NeoNazo356: No interesting Reviews were left for Chapter 7 "New Haven", so I'll take this opportunity to announce that in honor of Monty Oum, I've put out a new RWBY story, which I've been sitting on for a while. The name is "Giant-Slayer", but to clarify, it isn't involving a direct Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan crossover, that was for the Cover to get a point across. Of course I might mix in a pseudo-crossover, but you know...

*JOB INTERVIEW*

All things considered, being interrogated by a pretty girl wasn't the worst thing that could've happened to me after arriving in Bludhaven of all places. Had I landed in Gotham, knowing my shit luck, I'd probably run face-first into the Joker, or Bane, or Killer Croc, or even all three. On one hand I could remain tight-lipped and find somewhere else to sleep tonight in the event Shaula forced me out, or on the other I could afford to be a little loose-lipped and run damage control later. Choosing the lesser of two evils, I decided to tell her that some very bad people were planning on using this suit to hurt a lot of good people, and that I decided to steal it after pulling a MacGuyver on them with a couple envelopes, some aluminum sheets, a coffee grinder, and the contents of a nearby medicine cabinet. While not necessarily the method I used, what I did do could be considered a MacGuyver, so it wasn't a total lie.

After that I put my foot down about not saying anything else until I knew I could trust her, and strangely enough she was pleased rather than angry. Maybe it was because I didn't immediately buckle under the pressure, that I'd shown a little spine. Either way, she eased off, retrieving my suit from Athena, who obviously was a bit of a tech-nut, and showed me to the guest room I'd be staying in. The building's first floor was dedicated to Moxxi's "Red Light Bar", and when I asked about the third X on the sign, Shaula had no answer. The second floor was where Moxxi and her daughters plus Tina lived, and despite how they didn't look like siblings, I took it as face value. The "loft" was where the six rooms-for-rent were located, the four primary tenants out of town on a job, so I wouldn't be meeting them tonight.

Being led to a pretty Spartan guest room where I'd be staying, Shaula told me to get some sleep, because for the job interview her mom had in mind, apparently I'd need it. After she closed the door behind her, I took the time to look out the window and drink in the scenery, relishing that for once I didn't have to keep an eye out for a Blackwatch or Infected attack at any given moment. It may not've been my first choice, but it was loads better than New York Zero, a topic I'd have to broach very carefully by assuring them I was not contaminated. Certain keywords like "gun" or "bomb" instinctively set people on edge, and when faced with something or someone that was potentially hazardous, or "contaminated", panic was bound to follow unless the topic was handled carefully.

With nothing else to really do, I was quick to go to bed, though I kept the Nanosuit in arm's reach.

*JOB INTERVIEW*

Bludhaven
August 13, 07:00 EST

*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*

"When'd I even set that thing?!" Virgil asked in shock, awake the moment the alarm clock on his nightstand began to go off. When you spend a month in a quarantine zone and the sound like a pin dropping is the only warning of something trying to kill you, one learned to be a light sleeper. Leaning over the side of his bed and peering underneath, he saw that his Nanosuit was still there, so that was one less thing he needed to worry about. Stretching his back, a silent cat-like yawn leaving his lips as he worked all the cricks out, he threw his legs over the side of the bed before realizing something important. "What am I going to wear?"

When migrating to the Yellow Zone, aside from whatever data drives Dana could comfortably squeeze into her scuba suit, they'd had to burn everything else, both literally and… nope, pretty much entirely literally. Making his little trip through the Pacific Ocean across state lines, Virgil wasn't exactly in the position to be smuggling full changes of clothes aside from the ones the Nanosuit pressed onto him. He wasn't sure how formal or even informal this job interview he was being given was, but he was pretty sure wearing days-old clothes wouldn't really leave the best first impression. Contemplating whether or not he'd have to steal clothes from another resale store sometime that day, his eyes suddenly turned to a fresh set of clothes folded atop the drawers across from his bed, a note on top.

Dearest Virgil,

It is with the most sincere of wishes that I wish you a good day on this fine Thursday morn. On this most auspicious of days you seek out permanent or part-time employment, and for that effort I applaud you good sir. To that end, I have provided you a fresh set of pantaloons and other such articles to facilitate your quest for monetary gain.

Sincerestly, Tiny Tina

"Huh. I knew Tina spoke like a British person on occasion, but I didn't think she wrote like one too," Virgil thought to himself as he set down the note, before looking at the clothes he'd been so gracefully provided with. Burnt orange shirt, long-sleeved denim jacket, dark green cargo pants, white socks, and even a pair of modestly-used sneakers just his size. "I really hope she didn't take these off a dead hobo too," he groaned to himself before hazarding a smell. "Huh. Guess not," he said when he didn't smell anything remotely like a corpse. He knew all too well what those smelled like, both when they were and were not on fire.

'No normal person should ever know the distinction,' he thought ruefully to himself as he made his way out the room to the floor's gust bathroom. While initially he found it a bit odd that the rooms-for-rent were only accessible through Moxxi's own home, as it turned out the rooms were by invitation-only, meaning you'd have to know the building's owner personally. That meant he wouldn't have to be as on-guard when the other tenets returned as he would anywhere else, since Moxxi trusted them, just as she trusted him.

"Honestly, I'm a little shocked I'm getting such a nice reception from people I barely know," he said to himself as he knocked twice before entering. The whole "get-laid-as-soon-as-possible" plan was still fresh on his mind, and meeting Moxxi and her hot daughters kinda reminded him of that. Last thing he wanted to do was accidentally walk in on anyone who might be of the fairer sex, because that would be very awkward for a number of reasons. "I need to get my priorities straight," he sighed to himself as he turned on the cold water, requiring a few seconds to kill his libido before turning it on to hot. The whole thing about getting laid was made at a time where it was very possible for him to die a virgin, and now that the chances of that were considerably less, he was able to think more clearly. 'Not even seventeen yet, and I've already seen more death than most people do in their lifetimes. G.I. Joe, eat your heart out.'

*JOB INTERVIEW*

"Mornin' good lookin'."

'Okay, how many daughters does Moxxi have?' Virgil thought to himself at the new voice that greeted him as soon as he stepped into the kitchen. Before arriving at the Red Light Bar, Tina admitted quite shamelessly that Moxxi was "everybody's baby momma". At the time he wasn't sure how seriously to take her, but after seeing Athena and Shaula, while hearing only passively about another two that had already left the nest, at the moment he was just wondering how the woman kept that hourglass figure after pumping out four, now counting five, children. Then again he lived with a pair of lesbians for a couple years, so who was he to judge other people's romantic lifestyles? "Morning. And you are?"

"Rina. You've met my mom already," the girl returned. She looked around Virgil's age, maybe a year younger; it was hard to tell since women simply aged better than men did. She had dark brown eyes and a jawline that most likely came from her father yet was still feminine, a wild-looking head of hair that jutted backwards and down her back. She wore a simple pair of faded jeans and a black tank top, casual wear for someone who was enjoying a lazy summer vacation.

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I'm still a bit skeptical that she's helping me so readily," Virgil said as he sat down at the table and grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit acting as a centerpiece. Making sure it wasn't wax first, he took a bite into it, the first fresh fruit he'd eaten in weeks.

"Well you helped little Tina out, so that probably helped things," Rina said digging into the cupboards and fixing herself a bowl of cereal. "Of course she might also call in a favor from you one day too. Just the way the world works."

"Well, it's not like I've got a lot else going for me right now," Virgil answered as he bit as much away from the apple's core as you could. He learned pretty quickly not to waste food. 'I doubt Blackwatch is actively looking for me, they don't even know what I look like under that bucket, but for the time being I should probably just focus on keeping my head down, not making any waves. Moxxi's a bit… different, but she doesn't come across as a bad person. Very liberal maybe, but she seems like a good person,' he said tearing into an orange. Skins took a bit of chewing to break down, but nutrients were nutrients, and he had some catching up to do. Just because his body had burned through its fat reserves, didn't automatically mean he was "healthy", only fit.

"Yeesh, slow down will ya? No one's gonna take your food away," Rina said digging into her own cereal.

"It's… a bit of a habit," Virgil answered, putting in an effort to eat more slowly. He knew he couldn't dodge the topic forever, but he just didn't trust them enough yet to tell them the whole story. Maybe he never would, but if he didn't put in an effort to trust people again, it'd be a very hard life from here on out. "Anyway, it was nice meeting you, we'll have to do this again sometime," Virgil said grabbing a banana before heading downstairs.

*JOB INTERVIEW*

After dropping down into Moxxi's bar, like a doting mother she asked me if I had eaten breakfast before coming down, to which I answered the affirmative. In response, and I tried to be tactful about this, I asked why she so liberally applied makeup to herself as she was doing just then before the people started coming in. She wasn't unattractive, not in the slightest, in fact she had a youthful visage completely free of crow's feet and wrinkles, but instead had a very natural beauty, so I wondered why she'd cover it up. She waved off my question, only telling me it was a habit from her fighting days, and that line of dialogue ended then and there. Handing me a piece of paper with directions on it to where I'd be meeting my potential future employer, she then directed me towards a framed map of Bludhaven on the wall directly above the jukebox.

Taking my first real look at where this potential fugitive would be making his home, I took the time to notice that geographically it was similar to New York; right on the cost of the mainland, with an island or two connected to it by bridges for transportation. Bludhaven for all its bad repute was still a major port town on the eastern sea board, though as a consequence of being right on the water, a number of unscrupulous business practices stretching across the globe began to sprout shortly after its founding. The city's interior towards the mainland was regarded as "Upper Bludhaven", and was home to most of the more-reputable businesses and lodgings, which as such made it fall well under the watchful eye of the BPD/Bludhaven Police Department. "Lower Bludhaven" wasn't so much a geological location as it was a cultural one, existing mostly on the outskirts of "Upper Bludhaven" where the police and politicians' attention wasn't as-focused in favor of greener pastures, home to some of the more gray-shaded elements Bludhaven had to offer. Beyond the bloodied port town in all directions between here and the next towns over were regarded as "The Borderlands", swaths of land that once-profitable, had been left in states of disarray after development proved to be less-than-profitable, as was the hubris of a city attempting to become a metropolis when it was not yet ready.

With its sordid past as a port town gone bad, the drinking class overshadowed by the richer upper crust, it made me think of Gotham in all but name. While I had no love for heroes, I didn't entirely shut them out of my life, keeping an ear to the ground and an eye to the news, if only to see my suspicions of them eventually substantiated in any meaningful manner. Asking whether Bludhaven had any underwear-outside-their-pants-wearing nutjobs flittering about, I was actually kinda relieved to hear there was no such presence, and that compared to places like Gotham, Metropolis, or even Central City, the police force in Bludhaven was actually pretty competent.

One police commissioner Raul Creed, was head of the BPD and kept everyone in line, on both sides of the law. Similar to a Commissioner Gordon in Gotham who was known for keeping a somewhat-sketchy law enforcement group's actions legitimate, the major difference between the two was that (A) Creed beat down every dirty cop in the force after dragging them into the light, getting each one at least ten to twenty with no chance for parole while working his way to the top, and (B) any wannabe supervillain who tried robbing a bank or taking a hostage got a complimentary lead sandwich before they could get the ball rolling. This and other such actions had earned him the moniker "Badass Creed", and despite all appearances of a single father, he was every bit as intimidating as Gotham's Bat.

Hogan's Alley was the name of the police's watering hole in Bludhaven's Melville District, and crime was at its thinnest there. Across the overpass in the same district a ways from the water was Moxxi's Red Light, which effectively acted as the Alley's polar opposite. Cops don't come here, punks don't go down there, each side ignores the other as they whet their lips, and everybody walks away happy. Thanks to that, I could breathe a little easier, since after what happened back there, I had a reasonable distrust for anyone on a government-issued paycheck. People like that tended to shoot first and ask questions never, as long as they got paid.

After taking my time to study the map in front of me, and then connecting it to the directions I'd been given, I set out into the new day in search of potential employment.

*JOB INTERVIEW*

One would think with a name like Bludhaven, there'd be violence in the streets with fists flying, guns blazing, rivers of blood, all that crap. In all seriousness, it was like any other city during the day, crime rate in the lower sector regardless. People going about their day, loitering, attempting to find work, the heart and soul of any city was its people, and contrary to popular belief, crime in Bludhaven was actually lower than Gotham. Without a plethora of super-villains running around to beat them black and blue for being out of their depth, the police were able to keep their numbers up and crime to a minimum. In the upper sector, the worst there ever was, was white collar crime, or the occasional purse-snatching, anything else would stand out too much.

In Lower Bludhaven, that wasn't so much the case when some guy tried to mug Virgil for the contents of his pockets. Of course, the thing about fighting a person with a knife when you don't have one, is controlling the hand with the knife in it, and knowing that its acceptable to fight dirty. Virgil did just that by kneeing the guy in the groin while both hands were occupied, twisting his wrist to make him drop the knife, and then shove him into a nearby dumpster before decking him in the face on the rebound. With no-one else around to judge, Virgil patted the guy down, stealing a half-decent army camouflage wallet for the trouble, and leaving the IDs and stuff at the guy's feet for when he woke up.

"Well. I've got a wallet at least," Virgil thought to himself as he stuck his bills in the recently-acquired money receptacle. "Now..." he said looking down at the map. "According to Moxxi's instructions, the place should be right about... here," he said as he came to a stop and looked up. The building he'd stopped in front of was your ordinary one-story brick-made building, iron bars over the windows and double doors. Over said doors was a dark red sign with yellow-colored neon lights spelling out MARCUS MUNITIONS, INC., the latter two thirdss shrunk down over the larger first word, while to the left was a circular logo -kinda like Starbucks' logo- featuring an effigy of a happy fat man with a mustache, beard, and combed-back hair with trimmed sideburns. "Yep. This is definitely the place."

Entering Marcus Munitions, the bell right above the door rang, signaling his arrival. Looking around, the place was dimly-lit, even in the middle of the day. The floor was covered in dark blue tiles, while off to the sides there were reinforced glass cases filled with guns of various make and model on display, same for the walls. There were a couple of vending machines off to the left, and from what he could see of the door on the right, it led to an indoor shooting range. In the back of the store was a room barred off from the rest with criss-cross cast iron bars and an open slat in the bottom, vaguely resembling a bank teller's counter. Of all the things to be back there, amidst file cabinets and ammo crates, there was also a large safe, the door slightly askew. Above the booth was even a large sign that read CASHIER, a large arrow going to the right and pointing downward as though people couldn't deduce that themselves. At the moment there were only two other people in the store; the owner, and the customer standing across from him.

"C-Could I have a refund please? This gun doesn't seem to work," said a guy in a leather jacket with an orange Mohawk, not sounding entirely confident in his assessment of the firearm in the hands of the man across from him.

"Hmmm. I don't know," the man hummed as he looked the gun, a classic six-shooter, over. The next moment the man leaned forward, the barrel of the gun poking through the slat right above the counter, and pulled the trigger. *BANG* "Looks like it works to me," the man replied with a smile that gave off the impression he enjoyed his job, or more specifically that part, VERY much. Obviously, the man who got shot screamed like a little bitch as he clutched at his leg.

The man he assumed to be "Marcus" was a large heavy-set man, but had a bit of muscle on his arms. His hair was brown and combed back while graying at the sides, the beard and mustache on his face well-kept, not all that different from the logo outside. He wore a baggy maroon-colored shirt beneath a tan-colored leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up, a gun holster strapped across his chest. He spoke with a Russian accent, so that may've explained his liberal use of firearms in his own store. All in all, he gave off a "no nonsense" kinda vibe.

"Um… Should I come back at another time?" Virgil asked making his presence known. While initially compelled to use the pay phone outside to call Moxxi and ask just who he'd been sent over to for a job interview, because he didn't have her number that would've been impossible. That as well as the fact that beggars couldn't be choosers, he chose to press on.

"No. In fact you're right on time," the man said circling around the counter and coming back into the shop through the door on the right.

"Really?" Virgil asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," he said walking over to a wall phone. "While I make call, you can stuff this guy in that closet," he said pointing his thumb over his shoulder. Between two of the vending machines there was in fact a door which potentially led to a closet. "You are the one ex-wife sent over for job interview, yes?"

"I am…" Virgil answered, taking a moment to digest that he'd addressed Moxxi as "ex-wife", before looking down at the guy he was being instructed to toss into a closet. Having gotten shot a couple of times himself, he knew how much it hurt, but with how much this guy was screaming, he must've been a real pansy not at all deserving of that Mohawk. "Quit your whining, it's not as bad as it looks!" Virgil said lifting the guy up by his collar before decking him. 'Do all guys in Bludhaven have glass jaws, or is it just the ones I punch out?' he questioned when the guy's head lolled listlessly to the side, KOd the moment his knuckles made contact.

"Ha! I like you already, kid!" Marcus said with a chortle as the brunette dragged the guy to the closet.

*JOB INTERVIEW*

"So… Mind telling me just what that was all about?" Virgil asked as he cleaned the blood stains off the floor as-instructed, Marcus having finished making his phone call about as soon as the Mohawk guy had been stuffed in the closet.

"When someone tries to refund a gun, it means only one thing," Marcus stated with crossed arms and a firm nod. "They killed someone with it, and want to get rid of the murder weapon."

" . . . Okay…" Virgil said digesting that as he cleaned the last of the blood from the floor. "And I'm guessing this is a frequent occurrence?" he proceeded to ask as he turned his attention to the tile that had been damaged in the wake of that one gunshot. Something he only noticed after finishing cleaning, was that random tiles in front of the counter were less-worn than in the rest of the store. In all likelihood, people getting shot in the leg was a semi-frequent occurrence.

"Very."

"And what do you do if someone didn't use the gun as a murder weapon?"

"Then they should've read the sign," Marcus said pointing to the front of the store. Looking over his shoulder, Virgil saw a laminated plaque above the door that clearly read- NO REFUNDS.

'Not sure that's good business sense,' Virgil thought to himself. 'But! This guy is signing my future paychecks, so I won't ask.' "So… About that interview…"

"Ah, that!" the man chuckled jovially. "Well, you aren't squeamish about cleaning blood, I'll admit, but I need more than a floor-scrubber. I need someone willing to get their hands dirty."

"I'm sure I can manage," Virgil replied plainly. If killing squads of modern-day Nazis and costing taxpayers hundreds of thousands of dollars wasn't "dirty", he didn't know what was. "What do I need to do?"

In response, the man walked through the door on the right before going back behind the register. Digging around for a minute, he eventually pulled out a brick-shaped package wrapped in brown paper and twine, before pushing it through the open slat beneath the bars separating them. "I need you to deliver the contents of this package to a certain address," Marcus said scribbling an address down on a piece of scrap paper before tucking it under the twine. "Don't bother coming back until you're done."

"So I'll be a gopher huh?" Virgil asked taking the unassuming-looking package and tucking it under his arm. "Well alright then."

*JOB INTERVIEW*

'In hindsight, I should've seen this coming from a Russian arms dealer,' Virgil thought to himself a while later. Following the directions given, he was eventually guided to a large five-story all-brick office building, looming tall as it cast an imposing shadow over him, the smell of sea air faintly tickling his nostrils. Of course all of this wouldn't mean anything if it weren't for the iron-barred windows, the ballistic glass doors, and the pair of burly, suit-wearing Russians standing out front with concealed weapons behind their backs. During his stint in the Red Zone, Virgil learned the importance of not only counting the number of opposition, but the number of guns at their hips as well. All in all, the place screamed Russian Mafia.

"This… could be a problem," Virgil hummed to himself as he chose to walk off with package tucked under his arm, as opposed to simply J-walking across the street right into the lion's den. Obviously this was some kind of test meant to gauge his fortitude. Of course all the fortitude in the world couldn't deflect bullets if he did the wrong thing in front of these very large Russians. 'If I want to get this job done…' he said adjusting the package under his arm as he arrived at a phone booth half the block down, 'I'll have to think my way through it, not just act by the seat of my pants,' he said as he began flipping through the copy of Yellow Pages chained beneath the pay phone. The pages were slightly damp, bordering moldy, and a number of them were missing from when people didn't take the time to write down numbers on a piece of scrap paper and opted to rip them out. Hopefully, the number that the meshing gears in his head were compelling him to seek out was still there. "Not the most sure-fire plan ever," he said finding the number he sought, "but I've done crazier," he said fumbling in his pocket for some change.

*JOB INTERVIEW*

The word "uniform", when contextually described in its noun-borne format, means "a distinctive set of clothing intended to identify the members of a specific group." In its adjective-borne format, it means "always the same, as in character or degree; unvarying." Because uniforms themselves set a precedent, psychosomatically, police and medical staff are allowed to be more invasive than the average joe, because they in effect have an entire organization backing up the authority of an individual. Buy a courier's uniform and one can give off the impression they're simply "doing their job" and thus not privy to all the details that work entails. For this reason, delivery boys are waved through most security checkpoints without much preamble, and for an infiltrator who is already nervous about the prospect of stepping into unknown territory, that same unease which would arouse suspicion for the intent of anyone else, can instead be used to assuage any suspicions a third party might have.

'Can't believe that worked,' Virgil thought to himself as he was waved through the doors with a grunt and a nod. Wearing sneakers, khaki jeans, a white button-up shirt with short sleeves, and a courier's cap, to anyone else he'd be another nondescript worker bee, another cog in the machine. For all intents and purposes, the perfect Trojan to carry out his delivery. 'I just hope I'm not being asked to deliver a pipe bomb or something,' he hummed to himself as he looked around the lobby, a couple scary Russians milling about and reading periodicals, though the sound of firearms jostling in their side holsters was unmistakable.

Pulling a clipboard from his bag, a few official albeit completely unrelated documents giving him some form of credibility as a delivery boy, the numbers 501 were written on the piece of paper Marcus had given him earlier. Seeing a pair of elevators towards the back of the lobby, he made his way forward, the unease at being surrounded by so many guns, to anyone else looking like the gait of a person who was rightfully out of their comfort zone in what is supposed to be a "routine" delivery. All of this may've been a little over-the-top, but the fact he wasn't dead yet was a good sign.

Stepping into the elevator on the right, he made a show of running his finger over the buttons before hitting his destined floor and waiting for the doors to close. After a quick sweep of the ceiling for any hidden cameras, he let out the breath he'd unknowingly been holding and allowed his shoulders to sag a bit. 'If this is the kind of thing Marcus is going to have me do from now on, I might want to invest in some more uniforms. A janitor might be a bit too conspicuous if there's no mess, so I might get a maintenance man's uniform, possibly an electrician.'

*Ding*

Waiting for the doors to open fully, as to not appear overly eager, he stepped out into the hallway like a timid rabbit, his eyes panning left to right before he made his way forward. The fifth floor appeared to have an I-shaped hallway, office doors lining the left and right sides, while a set of ornate double doors greeted him across the elevator at the other end of the building. Little to no cover if he had to make a run for it, but hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Before he could raise a hand to knock, it opened of its own accord, a dim room with sparse lighting spread out before him. Stepping in, mindful of any moves that might come across as aggressive, his eyes darted around the room, already spotting the telltale silhouettes of large men in dark suits standing in the room's corners just out of sight.

'Definitely Russian mafia,' he thought to himself as he looked around. There was a bar across from the door with shelves lined with vodka, expensive-looking carpeting lining the floor, a bookshelf to the left filled with statuettes and leather-bound books, and a large mahogany desk on the right side. A simple lamp illuminating some paperwork spread out, Virgil met the green-colored eyes of the Woman in the red dress. as the directions Marcus provided did so instruct. Though she was sitting, he could tell that she was tall and probably quite imposing at full height, with a number of burn-borne scars across her face, neck, and breasts. Her blond hair was very long, done up in a huge ponytail with the rest spilling forward over her shoulders. True to the note she was wearing a red dress, though more like a dress suit with gold buttons, and over that she was wearing a Russian Soviet Army military officer's coat with yellow bands over the shoulders; the four stars didn't get there overnight. By the beginning wrinkles around her eyes you could guess she was in her mid-forties, but she had the curvaceous body of a woman just into her thirties. If Virgil didn't think saying so would net him a shallow grave, he would openly admit that yes, he would "tap that". He blamed Dana for opening his eyes to the splendor that was the older woman. While males reached their sexual peak in their 20s, females did so in their 40s, hence the existence of "cougars".

"You have package for me, yes?" the woman asked, her tone Russian, albeit Americanized from dealing with the people of this country.

"I do," Virgil said calmly stepping forward. Reaching into his side bag with both hands, not giving the scary men in the corners any reason to shoot him, he pulled out the nondescript package and placed it on the desk in front of the paperwork.

"Sit," the woman ordered, Virgil doing so in the chair directly across from her as she moved some of her paperwork aside. Setting the twine-bound package in front of her, with practiced ease she drew a chrome-plated balisong from her pocket and twirled it open, slicing the topmost knot on the package and allowing the paper to come open. Sitting atop the unwrapped brown paper was a couple stacks of dollar bills in varying quantities bound with paper bands. Whether it was a payoff, or protection money, Virgil didn't know, he was just thankful no cops caught him with it because it would be VERY difficult to explain him walking around with what was probably several hundred dollars in used, and probably unmarked, bills bearing non-sequential serial numbers. With a bored look on her face, the woman flipped through each stack, mulling over the numbers in her head before taking note of it in the ledger on her right, which Virgil made damn sure not to stare at directly. People tended to get fitted for cement shoes for seeing what was in those things, and he preferred sneakers.

Organizing the money in front of her into orderly stacks, after crumbling up the paper and twine before tossing it in the trashcan, she then settled her eyes onto Virgil. The teen straightening up in his seat, not allowing his gaze to fall onto her cleavage since that could very well get him killed, the woman looked him over before out of nowhere, she threw her balisong right at him. Raising his clipboard which caught the knife with a loud *THUNK*, the blade protruding through the wood barely an inch away from his nose, he allowed the momentum of the throw to knock him backwards, rolling out of his chair before flipping to his feet. Grabbing the fan knife in a reverse grip while keeping the clipboard in his free hand for a throw, the four men in the corners went for the firearms at their sides, the tension in the room rising in intensity, before a curt laugh cut through the air.

"Marcus said you had fire in your eyes, but it looks like he forgot to mention the steel in your spine as well," the woman said as she waved her men down, their firearms returning to their sides before stepping back to their original positions. "Tell me, where did you learn to fight?"

" . . . Out of necessity."

"In Bludhaven that might be the case, though if you were from here, you would've made a name for yourself before today. So that raises the question," the woman said interlacing her fingers. "Where did you come from?"

"The Hudson River," Virgil answered in a half-truth, though for those who couldn't catch it, it would sooner sound like he said so jokingly.

"Hm. Well, I suppose it doesn't matter where you came from. You're coming to work for me anyway, so I won't have any problem keeping an eye on you."

"Then I'm guessing I'll be sub-contracted to you through Marcus," Virgil said as he pulled his seat back up, keeping the clipboard in hand just in case. "So what exactly did I deliver? A payout, protection money, a bribe?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Not really, no."

"Then this business transaction is complete," the woman replied. "I'm feeling generous today, so you can keep the knife. Oh," she added absentmindedly taking a fifty dollar bill from one of the stacks and tossing it forward. "And get some damn clothes."

"Yes ma'am."

*JOB INTERVIEW*

"And that's what happened," Virgil told Marcus after getting back. Of course he left out the part about the money and the knife, those he could keep for himself.

"Well, it's nice to see Moxxi isn't getting soft in handing out recommendations," Marcus said shrugging his shoulders. "Welcome to Marcus Munitions," he said putting his hand forward, Virgil giving it a firm shake.

"Great. So what do I do now?" Virgil asked dusting his hands. After barely living by the skin of his teeth in the Red Zone for about a month, any kind of work, no matter how menial, would be a vacation in comparison.

"Now, you sweep the front of the store."

" . . . "

Except that.

*JOB INTERVIEW*

NeoNazo356: To give you an idea of this chapter's setting, you first need the Bludhaven map from DC's wikia page. If you locate the text reading "Melville Section" and "St. Eustace Church", draw a line between them, and put an X in the middle, that's about where Moxxi's Red Light would be, with Hogan's Alley being on the opposite side of the interstate to the left. As for where Virgil made landfall last-chapter, you look at the ports surrounding the text "St. Eustace Church", and that's the general area he wound up. Marcus Munitions, and the Russian Mafia place he went to after leaving Moxxi's are less-defined, but within walking distance.

Spaceman: A new chapter and new characters are added. Rina Moxxi is actually based on a Marvel Heroine, the MC2 daughter of Wolverine and Elektra. Different time lines sometimes means different parentage in some cases. As the story is told, more histories and secrets will be revealed. Such as- Why is Balalaika of Hotel Moscow in Bludhaven, New Jersey instead of Roanapur, Thailand?