and opened up the directions to the safehouse on her phone.

On her way to the safehouse, she passed a small novelty shop with a television in the window. The headlines and scenes on the television caught her attention: "DRUG KILLING LEAVES MANSION EMPTY". She stopped briefly to watch what the news report was over, but couldn't make much of it as the shop had both the volume and captions turned off. She took note of what station was displaying the news on the television, then set off once again for the safehouse.

"I will definitely have to check this out on the television later," she said to herself as she began walking down the sidewalk once again.

Several minutes later, she had reached the edge of town. Her phone signaled that she was close to her destination, and she began running the gate combination through her head. Once she reached the gate, she entered the code in an electronic keypad mounted onto the wall. The lock opened, and the gate swung back slightly. She went ahead and slipped through, closing the gate behind her. She dug the house key out of her purse and opened the front door.

She stepped inside, removing her sunglasses: the house was quite satisfactory.She walked back to the bedroom and began to unpack her things. After she had arranged her quarters, she went into the den to turn on the television in an attempt to learn more about the large-scale shooting at a mansion just hours before her arrival. Apparently, none of the guards had survived the assault on the home. However, officials managed to recover eight 12 Gauge shells from inside the mansion.

"Eight shells... with the speed it had to have taken to clear those rooms, whoever did this had to have used a semi-automatic," Alise thought aloud.

She continued watching and, at one point, a reporter began to state how puzzled authorities were when they found only one rifle casing, a 7.62x54mmR, that was almost directly underneath the bullet entry in the ceiling: it had been fired in a near-vertical position, but penetrated as though it was fired from several hundred meters away.

"There is only one explanation to an ultra-low-powered '54, and that is an... Obrez! 'Obrez;' why is that familiar?"

Alise went back into the bedroom and retrived the envelope in which Erdeli's photo was in. Aside from this photograph, there was also a very brief and extremely limited biography describing him in somewhat vauge "detail." She began skimming through the information until she found it: "Obrez."

Alise returned to the den with the envelope and began watching the looping news footage once again. It all began to match up: swift efficiency, seven guards dead with no casings to be found, eight shotgun shells laying in the floor, one highly under-powered 7.62x54mmR round being fired... She double-checked her information. On his biography card, it was mentioned that Mr. Erdeli had become somewhat infamous for using old Global War II-era equipment. It was assumed he did this as that is what is on the Puzikan black market or perhaps he uses them to avoid microstamping of the firing pin. No one really knew for sure, but one thing was for certain: he had become infamous for his use of the "Obrez:" a sawn-off Mosin three-line rifle.

"Looks like my man's in town," she said to herself smiling.

Alise returned once more to her bedroom with the envelope's contents and some notes she had taken down. She picked up the international phone she had been given back in Spreewerke off of the nightstand and called her superior. Once he picked up, she gave him the good news and described the news report.

"It looks like Erdeli is in town, and he's just finished another hit. I just saw some of his handiwork on the nightly news."

"Excellent! Any idea on where he's headed?"

"None yet, but I think I may know a way of finding out. His type generally hangs out around clubs, bars, places like that. I will ask around, see who knows who around here."

"Very well. Call me once you have found him."

Alise hung up and took one last look at the photo of Erdeli before placing it back in its envelope. She put the envelope under the phone on the night stand and walked over to the mirror. She gave herself a once-over to check her hair and make-up. She went back to her bag and took out one of her evening dresses. As she began walking towards the bathroom with it in-hand, she stopped by the mirror one last time.

"I'd say you've earned yourself a night out, Alise."

[Puzikas]

Alexander downed a shot of tequila, realizing it was the first thing he had to drink since early this morning. His adrenaline rush was just coming down, and he felt a wicked headache coming on. He requested a bottled water from the bar, his hand shaking slightly. Even after some four months in Lanos, his system had not yet adapted to drinking the water from the tap. Erich was uneasy, he could tell. The mans eyes threw shifting glances to him as the second order was brought up. The two downed a second shot quickly. Alexander spoke.

"Alexander. I got your name from a cab driver. Name of Arturo Ibanez, drives a...violent neon green cab, he calls it Benia. Know him?"

Erich burst out laughing. Is laugh was outright thunderous, to the point where, even in the dim lighting of the bar, he could feel eyes looking to them. Erich coughed and slowly died down with his laughter.

"Yea. The big green machine. That guys alright...for a local, that is."

Erich hocked and spit to the ground. Alexander popped the cap of his water and downed it as quickly as he could, and signaled for another.

"Im sure your wondering why a...communist..." He stopped, spit on the floor as well, and continued "would risk his neck coming to a so very obviously Aryan bar."

Erich nodded, casting a glance over to a table opposite them with some large, angry looking gentlemen. Even over the sounds of Mr. Page singing about excess rain causing a flood wall to burst, Alexander could tell what they were saying was nothing particularly friendly to himself.

"Anything I need to worry about?"

Erich nodded slowly. "If you have anything that might put you...well...into this crowd, you may want to show me. Now."

Alexander sighed and rolled his sleeve up,showing a hammer and sickle with crossbones below it.

"Know what it means?"

"No, cant say I've seen it before."

Alexander rolled up his other, to show a knife though a book with some Russian writing on it. The hilt of the knife had a star on it, with "CCCP" along the blade.

"This one?"

"Nope. Get to the point."

Alexander patted the first tattoo. His voice was slightly louder, loud enough he hoped for the other table to hear him.

"This one indicates my suffering-my family's suffering, for our beliefs under the USSRs rule. And this one, the knife, the Soviets suppression of those beliefs, their murder of common law and religious faith throughout the land during the..reign of terror."
Erich smiled, as he watched the men at the other table nod and return to playing cards.

"you got some balls. I'll give you that. You risked your ass coming here, so get to it."

"Right. So, you've seen what I do." He glanced at the TV, and back to his drink. "And I know you do something like it. The cab driver said that I was like you: what that means I am not sure, but i'm hoping, for my sake, its a good thing. After the job I did before this, it left me up a creek without a paddle. I outed some crack investigator, and the contractor lowballed me. Payed me in a pile of Coke, and reported my fake name to the authorities, and handed em a picture of me. So i bugged down here. I had to dig, but I found a buyer for the stuff. Come to find out that he worked for the cartel, not sure what position, but he was no soldier. He wanted to off me, so I pretended to take the bate. Stole some records from the zoning board and memorized the layout. Figured the predator would become the pray, looks like I was right. So I took the money that didn't have any blood on it, and a bunch of these bearers bonds from him. Kept the coke. Problem is, now im stuck with coke and no one to push it, got myself into deep shit, and got more money than I want to have on me."

Erich looked at Alexander, dumbfounded. He wondered, momentarily, if he was a dumbass. He then realized something- he was far from it. By confessing all this to him, he realized that he made Erich his unwilling partner, and that makes him accessory to a murder, robbery, and many other crimes if he. If this asshole went down, he was taking Erich with him. And he planned it that way. He wasn't mad- rather, he was impressed.

"What about the cab drivers? He's gotta know you did something, cops must have been on scene really fast with such a quiet community."

"Took care of it. Got his ID. I know where he lives. Hes got a wife and two daughters. If he were to turn me in, I told him my boss would torch the place. I Don't have a boss."

"Your a smart guy. What the hell do you need me for?"

Alexander smiled and patted his guitar case.

"Im woefully under gunned. Ive got a suppressed revolver, a sawn off rifle, and a shotgun. I need guns, and a guy to launder the money, and a way to fence the coke. There is no way you don't know one of the two, or both. I'll cut you in, and that's a promise."
Alexander downed another shot, wiped his lips, and spoke again. "And I'm a man who keeps him promises."

Erich nodded slowly. "You need an arms dealer first off. Yea, I got one. Shit, I got all of those. Buy you gotta answer me one thing."

"Shoot."

"The fuck is up with your eye?"

Alexander rubbed the side of his head, and reached into his pocket, hand trembling slightly He grabbed a cigarette and light up, blowing a puff out to add to the already thick haze of smoke in the bar. He turned his head, causing a black orb to reflect Erichs own face back at him.

"I saw too much. Now I see less."

[Coltarin]

Albert was not a happy man. For 13 years he had been stuck in this piece of shit country. He pulled out his Para P14-45 to check the mag again, South Lanos was a dangerous place. Everyday there was some asshat trying to steal your wallet even if you carried heat in the open.
Now he had been called in by an old friend who owned a bar downtown. He cleaned his glasses again.
His car pulled up, the driver leaned out and said with a heavy accent.

"Sir, the car is here. We go now, yes?
Albert swore to himself in a low mutter as he walked to the car
Goddamn it Carver I told you not to send Alexi!
He hated the young Puzaki, ever since he had shown up with a stolen case of weapons.
"Here are the directions, when we get there stay in the car. Only come in if you hear shots, Ok?
The boy nodded and put the car in gear.

They drove down from the villa where he lived. A nice prize from a poker game he had actually won it in the ensuing gun fight when the owner tossed him the keys and told him to look after it. That was the last thing he did, he caught a shotgun slug to the face 5 minutes later. He looked out the window of the car, there had been trouble recently with the government pulling his people off the streets. He had bribed the local police chief to stay off his back but the shit head lieutenants ignored the orders. He also had heard some nut shot up house earlier in the week, meaning that there was a high chance of a checkpoint at the city's entrance.

The boy spoke "What are we doing today sir? Picking up or selling?
The fool had an anxious look on his face like a kid in a candy shop.
"It's just a meeting with potential customers you flat footed idiot he said harshly

He was hoping that it was not a sting, there was more than a few "unsavory" items in his trunk at the moment.

---

The car pulled up to the checkpoint as the cop walked to the driver's side the boy had a panicked look on his face. Albert looked over, he was sweating more that a hooker in church.

He said "Alexi, calm down. He has no reason to suspect us. Just let me do the talking."
He rolled down the window. The cop was old and looked tired like a man who had gotten out of bed for no real reason. This was his kind of cop.
"Look, Señor I am in a very big rush and need to get downtown as soon as possible. I know that you don't want to be here as much as I do so how about you do me a favor and let me through and you get a nice dress for your wife" he said politely handing the man a stack of bills.
The man gave him a gruff look and moved his eyes from Albert to the money and back to Albert. After what seemed like a millennium he said "Thank you for your cooperation you may proceed" and took the money.
He looked over at Alexi, who looked like was drowning in sweat. "Well? You heard the man, drive you Puzaki piece of shit.

He put the car in gear and stepped on the gas. There was another Thirty minutes to the bar from here. This was the shit part of town, graffiti went up and down the poorly built houses and apartments. He saw kids begging in the street. It was the exact reason he refused to sell or smuggle drugs. It made the communities he worked in shit, made the customers ballsy and he did not like that one bit.
They pulled up in front of the bar. It was located just before the resorts and casinos started to pop up. Which was why it was odd that a group of bikers was blocking people from entering the bar.

He turned to Alexi "Remember only come in if you hear gun shots. You have a gun right?"
He shook his head. Albert sighed heavily. "Ok, there are some guns in the trunk take one and stay here until I come out. Do you understand?
The boy nodded heavily.

Albert stood out of the car and put his Aviators on and walked up to one of the bikers. They gave him a look over and pointed him to a back door. As he arrived another biker was waiting to pat him down. He was puzzled that they let his pistol stay with him. The man stepped aside and Albert walked in. Immediately one thing caught his eye. there was almost no one in the bar. Second it was the man standing at the bar facing him with a Nazi death head at the base of his neck. The third and most dangerous was the suppressed revolver pointed at his head.

He glanced over at the man ready to shoot him and saw the black glass ball reflecting him. He said coolly,

"Well I’ve walked into deep shit."
He looked around and quipped "Did I come to the wrong bar?"

[Costa Mejis]

Erich smiled as he watched two of burly Hijos members escorted a third large man through the rear door, and out of range of the CCTV. Turning back to face Alexander as Mr. Jovi sang out his steel horse, he explained “I want him to see my ink, to see I mean business, you look menacing too, shouldn't be hard."

“Da” the man said, and, within the blink of an eye, had pulled his ancient looked suppressed revolver from his coat and had it leveled at the mans head as the bikers marched him through the entryway. Quietly, he whispered “Menacing enough for you?”

From behind him, Erich heard the newcomer mutter "Well I’ve walked into deep shit."

Turning slowly, he smiled, doing his best to imitate the smile Señor Nostra had mastered “Perhaps, Mr. Albert Raczkowski, but maybe not, hopefully not, in fact.” Erich motions towards one of the battered and scared tables dotting the floor of the bar “I know who you are, because Xavier knows who you are. You know Xavier, the man who called you, si?

the man nodded

“Bien” Erich said, starting to wards the table, Alexander lower his weapon and following suit. “Then we are all friends here. Come, sit.” Taking his seat, Erich turned his head towards one of the bikers “Burno, ensure we are not disturbed.”

The man clicked his heels together and thrust his arm out form his chest at an angle in what Erich was sure he considered to be perfect Nazi salute, "Zu befehl, mien herr" the biker replied, and turned away. He and his partner exited through the kitchen, with another group meandering out the front door, leaving the bars main areas relatively empty. “Jose!” He called “Drinks, all around.”

Alexander moved to take his seat, with Albert occupying the third. “What can I do for you, then gentlemen?” he asked tentatively.

As Jose set down three somewhat dirty and scratched glasses, a plate of lime slices and a bottle of tequila, Erich replied. “I know what you do for a living, you've been doing it for the Hijos for a while-”

“I got the message, Señor, Nostra is taking that business, I know, I have not contacted-” Albert began

“I know, Albert, I know.” Erich relied “I am Señor Nostra's representative here, and I have need of your services.” he glanced at Alexander before continuing “I suppose you could call it a private venture.”

“Da”

Albert nodded “So long as the Nostra Cartel is not going to kick in my door, I believe I can assist you.”

Erich smiled “Good, good. No harm will come to you, I can assure you.” He pulled the bottle to himself and poured a genrous amount, passing the glass to Albert, and selecting another. “We will work up an inventory-” he bega filling the second class and sliding it to Alexander, who dripped it in his massive hand “-and submit it too you shortly. We pay bearer bonds up front, they are untraceable.” Erich said, filling his onw glass intrun and capping the bottle. He motions to Alexander, who laid a sall stack of paper bonds in the table, deftly spreading them out with his hand. “These are worth a total of 8.000 Lanosian Dollar, to be paid to the holder. You are now the holder.”

Albert nodded, reaching for the bonds “And I can assume there is hard currency to follow?

Erich smiled as the speakers in the bar cracked out the words of Clapton singing about the blow that don't lie. “Si,” he replied “As soon as we visit the laundromat.”

Albert nodded, a small twinkle of light the lens of his glasses “The, gentlemen, lets talk terms.”

[Spreewerke]

Alise emerged from her bathroom after changing into her black cocktail dress for the evening. She walked back over to her nightstand where she had laid down the notes she'd taken pertaining to the news reels earlier in the day.

"If I were some Puzak looking to hang low, where would I go," Alise said to herself as she thumbed through her note cards. "Would I go back to my safehouse..? No, he's been described on the news; that'd be too much exposure. Perhaps flee north to East Saludos? Ne, borders are too tightly guarded right now..."

Alise began pacing the room, trying to think of where she might be able to find this Puzak. She kept reviewing her notecards, going over the information time and time again. Suddenly, she had an idea of where he might be. She went back into her room and picked up the phone and dialed the number for the local cab service.

About five or six minutes later, the taxi cab arrived. Alise collected her things for the evening, holstered her handgun under her dress in a thigh holster, and left out the front door, locking it behind her. She came out the front gate and got into the back seat of the cab.

"Hola! Where is it we will be going, ma'am? Might I say, that is a lovely dress you have!"

"Thank you," she replied. "Could you just, uh... are there any clubs or bars nearby? I'm looking to have a bit of fun this evening."

"Well, senorita, there is a biker hang-out not too far from here. It is sometimes too crowded to enter, but we can drive by and check if you like."

"Gracias, that would be great."

The cab driver put his car in gear and signaled his exit back out into the street. Alise checked her make-up one last time in her pocket mirror she had taken out of her purse. It looked acceptable, so she returned the mirror back into her purse, only to look up and catch the cab driver just looking away from his rearview mirror.

"Guess I look good enough this evening," she quietly mumbled to herself.

Alise had began to occupy herself by watching the buildings pass by her window when the driver spoke up.

"We're coming up on the bar now. It will be on the left; looks like there is a line out front. I'll slow down for you."

Alise turned to her left and saw the bar as they approached it. There were several people in line outside being denied admittance. She was about to tell the cab driver to keep going until she noticed something: a man had bypassed the bouncer and was walking around back. She saw him begin to get frisked by the guards.

"Stop the car, but about a block away, please."

"Si, seniorita.

The driver pulled forward to the end of the block and stopped. Alise got out and walked over to the driver's door. She thanked him and handed him twenty dollars to pay for her ride. She crossed the street and began walking towards the bar immediately afterward. As she approached, she saw the bouncer begin to give her a once-over. Noticing this, she flashed a subtle smile as she approached. Once she got a few feet away, he stepped in front of her to stop her from walking by.

"Sorry, Miss, but the club's private: you'll have to go to the end of the line."

"Oh, well, perhaps I should explain myself," she said to him as she placed her hand just above her chest. "I'm here to 'congratulate' my Puzak friend on a job well done. Surely letting me in won't be that big of a problem, will it, hun?" She lowered her head a tiny bit, bit her lip slightly, then smiled once more at him.

"Well, uh, I-, I guess I can make an exception," the bouncer said to her. "You'll want to go around back here and tell the guards there why you're, uh, here."

"Thank you, love," Alise said as she slipped by the guard, rubbing her hand down his cheek as she passed.

She approached the rear door when she was again stopped by guards. They seemed to be a fair bit more of the "tough" type than the door bouncer was, and there were a handful of them there: she was outnumbered this time. Alise knew she'd have her work cut out for her in convincing these guys in particular to grant her admittance.

"Stop right there," the first guard, the biggest of them, said to her as she approached. "What are you doing coming back here? Entry is up front. This is just an emergency exit."

"Oh, you weren't told," she asked them.

"Told what?"

"I was sent in as a little, uh, 'congratulatory gift' for our Puzak friend inside. A reward for a job very well done," she said as she flashed a soft smile at the guard.

"Oh, well, then that changes things. I'm still going to have to give you a pat-down, though: just common procedure," he said to her.

"That's fine: I understand."

Alise walked over to the wall and rested her hands again it, spreading her feet slightly, about shoulder-width apart. The guard began patting her down, starting at the sides of her chest. She sighed slightly as she had expected it, but it did not last long. He began patting down her sides and back. She felt him patting a little low, however, and felt a hand slip under her dress. Quickly, she turned around, bringing her left elbow swiftly into the guard's throat.

Coughing, he stumbled backwards, slumping down, reaching at his throat. When he looked back up, all he saw was a P-92 bore just inches from his face, Alise behind it with the safety off.

"Sorry, hun, but you haven't quite earned that privilege yet," she said to him firmly, with traces of anger in her voice.

He began to reach for his pocket when she pulled the trigger on her pistol about half-way back, cocking it into single-action automatically.

"I don't think you want to do that," she said to him. "Keep your hands up, if you would."

She quickly glanced to the other guards who were readying themselves to draw whatever weapons they had, saying to them, "Anyone else try to pull a fast one on me like your friend here just did, and you'll be having to clean his brains out of this alleyway, understand?"

The other guards nodded their heads, and slowly began to raise their hands. She looked again to the guard in front of her on the ground.

"Now, would you be so kind as to open the door for lady such as myself?"

"Y-, yes, ma'am."

The guard slowly got back up, still holding his throat with one hand, and walked to the door as Alise kept her pistol's muzzle against his back. He knocked, and a window slid open on the door. The guard said something in Lanosian that Alise couldn't quite make out, but sure enough, the door was opened for her.

"Thank you, sir," Alise said to the guard just before entering, decocking and reholstering her handgun in the process.

It took a while for her to adjust to dark, smoke-filled room once she entered the relatively deserted bar. However, once she became adjusted to the new environment, she could see she was definitely in the right place. In front of her sat Erdeli, going over some kind of deal with some folks she didn't recognize along with the man she saw in the alleyway earlier.

She stepped a little closer to get a better look when they stopped what they were doing, and focused their attention on her. Between songs on the jukebox, she heard the easily-identified click-click of a pistol hammer being cocked underneath the table. She had to act fast, otherwise Morrison's promising of the end was going to become true for her.

"Mr. 'Erdeli,' I presume," she said, approaching the table.

"Who asks?"

As she got closer to the table, she knew she had found her target man: one eye, the physical construction of a bear, and several tattoos upon him.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your little meeting here," she said, "but I've got something I think you may find very interesting."

She reached into her purse and tossed the flashdrive onto the table, just in front of Erdeli.

"This is for you, Popeye."

[Nua Corda]

The border guard was bored. Incredibly bored. But, that was what you got when you made eyes at your post commander's daughter: stationed to a tiny-ass checkpoint in the ass-end of nowhere on the East Saludos border. It could have been worse. He could have been stationed on the boarder to West Saludos. Certainly he preferred boredom to constant fear of being shot. Technically, both he and his partner were supposed to be wearing vests, but the PASGT vests they were issued were heavy, hot and uncomfortable. In practice, few guards actually wore them in the field, they were considered an unnecessary encumbrance, especially out here, where a llama was the most exciting thing you were likely to see all week. He had left it in the guardhouse, along with most of the heavier gear they were supposed to carry. What he did consider worth carrying was his GPR-76, a chest rig with a few mags in it, a flashlight, his handcuffs and his radio. He had stepped out of the guardhouse for a smoke when he heard it. The rattling of an old, tired engine fighting its way up the dusty road.

He shifted his rifle slightly, to make sure the sling wasn't caught on his clothes, and walked over to the edge of the hill. He could see the vehicle, an ancient, rusty jeep, probably older than the road it was driving on. As the jeep made its way up the hill, great clouds of dust rose from the dirt road and drifted off into the jungle. The vehicle slowed as it approached the checkpoint, and the guard was able to get a good look at it, and it's driver. It was certainly old, having probably rolled of a CMW production line during the Second Global War, and the doors, top and most of the paint had long since been removed. One of the headlights was out, its guts hanging from the socket by a couple of wires, and the other was cracked. If one looked closely enough, one might be able to make out the remains of the Cordian Shield in the paint on the side of the engine block. The occupant didn't look much better. He was a big man, easily over six feet and broadly built. He wore a battered green fatigue jacket, khaki cargo pants, and a dirty, sweatstained grey tanktop. His face was mostly covered by a short, scruffy beard, and what wasn't clearly hadn't been washed in a good week. The big, powerful hands that gripped the steering wheel wore black leather driving gloves. The guard found his attention drawn to a large scar than ran down the right side of the driver's face, just below his nose, bisecting his lip and leaving him with a permanent hint of a sneer.

As the jeep rolled to a stop, the guard approached, motioning his partner to exit the guardhouse. He walked up to the driver's side of the jeep, making sure the other guard had moved into position to cover him, and gave the contents of the jeep a cursory examination. There was a large, military-style overcoat on the passenger seat, and a pair of duffle bags in the back of the jeep. Empty paper bags and water bottles littered the interior. The driver had obviously be living in the car.

"buenos días, señor" he asked, pushing his cap up on his head.

"English, if you don't mind" the driver replied. His voice was deep and had a gravely quality to it.

"Of course. I'll need to see you papers...." the guard started, but stopped, noticing a small parcel peeking out of one of the duffle bags "Sir, what is that?" he asked cautiously.

"Cocaine" the driver said, matter-of-factly, calmly pulling a handgun out from under his leg and shooting the guard twice in the stomach, through where the door would have been. The guard cried out and toppled back, rolling in the dirt and clutching his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the driver bring down his partner with a second controlled pair as he reached for his GPR. The guard rolled, cradling his wound and hyperventilating as he stared up into the deep blue of the sky. He watched as the driver got out and nonchalantly aimed his pistol at the guard's head. There was a sharp crack, and then nothing.

The driver quickly plucked the radio out of the guard's belt and set it upright in case the thing had a horizontal alert feature, then walked over to the second guard, and shot him in the head as well. After performing the same procedure with the second radio, he tucked the pistol in his shoulder holster, and dragged both bodies off into the woods. He divested them of their sidearms and rifles, which he tucked into one of the duffles in his jeep, then hid both men under a pile of bush. Returning to the guard hut, he placed both radios upright on the charging rack inside, then took a broom out of the hut and swept away the blood that had pooled around where the guards had been shot, burying the shell casings in the dirt. Satisfied that at first glance it would most likely appear the guards had deserted, he pushed open the gate, then climbed back into his jeep and sped off down the road, leaving no trace that he had ever been.

---

Several hours later, the jeep rolled to a halt in a seedy alley in the southeastern part of Menard. Parking it behind a large, foul-smelling dumpster and tossing a tarp over the truck bed, the driver pulled a shoulderbag from the footspace of the passenger seat and slung it over his shoulder, then set off down the road, satisfied that noone would bother messing with the truck. It was refreshing to stretch his legs for a bit, and he allowed himself to wander through the narrow streets and back-alleys of the slum. Finding his way onto a larger street of sorts, he walked down for a ways until he spotted a bar.

The driver had learned how to identify bars. He could usually tell from the outside what kind of people frequented it, whether you could buy drugs there, and most importantly, whether there would be cops. This one seemed to fit the bill pretty well; obvious skinheads lurking about, generally shady appearance, motorcycles parked outside. Biker bar, probably of the fascist persuasion. The driver was not a fascist. He wasn't really much on anything politically, not anymore. Maybe when he was younger he would have hung around with these types, but now he had learned that there were more important things than ideology. Namingly, girls, booze and money with which to acquire them. But there was no way there were cops in this joint. Which suited him just fine.

He strode up to the front door, and move to step inside, but one of the meatheads sidled into his path. The man was shorter than him, but bigger. The driver could practically smell the steroids.

"Nu ah, pendejo, I don't recognize you" the bouncer growled.

"That's nice" said the driver, grabbing the man by the shoulder and shoving him out of the way. The bouncer planted a palm on his chest and shoved him back into the street. The driver snarled.

"Get outta here, you piece a shit Cordian" the bouncer chuckled, his friends joining in.

"Yeah? Fuck you and the couch you rode in on, shite for brains" the driver rumbled, drawing himself up to his full height. The buncher growled and threw a punch at him, but the driver dodged, grabbed the man's wrist and twisted his arm back before delivering a nasty straight right to his jaw. As the man reeled, another charged him, but the driver sidestepped and caught the man in a headlock, twisting and depressing his airway until he began to choke and sputter. Recovering, the first bouncer lunged at him again, and he had to release the hold to dodge. Sidestepping, he caught one of the thugs with a mean left hook, followed by an uppercut that sent him stumbling into the doorframe, then whirled around and punched another square in the nose. Howling in pain, the bouncer blundered into one of his companions, but as the driver was about to close the distance and follow with a crushing blow to the windpipe, the man he'd been strangling wrapped big, meaty arms around his neck from behind. Now the boot was on the other foot, and the driver struggled to break the hold as the sweaty biker slowly crushed his trachea. Unable to wriggle loose, the driver reach down, yanked his bowie out of its sheath, and jammed it into the meat of the man's leg. Bellowing in anger and pain, the biker released him, and the driver quickly yanked the blade out and plunged it into his stomach twice. One of the other bouncers yelled, and pulled a revolver out of his waistband, but the driver grabbed his wrist and brought the knife up in a slicing arc, slashing his wrist and severing the tendons, causing the revolver to clatter to the ground.

He was within seconds of following with a vertical stab into the man's throat, but something hard and heavy slammed into the side of his head and he found himself stumbling. The tire iron (for that was what the object was) struck him again on the shoulder, and then on the arm. He felt his arm go numb and the knife slipped from his fingers, but managed to stumble out of the way. An attacker grabbed for him, but got the edge of his bag instead. The bag ripped as the driver struggled to get out of range of the tire iron, and everyone stopped as two bricks of cocaine, a carbine, several magazines and a large suppressor fell out of the back and clattered into the street. Before he could react, strong hands grabbed the driver from behind and dragged him into the bar as others gathered up his weapon and drugs, and followed them inside.

[Puzikas]

The woman standing before the lot of men had a certain resolve about her. Even with Alexanders revolvers muzzle pointed at her from under the table, hammer back, something he had deliberately made audible, she didn't show a hint of fear. She even had the sense to offer him an insult- something he took to heart already. Her accent was...odd. Something he had heard, but nothing from the West. She was eastern alright.

"Runa spreewerkk?"

"Ja..."

"Kurs elle ir jums, un ka uūs zinat, ka atrast mani?"

"Jus varat zvanit man Alise, un tagad mes varam tikai sauc to laimīgo minejums."

Alexander smiled and kept the revolver pointing forward. He reached over and pulled a chair to the table, and motioned for her to sit. Slowly, Alise moved over to the chair, her hand ready to move for her pistol if need be. Her voice had been shaking. Alexander instilled an amount of uneasiness in her. Or maybe she just wasn't used to being on the other end of a gun. She sat down slowly. Alexander let his eye wander over her, watching her face turn a bit red. Her hand moved up and slammed against Alexander’s face, making a very audible noise. The hoots from the other men in the bar and laughing from Erich were a welcome diffusion to the tense mood. Alexander laughed and put a hand on her shoulder. He adjusted his glass eye, which had become loose from the pure force of her slap. His face had a palm imprint on it.

"I like her." Erich said, taking a drink from his glass.

"Yea, me too." Alexander cracked his neck and disengaged the revolvers hammer, and slipped it back into his holster. Alise was glaring at him. Alexander motioned for another glass to be brought

"One for our lady friend here. Now."

"You're not a hard man to find, Mr. Erdeli. I've been in country not even two days and I've found you."

"Who said I was trying to hide, Alise."

Alexander put the flashdrive in his pocket, and took out another cigarette. He offered one to Erich, who opted to take two.

"Ever smoke Puzakk stuff?"

"Can't say I have, no"

"May want to take it slow. They can make you light headed at times."

Erich chose to disregard this information. Alexanders attention turned to the girl sitting next to him, his eye fixed on center line of her nose. This, he learned over time, gave the illusion his one eye was looking into both. Something he learned in his 8 years of not having an eye was to make do, and rarely did he feel he missed the second.

"Ms. Alise. As I’m sure you know, you have found me at a very... opportune time. Under normal circumstances, I would have to do unfortunate things to you. But, of course, you are a woman, and it is not in my code of ethics to harm a woman. I'm also in a very good mood today. I'm happy to talk to you, but first, I have a business transaction to discuss with these gentlemen. You are welcome to stay...No, you must stay."

"And if I don’t?"

"You will, I'm sure whoever wanted you to deliver this drive to me would want nothing less."

Alexander poured her a drink, and then one for the rest of the table. He raised his glass up slightly and proposed a toast.

"To, shall we say, new found business ventures?"

The table agreed and downed a shot. No sooner than they finished did the ambient sound became louder, from a low roar to a loud combination of cheers and shouts. A fight had broken out, and all focus was on the front. the door was clouded with bodies standing around, their combined mass moving like some sort of bloodthirsty snake. They parted like water as a man was dragged into the bar with a torn bag. Several of the bikers were carrying, what Alexander could only assume, to be the contents of said bag. They worked quickly, subduing the man, even as he struggled on, while two other of the lot took the stuff and hid it behind the bar. Erich stood from his seat, and Alexander followed. He turned to Albert and requested he stay put to "watch the girl". He obliged.

Alexander reached down to his ankle and removed his Obrez from its harness, pulling open the bolt. The very audible action echoed, capturing the attention of the crowd, as he placed in a round and pushed the bolt home. He placed the muzzle of the rifle to the struggling mans lower jaw, and looked intently into his eyes.

"Listen friendo, I don't want to paint the ceiling with your brains anymore than you want me to, but I'll do it if you don't stop struggling. You're giving my friends’ establishment a bad name. Now, I suggest you CALM THE FUCK DOWN."

"Get your steroid infused fucking meathooks off me you shit, and face me like a bloody man! I'll shove that stump up your ass!"

It was at this point that he decided it would be best to spit, but rather than a clear liquid, a bloody mucus slurry was ejected at high velocity from his mouth, and hit Alexanders shirt. Erich spoke with uncommon furry.

"Bring this Cordan fuck to the back, I'll deal with him myself!"

The two guards eagerly dragged the still kicking man behind the bar, and into Alexander could only guess, but he was eager to find out. Erich cracked his neck and smiled.

"Erich."

"Yea?"

"He had coke. Looks like 3 kilos of the stuff.

"I saw. Lets go find out who he is?"

"Yea."

The two men filed into a small, dimly lit back room. They had managed to make the Cordan, still screaming and spitting fire and blood, "sit" down. He was secured in by some rather thick rope. Alexander and Erich took two chairs and sat just across from him, silently. Slowly, he cooled down, and returned the looks of the two opposite of him.

"Are you gonna behave now?" Erich asked, condescendingly.

"Go fuck yourself, you shite. And you, one eye willy, you can watch."

"How about a name, before you find yourself without a fucking skull?"

The Cordan paused for a few moments, silently squirming in his chair. He accepted the inevitable defeat, it was clear to him that this was a losing fight. These men were not there to play games, and, from the look of the room, he wouldn't be the first to die in there. It was, at one point, a sort of freezer. The floor was a kind of thick tile, excluding the area around him. The area round him was all concrete. A drain in the middle act as an inevitable vortex that would dispose of blood, and there was going to be a lot of it if he didn't give in. The ceiling had a few high velocity spatters on it, if it was from the Puzakks massive pistol or another gun was still unclear.

"Saranus Odhrán"

"Alexander Erdeli"

"Erich Schuessler"

"Right, now that we've all been properly introduced, will you all kindly GET ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING CHAIR?"

Alexander chuckled and shook his head.

"Not yet. Mr Odhran, you came to us at a very opportune time, and, it seems, with the means to further our opportunities.”

“How do you mean?”

“Mr. Odhran, we too are in...possession, of some of that white powder you had.

“Yea? And what of it? You want some of my blow for your fucking biker parties? What makes you think I’ll give you any free of charge, you shits?”

Alexander laughed, and looked at Erich.

“Do you want to explain?”

“I suppose I may as well. Look asshole, you got blow, we got blow. Lets make a deal here. I’m going to spell it out for you. Thanks to our Puzakk friend here, we have a large amount of the stuff ourselves. We intend on selling it too. And if you know anything about anything, you know that its worth more parted out, and sold to the individual person, than it is if you just sell the shit in bulk.”

“Right, if its business you’re talking, I’m listening. Any of you got a smoke?

Alexander walked over and put a smoke in his mouth, and lit it for him.

“Go slow, you’ll pass out. Lost too much blood to be smoking that fast, oxygen starvation sets in quick when you’re smoking.”

“Well look at you, coke dealer and a doctor.

“Nope. Just common sense.”

Erich continued, “Nevermind the fact that no man who values his skin can just walk into town and unload 8 kilos of Val Nube’s finest. Where did you get the coke from, anyways?”

“I took it,” the Cordian replied matter of factly

“No shit? If you took it, then you took it from a cartel, and they aren’t going to be happy with you. Who did you take it from?”

The man paused, weighing his options. Glancing from face to face around the room, he decided he didn’t have many. “I took it from Nostra.”

Erich spewed smoke from his mouth as he laughed boisterously. “Oh shit son! You’re so fucked.” he said, slapping his knee with the palm of his hand. “Do you know what they do to pendejos like you?” Turning to Alexander, Erich said quietly “Of course, we have a problem, if Nostra finds him, here, with that blow, they’ll kill us all. We need to get rid of it, fucking pronto.”

Alexander nodded, and turned back to the bound man. “So, we have the means, the stuff, the method to distribute the stuff. Everyone involved gets a cut, and so far me and my friend here are getting the most sizable of the lot. If you throw in you, what, 3 kilos? You’re looking at an in.”

“Fuck me, what kind of cut? Not full price I’m assuming?”

“No, not at all. But more than if you were to ever sell it in bulk,” Alexander interrupted.

“I tried offloading my stuff today, for 12 grand no less. I figured that with my fiends cut here, I’ll still be making about $2,000 more than if I ever sold it in bulk. You coming in would hardly change a thing.

“I hate to interrupt you boys and your fun little game, but I didn’t quite come to Lanos to be someone’s mule,” Alise said as she finished her drink.

“Damnit,” Alexander swore under his breath. He rotated to see Alise standing in the doorway.

“I’m going to crush Alberts fucking skull. You’re supposed to stay at the table!”

“I didn’t come here to play good cop-bad cop with you group of thugs. I came to find the Puzak, and that’s all I intended to do. You’ve got your flashdrive, my work is done. I’m going home,” Alise retorted back to the one-eyed monster.

“What, and report to your boss that you couldn't close the deal? That will go over well, I’m sure. Look, you may be here to deliver me a stupid flash drive, but I’m not. I’m here to make money, and I want to give you an in on this. Any person, man, woman, or child would want in on a chance to make some cash. And something tells me you are no different.”

Alise sighed before giving her response. “Alright, fine. Who owns this place? Is the owner here?”
Erich laughed, blowing more smoke out of his mouth.

“I speak for the Xavier.”

“Alright, well is there a computer in this place, or are the electronics here about as out-dated as that wardrobe you’re wearing?”

Erich took one step towards Alise, saying “Fuck you, cunt, woman or not, I’ll knock your teeth down your throat for disrespect the Hijos colors.”. Before he could make a second step, a strong arm seized him and yanked him backward. He found himself inches from Alexander’s face, and his single eye bored into Erich’s “You will do no such thing.” Turning his attention to Alise, he said “How about you tell me what is on this damned thing thats so important, maybe then i’ll consider looking at it.”

“You know just as much about it as I do. All I know is that it is a personal gift from the don of Klusum Naves himself,” she told him. “My boat captain handed it to me right as I was stepping onto the dock.”

“I don’t care if its from the Czar quite honestly. But if a courier doesn’t know what they are moving, its got my interest. Erich, there a computer somewhere in here?”

“Si”, Erich replied, motioning for the others to follow him. As they filed out of the room, he called, “Martinez,Ramirez, come in here and watch this fool until we come back.”. The Cordian secured for the moment, he led them down a dimly lit hallway into the back office. Flipping on the light to reveal a desk cluttered with papers and other debris, he pointed to an ancient machine sitting on the desks corner. “You can use that one.”

Alise dusted off the office chair sitting behind the desk. She turned on the computer monitor, and immediately looked up to Erich. “You say you are in charge when Xavier is away? I take it you used this last?”

“Yep” Erich said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, next time I’d suggest closing your tabs first. Oh, and for the record, she’s faking it. Now, Erdeli, mind handing me that flashdrive?”

Alexander put the flash drive in her hand, squinting at the monitor

“I spent the whole computer revolution bit in a prison, and out in the badlands of the Puzakk Federation. This shit all over the internet?”

Alise simply gave Erdeli an annoyed looked before saying, “That is more or less the entirety of it. Now let me put this flash drive in so we can see what’s on it.”

Alise inserted the flash drive into the USB port and waiting for the opening prompt to appear. Sure enough, it popped up seconds later displaying the files contained within. She hovered over a folder named, “For the Puzak.” She double-clicked the item and it contained only one file. It was a video file, unnamed.

Alexander leaned in, removing his glass eye and polishing it before placing it back in.

“That’s fucking gross” Erich commented

Alise turned around in the seat, saying to those present, “Gentleman, if you don’t mind: you have a Cordian to look after and I have to introduce a business proposition to a certain Puzak.”

Erich snorted “Right, bitch, I’m going to leave you alone in my office.”

Alexander nodded “I don’t care, unless you have a tape of my mother on there, it’s nothing particularly private.”

“Very well then,” she replied. She opened the video file. It took a few seconds to load initially, but finally a man showed up on the screen. He began to start into some sort of dialogue of his own.

“Mr. Erdeli; you don’t know me, but I know you. Rather, shall I say, I know of you. Your skills have not gone unnoticed, nor has your peculiar choice in weaponry. I think perhaps we can work out a deal,” the man said.

“What, is he going to give me an Obrez made of fucking gold,” asked Alexander.

“Just be quiet,” Alise replied.

The man continued speaking.

“I have sent this flashdrive with my best enforcer to offer you a sample of various goods I can offer you. For example, it has come to my attention that you are using primarily Global War II surplus for your hits. Surely a man of your caliber deserves much superior weaponry? Of course! Let me introduce you to this, the AC-58C.” The man lifted a Kalashnikov variant off of a table just below screen and began discussing its features. “This is the absolute best carbine you could ever hope of getting, and we have many more like it. Don’t just take my word for it, take a look for yourself!” The camera switched to shots of entire assembly lines featuring Kalashnikov-based rifles, carbines, sub-machineguns, shotguns, and various other current-use Spreewerkian military firearms. “All of this is yours,” he continued, “but only if we can work out a little deal. What I propose to you is that, in exchange for becoming a member of the Klusum Naves, we grant you access to every firearm, explosive, and any other weapon you could ever dream of having. If you feel as though this is a fair proposition, please... contact Alise once you have finished watching this. I look forward to hearing from you soon, Alexander.” With that, the video stopped. As it did, Alise looked back to Erdeli, awaiting his reaction.

Alexander smiled, and held up his obrez.

“This was the rifle my grandfather carried in the second global war. I carry it not because its all I have, I like it. It works. I dont work for a company, I don’t work for a nation. I follow my own rules and work for who I want, when I want. Thats my life. Last time I got in with a croud, I lost my damned eye. Not again.”

He turned and looked at Alise.

“I’d hate to send you home empty handed, and I don’t intend to. We have a chance to earn some money, and from the looks of you, you like money.

“Perhaps I can convince you otherwise,” Alise replied, realizing she was quickly losing any upper hand she had in the deal.

“Tell you what. Stick around. I’ve heard of your...group. I did a few contracts for them in Costa Mejis in early 2001. I’m familiar with your work, and I know that you just don’t become ‘enforcer’. Stay here and help us make some money, maybe I’ll change my mind.”

“Great, now that that’s settled,” Erich interjected, “can we please get back to getting rid of that blow that fucking Cordian came in with before Nostra’s goons get here?”

“Gladly.”

Erich led the way back to the had-been freezer, and smiled at Saranus. “Sorry, friend, a bit of side business to attend to. Have you considered our offer?”

Saranus glared back at Erich “I don’t really see where you gave me a choice, asslick.”

Erich smiled and walked towards him, producing a knife from his pocket to cut the mans bonds. “That’s the spirit!” he remarked. Turning back to Alexander, he said “We need cash, and there’s only one place local I can think of where we can flip this blow and get the clean money we need. Who feels like some lo mein?”

"Finally," Alise interjected. "I haven't ate since I got here!"

[Junghuwa]

"The usual, Mr. Johnson?"
"Mhmm."
Shirong Guo handed over the small parcel, taking the ten twenty-dollar notes offered by the lanky man standing in front of him.
"Thank you for your esteemed custom. I would love to stay and chat, but I'm afraid that I have some unfinished business to attend to."
With that, he closed the door, taking in a deep breath. He walked over cellar door at the end of the room, undoing the latch and climbing down the ladder. He then flicked a switch, turning on the dingy old lamp mounted to the basement's ceiling and revealing the man bound to the chair in front of him, with a piece of duct tape over his mouth. In a swift motion, Shirong ripped off the tape, making the man scream in pain.
"Now where were we? Ah yes, I believe you were about to tell me why you did not deliver the two and a half thousand dollars that you owe me this morning, like we agreed."
"I... I'm sorry. I really don't have that kind of money right now, but in a few days I'm due to get a payment which should almost cover the cash."
"But almost isn't completely, now, is it? And anyway, in a few days the rate will have gone up further."
Tears began to appear in the young man's eyes.
"Please! I have a wife and two children; if I cannot look after them they will starve!"
"Well perhaps you should have thought about that before you decided to take a loan from me!"
He ascended the ladder and walked over to Joseph, his burly 'Head of Security'.
"Joseph, break both of his legs and then throw him in a dumpster somewhere. And please do it quickly."
Joseph nodded, and walked over to the door. Shirong turned around, hearing a sharp knock at the front entrance. He walked into the main restaurant portion and opened the door. In front of him he saw four large, well built men, one of whom was missing an eye, and a fierce looking woman standing next to them. He guessed that they weren't just there for the food.
"Table for five, I presume?"

[Renaldi]

Tea.

There was something inherently civilized about the humble cup of tea, Dominic reflected, taking in the complex aroma before indulging in a slow, measured sip. Civility, in some areas of the world, was hard to come by, and thus, he tended to savor it when he could.

Not that civility was always possible in his line of work, but a gentleman could make sacrifices when necessary. Men of honor could rise above the trivial inconveniences, and the job could be done, as it needed to be.

This was not the most elaborate of restaurants, nor was it the least comfortable. Small, yes, but then some of the smaller spots often held surprises in the way of food, entertainment, or even business opportunities. The latter of course, being why he was here.

They had a different way of going about things, these people. They didn’t have the same understanding. The same frame of reference, even if their business often ran parallel, if not in direct competition to that of his friends and associates. One had to be more careful in the way one expressed oneself. Carried oneself. And watched out for oneself.

He carefully set aside the small round cup after another sip, then got back to typing. He had his privacy filter on, but he wasn’t too concerned with many people here understanding what it was he was working on. Several projects at once, in fact, his nimble hands flickering over his slender laptop’s keyboard with quiet but steady tapping and brief flicks of fingertips over the touchpad. Occasionally he would use a carefully-placed finger on the screen to pinpoint something or other, flip, slide out of the way, and carry on.

The man was neither terribly tall, nor noticeably short, with a fairly average frame that showed signs of belonging to a healthy and fit middle-aged man. His thick dark hair showed little grey, and his facial hair was trimmed neatly. Not darkly-tanned, his olive complexion hinted at one who perhaps spent a great deal of time indoors. And his suit was understated, but fashionable, at least where he hailed from, though he wore his light shirt open and had no tie. Business casual, one might say, and no jewelry to speak of save the tasteful crucifix on a gold chain under his shirt.

Dominic was working off the web at the moment. This was not a secure location, but he could still program and prepare, and observe. And in his observation, he could not help but notice the arrival of a decidedly ... interesting group of people, met no less, by the owner of the cozy establishment.

If nothing else, whatever happened next might at least prove to be entertaining. He kept a subtle eye on the quartet as they were shown their seats, and another eye on the exits. He was already set to pick up and go if need be, of course. After all, It never hurt to be prepared.

[Triggthiuda]

Mōd carefully slid the 600mm long canvas sack down the roughly horizontal bore hole. The sack was his own design, a replacement for the plastic bags professionally made explosives came in, and was filled with a mixture of 94% ammonium nitrate fertiliser and 6% diesel fuel by weight, a pretty close approximation of commercial grade blasting ANFO. He'd set up a factory on site to make the explosive in bulk, mixing the two ingredients in wheel barrows, and then wheeling the barrows up and dumping them into a giant funnel with a nozzle for filling the bags. The bags, made from rectangular pieces of waterproof canvas and stitched together by the local women, were sewn up and sealed at one end with tallow, and then tied off at the other. He'd ended up with a quite a stockpile to begin with as he trained the locals how to do things properly, but now he was confident that they could make the charges without him.

The charge placed firmly down the end of the hole, Mōd placed the next component, a booster charge. Normally this was made with gelignite, dynamite or even Semtex, but Mōd had devised something different for the cartel running the mine to keep costs down. The booster consisted of smokeless ball powder compressed by a hand press with a hole through the centre. In the hole was small charge of picric acid - easy enough to make from aspirin - and a commercial detonator. It never ceased to amaze Mōd just what could be used to make an high quality explosive, and ball powder was actually one of the best choices for someone on a budget if they wanted a bit more oompf than ANFO.

Finally, Mōd filled the end of the hole with clay, carefully keeping the safety fuse in the centre of the hole. Normally, he preferred to use detcord, but illegal mines tended to want common materials, the cheaper the better. That meant no electronic delay or even electric detonation. No, you just carefully measured the length of every single charge and gradually spliced them together until you had a single piece of fuse. This took more work than anything, with tunnels like this one having up to seventy charged bore holes - most of them arranged in an outline of the tunnel to provide a more or less smooth surface after blasting. The other charged holes were arranged to provide the maximum breakage of the rock. However, seeing as there was no electronic delay available, Mōd had gone really old school, using techniques from the very early 1900s. Instead of the boreholes being parallel to the work face, they were angled. The inner five holes - one in each cardinal direction plus one in the centre - were angled the most steeply in order to provide subsequent boreholes a second face to act on when detonating. The next ring of bore holes had much less of an angle and were close to horizontal. In comparison, the outer ring of boreholes were angled more steeply and, instead of pointing in at the centre, were pointing out at where the side of the tunnel should be. The end result wasn't as clean as with modern commercial hard rock mines, but it was pretty good for the conditions.

Mōd tamped the last piece of clay in place and washed his hands in a filthy bucket of water, before half drying them on a damp, dirty cloth. Grinning at his assistant, a former professor of environmental science named Rafael, Mōd stood off to one side and nodded his head at the tangle of fuses hanging down the wall.

"Go on, let's see if you beat yesterday's time."

Rafael smiled and went to work without another word. He was a quiet man, Rafael and, Mōd thought, a broken one. Once he'd been a tenured professor, teaching enthusiastic young students about the wonders of the planet and campaigning to protect the Amazon, but then he'd been laid off when budget cuts had hit his university. For the longest time he'd tried to find some legitimate work but, then again, so had everyone else, and there were many men younger and fitter than Rafael. So, half starved and desperate, Rafael had traveled to the goldfields of West Saludos and joined in the destruction of his beloved rainforest. Working 18 hours a day for the equivalent of just over $20 Emmerian dollars a day - if he was having a good day - he'd tried to save as much money as he could, but there was always drink and thieves, which made saving even harder. Still, Rafael had managed to survive and even accumulate a little wealth at the expense of so much of his pride, dignity and strongest beliefs. He'd even admitted to Mōd that he felt like a hypocrite for what he had done to survive. For his part, Mōd thought Rafael had done what he'd needed to do to survive and was grateful to have such an intelligence, learned man to take over his job when he left. Rafael's education had shaved at least a month off Mōd's time in West Saludos.

Rafael worked as quickly on the fuses as he could with shaky hands and soon had the fuses all spliced together, ending with a single piece of fuse. Mōd inspected the splices to make sure that they were done properly, nodding as he did so. Rafael was one of his best students, and his work had become flawless. Mōd doubted that he'd be called back in three months to train up a replacement for the older man.

Giving rapid fire instructions in Iberian that was pretty good for a foreigner, Mōd directed the other workers to pull back electrical cabling, air lines and lights until they reached what Mōd had dubbed a safe distance - not that any distance was really safe in a mine like this in his opinion - and then sent up the rest of the workers. When the lift descended again, Mōd and Rafael walked back to the work face in silence, their torches playing over the rough, stone surface. Reaching the fuse, Mōd picked it up and looked at Rafael with a serious face.

"Are you ready to graduate professor?"

Rafael, smiling thinly, nodded resignedly.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever by."

Mōd put a hand on the former professor's shoulder and looked at him earnestly. He likes the man, and hated to see Rafael hating himself so much. He knew that nothing he could say would strip away the years of self loathing and depression, but he could at least try and boost his confidence by a little.

"I honestly wish you'd never come into this sort of life, because you deserve better. I can't say that I'd rather have had anyone else learning under me. You might not like this job, but you're good at it , and you're one of the best men I've ever trained."

The thin smile returned to Rafael's lips.

"I know you mean well, but that's not something I'd rather be hearing."

Mōd nodded in acknowledgement and held out his lighter to Rafael, who took it automatically and lit the end of the fuse. A slow smile creept across Mōd's face as he walked casually back towards the elevator, a few steps behind Rafael, who kept looking back over his shoulder at the burning fuse, afraid that it was suddenly going to buck the trend and burn ten times faster than it should. He waited agitatedly in the lift until Mōd had entered, and then range the bell to signal the ascent. The lift crept gradually upwards, hauled by an overloaded, outdated motor and cables of questionable quality. Mōd probably should have been more worried about these facts, given that he knew how dangerous they were, but years of working in remote and dangerous places with explosives of questionable quality had done wonders for his nerves and probably made him a little more blase about these things than he really should be. Dayo wouldn't have been happy to see him working in these conditions, but what she didn't know probably wouldn't hurt her.

The lift clanked to a halt, and Rafael opened the gate, hurrying to get a few more metres between himself and the open mine shaft. Mōd, on the other hand, strolled casually over to where Francisco Rossi, the youngest son of Leandro Rossi and head of the Rossi cartel's mining branch, stood surrounded by a couple of well armed, steroid enhanced body guards. Coming to a halt a respectful distance away, Mōd gave Francisco a deferential nod. The young man smiled in return and pointed at Rafael with his chin.

"Is the teacher ready, do you think?"

Mōd nodded emphatically.

"He's one of the best I've ever trained. He knows enough now to take over from me, and I'll leave him some text books so he can improve even further if you can find him some place dry."

That made Francisco laugh. Not the idea of putting Rafael up in some better digs, mind, that was already part of the plan, but at the way the Wesi miner had worked it into the conversation. He wasn't as blunt as some Wesi Francisco had come across, but neither did he try and be particularly subtle. Mōd somehow managed to find the right balance of respect and openess with each client and used it to his advantage wherever possible. Francisco had even noted subtle changes whenever Mōd met with Leandro. Oh yes, this man was worth his pay.

"As you say, then. Do you think I should give him a woman, maybe a nice young thing with teensy breasts and a tight cunt?"

Francisco slapped the arm of one of his bodyguards and the two giants laughed, probably glad that they could drop the emotionless facade and laugh at the idea of the fifty odd year old professor in bed with one of the underage prostitutes used in the many brothels found throughout the Madre de Oro region. Mōd smiled, concealing his disgust at the way the brothels were run, but aware that he needed to say something that would amuse the cartel boss.

"Nah, what'd he do with a little nympho like that? Better give him a loose cunted old whore who's all worn out. He might be able to stay awake down in the mine that way."

Francisco roared with laughter and pointed at Rafael, who probably wasn't liking Mōd particularly well at the moment. Well, Rafael probably never liked Mōd very well, given that Mōd was an enabler of environmental vandals and drug lords, but he doubted that sharing jokes at Rafael's expense endeared him any. Mōd, laughing with Francisco to show solidarity, was the first to stop as he glanced down at his watched. Francisco noticed the movement, and asked if the explosion would be soon. Mōd nodded and told him that there was a little under a minute to go. Neither spoke to the other after that as they waited for the explosives to go off.

Just as Mōd had said, a muffled boom came fifty seconds later, and a plume of dust rose out the top of the shaft, seeing as the drift wasn't all that long at this point. Francisco nodded appreciatively at Mōd's prediction of time and his overall work so far.

"I'm going to go back up to my tent. Once you've got this all sorted out, come and join me and we'll discuss your payment."

---

Five hours later, Mōd was headed back to South Lanos with a thousand Troy ounces of gold dust in his backpack. Normally, he didn't charge this much, but he'd spent three months digging the mine from scratch, getting right in there with the workers and showing them how to use the old fashioned pneumatic rock drills and teaching the locals how to make bulk explosives from fertiliser and diesel. He'd slept rough, put in long hours and had been separated from Dayo for up to a month at a time. Over half the actually engineering and construction of the critical parts of the mine had been Mōd's work alone, and he had charged accordingly. Additionally, while many operations starting up didn't have gold to begin with, the quartz reef mine was an offshoot of the placer mining that the cartel had been controlling for the past few decades. Less than five tonnes of gold was legally exported from West Saludos, but well over ten were mined by well over sixty thousand illegal miners on hat was considered cartel land. This mine, when fully operational, should be adding another three tonnes per year. $1.5 million worth of gold dust was peanuts to the cartel.

Pulling up in front of the West Saludos border, Mōd paid off the guard and then cross over to the Lanosche border post, where he submitted to a search. the border guards had seen him a couple of times before, and one whiff of the feral clothes covering the gold in the backpack was enough to prevent them from even trying to pick it up. His papers were in order, after all, and why bother with a smelly miner whose only thought was to get back to his wife and screw her silly for the next day or two? Well, that part was mostly true. Mōd was missing Dayo and her soft body something fierce, and he was very eager to get back to her. That probably explained why he was so convincing in his act. The beard and long shaggy hair probably didn't hurt either, giving the impression of a man who's been away from civilisation far longer than he'd have preferred.

Driving just below the speed limit all the way into the city, Mōd stopped off at a dodgy little motel and rented a room for an hour so that he could wash off the smell of the mines and change into a spare set of clean clothes he always kept in the boot of his landcruiser. Thoroughly refreshed, he continued into the city, looking to offload the gold before he went home to Dayo. While he could probably have had the cartel funnel money directly into his accounts through various shell companies and private banks, Mōd didn't mind going to a bit of extra trouble to make sure his cash was genuine and to separate himself a little for his employers. That was why he preferred being being pay in gold. It was even more universal a currency than Emmerian dollars and much easier launder to boot. all you had to do was know someone who could put it through the washing process of a legitimate mine and split the profits with you. Of course going through a professional money launderer was much easier and cheaper, despite the 20% cut they usually took.

Right now, Mōd was heading to one of the best money launderers in southern Lanos, and not just because he wanted to get rid of the gold. Shirong Guo ran a pretty decent little Chinese restaurant as a front for his illegal operations, and Mōd was itching for something other than Puzzak military rations - his food of choice in for an area so contaminated by mercury almost 70% of the available food was contaminated with high levels of the metal. Dayo would, of course, be cooking him up quite a feast of traditional African and Wesi foods - gods bless that woman - but eating a little something wouldn't hurt. It was an...entree. Yes, that was the right term. He was simply warming himself up for her cooking.

Parking his car a couple of blocks away, Mōd dragged his soiled clothing out of the backpack and stuffed them in the rear footwell, before slinging the pack onto his back with a slight grunt and locking the care up securely. Then he set out for the restaurant, feeling his age a little. Admittedly, 30 odd kilos was pretty heavy for someone of his weight to be carrying, but he'd never have noticed it back in the old days. Well, maybe that wasn't the full truth. He'd have noticed it, it just wouldn't have bother him as much. The straps wouldn't have dug in as much and he'd have walked much more easily with it on. Ah, the pleasures of youth.

On reaching the restaurant, Mōd found himself behind a group of three rough looking individuals and one tough and sexy woman. It looked like they had the proprietor's attention, so Mōd slipped behind a small table and nodded towards Shirong when the man glanced his way. Mōd had been here before, and the Junghuwan usually remembered him. No doubt Shirong or one of his assistants would deal with Mōd soon enough. in the meantime, Mōd could watch the small group who had entered just before him and entertain himself with their antics.

[Costa Mejis]

Erich let his bike coast forward several inches after cutting the engine and watched over his shoulder as the unremarkable black van turned into the parking lot of the restaurant. Removing his helmet and setting it on the leather seat he pulled the second Puzaki cigarette he'd gotten from Alexander from his vest pocket and lit it. As the van pulled into the parking spot next to him, he laughed “Welcome to the fucking Orient.”

As the group headed towards the door, Erich said “Name is-” he faltered, pronouncing the foreign name phonetically, “She-wrong Gaol, or Gal, or some fucking shit, I don’t know.” He spat on the sidewalk before taking a drag from his cigarette, attempting to keep from coughing “Anyways, this guys supposed to be involved in some loan sharking, so that, plus the money this shithole brings in, means there always currency flowing into here. Add to that the fact that he’s got drug connections all over the place. The Hijos can handle distribution, and this dude can launder the money we get.”

Erich lead the way into the restaurant, pushing the open door against the interior wall with a bang, and smile as the proprietor turned to regard them. Quietly, he whispered “That’s our man.”

“Table for five, I presume?” the man asked.

Alise was the first to speak; “Yes, a table for all five of us, please.”

After being lead to their table and placing drink orders, Erich looked at Alise and asked quietly “We came here to do business not-” he held up a tea cup and saucer “have a fucking tea party. Why are we sitting?”

“For being such a man, you sure do complain a lot. How about we get some food in us before we start negotiating? I haven’t ate since before I even entered the country,” she replied.

“You’ll just be hungry again in a fucking hour.” Erich muttered, unfolding the menu.

“I never really liked Orient food, but I’ve been living on river fish and beans for four bloody months. I could use some damned beef” Alexander added, shifting uncomfortably in the small chairs. He looked over the area.

“So, these guys all Junghuwan mob? Ling chan and woo tai?”

Alise shot him a glaring look.

“What, I can say whatever the fuck I want. I spent a year in a cellblock full of the fucks, I speak enough to know I don't like em much.”

“In case you have forgotten, we’re trying to work a deal with them,” Alise said. “Perhaps you should try looking at them from more than just your sole point of view, Erdeli.”

“Are you really going to give us a lesson in solidarity right now?” Erich asked

“Not if you pay for my dinner.”

“I’ll do it, if you just let me speak my bit,” Alexander added, throwing the menu down. “I spent about 13 months locked in a Blackyard wing with about 30 of them, all from the same mob. Junghuwan, I think. They were constantly knocking off druggies. In a prison where we have about 40 minutes of contact a day with someone who isn't our cell mate. Do you know what the hell Puzakk prisons are like? These guys didn't just belong in there, they WANTED to be in there. I’m just saying, if shit goes south whatever we are packing better be out bags. If every one of these rice eaters is a damned member, I want to be NOT HERE if they snap.”

Interjecting, Erich quipped “I heard if there’s one thing them Commies know how to do right, it’s prison.”

Alexander crossed his arms on the table, something he was amazed he could do given its small size. Even Alise looked cramped, as small as she was.

“Now, I think I’ll have the fucking duck. I’ll pay for everyone, if you don't mind me ordering a second one.”

Alise was the first to respond to the Puzakk’s lecture, “that sounds perfectly fine to me.”

Erich nodded “So, what’s our angle?”

“We got cash. We’ll have more cash. We need said cash to be ‘washed and dried,’ so to speak. I hear they are good at that sort of thing,” Alexander noted, before Alise hit him in the shoulder.

“Alright.” Erich agreed “So we set up an ongoing deal for our landry,namely he does it for us and takes a cut, thats fine with me and the Hijos. I just want to be rid of the Nostra goods before they show up looking for this Cordan fuck.”

“I can't say I know much about these Nostra guys. What exactly are you particularly worried about?”

“You don’t need to know the particular people to know the type.” Erich explained. “I figure Nostra’s like any other cartel, and none of them like being stolen from. They find the mook who did it, and they’ll invent all kinds of new ways to make him die as slowly as possible, and wish he was dead a million times over.”

“Sound like my kinda people” Alexander remarked, looking for the waiter so he could order some terribly fruity alcoholic drink and eat.

Having noted that the lone waiter on duty for the evening was showing neglect for their table, Alise made eye-contact with him, leaning forward over the table, doing her best to get his undivided attention.

“Oh, waiter,” she called, “I’m ready for you over here.”

The young man, clearly intent on ignoring the table as long as he could, showed a new interest when Alise addressed him, and all but tripped over himself to oblige her request, “I uh, yes, what can I get you?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a dish of ‘orange chicken,’ would you?”

The waiter shook his head “No, it’s not on the menu, but, I make special for you!”

“You’re such a darling. Thank you,” she said to him.

He smiled at her, revealing a row of particular gaudy gold teeth, before turning his attention to the rest of the party, “What you want?”

Erich spoke first, doing his best, and failing miserably, to imitate the man's accent “Ah, so, ret me have ah da beef with peppers” he said, turning his English R’s into L’s.

Alexander was trying to suppress his laugh. He looked at the waiter, red in the face.

“Wo hui liang zhi yazi hea yige tongxinglian de yinliao. Qianglie le Tongxunglian, ni yuoi. Godzilla.”

The waiter, visibly surprised, looked at Alexander for a moment, and wrote down the order.

Albert looked equally amazed at Alexander’s linguistic skills and appalled at Erich’s lack of tact. “I’ll just have the hot and sour soup.” he said, shaking his head.

"I'll just have some damned fortune cookies. Alexander, want to translate that into rice speak?”

“Nope, do it yourself Cordan.” Alexander joked

Saranus scowled.

“Just give me something with meat in it. And rice. Not so much fucking veg. I’m a man, not a gorram rabbit.”

After the orders were completed, Erich burst out laughing and slapped Alexander on the back, “Bet your ass I ain’t eating anything that rice paddy daddy brings me!” Erich looked at Alexander “The fuck did you say to him, anyways?”

“I asked for two cooked ducks and the gayest fucking drink they had on the menu, as strong as they could.” He looked at the pink and orange ice drink in front of him, bits of fruit sticking out all over and a shitty paper umbrella on top.

“I think they have gayer, but this will do.”
“So, we got a plan to make contact with Shing-joe-tee-towel, or whatever the dudes name is?” Erich asked

“Leave that to me,” Alise stated. She then proceeded to pluck a few hairs out of Albert’s head and throw them into her food. She once again motioned the waiter over. “Waiter, sir, there is hair in my chicken, and my date here, Ol’ Winky, has informed me that his drink is not nearly as gay as what he was expecting. I demand to speak to the owner right now!”

The waiter visibly slumped as he listened to Alise complain about the special dish he had prepared for her. Sighing he said “I will get Mr. Gou for you, ma’am, I am, ah, very, very sorry. As to his drink, perhaps you could ask the gay one in your group to ejaculate in it?” he said, glaring at Erich, who burst out laughing.

“Ya razobyu vash cherep....” Alexander hissed at the waiter as he walked away

As both the waiter and the owner, Mr. Gou presumably, walked back towards the table, speaking quietly, Erich whispered to the group “Well, it’s show time.”

Alexander motioned to his revolver, “Should I have it at the ready?”

“Couldn’t hurt, but I doubt he’ll kill us in full view of these witnesses, and I doubt you want to kill him in front of the same witnesses.” Albert suggested.

“Good point, not to say I wouldn’t. That guitar case isn’t for my band, you know.”

As the two men approached the table, the owner asked quietly, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Your food has a few, issues with it. But nothing I'm sure we can't work out, friend,” Alexander said. “Perhaps something we can discuss in the back privately?”

Really?

This clearly peaked the man’s interest. His face went from that of a slightly nervous employer to a smile. He leaned in to hear Alexander a bit better..

“Please, do go on...”

Alexander reached into his pocket and pulled out a large fold of bills, and placed them on the table matter-of-factly.

“Now, what can I do with this. You look like you’re good with... numbers.”

“I believe that I have a clearer understanding of the situation now; please follow me.”

“Hold up a second” Alexander demanded.

“Can I get a to go for my duck?”

Shirong laughed and motioned to a waiter, who brought the duck to Alexander in a box.

“Now thats service.”

Shirong led the group towards the back of the room, where there was a sturdy door, firmly bolted shut with a padlock. Opening it with a key that he produced from his pocket, he stepped aside to allow the others to enter, locking it again behind him. Immediately after this, Joseph walked in through the back.

“Ah, Joseph, you are just in time. Now, before we do business, please show your good faith by placing all weapons on to this table. I will do the same, of course.”

He pulled his OTs-33 and set brass knuckles, laying them down.

Erich grumbled slightly as he pulled his CZ75 from a holster sewn into the interior of his kutt and laid it on the table. “I can see the need, but I hate disarming.”

Alexander let out an audible grunt and began disarming, stripping the guitar case off his back and removing his obrez and revolver from their holsters. He removed his multi tool and knife, as well as a roll of coins and a set of keys.

"I think that's all of it" he said with a grin.

Alise bent down and reached under her dress, attracting the attention of some members of the party. She proceeded to pull out her P-92 and set it on the table, noticing their glances. “What?”

Albert rolled his eyes and threw his pistol on the table. “Well I hope these deal doesn't go sideways”

Saranus removed the sleek PT-790 from its holster and placed it on the table. “No one touch my fucking gun.” he growled.

After the plethora of hardware carried by the group was deposited on the table, Erich jerked his thumb towards Joseph and asked “Who is this guy, why is he here?”

“Joseph is my Head of Security; he is present whenever and wherever I do business, just in-case things get... out of hand.”

Nodding, Erich looked at the owner and said “Fine, he’s legit” Erich pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, blowing smoke towards the ceiling, “I don’t like all this pussyfooting and beating around the bush. We have some cash now, we’re going to come into some more money, very soon let’s call it an inheritance from a dirty uncle, and it’s going to need to be cleaned. They tell me you’re the man to do it. What’s your cut?”

Shirong smiled. “Fifty percent.”

"Let me...er...converse with my friends" Alexander said. The group gathered in a tight huddle.

“Too high, he thinks we’re desperate.” Erich said. “He’s the best at this, or that’s what they say, but we can’t let him know we need him.”

"I agree. Fifty percent?? That's madness. At that rate I woulda been better off selling the dope for bulk." Alexander snarled. "This isn't my cash anymore. Its all our cash. Were in this for the long haul it seems, and that's how its going to be, everything is a mutual say"

“I didn’t come here for this: whatever we can manage is fine with me,” Alise said, growing thin on patience.

Albert surveys the growing situation over the money. “Well if it’s any consolation the only profit I want is whatever I decide to give you at a discount. I’ll let the girl have my cut.”

“As long as I get my money, I’m content. His offer is too high, we know its too high, bring him down like you’re supposed to.” Saranus said, obviously growing impatient.

"Right." Alexander said. He turned and looked at Shirong. "Fifteen. Take it or we take our money elsewhere. And you lose a big chance to make even more."

“Make that twenty-five, and you’ve got a deal.”

“Okay.”

Erich motioned to Alexander, “Have you even counted what we do have?”

“Shit. I haven't” Alexander mumbled. “I don't suppose you have any...erm...machines to do this? Its a bit of a...shall we say recent acquisition?

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

He opened another door, leading to a smaller room, adjacent to the kitchen. In it were several large and boxy contraptions. The money was sorted into these machines and separated out. After several minutes of listening to the machines hum quietly, Shirong and his assistants turned and reported “There is just under 99,000 Lanosian Dollars here.” He paused “I...I do not have the liquid capital on hand to exchange this. I do, however, have a solution. Will you excuse me for a moment?

Erich and Alexander nodded as Shirong bowed slightly at the waist and exited the room , leaving Joseph to keep an eye on the group.

“What do you think he has in mind?” Albert asked, taking his glasses off and cleaning them for the umpteenth time.

“No idea, but I don’t think he means to double cross us.” Erich said, though his gaze constantly flicked towards the weapons scattered across the nearby tables surface.

“Don't think about it Erich, not worth it” Alexander muttered, cracking his neck and playing with his glass eye

“I know, Puzzi, I know,” Erich replied.

After only a few moments Shirong returned with a shorter, lighter man than the rest of the group, which really wasn’t saying much. “This is an associate of mine, Mōdagswerd Arasun, and he may be most useful in fulfilling this order of yours. You can trust him, I do.”

Erich nodded “Getting awfully crowded on my crime scene.”

Mōd, who had been quite amused by the antics of the group when they had been out the front ordering food, gently placed his backpack on the floor at his feet as he sat down, carefully keeping it between his legs as he placed his TTM-11 and ceramic knife on the table. If probably wouldn’t do him much good if any of the big louts he was about to do business with wanted to take it but, hey, where was the harm in at least trying to be sensible?

“I’m miner of sorts, and I’ve recently acquired some gold in West Saludos. I trust Shirong enough that I’m willing to let him borrow some of it to pay you blokes off. It’s all 100% pure and free from mercury. If you want it, it’s yours.”

Erich shook his head “What in the fuck are we going to do with gold dust....we already have too much dust.” he said, glancing at Saranus.

Alise responded; “Gold is a little less illegal than cocaine Erich. We should take what we can get right now. Besides, who doesn’t like gold?”

“Yea, thats all well and good. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Au as much as the next guy. Shiny, heavy metal made valuable because it looks nice. Makes nice jewelry” Alexander said, casting a glance as Alisa, with a shit eating smirk “But what the fuck am I supposed to do with gold dust? Flip it? There isn't exactly an underground of gold dealers. I’m in it for cash, not material trades. If I wanted that I’d go to a swap meet or a flea market”

Again, Shirong smiled “I can help you there, too, will you excuse me a moment?”

Erich snorted “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,”

After several moments, Shirong again returned with an average-looking man with dark hair, and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache and said, “This is Dominic Esini and I think it’s best if he explains his use to you himself.”

“My use?” Dominic said, glancing around the mixed group. “That depends entirely on what you need.”

“We need you to make us some fucking money, Dominic” Alexander said, leaning back and looking over the man. He was small, and a bit skittish. But he looked well aware of his surroundings, something that was well needed

“And Shirong, do you just fucking know everyone? Got a hooker back there that lays eggs made out of gold and doesn't ask for money first?” Alexander quipped

“I assure you there’s a hooker back there somewhere. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually.” Erich said

“We don't have time for that, we have an arms deal to broker” Alexander noted, looking at his watch.

Erich shrugged “Always time for tail, but alright, you win. Why dontcha tell everyone about it though, man?”

“What if I told you I have an entire nation’s arsenal at your disposal, whenever you like, and whatever you like, assuming you help us out with this little deal, Mr. Esini,” Alise butted in.

Alexander just shrugged.

“If it’s goods you need moved and exchanged, I can handle it,” Dominic said after a moment’s contemplation. He carefully reached into his jacket’s inner pocket, making sure he made no sudden movements around these people. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he lit one up, took a slow drag, then gestured with it as he spoke. “It all depends on how much, how soon, what it is, and what you’re willing to part with for it.”

Alexander reached into his pockets and pulled out a small stack of bearers bonds, amounting to some $1,100 dollars.

“Friend, theres a lot of money to be made for us here, and theres a world of possibilities opening up before our eyes. Anyone with a brain, and I know you have a good one in your skull, would see that. Someone with the ability to move goods, and someone with your...shall we say nature? will have no issue fitting in with us.” Alexander noted, pointing at Dominic

Dom’s mouth quirked up in a smile at the use of ‘friend’, considering the connotations of it in his group. “Well signore, I’m not sure what nature you’re referring to, but if it’s more than a short term business arrangement you’re referring to, I’m listening.”

“Pull up a chair. Lets talk money.”

The man nodded, tucking his cigarette between his lips, and doing just that, swinging the chair around so he could lean on the back of it, exhaling slowly. He noted the number of people currently involved, already running numbers in his head trying to sort out potential cuts and arrangements, turning over various markets and contacts he’d be touching base with once the formalities were done.

“So, Dominic?” Erich said, staring at the newcomer, “Shirong tells us you may be able to assist with a problem we have. Let me lay it out for you. We have a large amount of money we’re....ah...exchanging here. However, Shirong can’t get it all to us at once. Instead, Mr. Arasun here is putting up some gold dust for him, to equal things out.” Erich smiled, lighting another cigarette, “Here’s the trouble, I don’t have no fucking use for no gold dust. So how do you figure into this?”

Dominic nodded as Erich spoke, occasionally taking a drag and letting the smoke out slowly. “Let’s say I figure in where it comes to ... connections. Arrangements. Information and it’s redistribution. Getting in and out of places where communications is key. I’ve even been known to do a bit of washing up now and then. I think I might be able to help you out.”

“Dominic” Alexander started, before also lighting up “I just have a few statements, and one question for you.”

Dom didn’t speak, but simply gestured for Alexander to continue.

“We work as a team. Everyone pulls their share. There aren't moralities here, there aren't racial issues, with one another, and if there are I want them gone. No one gets paid more or paid less than one another, and we all need to deal with that. But that does not mean that you have a licence to slack off. Not that any of us will.” He paused, taking a prolonged drag of his second cigarette. “No one snitches. Now, I just have the question”

All the calculations he'd been making were suddenly tossed out his mental window, as he struggled to keep his expression relaxed and neutral. Dominic nodded however, again gesturing for Alexander to continue. “Of course, signore. One might say I’m accustomed to working with a group of friends and associates. Ask away.”

“Dominic, what do you bring to the table that will make us feel we can't leave this room without you in our collective?”

“I believe you’ve answered that in part already,” Dom stated, removing the cigarette from his mouth this time, and again using it to gesture in between contented drags. “You have a need to move some material. You can’t manage it yourselves. I can. I have the contacts, the networking you seem to lack. And unless you have some skills I’m not aware of, I may be your best bet in keeping your assets liquid, quiet, and ready to move at a moment’s notice. Not to mention keeping unwanted attention off of you, in matters of communications, files, surveillance ...”

Erich scratched his head “I understood a little of that, you sure do have a thing for being vague don’t you....he’s got my vote.”

“He said that hes a micromanagement king. Something we can't afford to be without” He motioned his hand to an open palm, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “This brings up only one more question. Can he shoot?”

That brought a slight smirk to Dominic’s face. “He can,” he said simply. “Along with various other skills of a direct nature.”

“Works for me, We’ll find out soon enough” Alexander noted, holding out his hand. “You got my vote.”

“Bene grazie, signore,” Dominic said, taking Alexander’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “I look forward to doing business with you gentlemen - and of course, lady. You know me, at least by name. Perhaps a brief introduction of my new partners? That is, if there are no objections.” He glanced around at the others, one brow arching up questioningly.

“Alexander Erdeli, come from Puzakk federation. Cossack, Erdelnikov clan. Gun for hire. Did a stay in blackyard fuckup from the Soviet era got me out of prison. Thats about it.”

“I’m Erich, I’m obviously with the South Lanos chapter of the Hijos de la Revolucion. My business should be pretty clear by association.”

“My name is Alise. I served two years’ conscription in the Spreewerkian military, specializing in unconventional warfare.”

“I’m Saranus, from Corda, though I haven’t called that place home in years.” Saranus said simply. When one of was carrying cocaine stolen from the cartels, it was probably best to be as vague as possible regarding ones identity.

“Bene, bene. Dominic Esini, communications, and overall technomancy,” the Renaldi man stated, grinning somewhat mischievously. “Independent contractor of sorts out of Renaldi.”

“Quite the collection we have here. If our business is concluded, I believe we have other matters to attend to?” Erich said, collecting his CZ75 Automatic from the table and stuffing it into the concealed holster under his leather vest.

“Its got that new gun smell...” Alexander said, looking at the table and putting his set of weapons back in their rightful place

“Try not to look too hard this time, guys,” Alise jokingly said as she grabbed her P-92, again placing it in her holster.

“Too bloody right we do.” Saranus said, collecting his pistol.

Erich turned to regard Shirong “You’ll assemble what we need?”

He nodded “I have my associates preparing the money now. I can offer you 50,000 now, with the rest to be made up in gold dust provided by Mr. Arasun as previously discussed.”

Erich regarded Mōdagswerd, “You’ll deliver the gold here?”

Mōdagswerd shook his head “It will take me some time to gather it, but I can have it too you by midday tomorrow. Do you want me to bring it here?”

Erich shook his head. “No sense in that, bring it to Rudolf’s.” he said, handing Mōdagswerd a grimy business card. “One of us should be there. If not, you can leave it with the bartender, Jose.”. Pulling a second card from his wallet, he turned to Dominic , “You can come with us now, if you like, but we’ll need you tomorrow, same place, around midday.”

Saranus looked the man over and said “Maybe one of us should go with him? Make sure everything remains kosher?”

Mōdagswerd smiled thinly, with absolutely no mirth and said “If you try to come with me, if you try to follow me, bad things will happen to you. I intend to obtain your gold and return home to my wife. I have no doubt you could obtain my address, but if you come to my home, I will kill you. If I don’t, my wife will. If you trust Shirong, and he vouches for me, you have no reason to doubt my sincerity.”

Alexander interrupted “That won’t be necessary. Mr. Arasun, we will see you tomorrow at midday.” Alexander turned to the rest of the group and smiled “Everyone else, lets go have a drink!”

[Puzikas]

The last few hours had gone smoothly, in Alexander's opinion. There had been much to do about nothing, and the newfound comrades of his, along with himself, had gotten thoroughly intoxicated with one another. Rudolfs may have not been the best looking of places on the outside...or really anywhere for that matter, but it had a damned good stock of liquor. Best of all, in his mind, it had good people. The group had spent the last several hours laughing, sharing stories and telling jokes. Eric was in the middle of one particularly hysterical one.

“...and so I said to him ‘Mejians breed faster and you don’t get so attached to them!” Erich concluded, slamming his glass on the table hard enough to crack it, and slapping his knee with his free hand.

The group agreed in a thunderous laughter, slamming heads and fists alike on the table. Saranus looked around at everyone with glossed over eyes, having just killed a few too many drinks. He closed his eyes and fell limp onto the table.
"Holy hell, is he dead?"
"Nah. Passed out cold. I say we just leave him, let him sleep it off. Aught to work well enough. Just turn his head on its side."

Empty bottles lay strewn about like bodies, and not a single one of them could stand, much less form a coherent thought. It seemed soon enough they would all join Saranus in a comatose state. Alexander took what he assumed to be his thirteenth shot of vodka, and threw the glass across the bar into the wall, making a very satisfying shattering noise.

Erich attempted to paint a stern, disapproving look on his face. “Why’d you go and do that for Puzzi?” he asked, a smile starting to crack through his feigned seriousness “Now one of these bitches has to clean it up!” Another roar of rancorous laughed punctuated his sentence, as he swept his hand to encompass the various “groupies” hanging about the Hijos clubhouse. “Later, I’ve got something else they can clean up. You’re all free to avail yourselves, too! Even you, Alise!” A fine burst of laughter erupted from him as he stood, wavering heavily, and meandered towards the bar for another bottle of liquor.

Alexander slowly burned off the laughter with the rest of the group, before sitting up straight.

“We have a rule in the Federation. You never drink Vodka alone...” He looked around and started a small laugh to himself. “Something I’m damn glad I won't be tonight, and you never drink more than 13 shots.”

“Why is that? Some sort of old rule from the old days?” asked Alise.

“Nope, I’m told its a rule that came from the Revolution back in 1918. Something about the white forces finding more than 14 shots being an optimistic amount, as it represented two per day of the week, and a man should ‘never take more than his rations’. The rule stayed around in Soviet society, and I guess I kind of stuck with it as a person”

Erich spit on the floor as he returned to the table, setting the fresh bottle down with a thunk “Fuck the Communist fuckers”

“I’d drink to that, but thirteens my limit...plus the beer.” The table laughed in a mutual agreement. Most of them had had well more than their fill, it seemed that even the concept of more booze could only hurt them

“You know, if I was in the revolution, I wonder what might have been different. Ever think like that?” Alexander started

“Can’t say that I have,” Alise responded. “The deepest I went was realizing trees were made of wood.”

Albert leaned back “My father, he was a Sergeant in the Tytharian Army, right before the revolution. He was a loyal man he had never wanted to bring any shame to his name. He was one of the men who escorted the Archduke into the Tytharian senate chambers.” He took a sip from his whiskey “Nearly was killed by a would be assassin. He had nothing but respect for the man. He used to tell me ‘There is always a way to change a system Al no matter what.’ Those were his final words to me too.”

Dominic had been more quiet than the others throughout the increasingly drunken exchanges. He held his liquor well, but didn’t drink to distraction, laughing or nodding where appropriate, but keeping his own counsel when it came to politics and the rest. This, however, intrigued him. He arched a brow and looked at Alexander, then glanced around the rest of the table.

Erich simply stared at Alexander, his bleary eyes barely managing to focus on the man as he spoke. He single word formed laboriously on his lips “What?”

“Well, think about it. Everyone thinks it at one point. ’Oh, it can't happen to me. In my circumstances, this would be different. Things would go different, things would turn out another way...’. And you know, I do think that there is truth in that statement sometimes. People think that things turn out because of them, the whole world revolves around us, right? My world, your world, her world, his world, their world. They're all separate, but they all relate somehow. And thats what I think, personally. If I was in the revolution, it would turn out different. The communists would not have taken hold, the USSR would have never happened, and, shit, we probably wouldn't be sitting here now. Ever feel like that, or am I just being an ass?” Alexander asked, hand slamming the table.

Erich had continued to stare at the Puzzaki as he spoke. Unscrewing the lid from the bottle as Alexander finished, he said “I don’t want to think I owe my existence to a bunch of Communists...but I don’t think that was your point....but you have a point...Christ I’m drunk.” he said “But I understand. Maybe if things had been different, maybe if I’d been here in the 1980’s, maybe there’d be a place in this world, hell in this nation, for me and my people...and I don’t mean the fucking Miejans.” Erich tittered slightly “Course, in 1980 I was, ummm-” he cut off, counting on his fingers, “-6 years old, but, still, you know what I fucking mean!”

“I guess now that I think about it, Global War II probably put us all here. If the Axis had kept their sit-and-shooting from Global War I, we wouldn’t have, well... Spreewerke. Because of that War, Spreewerke enacted mandatory conscription to protect itself from a post-war attack by NACO. No conscription, no Alise the conscript. I wouldn’t have even met my employer -- I wouldn’t have been here in Lanos, meeting all of you interesting characters. Heck, dead-eye, I wouldn’t have even met you, likely. I’d probably just be some housewife or accountant or something.”

Albert looked at his glass “Tytharin would have stayed a part of Russia and Spreewerke. Yes, that war did good and bad for us It freed us, then enslaved us. I would have fought the soviets and begged the west for support. They had proven their resolve during the Warsaw Rebellion, why couldn’t we have fought back?”

A revolution? Granted, Dominic had not been involved in one himself, unlike some of the others in the group, he could see. At least not on a national level. But the concept of ‘what if’ was not lost on him. Who didn’t think at times, how things might have been if only? What if he had not been involved with La Cosa Nostra? What if he had not developed the skills he had, or taken them in a more legitimate direction? What if business had not taken him away at a critical time in his wife’s pregnancy? Would he still be back in Renaldi, enjoying his success with Maria and the child they would have had? He certainly wouldn’t be here, now, with this rough crowd, keeping his past and his ties to himself.

“Jesus Dom, you don't talk a lot, do you?” Alexander griped, looking at Dominic “Anything to add to this venture? Anything to say about this whole ‘where we are in our world’ bit?”

“I talk enough when it’s needed,” the man answered, smiling slightly. “Sometimes a man can learn quite a bit just in listening and observing.”

As the group discussed this idea, a commotion erupted towards the front door. “Son of a bitch!” Erich declared, glaring at Saranus, “You got a fucking brother coming to visit us you failed to mention?” Saranus responded by continuing to sleep.

"Oh, right". Erich stood up and lurched his way towards the door to see what the trouble was.

Alexander stood to follow, falling over his own feet and jumping up, the floor acting as one of the best sobriety agents he’s ever had, though his Blood Alcohol Content would disagree.

“You seeing double or what? Can you even see double,” Alise slurred as she lifted herself off from her seat.

Dom wasn’t about to get himself shot at if he could avoid it. He had his own weapon out and ready to back up his new partners of course, but let the ones more familiar with things take point.

Albert got out of his chair with a nervous look in his eyes and stammered “H...Hey gu...guys” He stumbled a bit on his own foot “There... there’s no need to fig...fight”

Reaching the door, and leaning heavily on the doorjamb, he peered into the darkened street. The moon cast a pale light down through the night sky, barely illuminating the street. Most of the streetlights in this part of town were decrepit, through lack of care or deliberate sabotage by the Hijos. Squinting into the darkness, he saw several of the bikers tussling with a shorter man who looked vaguely familiar. Several of the burly bikers were on the ground, and as the fight continued, the shorter lashed out savagely, sending another man toppling. Erich winced in sympathy with a snapping sound that could only be a broken bone.”

Sudden, recognition clicked in Erichs mind “Alexander, is that-”

“Mōd, I think his name was. That...er...gold guy. Right?”

Erich whistled shrilly “Hey! Let him go, he’s cool! Bring him inside, you fucking morons!”

Alexander moved to help, barely able to stabilize himself he tucked Mōd’s arm over his shoulder and pulled him inside.

“He’s heavier than he looks...” He quipped

“Put him at the table.” Erich said, heading outside to help carrying in injured Hijos inside. The man whimpered in Iberian as they hauled him inside. “Yeah, you fucking dumbass, it’s broken, we’ll call the doc.” Erich said as they passed from the foyer into the bar itself. Pulling the doors closed and locking them, Erich called as he headed back to the table “Lay him up in the back room till the doc gets here. Jose?”

The bartender nodded and picked up the telephone.

“Mōd, that was Sambo. Don’t bullshit me, I know the same stuff. Where the hell did you learn that?”

Mōd grabbed a shot glass from the table, not caring whose it was and downed it in one go. It felt like he’d broken a toe, and one of the Hijos had hit him in the ribs pretty hard, so he probably had a couple of cracked ribs. Oh, and he’d bruised his knuckles, but that was par for the course. Mōd’s hands had gotten banged up worse than that every week or so sinking the shaft.

“I spent a few years in the army. Infantry first, then the SIH. Got taught a few things about fighting, then learned some more from the Meji’s when I was over fighting them.

“What the hell brings you here? Thought you didn't want much to do with us outside of making cash.”

Mōd grabbed the bottle and poured another shot, idly scratching at where his beard used to be. He’d shaved it off, along with cutting and dying his hair just a couple of hours ago.

“I went home to the wife and found a police cordon. Turns out some idiots led the police on a chase and crashed outside our house. When the cops got out to arrest the bastards, one of ‘em pulled a gun and started shooting.”

Mōd drank down his shot, and then poured another, overflowing the glass. His normally reserved features contorting in barely suppressed rage. He looked like he was about to whip out the giant knife he seemed to have acquired since his last meeting with the group and start cutting people up with it. When he spoke again, his voice shook with anger and contempt.

“Those bastard pigs emptied their mags, quick as you like. Barely hit the crims, but shot up the house. Dayo took a round right through her brain as she went to ground. Bastards.”

Erich shook his head and reached out unsteadily to grasp the half emptied liquor bottle. Against his better judgement, he filled his glass again and drained it in a single gulp. "Son of a bitch man....can’t trust the fucking police for anything man. Gotta do shit yourself. Ought to stick that fucking pig, too, see how he likes it.”

Alexander poured himself a 14th shot, breaking his own rule. “I don't know much about counseling people. I wish I could offer comforting words, or anything like that really, but I can’t. It’s not in my nature. But if that son of a bitch is still alive, I’m game to help you take care of him, or get you there to do so. A man shouldn't have to see his wife die, its the hardest thing a man will ever go though.” Alexander nodded, and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and offered the last two up.

“Is there anything we can do to help out?” Alise asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Hey, I can work out who it was. (Hic) I’ve got the police chief in my pocket.” He poured himself a glass of bourbon and downed it “I promise you I’ll get the bastards.”

Dominic hadn’t bothered adopting a more neutral expression as the story unfolded. In this at least he was in agreement. “It may seem empty, but I am sorry for your loss. Family should never suffer for our actions.”

Now on his sixth shot of vodka, Mōd contemplated the shot glass, anger slowly being replaced by grief as the alcohol began to work its way into his system. He thought about downing this one too, but decided against it. He wasn’t as big as most of the guys here, and the night was still young. Might as well pace himself and keep pace relative to them.

“Ah, shit. Gotta face facts. Dayo gave me something to look forward to. She was a beautiful girl. Great mind, great body, great aim. Never saw anyone take to shooting as quickly as she did. She...well, it sounds like a fucking cliche, but she completed me.”

Sipping his vodka, Mōd swore again.

“Christ, that’s two wives dead. One blown up by sand monkeys, one shot by idiots with a gun and uniform. I guess it’s bad luck to marry me.”

Mōd laughed bitterly and regarded his shot glass.

“Fuck it.”

He downed the glass, slammed it back on the table and topped it up again. Screw keeping up, he just wanted the pain to go away.

“Not much point doing anything now. Might as well get pissed now, then go kill the bastards responsible for this. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get to go out in a blaze of glory, like in the old sagas.”

“Or you could do some looking first, give yourself the best advantage,” Dominic suggested quietly, sipping from his own glass. “Not that there isn’t something to be said for blazes of glory, of course, but at least give yourself the best chance of taking your enemies down with you, yes?”

Erich snarled “I’m not saying you don’t have it rough pal, it’s a hard world we live in. Been on the run since ‘97, family dead from before that, killed by the government thats-” he continued in a mocking tone of voice “‘there to protect the people’, my ass!” he exclaimed, spitting on the floor again. “Nothing now, no family, no prospects, just this run down charter in the ass end of nowhere. Government makes it too hard to recruit, too hard to be ourselves. Stomped on us in the fucking 80’s, stomping on the little man now.” He looked up, into the eyes of those gathered around the table, a moment of sobriety coming over him “I know none of you care for my cause. Hell, you probably don’t care too much for me, thats not the point, we’re getting dealt a shitty hand, and I wanna play mine to win, but the house always has to win....does that make any fucking sense?”

“Makes fucking sense to me” Alexander said, pouring Mōd a drink and forcing it to him. “If you don't drink this, swear to God...Anyways, I haven't seen my hometown since 2001. I ended up in Southern Puzikas running jobs for a crime group, before ending up down here in South America in 2008, after I lost my fucking eye. Been in Lanos 4 months now, spent the last few years all over. Came here because...well this is the last place for me. End of the line. I wanted to be something, someone good. But I went another way I guess. My brothers Alfa group in Costa right now. Last bit of family I have. Wonder if he even knows if I’m still alive. And part of me wishes I could go back, fix it all. But I can't, and you know what? I’m still paying though to win. Thats what we need to do, just play to win. Shitty hand or not, you can't fold in my book, keeping with this Casino theme that Erichs got on us.”

“I can relate to you in a way, Erdeli,” Alise said. “You said you haven’t seen your brother in, what? Years? Same goes for me and my brother. Just before my conscription, my parents had separated, mostly due to my father’s emotional problems after his own extended conscription. My mother left without so much as telling any of us, and I guess our father felt as though he had little left to live for. The last my brother and I had even heard of him, he told us he was going for a hike in southern Spreewerke’s forests.” Alise’s gaze had began to drift through those around here, as though she were just staring at something farther away than what could be seen before she continued. “At least I know where my brother’s at, though: Dukurs’ crypt, Grave C. He had come back from another stint of training since he had chosen to make the military his career, had called me earlier in the day to tell me he’d meet me at our favorite local restaurant. I never heard from him after, only of him when the news came on: car bomb at his train station; Chechens. He was the last person I had, now I just work with what I know best to keep my mind off of it; off of my family.”


“Heh. What if...well what if we didn't need to be. Suppose we had our own casino. Where we were the house, and the house always won. Where we would not need to fold, because our had was always the best. *insert other things here*

“The hell are you talking about, Puzzi?” Erich snarled

“Shit, do I need to spell it out? What if we had somewhere for us, for our like. Where we could be free from...well from our past. A chance to begin anew.”

“Well, fuck me running, Alexander, you might be onto something!” Erich said

Mōd considered the idea as carefully as he could with all the alcohol in his system.

“We could run things the way we want to, stop fuck ups from getting into power.”

“So, you say you want a revolution, eh?” Alexander smiled. “Well, a revolution we shall have.”

And there it was, Dom thought to himself. This rag-tag but dangerous group sitting around drinking and discussing the potential benefits of further disrupting an already imbalanced state for their own profit and power. The realist in him had to admit, the idea had some merit, given their various contacts, skillsets, assets ... sadly, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. Home was too full of memories. He remained loyal to the Family, and continued to do work for them ... An overseas branch of operations could be an enormous boon. A very profitable opportunity.

“Aiutati che Dio t'aiuta, he said aloud. “God helps those who help themselves. Perhaps it’s time we started doing just that.”

Mōd smiled and brought out his knife, lovingly stroking the polished, well worn, bone handle. He looked up at the group, a feral smile on his face.

“I’m in. My ancestors would approve, and Dayo always did want me to do something other than blast mines.”

Alexander took the bottle of vodka, down to its last drops of sweet nectar, and finished it off. He shakingly raised to his feet with the bottle in hand, and hurled it across the room. It impacted the wall and broke into a shower of crystalline shards, with a very satisfying noise. “Teper noy chertovski krasivoy...”

Caught up in the moment, Mōd hurled his glass as hard as he could at the wall and roared with laughter - well, roar as well as a man his size could - as it fragmented into little slivers of glass.

“Fuck it, I’m in!” Erich declared, clenching his shot glass in his fist. “Lets see how they like us now!” he said, punctuating his sentence by hurling the glass across the room to slam into the wall, a shower of glass shards erupting from the impact.

Shaking his head and smiling wryly, Dominic finishes off his drink and tosses it in the direction the others have. When in Rome, after all. “In bocca al lupo,” he said, using a more traditional gesture of wishing luck on their venture.

“Sasodīts, tā uzskatia, labi, lai būtu gangsteris,” Alise said as she threw her glass against the wall

And with that the group laughed. They all stood together and laughed, and for the first time it seemed they all were really partners.

Erich yawned loudly and slammed his hand on the table “I don’t know about you bitches, but I’m tired, and I’m gonna crash. There’s rooms upstairs, you’re welcome to them.” he said, standing up and staggering towards the stairwell.

They slowly dispersed, washed out, into the night. Some alone, some together. Alexander felt pleased with himself, with the night. They had all agreed to meet again at the bar tomorrow around 6:00pm.

[Spreewerke]

The next morning, Alise woke up to the sunlight coming through the bedroom window. When she opened her eyes, she was greeted with an intense overload of light. She quickly shut them again and rolled over in bed. She felt hot, and she then realized she had gone to bed fully dressed from the night before, sans shoes. She sat up and looked at her clock. It read 11:23.

"Must have been some night last night," she said as she slowly lifted herself up from bed. She walked over to the bathroom, turned the faucet on, and splashed some water on her face. She looked into the mirror; "You look like shit, Alli." Alise figured she had better account for her important items from the evening, so she returned to the bedroom. She could only find her phone, so she decided to take a quick shower, get dressed, and see if her handgun and house keys were in one of the other rooms.

After Alise had gotten dressed, she walked out of her room and took a right into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and began to drink it. While she did so, she heard something crash in the living room. It sounded as if someone else was in the house, perhaps breaking into it. Alise reached for her handgun, then realized once again she didn't have it on her. She went ahead and grabbed a knife out of the cutlery stand on the counter and quietly moved into the living room. As she approached, she heard yet another sound. It was the sound of deep, heavy breathing.

"Oh no," she quietly whispered to herself as she rounded the side of the couch.

Sprawled out face-down on the floor was Alexander, half-naked, one leg still on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka just beyond his hand. Alise glanced at the coffee table he had nearly ran into and saw her handgun laying on top of it. Beside it were her house keys, Alexander's Nagant, a handful of stolen hood ornaments, and, strangely enough, what appeared to be a human tooth.

"I don't even want to find out what happened last night."

Alise's self-loathing was cut short when Alexander shifted himself on the floor slightly, groaning. She decided now was the best time to get her things and head off for the nearest supermarket in search of a cure for her headache. She retrieved her handgun, reholstered it, then quietly leaned over to get her keys. After she got her things, she figured she should at least write a note to inform Alexander of where he was as, chances were, he'd have no recollection. She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and quickly wrote down a note for him;

Alexander,

Not sure what happened last night after we left the bar, but you are currently at my safehouse. The fridge has some food in it, and there are some gun cleaning supplies in the bedroom if you need to kill time. Bathroom is free to use; just don't dirty it up too much. I'm currently on my way to the store to get something for this hangover. If you'd like some things of your own, my number is (831) 972-0073.

--Alise

After she had placed the note beside Alexander's revolver, Alise headed out the door, locking it behind her. She headed down the street towards the main part of the city after exiting the front gate and saw some people standing by a car. As she walked by, she could hear them talking about something being stolen "last night," or at least something to that effect. She took a quick glanced and immediately noticed the butchered hood of the car. Increasing her pace, she rounded the block at the next intersection.

She finally managed to get to the supermarket, but it was apparent that it was a small-time operation: they had been closed for lunch. The sign read that they'd open around one o'clock in the afternoon. Alise took a brief glance at her watch and saw that it was only a quarter past twelve yet, so she sat down on a nearby bench in the shade. As she sat, she began trying to recollect the previous night's events.

"I know I was at the bar with all those other guys, but what was it we were doing," she said to herself. "I remember Sinbad saying something about 'without communism, there wouldn't be me,' or something. What else were we doing?"

As she sat there thinking, she began to regain some of her memory. By the time the store clerk had returned to open the store, she had figured out that, at the very least, she was to be at the bar again tonight around 18:00. She decided to give it a rest for a bit and head on in to the store to get something for her hangover, figuring it best to get the Puzak something as well. She returned to the counter with her items and made some small-talk with the clerk as he rung up her items.

"Pleasant weather today, isn't it," he asked.

"It's a little bright, but other than that, yes: it's great."

"Say... haven't I seen you somewhere before," the clerk asked her. "Last night; that crater-faced beast your man?"

"Excuse me?"

"All I know is that you can't tell I drive a Mercedes anymore if you approach from the front. Some beast of a man came walking through the neighborhood, smashing up peoples' hoods, stealing their ornaments. Kept spouting off about some revolution while some girl was stumbling behind him, encouraging him all the while. Looked a bit like you, but then again, drunk girls all look alike. Save for the gun she had, that is."

"I'm afraid I, uh, don't know what you're talking about, sir," Alise replied. "I went out last night with some girlfriends of mine, but that was on the complete opposite side of town. I'm just stayed the night at one of their houses on this side."

"Oh, well, nevermind then. Total's $27.93."

Alise paid the man, thanked him, then left the store. She checked her watch again; 13:25.

"Better get some food in me. That Puzak hasn't called me or anything, so chances are he's either dead or still passed out."

She walked down the block a bit more and found a small restaurant advertising "true Spreewerkian meals". She stepped inside and was greeted by a host who walked her to her booth. She thanked him and sat down. She once again began trying to piece together the night before. She remembered the importance of communism to Alexander and the fact she had to be back at the bar by 18:00 thus far, but she couldn't quite remember much else. She began retracing the evening in her mind, starting with the drink that wasn't quite gay enough.

After a bit, she began to recall some folks mentioning how they would do things in the past differently, perhaps causing revolts or even revolutions in the process. She thought it seemed an odd thing to talk about, but at the same time, they were pretty odd characters to be sharing drinks with. For some reason, she recalled telling a story that must have involved her family in some way, specifically her brother. Perhaps they had discussed their pasts with one another? She pulled out a notecard from her purse to write down what she could remember and a small slip of folded paper came out with it. She opened it up: "18:00 -- Meet again at bar, discuss plans of Lanosian revolution." Alise began to add up what she could remember, and it seemed to click. They were going to start a revolution and give themselves all new beginnings. She was briefly interrupted by the waiter.

"Hola. I'll be your waiter this afternoon; what would you like to drink, ma'am? We have water, tea, and light sodas."

"Water, please."

"Yes ma'am, I'll bring it right out."

Alise folded the piece of paper back up and set it inside her purse. She picked up her menu, only to be grossly disappointed by the fact nearly everything was far from authentic. Of what was authentic, Alise chose the Middle-Spreewerke Sandwich. It consisted of thinly sliced deli turkey on white bread, a mixture of honey mustard, sour cream, and mayonnaise, shredded, iceberg lettuce, and a mixture of three shredded cheeses. It came with a side of thickly-cut fries and marinara sauce.

"Of all the things that are truly authentic, they have this... Well, I guess they aren't that bad, and it's been a while since I've had some food from back home."

When the waiter returned with her water, Alise went ahead and ordered her meal. By the time she had finished it, it was nearly 14:20. She figured she should head back to the safehouse, give the Puzak his meds, and get ready for their meeting come six o'clock.

[Costa Mejis]

Erich awoke slowly, groggily, and most of all, painfully.

He tentatively opened his eyes, then quine against the harsh sunlight streaming through the window. He groaned and rolled over, trying to escape the natural light flooding into the room. He bumped into another form in the bed, and recoiled slightly from the surprise. Opening his eyes again, he saw a woman, he had no idea what her name was, laying tangled in the bet sheets. He had a vague memory of who she was, some hanger-on from the Hijos, and a vague idea of what she was doing there and while he could recall no specifics, he was fairly sure of what nocturnal activities has transpired the eveing prior,.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” he growled.

Her eyes fluttered open; red and bloodshot. Cocaine, probably...better not have been any of ours he thought as he tossed the covers off and stood, wobbling a bit as he attempted to gain his balance. The hanger-on stared at him and blinked several times before croaking a single word. “What?'

“What hell, bitch, I spoke English. What are you still doing here?” he growled again, reaching for his jeans.

“I...I don't know.”

“Well,” he said, gathering up his clothing and walking towards the bathroom, “Go not know some fucking place else. I'm sure there’s something downstairs that needs cleaning.” slamming the bathroom door to punctuate his sentence. As he tossed his clothing onto the floor and started the water, he could hear her getting dressed and leaving the room, closing the door gently as she did.

“Good fucking thing.” he thought as he stepped into the scalding water “Bitch makes my headache any worse, I'll beat the snot to of her....if the cocaine hasn't already.”

As he let the scalding water spray over him, think about cocaine triggered another thought regarding what he had to do today. “Got to remember to call the boys to church.” he muttered. They had come into a boatload of cocaine to unload, but...form where?

...Oh right! That Puzak had brought it after he whacked that dealer up in San Gualichlo...and that fucking Cordian had brought more....from the fucking cartel he thought with alarm, a chill wracking his body despite the water flowing over it. “We gotta dump that shit but quick. Quicker the better. Might wanna think about setting some of the earnings aside to pay off Nostra if he comes looking for it.” He resolved to mention that this evening.

What was this evening? Pieces of the previous night were starting to return as the hot water rinsed away the skuzz on his mind ad his body. He rememebred...

Shit. A lot of drinking. That Nordic dude, he had shown up, beat one of the bikers senseless, too....something about his....fuckin wife. Oh shit, thats right, Five-oh killed his old lady. Erich thought. That'd have to be seen to. He'd done a service for the club, and the club took care of ts friends. The Puzak...he had started talking about something...but what was it?

Turning off the water, he stepped out, toweling off before dressing in yesterdays clothing. He made his way downstairs and into the bar. Its five o'clock somewhere I guess he thought as he scanned the room, noticing a few regulars at the battered bar, Jose serving them no matter what the clock said. A couple of Hijos playing darts, a few more by the door talking to a couple of the hangers-on. Pretty standard fare. Only thing out of place was the Cordian passed out at the table from the night before.

“Someone make me some breakfast, eggs, bacon, toast, greasy as fuck. I want it 5 minutes ago!” he bellowed. A clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen indicated someone had heard him and was obeying. As he strode towards the bar, intending to tell Jose to call the members in for church; the ostentatious name given to any official meeting of the clubs members, he stopped. There was a dark spot on the wall opposite the table they had used last night, the one that the Coridan was still using. The panel wood was stained a darker color than the rest, and he could see the light playing off small shards of glass on the floor.

Revolution. he thought suddenly, and inexplicably.

As he stared at the discoloration, the thoughts began to return to him. Alexander talking about how things might have been different if people had, or had not, been present in history, what might have changed if historical events were erased, or altered. What might have been he he, or another, had been present.

Erich knew he was no mental giant, and these sorts of esoteric thoughts were generally beyond his preview, but he remembered thinking of his lost father, mother, even his grandfather, and thinking about how life would be different if his homelands own revolution hadn’t happened, or if he had been there to stop it.

Then there had been talk of change, changing things right here, right now. Today, for tomorrow. He remembered being caught up in it, in the feelings of freedom and energy brought on by the idea of removing what he was sure was a corrupt system of government and...

Well, they hadn’t really gotten much further than that, had they? He shok his head as he took his seat at the bar. Shortly thereafter, his breakfast was served. Never work, he thought as he bega to shovel the greasy food into his mouth, barely stopping to chew. The Man is always going to keep someone down. Unless you can become The Man, you'll never get his boot off your back. I don't ever want oto be the sharp dressed G-Man, in his silk suit and black tie.

“Jose,” he called, shaking his head as the bartender lifted the tequila bottle. “Call the guys, Church at....what time is it? 1230? Shit, at 2 o'clock, we need to discuss distribution.”

As he ate, and began to conjure a distribution plan for the cocaine, his eyes kept darting over to the dark spot on the wall...and the possibilities it represented.

[Renaldi]

Unlike some of his compatriots, Dominic had not drunk himself into a stupor, nor hooked up with any of the local ‘artisans’, though there was plenty of drink and assorted debauchery to be had.

It wasn’t that he was a prude, nor particularly disapproved of what some of the others got up to. That wasn’t his business. Half a world away however, it was business, and of the sort he was concerned with. He’d spent some time on his computer in a teleconference over lines he’d hacked himself to his satisfaction.

Even now, as he sipped his morning cup of coffee – taken black and robust – the conversation was fresh in his mind.

“It’s been a while since we’ve heard from you, Dom.”

“It’s been a while since I wanted to be heard, Maurizio. How’s the Family?”

“Well, and well. So what’s brought you out of the woodwork?”

“I find myself in need of friendly connections for a fairly simple transaction. In the process, I’ve become involved in what may well prove to be a rather lucrative endeavor. Good for business. Perhaps, if the winds blow well, the Family could get in at the ground floor … provided of course some new branches might be added to the tree.”

Maurizio had been silent then, turning the information over in his mind carefully, examining what was said as much as what wasn’t before offering an answer.

“The transaction first, my friend. What are the details?”

“I’ve a sizeable amount of gold dust that needs to be cashed out. In this transaction, my current business partners are splitting the proceeds equally. I’ll pay out of my take for services rendered, if you and our associates wish to do business. Of course if you would like to hold on that until we see where this next step might take us …”

“How big?”

“Big. One might say it is a revolutionary idea of national proportions.”

“That … is a sizeable undertaking, Dom.”

“I’ve found myself in interesting company of late. Expect the unexpected may well become my new bywords.”

“And if successful?”

“I want to head any Family expansions here. At least until we have a clearer picture of how many such a venture could support. I may be rediscovering my drive, but I am not completely unwilling to share, within reason.”

“You’ve given me much to think about. And much to discuss with our associates.”

“In the meantime, the dust?”

“That I think we can work with you on immediately. If you have any other goods, you’ll let us know?”

“I may … I may. There has been talk of arms and other potential trade that might be of interest. I will of course insist on the usual mark on this, yes?”

“Of course, Dom. Any associate of ours, you know.”

“Appreciated, my friend. I’ll solidify the arrangements on this end and be back in touch with coordinates for the drop. They’re a very touchy group. Much less say, polish than many of our associates are used to, but to a man, I don’t doubt their abilities. We are in for interesting times ahead.”

“Then I’ll wish you well.”

“And you, Maurizio. My best to Bianca and the bambinos.”

Dom stretched slowly, then finished off his coffee. Perhaps it was early still for those who he’d partnered with to be up and about. Given the state he’d left them in, he had few doubts about that. God, but they could put it away.

Perhaps a quick run of a few things electronically, a bit of digging, checking, confirming before he made his way back to Rudolf’s would be not only in his best interests, but give them time to ease into their day before getting down to business.

It was around midday when he arrived.

[Triggthiuda]

Mōd slowly found himself being drawn to consciousness. He could feel the hard floor beneath him, but it took him a long time to register the fact. It took him slightly less time for him to realise that Dayo wasn't here with him, when she should be. That thought kick-started Mōd's brain completely and he sat up with a start, head slamming into the bottom of the bed side table he had somehow found himself under. Swearing vehemently under his breath, Mōd extracted his head and sat up, looking around for Dayo.

What Mōd say was not the well sized, nicely decorated bedroom of his and Dayo's rented house, but a cut price motel in a poor part of the city, with smoke stained ceilings and sheets that you hoped were changed after the last couple had been through it. An empty bottle of vodka lay on the ground next to him, from where he's fallen off the edge of the bed last night and passed out. Dayo was nowhere to be seen but, of course, that was to be expected. She was, after all, dead, killed by some idiot policemen who couldn't exercise some proper trigger discipline.

As it had the last time he'd thought about Dayo's death, Mōd felt like someone kicked him in the chest, and he awkwardly levered himself up onto the narrow, hard bed until the initial tightness of his throat went away. As he did so, Mōd could feel his ribs protest and wounds on his knuckles split and reopen. He wonder about that for a moment, trying to forget about Dayo. How exactly had he ended up so battered and bruised? Last night was something of a drunken blur, and Mōd had to really struggle to remember any of it. He'd been going to forget Dayo - his throat tightened again - and had gone to a bar? Yes, the bar where the mob he'd decided to help out with their cash problem hung out. There had been some kind of a fight when he'd tried to get in, and then he'd gotten pissed.

Something niggled in the back of Mōd's mind, something he felt he was missing. Why did it feel as though there was more to the bar than he remembered? He stooped to pick up the vodka bottle and saw a crack running through the bottle from where it had cracked on the wooden flaw, and he had a sudden vision of himself hurling a glass at a wall and laughing and...oh shit. Revolution? In Lanos? Mōd laughed out loud, and flopped back on the bed. Christ, he must have been well and truly pissed at that point. Planning a revolution was not something Mōd had any desire to do, and neither did he think it possible.

The idea didn't go away, though. It stayed in Mōd's mind and rattled around in there until he decided to get up, have a shower and change his clothes. Revolution might not be possible, but that didn't mean it couldn't serve any purpose. It would disrupt the economy the Lanosche economy and cause a lot of chaos. Enough chaos, perhaps, that Mōd could get away with causing the country the same sort of pain it had caused him. He needed to get to a library.

After shaving, showering and changing his clothes, Mōd set off to find a library. He walked through the city, from the poorer areas to ones better off. There, he spied a bus stop and found a bus that would take him right into the heart of the city, where he located a library and set down to read. Over the course of several hours, he scanned through several books on the Lanos Civil War, speed reading as he hadn't done since his university days, when he used to part most of the time he should have been studying.

Once he had a better understanding of the Civil War, Mōd went and used one of the library computers to look at the current political situation. He found a number of news sites and blogs with information on the various rebel groups and the enmity some in the South had towards the North, and it all seemed pretty positive to him. There was definitely some political instability here, although not enough for a full scale revolution. Anyone who thought otherwise was just kidding themselves. It would a nice cover for some major damage to be done, though.

By now it was about three in the afternoon, Mōd having woken up some time around about seven, and he knew he should leave to go prepare to provide the little consortium he'd found himself part of with the gold he'd promised he'd give them on Shirong's behalf to make up the freshly laundered money. First, though, he went and found himself a fast food store and forced down a couple of hamburgers. Even when he got black-out drunk, Mōd didn't get a hangover. He did, however, loose his appetite for the next day or so, and he knew that he needed to keep his strength up for what was to come. If he was a little late to the meeting they'd arranged, well, so what? There wasn't much they could do to hurt him any more.

[Puzikas]

Alexander woke in a dry heave, as he had done many times before. His face felt numb and his head felt like it had been played like a drum for the past few hours. He did not remember the events of the night before after leaving the bar. He sat up slowly and touched his face. His eye was removed, in its place a patch was covering it.

Its like the set up to a bad joke. So I woke up a pirate the other day... He chuckled to himself.

He looked around. This was no place he had seen in a sober state of mind, that was for sure. His handgun was on the table in front of him with a note, written by some female. Around them were several hood ornaments and what looked like a yellow rock. He picked it up to find it was a tooth.

Aint mine...Why would I have a damned tooth.

The night came back to him in something of a rush. He remembered Alise insisting upon him staying with her so she could keep an eye on him. He remembered taking hood ornaments off expensive cars in the Heights, and he remembered beating a man who called him "patchy the pirate", and taking his tooth and watch as a trophy. He looked at the watch. 11:40.

Bet she thinks we screwed. he thought, with a sense of confidence. He picked up the note and scanned it, taking out the important bits: Food, bathroom, number, gun cleaning supplies. He stood up and opened his backpack, pulling on a shirt before heading to the bathroom. He stared at the toilet before vomiting up whatever sick he still had in him, and washed his face. He had no shaving supplies besides a female razor, something he decided against.

I am the mountain man now...

The refrigerators contents were less than satisfying. After a small lunch, he cleaned his aging weapons. He glanced at the watch, 14:25.

May as well go see whats around here

He put in his eye and exited the safe house, writing the address down. He wandered the neighborhood aimlessly, simply enjoying the cooler weather. Much better than yesterday. He let his mind drift away, back home. He thought of his father, and if he forgave him for all he had done. His eye began to burn. He came to and attempted to shut it, but he could not. There was only glass there.

Alexander had somehow ended up in a more urban section of the city, clearly one for businesses. His camouflage pants and black T-shirt stood out. He felt as if people were glaring at him all over. Without thinking, he sat down on a fountain and splashed some water on his face. When he looked up, there was a man standing in front of him, hands behind his back. Even though a pair of monolith sunglasses, he could tell that there was a hot glare on his face.

"Sorry officer, I'll..."

"Alexander Erdeli."

"Oh shit" Alexander hissed, as he reached for his pistol

"Dont bother, there is a sniper above you ready to take a shot if you do it."

Sure enough, A quick scan reveled a glint from what he could assume was in fact a rifle scope. It wasnt worth the gamble.

"What do you want?"

"The same thing every man wants, to be free."

"I'm sorry?"

"Free from tyranny. Free from Oppression. Though sometimes, people need to be oppressed to be free. Yes? Even in Oppression, we are Free?"

Alexanders blood ran cold. His family motto had not been spoken in years to him.

"MVD?"

"MVD wishes they had a man like me, Alexander. No. I'm Pete. We'll be keeping an eye on you, Alexander. Always nearby."

"I wish you the best of luck in that endeavor."

"That Maybach hood ornament is going to cost about $800 to replace you know. And that man can not speak correctly since you took his tooth out."

Alexander paused. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I told you, I'm Pete. Bogdan sends his warmest wishes, and wants me to give you this."

He handed Alexander a letter.

"Stay alive"

As quickly as he came, he left, vanishing into a crowd of suits. Somewhat dumbfounded, Alexander continued to wander around until about 16:30. He took out his phone and made a call.

Within thirty minutes, a violent green cab pulled in front of him.

"Hello, Mr. Ardalni!"

"Hello Arturo. Do me a favor and standby, we're going to pick up a lady friend of mine and then head over to the bar"

"Yes, Mr. Ardalni!"

[Coltarin]

Albert Woke up in his car, he opened his eyes to see his hood covered with bits of glass and beer. He opened the door and stumbled out, he pulled himself up on the side mirror. He rubbed his eyes and muttered to himself "what the hell happened last night?" His phone started to buzz in his pocket. As he brought it up he saw that he had 12 missed calls. He answered the phone, "Hey Alexi, no Alexi, I'm fine Alexi. No I just spent a little too much time drinking last night. I'll be back in half an hour. Good bye Alexi." he put his phone away and got back in the car. As he turned the ignition he remembered that Alexander was still in the bar. He pulled his phoe out again and sent him a text.

Alexander~
I'm heading back to my house to work some prior business out with an associate. Also need to get an old buddy on the I'll be back later for the meeting.
Albert~

He put the car in gear and pulled off the curb.
Time lapse
Albert pulled up to his Villa. Alexi was waiting out front, waiting for him, he perked up when he noticed the car. "He's inside sir, down in the security room." he said flatly "We found him trying to leave at the airport, he was getting help from the Eagles." Albert tipped his shades "How many are dead?" he asked nervously "only 7 Albert, they were just street thugs no need to worry" Alexi said quietly. "Dammit, deal with him. Do the usual, I have other business to attend to." Albert looked at his watch "Tell Hector I want to be choppered to the city at 5"
Time lapse again
Albert got back to bar early he wanted to make sure That he wasn't walking into another gun to the head.

[Costa Mejis]

Erich was waiting for the group in the foyer of the bar, a loose cigarette hanging out of his mouth. and the ever-present bottle of tequila in his hand. As the attendees filed in one by one, Erich directed them across the room and through a set of double wooden doors. The room beyond was spotlessly clean, and well appointed, especially when compared to the dingy dive atmosphere of the barroom. Several glass cases lined the far wall, filled with various motorcycle memorabilia, and other items of obvious importance to the club. Above the cases, hung on the far left and right of the wall, were several framed portraits, each one depicting a mug shot, presumably the members of the club. Set in between them was a large black banner with a crimson logo emblazoned upon it, the symbol, or sigil some said, of the Hijos de la Revolución. The floorspace was dominated by a large wooden table, its surface polished to a mirror like perfection, surrounded by overstuffed leather chairs. The lights were inset fluorescents, casting a dim, but warm glow through the room. Already seated in the room were two other members of the Hijos motorcycle club, each grunted greetings to the group as they entered.”

“Welcome.” Erich said, as he pulled the doors closed behind him, entering last of all “You’re the first people outside of the club to ever set foot in here and not be shot shortly thereafter.” he said with a crooked smile.

“Yea thats real fucking great” Scoffed Saranus “You fucks left me passed out on the damned bar last night, I’ve been here since last fucking night.”

“You can’t hold your liquor, not our issue” Alexander laughed.

“Besides,” Erich chimed in “Couple of the girls tell em you werent too shy to avail yourself to their services. Sounds like you had a fine fuckin time, pun intended, or whatever.”

“I hate to interrupt your boys’ little circle jerk,” grumbled Alise, “But can we discuss business? I’d like to get rid of this powder before we’re ground into it ourselves.”

“I’m with her. I got shit I gotta do.” Mōd grumbled.

“Fine.” Erich said, motioning to the two other Hijos members. “This is Ruddi and Gomez, both patched brothers since the late 1990’s and experienced with ...what we need done.” Erich took a seat at the head of the table, and folded his hands “We had a meeting, around two o’clock, and handle the cocaine distribution details. Our methods are set, as are distribution areas and supply lines. All thats left now is to get with the contacts and get the product to street level dealers. Our boys mule and collect, the dealers take the risks with the sales, we cut them five percent of the profit, beat the ones who eventually try to skim, and everyone wins. We should see a return in less than a week.”

Alexander nodded slowly. “That sounds good to me. I have to say, I was half expecting a botched operation that would end up with us getting caught. But maybe thats just the pessimist in me talking.” he pointed to his fake eye with a smile.

“You may have noticed life kind of sucks in the poorer sections of the city. There’s plenty of demand.” Erich explained. “The entire country isn't depressed, but much of it is. Apparently these people have be killing each other like its going out of style since way back in the day, the 1800’s or some shit. Civil war ended in the 60’s but that’s a lot of killing to recover from, I guess.”

“How ironic. I was about to say...” Alexander started.

“I was just about to mention something about that,” Alise added

“About that...” Mōd added

“Right.” Erich agreed “Funny what we were talking about. Government cracks down hard on right-wing thought, says it’s Fascist, says it reminds them of the ah...ah..Ar-par-thid” Erich said sounding the word out “state they had before, whatever the fuck that means. They’ve always been hard on us, but, seems like the boots coming down a little harder these last few years.”

“And we intend to give them the due?”

“Wait, what the fuck are you talking about? Saranus quipped

“First things first, Signores,” Dominic said after clearing his throat quietly. “The dust? It’s no problem. I just need coordinates for where we’ll make the transfer. The rest? How serious are we about taking this, and making it ours?”

“Very” Alexander started. He paused for a second to be sure that he had everyone's attention. “What else do we have to do? Continue to do directionless petty crime to make a living? go clean? No. Fuck that. I’m putting my cards down, I want a damned revolution, and we sure as shit are going to be involved.”

“No arguments. I simply wanted to confirm.” Dom looked around at the rest of the group, then nodded. “In that case gentlemen, if we’re all in agreement, I’ll be happy to use my own connections to help us move forward. Funding, arms, supplies. All I ask is that I be allowed a corner of this for myself in the end, operating cooperatively with your own ventures.”

“Wait...what?” Erich asked, a look of genuine and utter confusion contorting his face. “That wasn’t drunk talk? You all think we can topple this excuse for a government? And we’re going to benefit from it?” He was quiet for several seconds before concluding “Tell me more.”

Dominic folded his hands in front of him on the table, and leaned back slightly in his chair. “Isn’t it always the point to benefit? As for me, I intend to keep my involvement within the family, so to speak. The connections I spoke of. We’ll get the dust matter completed, and go from there. You say you have a system in place for distribution? Good. We can start with that, and get a better feel for what we’ll have to work with. In the meantime, I’m sure there’s plenty of details we can be looking in on concerning this ah, little hiccup we have in our path forward. The current government. It takes more to taking over than just knocking the current king off his hill.”

“I got some...experience in such things. Nothing big mind you, but I know the basics. Family of Cossacks, lots of oral traditions passed down, family fought for the Czars, I’m not exactly illiterate in the ways of making revolution either.” Alexander said

“Nevermind that it’s entirely possible.” Mōd said. “Spent some time at the library today....keep my mind off things...didn’t work. anyways, this place is rife with a violent history, at points in the past, it’s like what you read about going on in Scallywaglia or Agrooka. Add to that the fact that this strip of land is separated from the mainland and not traditionally part of the Lanosche culture. There has to be some dissent here, something we can use to....” he trailed off.

After a rather prolonged moment of awkward silence, Erich cleared his throat “But how? How do we go from dealing coke and smack to running the show? Don’t revolutions require, like, chaos and terrorism and shit?” Erich asked, smiling. It was clear what his thoughts on the matter of chaos were.

“That depends on the sort of revolution we want to have. There are many ways to get from point A to point B. Some of it is style, some of it is how the people we’re trying to rouse up will react. How best to prod them where we wish them to go,” Dom offered carefully.

“Movimiento del Sur de la Libertad. The southern separatists. They have the manpower. To make an effective force, they have to have at least a few hundred people. Right?”

“Do they have influence with the people? And if not enough, are there ways we could boost their popularity?” Dominic asked.

“Only been in country for a few days, but from what little I gathered they are a legit political organization, who actually want to get some degree of autonomy. But I guess they have a more...militant side?”

“Then that is the side we need to get stirred up, yes? What issues are people complaining about most? What sore points can we pour more salt on? Where can we plant dissent that will divide and strain the government most, while putting the people, overall, behind it? If not behind, then at least in fear of the consequences of not supporting the change.” Here Dom shrugged. “It is an unfortunate reality. I haven’t noted any qualms in this group in doing what needs to be done in order to achieve our ends, however. Unless I’ve been mistaken?”

“Well, the Movimiento seems to have the numbers, and it seems to have some popular support down here in the south. Some people don’t see why they have to take orders from a capital on the other side of the continent . I suppose that makes sense, and I imagine we can use it.” Erich said, “What they need is support. Backers, more like. Money...probably guns, too.”.

“If it’s guns you need, you’ve all seen what’s on that flash drive. We could easily give them the same kind of offer to help them get their little offensive started,” Alise mentioned.

“I uh....I think I can get us some intelligence. I got approached by a gentleman this afternoon. Called himself Pete. He was dressed in a suit and tie in the business section of town, didn't stand out until he spoke. He was...he wasn't Iberian, but I couldn't put my finger on his accent. He gave me a letter from my brother, who’s up in Costa Mejis. There isn’t any way he could have gotten this unless he knew my brother. Guy had intelligence spook written all over him.”

“A G-man?” Erich exclaimed, “and you talked to him? You want to use him?”

Dominic swore in his own language under his breath, and pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

“He said he would be in touch. If he knows my brother, hes either a mad man or a good man. He was smart enough to have a sniper on me, and followed me and Alise home last night.”

“And this doesn’t worry you?”

“It worries the fuck out of me!” Saranus shouted. “You people are fucking insane, talking about toppling a bloody government. No fucking thank you! I’ll take my cut and get the hell out of town.” he declared. After a moment, he sudden realization passed over him, it was entirely possible these men and women wouldn’t let him leave so easily. His hand begin to slowly inch towards his pistol.

Alexander turned and looked at him, reaching into his own pocket. For a moment, everyone wondered who would shoot first. Alexander drew, but not a gun. He pulled out, instead, a large wad of cash.

“Get out then. Heres your cut.”

Using his off hand, weary of a trap, Saranus reached across the table and picked up the bundle of banknotes. “Alright then. See you people in the funny papers!” he said, backing towards the door. opening it quickly, the group could hear his rapidly retreating footfalls across the barroom floor, punctuate by the slam of the entrance door.

“That fucker will talk. Erich, get anyone you can on him. Alise, do that too.” Alexander snarled, realizing sadly his own revolver had not been loaded. “Don’t need to kill him. Just be sure he doesn't talk.”

A smile slowly spread across Erich’s face “What if the cartel found out who took their coke?” He pantomime talking on a phone “Mr. Nostra, some mick Cordian, went by the name Saranus, was in here, talking about how he lifted some blow off the cartel...said he’d sold it and made about...the amount of cash we handed him.”

“Do it, just don't let the man talk.” Alexander said to Erich, who nodded to Ruddi, dismissing him to handle the matter.

“I guess that means ‘Sir Anus’ finally got tired of our shit ,” Alise said, pulling his now-empty chair closer to hers to use as a footrest.

“You know what the bitch of it is? I payed him less than half of what he would have earned. He didn’t even count it. Just left.” Alexander laughed, counting his remaining cash. "looks like he only made $2,200"

Dominic shook his head, breathing out a slow stream of smoke. “Perhaps it’s best this way. So, gentlemen. Any others having second thoughts, or can we get down to business?”

“You’ll hear none from me”

“Me an the boys are in, you can count on the Hijos to back you up.” Erich declare, eliciting a nod from Gomez.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing any of you to place a similar phone call for me, so I’m definitely in for the long-haul,” Alise joked.

“So, any fucking ways.” Erich said, studying the group, “What’s our next move then, if we’re going to do this?”

Alexander nodded. “I suppose we should start with securing the necessary contacts and supplies. Its always good to have guns and manpower, but without any direction we have the blind leading the blind. We can't be like that if we want this thing to work out. Anyone know anyone in the MSL?”

“I’m sure someone here does, I’ll ask around the club, see what I can come up with.” Erich replied. “In the meantime, yes, we’re going to need some serious firepower. When the Lanosche come down, they come down hard.”

“I think I might have a bit of what you’re looking for,” Alise interjected.

“I can get us explosives. Low power stuff. No one would look twice at the idea we might be using the black market to get such things. Mining Explosives are pretty common stuff, around here all you need to do is show a drivers licence and you can walk out the door with some lower grade powder. Makes it harder to track then if we go around leaving powder from Solbryv-23F stuff, and it will probably be cheaper” Mōd added.

“Good shit. By the way, how are you holding up?

“Don't wanna talk about it, man.” Mōd replied quickly. He sunk back into his chair and looked down at his hands, and began quietly mumbling to himself

“Time for talk later.” Erich said, trying to run some interception for Mōd because he could be pressed any further, “We got things to do and, apparently, a government to overthrow. We’d better get started.”

[The Republic of Lanos]

OOC: Sorry about delay.

Captain Wilhelm Hernandez drove along as the voice of Jack Benny issued forth from the unmarked sedan’s speakers. He rather enjoyed the satellite radio channel that played radio shows from “back in the day”. He was almost assigned to the case of the missing Border Patrol guards but that was given to some new detective that could, for the National Police unit commander’s kicks, go out into the wilderness to see some bodies that were starting to decompose. Having grabbed his own assignment, on slightly better than the one given to the kid, he was sure, had him en route to Menard to assist the "local yokels" with a crime scene.

Wilhelm had a rocky upbringing. Born into a large family, he lost his father during the fighting for the Revolution in the Southern Territory and become the sole surviving brother after both the Saludos campaign and the Great Desert War. The only way he escaped military service was through joining the National Police after college. Even then, he managed to get stuck in the shittest assignments due to his family “mainland deportee” status, signifying they were not native to the southern lands, what the government in Keinsteinem referred to as the southern states. Only after being recognized for his participation in several high profile cases, including one ending with an exchange of fire between officers and the suspects in the 1980's, did he gain any respect in the National Police in Longrova and earned his promotion to the Senior detective ranks. He still held bitter feelings for those that hailed natively from the south expect his wife, children, and anyone that managed to gain his trust and that circle was very small.

It was usually considered that the mainland and the southern territory did not trust each other in terms of rule. It was the first to fall during the revolution, the residents and the Lanosian deportees tired of the South Emmerian Republic’s policies of forced segregation and genocide. Independence had eased some tensions between the northern mainland and the south, but both Lanosians and the southerners quarreled over who would get to rule the south.

The southerners won but had to accept Lanosian rule from Keinsteinem as the territory became the States of Longrova, Novestra, Corda Islands, Hotrod Islands, and Tierra del Fuego. It was better to work together first then question why one side did that later. At least until Saludos up north had its war. Not even that. The southerners prepared for something up north and let the Lanos Army move in but didn’t change its collective attitude until the west fired missiles down upon Longrova and Novestra, forcing millions to head for shelter under the sound of sirens and the sound of “Notalarm! Notalarm! Notalarm!” on TV and the radio at any moment. From that war was forced the bond between northerner and southerner to work together and persevere in the face of war. From the end of Saludos came the strong bond that remained throughout. It became publicly unpopular to insult the Lanosians and other social changes occurred. It seemed peace was at hand. Some weren’t going to play by that rule.

From the 1980s onward, a small group of southerners had fond days for when the South was its own territory and swore violence as a means to gain independence. Luck was not found beyond a few supporters here and there and the force of the population, the state governments, and the National Government in efforts to deal with such movements. The separatists has no popular means given the war’s unifying of the population. It seemed unbreakable. And yet, despite all the drug fighting, the separatist actions, the general grinding of the cycle of life and the Southern Territory of the Independent Nation of the Republic of Lanos, things went on in their normal way.

So Captain Hernandez and the population weren't too stunned when the Menard police asked for help from the National Police with a multiple homicide in a posh suburb of the city. On his way to the crime scene, Hernandez was sure he would arrive to discover the typical cartel scene of carnage; a contract killer or hit squad decimating a kingpin and his cronies, blood, guts and horror, all wrapped up in a nice, neat little package that would be utterly devoid of any conclusive evidence and only solved if they got a lucky break or, more likely, turned a cartel informant.

It was as bloody as expected and by all appearances the scene was a simple cartel related hit. Local and State CSI teams were still combing through the rest of the massacre site in the search for all possible evidence. The next was a total lack of what would normally be called “Wild fire”, Every shot was concise and well aimed it seemed, as evidenced by the absence of an excess of bullet holes commonly left by hitmen carpeting the area with automatic weapon fire. Bodies seemed to be in relatively good shape, besides the one that seemed to have lost the front of the head entirely. Typically, cartels would leave mangled bodies as a warning.

Like a storm, Captain Hernandez swept in and got everyones attention. His reputation preceded him by a great deal. His reputation as a hard nosed detective was known well throughout the city, and even better known among any CSI. His tendency to hound any investigator and his hot-headed, fly off the handlebars temper was known to any press members. He surveyed the scene in front of him.

“You there!” Hernandez shouted, extending an arm, his index and middle finger pointing to a young photographer taking pictures of a nearby body. His voice was tinged with anger.

“Y...Yes sir?” The photographer managed to squeak back, voice shaking nervously

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?! You’re standing too close to the body! Do you want us to think you had something to do with this? Are you trying to contaminate MY crime scene?!”

“N...No sir! I was just doing my job!”

“Your job doesn't mean jack shit to me if you fuck up MY crime scene. How about you get the fuck out of here while you still HAVE a job?!”

The photographer ran out of the building as fast as their shoes would carry them. Hernandez looked around again, otherwise satisfied with the state of the crime scene. A CSI Investigator Hernandez had known for some time now, Lieutenant Chavez. Basically one of the few people the Captain could stand cleared his throat and said “You keep yelling at them like that, it might be you who needs to find a new job, Wilhelm, you’re not exactly everyone's favorite detective, from what I hear.”

“Fuck em Chavez, walk me though.”

“Yes sir.” Chavez motioned to the captain as he walked forward.

“13 people killed, no survivors. The wife...well, widow, of the owner and her two sons are out of town today. Closest to entrance we have this poor guy. 32 year old Hispanic male, killed by apparent point blank shot to the head. Take a look at this.”

Chavez pointed to a small circle on the mans head, a burn park around what appeared to be an entrance wound.

“Suppressor?”

“Yes sir.” Chavez stood and pointed to two other bodies. “One shot center mass each. Up here...” He walked forward, into a part of the entrance that was blocked off by a small wall.

“Same story as the first guy. Shot in the head, suppressor burn. Last guy over there has two in his chest.”

“Six guys, Seven rounds, zero misses? Any shell casings?

“None I know of”

“He cleaned up the shell casings then.”

“Would have had to. But why these casings?”

“What, there's MORE?!”

Chavez motioned to two shotshells across the way, and two bodies

“Both took a large bullet. One to the throat, the other had it in the spine.”

Chavez lead him to a narrow hallway, where three bodies at the end were sprawled out, with a number of bullet holes in the wall behind them. A single shotshell was a few meters away.

“Modified wad?”

“I’m thinking hand load”

“Any more casings?”

Chavez lead him to a room that had been cleared of officers and CSIs alike.

“This ones pretty bad, sir.”

Chavez opened the door to reveal a faceless body, the entire lower jaw had been all but obliterated and the skull was in pieces.

“What the fuck did that, A cannon?”

“It...may as well have been, sir. 7.62x54mmR”

“Puzakk round? The guy use an SVD at close range?”

“No sir. We haven't a clue honestly. There was no projectile to recover from anywhere in the room. There is a 10 millimeter bullet on the floor though, as well as a case and this persons handgun, missing a round.”

“Who looked at it? Do these people not know they aren't supposed to touch anything?”

“Ballistic analysis. He wore gloves, we have photos and all before he touched it.”

“So, how did the bullet get there? Our shooter have a forcefield around him?”

“Body armor we think.”

“So he's invincible. Great. More bodies?”

“A few more.”

“Jesus christ. I don't have time for this. I’ll look at the photos. So we know that there were at least three guns used?”

“Two.”

“Im betting three, Chavez. If this guy lost his head from a 7.62x54R, and those guys out there didn't lose their heads, the guy sure as shit didn't use a suppressed shotgun”

“Alright sir. Anything you need me to do?”

“Get me an APB for the usual suspects. BOLO for any suspicious persons. Anything taken?”

“Not..Officially. It looks like a lot of cocaine and money though.”

“Drugs as a possible motive?”

“I’m not crossing it off the list.”

“Never easy, is it?”

“No, sir.”

“I need case files. Anything in country with similar motive, similar method, similar weapons. Can you do that for me Chavez?”

“Naturally, sir. Mind if I come with you after this last room?”

“Whats in the last room?

“What we think is the target. Well, WAS the target. Emilo Hernendez”

“The construction mogel. Yea, I know who he is”

Chavez lead him to the last room, where Wilhelm stopped to look around for a considerable amount of time. He nodded, satisfied with the scene, and walked out. Chavez followed close as they left the building, leaving it in charge of another Lieutenant.

“Alfred.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Stop calling me sir. right now we’re off the clock.”

“If you say so Wilhelm. What have you got?”

“What do you mean?”

Alfred turned his head sideways and looked at Alfred, who shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his chair and buckled up.

“I’ve known you for six years. I know you’re thinking. I know you have an idea, I can see it in your head. You’ve solved harder cases than this, but you seem far more troubled over this one. What is it?”

“Those guys in there. I know them, a few of them. None of them good men. To be quite honest, the world is a better place with them gone. This was quick, concise, professional. Deliberate in their actions. Shooter wore gloves, picked up casings, aimed. They wore body armor anticipating being shot. Not even footprints to go off of? The shooter was good. Ex military? Gun for hire? I don't know. They knew what they were doing up until those two guys they wasted in the parlor with the shotgun.”

“You think he did them after?”

“I do. No one starts with Slug. Rims can get stuck in the open top of the shell in tube fed shotguns. Plus the fact that he used a suppressor initially means they didn't want to be heard. One of the guys the shooter got with slug had footprints leading to him, but from behind. He stepped in blood it looks like. If he walked in the blood he got there after the shooting started. If he got there right after, their might have been a firefight. There wasn't. And there wasn't blood for him to step in.”

“Shooter might be a pro. I can see that. What's the issue?”

Wilhelm put the car into gear and stepped on the accelerator.

“Pros don't get caught.”

[Puzikas]

“This has to be the least assuming individual I have ever seen in my life. You are sure hes a Major, right?”

“That’s what my contacts tell me.” Erich replied, taking a drag from his cigarette and peering through the slightly lowered tinted window of the panel van. Only a day had passed, and in true intelligence fashion information was passed along the chain quickly, though the information was slow to develop. Erichs contact had pointed him to a Major in theMovimiento del Sur de la Libertad armed revolutionary branch. The major himself was a noted “rising star” in the political strategist world, though that didn't stop him from living an old home on the outskirts of the city, near a slum. Buildings close together in slums provided the ideal opportunity for surveillance; most civilians in these areas don't normally question cars parked in areas for long periods, due to the noted absence of any major police presence frequenting the areas. These areas, called “Dog Pens”, were normally home of lower-class workers and a breeding ground for prostitution, drugs and other illegal actions. The ideal place for a revolutionary to hide out.

“Three hours and all we’ve got is he smokes Menthols, likes Antares IPA, and has a lot of visitors. My money is on the idea each of them is a Captain or Lieutenant or somthing. They are probably planning something or discussing business I’m sure, but with no reference to go off of, this might be normal traffic. I’ve got 12 people so far in five groups. see why I’m doubting his Major status? He seems like just a friendly dude.”

“If my contact is wrong, I’ll cut his balls off.” Erich grumbled. “Maybe he’s just really good at camouflage? i mean, he’s not, like, going to hang up a ‘viva la revolution’ sign. maybe when he leaves we bust into his pad and see what’s what?”

“We can do that, if it comes to it, but shit, three hours in and I’m already bored.” Alexander laid his head back and rolled his neck, making a very audible pop. He sat up and continued looking at the supposed major. “What was his name again?”

“Wolfgang Weber.” Erich said looking down and a grease stained piece of loose leaf paper.

“Thats a hell of a name. Give me those binoculars, would you?”

Erich reached down between the door and the seat of the black panel van he and Alexander had occupied for the last several hours and passed him a pair of store bought birdwatching binoculars. “We need one of those...whatcha call ems...the wand like things that let you eavesdrop on fuckers across the way.”

“That’d be nice. I don’t suppose you have 14 grand laying around? Because I do, but I need it for...Other things.”

Alexander raised the binoculars to his eye and looked closely at Weber.

“Next time, I’m getting a monocular. Or a spyglass.”

“What are you looking for?”

“A monogram. W.W. Or somthing to help me confirm this is him. Anything at this point would be worth it”

“Why don’t we hire some little street kid to pick his fucking pocket? Get his fucking wallet? “

“That would work..But he hasn't moved much. Though I did just get an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Call Dom. Have him get his information via computer magic.”

“Oh shit, dude...you’re right,” Erich said, pulling out his cell phone. “What can’t they do with fuckin computers?”

---

Dom looked up from his laptop as the gentle buzzing of his cell phone attracted his attention. Glancing at the caller ID, he smiled and answered “ Already hard at work?”

“Yeah.” Erich replied, “Hey listen, we’re out here, um, visiting a friend and-”

“Erich, please. They aren't tapping this phone, I’m secure. I’m pretty sure you all are too.”

“Uh, okay.” Erich said “Anyways, I’ve got a name for you, need you to, like, do whatever the fuck it is you do on that technology box of yours and get me info. Dudes name is Wolfgang Weber, and I need an image if you can. Also an address. and see if he lives alone.”

“Police record, too.” Alexander chimed in.

Dom shook his head, flipping his laptop open and getting to work. His fingers tapped quickly over the keyboard as he spoke. “Image, address … I don’t suppose you have more than a name to go with?”

“Uh, we actually have the address, just wanted you to confirm.” Erich said, rattling off the numbers.

“Si, si .. Ah, that would do it. His record as well?” The typing continued in a series of rapid clicks.

“Please.” Erich said,

“Your friend here has been busy,” Dom said idly, pulling up the important pieces of information, and making the appropriate copies. “Nothing legendary mind, but busy. What format would you prefer?”

“Uh?” Erich asked

“You want this sent to you, want me to deliver it on file,” Dom said, continuing to bring up bits and pieces that might be useful. “No one but him paying taxes from that address, married, then divorced. Two kids, one has an address up north, the other is local, but has a different address.”

“Oh. You can just tell me over the phone.”

“How’s he supposed to get us the picture then?” Alexander asked.

“Mind like a steel trap, is it? Right then.” Dom began rattling off several of the recent places the man had been caught stirring up trouble, and from a few loose credit hits, the most likely places he’d been spending money, showing an affinity for one restaurant in particular. “The picture then, I’ve your number, si? Incoming shortly on your phone. It ah, is capable of receiving, yes?”

“Uh.” Erich said again “I...think so? Its a flip phone thingy, I got it like 4 year ago.”

Dom laughed, giving it a shot and sending it on. “Most recent I could dig up at least. You should be getting it shortly. If not, we’ll try something else, yes?”

---

Erich phone buzzed shortly after disconnecting with Dom , he opened it and placed it to his ear “Hello.” When no voice greeted him, he pulled it away to give the screen a puzzled look “uh...it says, um, Recovering download” What the fuck?”

“It’s probably the picture, let it do its thing.” Alexander suggested.

After several more seconds, Erich studied the screen. “Yeah, its a picture of that dude, here look.” he said, passing the phone to Alexander “That internet shit is amazing.”

Alexander nodded after studying the image and said “Now that we know its him, we can make the next move. Tonight. I’ve done this thing before. Heres the plan. We make as little noise as possible We go in, we slip this over his mouth, tie him up, leave the note. Off we go. Got it?”

“Should we maybe get the girl?” Erich asked “She’s probably better at this than me....and we need a lookout anyhow. I can do that.” Erich laughed, “Bet she can get him to open the door if nothing else.”

“Not a bad plan. Wanna get her out here now?”

Erich glanced at his watch “its nearly seven. Lets drive back, get some dinner, and come back around 2 or 3?”

“Good fucking idea. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always fucking hungry.”

---

“You want me to what, Alise asked Alexander.

“Help me kidnap some poor schmuck so we can use him as an in. Is it that hard to understand, or are you uncomfortable with it?”

“What I’m not understanding is why it has to be me, and not you, Long John Silver,” Alise said.

“I am going, but I need a number two. The fucker weighs at least 90 kilos. I’ll have no issue with that in it of itself, its that I need a second person to help me. Not like I can shoot my Obrez with one hand if shit goes south for whatever reason.”

“Cause that won’t wake everyone up.” Erich said from the drivers seat of the van.

“I’ll take care of it. You act like I haven't done this before”

“I’ve taken a prisoner before, but I haven’t kicked in the front door to their house completely unarmed. This is ridiculous. I’d better be getting something out of this, preferably a small bonus,” Alise replied.

“The fuck do you want, then?” Alexander stepped out of the van and pulled a mask over his face. He handed Alise his Nagant and a mask

“I’mma need about t’ree-fiddy, and don’t bother with your little revolver: I’ve got a handgun of my own,” Alise smirked as she withdrew her P-92 from its holster and chamber-checked it. “If you like, I brought my spare barrel for it; threaded. I figured if you were staking a place out, you were likely wanting to stay relatively quiet.”

“Nah, I don’t intend on killing anyone tonight really. Kinda sad, don't you think?” Alexander pulled out a small flask and opened it, and looked inside. “I got enough chloroform to take down a Bison. this should do it.

“I never said I’d planned on using it, my ornament-stealing friend, but when someone’s got a suppressed handgun inches away from their face, they tend to listen either way. Tell you what: how about I just holster what I’ve got here, and keep it out of sight unless we need it, huh?”

“Fine, just put the mask on and we can do this.” Alexander snarled, pulling on his mask.

“Whatever you say. Let’s get this started, shall we?”

Alexander walked up to the house, checking up and down the street to be sure he was clear. He looked behind him and nodded to Alise.

“Pick it.”

“Why don’t we knock first,” she asked him, pulling her mask up over her face and handing it back to Alexnader. “If he even so much as cracks the door open, I’m sure your brute ass could kick it in the rest of the way. If it has a handful of deadbolts, it’d be a lot easier that way.”

“Alright. Go for it. Let me get the fucking chloroform ready”

“You in position,” Alise asked Alexander before knocking on the door. He nodded, so she proceeded to rap on the door a couple times. She heard the volume turn off on the television inside, and leaned beside the door frame so she wouldn’t be entirely visible from any windows. Sure enough, the front light turned on. She heard a couple locks being moved inside, and shortly afterward, the door opened.

“The fuck do you want? Don’t you know what time it is?”

“I know, sir, and I’m sorry I had to bother you at a time like this, but I’m not from around here,” Alise said. “I’m here with some family, and I had gone out for a walk to clear my head a few minutes ago and I got a text on this phone saying my sister was in the hospital. I have no way of getting a hold of her: would I be able to come in and use your phonebook to get the hospital’s direct phone number,” Alise asked, producing some light crocodile tears.

Weber nodded and began to open the door with a somewhat sad look in his eyes. It didn't last long. Alexander pushed the door open with force, and pushed him down on the ground. He places the rag over his mouth and nose and smiled.

“Sleep tight, Mr. Weber.”

“Do you have a one-liner for everything,” Alise asked as she began to get a hold of Weber’s feet.

“I do. I actually was thinking about what to say all day today while I did this.” Alexander pulled a bag out from his back pocket and put it over his head before rolling Weber on his stomach, tying his hands up with zip ties.

"Dont forget to leave the note."

With a grunt he threw him over his shoulder and ran outside, and threw him into the back of the van.

"That safehouse is free, right Erich?"

"Yea, I made sure of it. We're going to keep him there alone?"

"Nah. I'll babysit him"

They closed up the van as Elise locked up the house. The entire way Erich made it a habit to do only the speed limit, and take extra care. No one was to suspect a thing.

[Junghuwa]

​Leaving the main city was no issue, but locating the safehouse was.

The further out one moves from the sprawling metropolis of Menard​, the more one realizes how really isolated the city is. As if dropped from the sky, the port town sits squarely in Southern Emerian lowlands, flooded over from heavy rainfall and overflowing rivers. The safe house, what should have been a simple 30 minute drive, took nearly two hours in the darkness. With no power and the only source of light high beams from an old Express van, getting lost was a primary fear of three of the four occupants of the van.

But not Webber.

​With sleep in his eyes at the time, he had been bruised, crushed and put to sleep by a man who spoke as if he had intended to kill him. But he hadn't. Bound, gagged and black bagged in the back of a van, languages being exchanged he didn't speak, from lands not his. He worried not only for his safety, but for the safety of his party. The information Webber had in his mind was more than enough to bring the party to its knees, and these people, he was sure, knew that. The Van came to a total stop, and shut off. Webber could feel, in his own chest, his heart racing. The blood in his ears made it hard to hear as it circulated at liters per second. Were he able to, he would no doubt vomit in fear. How was he so afraid, he would think to himself. After a twenty year service as a Major in the Lanos armed forces, he would have thought that he would be ready for something like this. But he was not. As the back of the car opened, he heard a female voice. It spoke with anger and conviction.

Stand up old man

​He stood and slowly shambled towards the voice. He tripped and fell out of the rear of the van, his pain met with laughter. He was hoisted by a large set of hands, the same that had taken him. Another voice, different. Not the man or womans, but one of another mans for sure. Native accent, though a bit tainted with an obvious Northern drawl.

​Get him inside, damn it. Don't let anyone see

​Who the fuck is going to see? The damned birds? The Caimans? Are they out here spying on us?

​This voice was much easier to distinguish. It was laced with a thick Bloc accent, obviously a Slav. The same voice that had told him to sleep. He felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against his neck as the hand pushed him forward. The creaking of a door was the last thing he heard before being pushed into a room, followed by a slam.

​“There, we’ve got him, the fuck are we going to do with him?” Erich asked “I know the plan is to play nice with him and get him to contact his bosses, and the only reason we kidnapped him was to show them we have the power, ability, and means to back them up, but..” he trailed off, smiling, and glancing at the assembled members of the tam “None of us are exactly in a position to play “good cop” here. We’re all threats, violence and mayhem, and that’s not what we need.

​“Then what do we need?” Alexander asked

​“Someone friendlier, used to dealing with people....and I think we know just the guy” Erich said, reaching for his cell phone.

​

---

​Shirong got up from doing his accounts when he heard his phone buzz. He looked at the brick, already seven years old; he had been meaning to get a replacement for a long time now, but had never got around to it. Anyway, it had served him reliably and never broke, even if he did have to get a new SIM card every couple of months to avoid being traced. Entering the “Messages” section, he clicked inbox and opened the newest one.

​The message had just enough information to let him know where he was needed, without giving any clues to an outsider who hadn’t been with them previously. Shirong wondered what they needed him for; whatever it was, they wanted him now. He removed his glasses and put on a jacket, before switching the sign in the front of the restaurant to CLOSED and exiting via the back door.

​He got into his beaten-up, old car and told Joseph to drive him to the safehouse. The rumbling, noisy engine growled into action, and the car tottered off. In his pocket was his trusty OTs-33, and a Polish PM-84 Glauberyt was stored in the glove compartment.

​It took them awhile to reach the safe house, but not quite as long as it had taken the others. Shirong exited the car and was shortly followed by Joseph. They walked through the entrance.

​“Ah, my friends, what was so urgent I had to come right away?”

​Erich took him aside and explained the issue.

​“I see. Let me see what I can do.”

​He entered the room where Webber was being held and walked up to him, removing the gag.

​“Major... Webber, is it? Pleased to meet you.”

​“Wh..who are you?”

​“Well, right now, I’m just about your best friend. It seems you’ve got yourself into a bit of a pickle.”

​“What do you mean?”

​“The people on the other side of that wall are very, very dangerous people. They wouldn’t give a moment’s thought in killing you in a very gruesome way. If they didn’t need you, you’d probably be dead already.”

​“How do they need me?”

​“They wish to get in contact with your superiors. For your own sake, I recommend that you comply.”

​For a while, Webber said nothing, as he thought about what to do. Shirong just stood in the same position, barely moving at all. Eventually, he gave a weak nod.

​“Very good choice, Mister Webber.”

​Shirong exited the room. He looked at Alexander, who was staring at some small, old tube TV. He thought. The safe house on the exterior appeared to be nothing more than a shanty home, built from scrap wood and parts of cras, metal and whatever else the occupant could find. In truth, the exterior paneling hid a perfectly average interior, outside of the soundproof room and makeshift medical bay.

​“Eight minutes. It took you eight minutes. What did you get in eight goddamned minutes? Shit, what COULD you get in eight minutes?”

​Shirong smiled and handed him a paper.

​“An in.”