15:37 April 10th 1996; Rouanpour, Thailand
The boat had finally been repaired, and luckily the Lagoon Company just had a lucrative job opportunity come up. Dutch closed the blinds and spread a map out on the table.
"Alright, pay attention, we've got a job for an American PMC, Blacklake." Revy chuckled
"We outta sue these motherfuckers for stealing our name." Benny gave a light chuckle while Rocked rolled his eyes. Dutch, however, was not amused and just continued.
"We're picking up a shipment of guns and ammo, and a big one too. Assault rifles, Grenade launchers, armor piercing rounds, you name it." Placing a packet of papers on the table, listing every item they'd be picking up.
"Our contract obligates us to pick it up in Kampot Port, in Cambodia, and deliver it to a port in south Vietnam."
"Can the ship even carry that much? If it's a two way trip you can count me out. I'd just be sitting around with my thumb up my ass." Revy interrupted.
"We're only picking up part of the whole shipment, these guys apparently hired independent shipping companies all over south east asia." Benny took over and drew out their route.
"We'll be going around these patrol routes, early in the morning. If everything goes right we should make it there by sunrise." He drew several red X's in a pattern across the map.
"The local marine cops have been cracking down on piracy lately, after a botched hijacking, and will probably gun us down if we even waved at them." As he spoke he drew their route, making sure he evaded every patrol boat.
"So, in short we're going the long way. I'd recommend bringing a few extra cases of Heineken." Revy ignored most of this, focusing on her gun. Checking the chamber, the magazine, the sight, on and on. It was starting to get on her nerves, wanting to know if she'll actually even be needed to start shooting. Finally, Dutch looked to her and snapped his fingers
"Yo, Earth to Revy! I know it's not quite your type of gig, but this is hostile territory, and PMC's rarely ask for reasons to just start killing everyone they see." Revy scoffed and put her gun away, leaning her back against the wall. She took her pack of cigarettes and took the last one out, and lit it. Belching smoke, she begrudgingly growled
"Fine." Dutch turned back to face everyone else.
"We'll meet the contact at the port in a shipping yard. Rock, you and Revy negotiate the deal, Then you're out. I'd like this to be a job where I actually don't get shot at." He scolded. It never phased her, nor did it stop her when he warned before. He knew how this city worked, and he knew what this type of work ment. Deep down, she knew that he was almost expecting it. Maybe even wanting it in a strange way.
"Got it. Do we leave tonight?" she asked politely. When it came down to it, it was all, mostly, for the money anyway.
Dutch knew his answer would annoy her, he could tell her trigger finger was itching more than normal. But there wasn't any helping it, she needed the rest as much as the rest of them did even if she'd never admit it.
"No. About twelve hours from now. I suggest we all get some sleep till then. There won't be much of it, this trip."
Elsewhere, Jacket stood in front of the corkboard. Pictures of Hotel Moscow leaders, news articles, and notes written by jacket himself. Waiting for another call was excruciating, and his attempts to build a possible chain of command only made him more anxious. Finally the phone rang. Jacket calmly walked to the cordless phone and picked it up. The voice greeted him cordially and spoke with a jovial delight.
"Hey man! It's Alex, we're at the field on South 23rd St, and we're short a player! Hope your arm strength isn't failing on us, we really need these guys out of the picture!" Jacket hung up without replying. He took Richard, his new piece, and headed out, ready for what he needed to do. As he descended the stairs he slipped Richard into his duffle bag before hastily zipping it shut. The receptionist had the night off and finally he was out again. Just a car ride between him and his objective.
He drove to the provided address, taking the long way. When he arrived parked in front of the building... a lavish condo. Downtown Roanapur was where the big boys played. The main mob bosses controlling the city from their ivory towers operated from here. Calling themselves "The Big Four". This one belonged to the Triad. Jacket stepped from his car and pulled a cigarette from the pack he had on him. It was the last one, too. He lit the end and made sure to savor the smooth taste of the tobacco. He took his time tasting it, unsure if he'd even be able to buy another one. Finally he took Richard from his bag and put him on. Once again.
Richard walked into the lobby and immediately toward the elevator, managing to stick his arm through the door just before it closed. The top two floors were obviously guarded and off limits to anyone other than the triad. Normally you need to book an appointment, but Richard was on a tight schedule. As the doors opened two men in black suits looked in his direction and scowled.
"Hey, you! This floor is restricted! Appointments only! You 'aint got a reason to be here, then beat it!" Richard stepped out of the elevator and approached the bouncer. He took a step forward in turn, and cracked his knuckles.
"What part of 'get lost' did you not understand?! You either get the fuck outta here now, or you're leavin' in the back of an ambulance!" Richard continued to ignore the man's threats. Annoyed with the masked mute and his games, the bouncer pulled a gun from his coat and pressed the barrel agent Richard's forehead. As he pulled the hammer back, Richard still wasn't phased.
"Well, guess someone will have to tell Chang we're gonna have a dead bo-" As if on command Richard hits the bouncer with a right hook, shattering his jaw. The man next to him pulled a gun of his own, but too late. He had only had it in his hand for a moment, before Richard wrenched it from his hand by twisting the man's arm at the elbow and punching him in the solar plexus. With both men incapacitated Richard knelt down near the first guard, pulled his combat knife from its sheath and finished the job. His blood flowed like a quietly gurgling crimson waterfall. Richard was already making his way towards his second victim as the blood began to pool underneath the first. Richard walked through it, leaving behind bloody footprints as he approached the other man who was still clutching his stomach. Richard pulled him to his feet with a single hand and with the knife perforates the man's gut while keeping him pinned to the wall as if it were a prison shanking.
Finally satisfied, Richard slid the knife back into its sheath while the body crumbled into a mangled heap on the floor. In front of him was a hallway, doors on both sides, and no windows. At the end was another door, and what seemed like two open areas on both sides of the door. To his left, another open area with a door at the end of it. To his right a room with the door slightly ajar. Richard felt that the slightly opened door was the closest, and he could use that to see how he could better approach his targets.
Richard peered through the crack and saw three people hanging around, smoking cigarettes, and twirling knives. But he merely saw a juicy opportunity to try his new toy. Kicking the door down Richard took his piece out from under his jacket and with a lightning fast three round burst to the first man's chest, he was mincemeat. Richard dove behind cover while managing to shoot the second man with another burst of gunfire to the chest. The last man made the mistake of trying to flush Richard out, earning a spray of lead to the face for his trouble. Gunsmoke wafted from the end of Richard's piece as the last guard collapsed to the floor, his head looking like someone ruined a cherry pie.
As he stepped out of the room, he took the magazine out of the gun, and checked how many rounds he had left. He only brought one, and he was sure that wouldn't be a problem.
"Hey! Quit fucking shooting up the place!" Another goon called out. He was coming from down the hall, and was carrying a small submachine gun. Richerd hid back into the room quickly, and just waited.
"I think you guys had enough to drink tonight!" Jacket peered from behind the door again. The gangster brought three others, and it sounded like more were coming. Stuck in a bad situation, Richard took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
"We have bodies! Get everyone down here now!" Again, something just clicked, and Richard just jumped out and showered them in a hail of bullets. Every bullethole poured blood, staining the floor beneath it in a crimson pool. Richerd looked around again, checking if anyone else was left. There wasn't a soul to be found, and yet he knew he wasn't finished. Richard walked, calmly, to the end of the hall, which led to the stairs. As he calmly ascended the stairwell, he checked the magazine again. It was empty.
Richard had to use something else and as luck would have it, he found a fire ax mounted on the wall. It was on display like a framed picture. Richard coils feel it calling out to him. He rammed his fist into the glass letting a shard cut him, unphased. With his new weapon in hand, he kicked down the door and immediately walked into the room, where a mobster had his back turned. Richard swung his ax into his shoulder and watched him fall to the ground as the gaping wound bled out. Richard stepped hard on his shoulder, and put his weight down. The criminal screamed out in agony, as Richerd let him feel the pain. But only for a few seconds.
He brought his ax down and sliced his head clean off his shoulder. The hole where his neck used to be spraying blood, like a geyser. As the severed head took its final breaths of life Richerd kicked it across the room. Having little care who saw it or if it gave away his position. As long as it brought more targets to him, that's all that mattered. Three men turned the corner and stared at the murder scene, eyes wide.
"What the fuck?! Who..." Before he could even finish taking in what he was even looking at, a fire ax came down on his shoulder, chopping his whole arm off. Richard turned to the other two men and swung his ax into the torso of one, then he swung at the other letting more guts spill out onto the once clean floor. The third man was still frozen with fear. Richard shoved him to the ground and brought the ax down, spitting his head in half like wet moldy firewood. His brain oozing out from the enormous gash.
Something felt wrong though, Richard turned around to see the mangled gangster crawling with his remaining arm toward a dropped gun. Richard walked casually to the doomed man, and kicked the gun out of his reach. He grabbed him by his head and started to twist. The man struggled but he wasn't in any condition to fight back. In just a few seconds Richard twisted the man's head all the way around. His neck cracked and popped, wet and wretched, like someone twisted a water bottle. He stood back up raising his arm up over his head, the joint giving a satisfying pop.
Richard turned the corner and saw two men scramble into a room, locking the door behind them. Like he would let something like a mere lock stop him. Without hesitation Richard swung his ax into the door. He swung again, and again, chopping a small hole. The three men shrunk away from the door in fear, transfixed in horror. They all looked at each other, confused, and shocked. They asked if he had given up, in mandarin. Richard punched through the hole, dropping a small metal object no bigger than a toilet paper roll.
Time seemed to slow down as it dawned on them what they were looking at. A flash grenade, with several Bic lighters tapped to it. Not that they had time to appreciate the mad genius behind it. In an instant flames consumed them. Just a flash of brilliant white light, and the muffled sound of screaming just behind the big bang. Blind, deaf and trapped in a furnace of their own making, they couldn't even hear their own screams of agony, or see the charred remains of their fancy suits fused to their burnt skin. In the few short moments they had left, all they could do was writhe and struggle as the flames cooked them alive. Richard looked around, taking in his work, and observing the carnage. As he takes the elevator back down making sure to escape from the back, the closest thing to joy Richard can feel washed over him. Satisfaction with his work.
Jacket ripped his face off, throwing Richard into the back seat of his car before peeling out of the parking lot. Only a smokey coud reeking of burnt rubber and murder in his wake. He wasn't quite done tonight though. He had one last errand to run. Just a little recon. It wasn't a very long drive, just barely out of downtown. He parked his car in front of a shop that had gone out of business. Jacket waited a few hours, burning through an entire pack of cigarettes as he waited. Finally, he heard a car pull up. A matte black four door, definitely not suspicious. Slipping back into his car, Jacket casually backed up just out of sight. Nice and easy, like Sunday morning. No need to arouse unnecessary attention. A large man with a scar across his face stepped out of the driver's seat and opened the door from the opposite side. Trigger finger steady as ever, Jacket did what he does best. Using his trusty Polaroid, the photos of the driver and the three of the women who stepped out of the back seat were his cleanest shots of the day.
One of the women had severe burns across her face and neck, and wore a large olive drab military jacket draped over her shoulders. More cars arrived all in matte black, driven by heavily armed bodyguards. As the hired goons helped their bosses from their vehicles it was obvious the rest of the VIPs had arrived. The Big Four were all here: Chang, leader of the Chinese triad. Abrergo, leader of the Columbian cartel. Lorenzo, leader of the Italian mafia. And finally Balalaika, leader of the Russian mafia. Jacket snapped a few headshots of each. A large man with a scar across his face waved for the others to proceed, then looked at the car. Jacket ducked.
"Is the area secure, Comrade Sergeant?" Balalaika asked the man with the scarred face. Something about how she carried herself portraying an obvious military background, reminding Jacket of the leader of his old unit.
"Yes, Kapitan. Just a false alarm. We better escalate to security level two, to be sure." The 'Kapitan' nodded and left to join the others inside the dilapidated workshop.
"All units, elevate all security measures to level two. All communications, report your status every ten minutes."
"Da ser." The man being addressed as 'Comrade Sergeant' by Balalaika looked toward Jacket's direction again, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Still, nothing. Jacket kept low and still. Out of sight, out of mind. Finally satisfied, the Sergeant entered the shop following close behind his 'Kapitan'. Inside the musty, dimly lit room Abregos' bodyguard pulled a pistol out, and kept it close to his side.
Chang was in no mood for bullshit. "Tell your man to put that away, we're only here to have a simple conversation."
The Columbian boss grunted "Speak for yourself, pendejo!"
Chang sighed, looking back to see Balalaika as she joined the group.
"I don't think now is the best time to have a dick measuring contest, Abrergo. We've got over twenty bodies now! Someone is trying to turn us against each other. So how about we all discuss who that might be."
Chang looked at her sternly.
Balalaika's lips betrayed a hint of a sadistic smile "Don't think I'm above suspecting you Mr. Chang."
Chang didn't so much as flinch. The triad leader clearly not impressed with the Russian's attempts at throwing her weight around.
Balalaika's playful but sadistic smirk vanished in an instant. "You know why we're here. Our men are being slaughtered. Each of us are being targeted. AGAIN! It's time we have a serious discussion on who actually runs this city, because we're all starting to lose control. Isn't that right, Mr. Chang?"
Pragmatism taking priority over pride, Chang begrudgingly agreed. "Right."