Lawless City

The Lawless City - Heaven's Gate

THE FREE WORLD - DESCRIPTION - CREATION INDUSTRIES - THE RECLAIMATION FORCES - LOCATION - PEOPLE - CLIMATE - PRODUCTION/TRADE - RESOURCES

The city of Heaven's Gate is far from the utopia that it was named for; crime, corruption, and poverty are what can be found here in abundance, as well as the few elite that hold all the cards and all the power. Situated on the western coastline, it is the largest city in The Free World; yet, far from Gaia and the mix of peoples and cultures that have flocked there, it is not home to any metas, nonhumans, or otherworlders.

Just like the rest of The Free World, there is no real government involvement in Heaven's Gate; the city operates under a blend of mob rule and military occupation. Those with the power make the rules, and those without have no rights. Order is kept by militaristic police forces under the authority of whatever local organization or individual holds the most power in that area. Street gangs run neighborhoods, corporations patrol the streets and protect their vendors, and vigilantie justice is the only kind that is had. Despite all of this, it is still one of the most 'lawful' cities in The Free World, outside of communities that are controlled by just one organization or individual.

The two largest forces in the city, controlling about 1/3 of it each, are Creation Industries and the Reclaimation Forces.

The Free World: The Free World, so aptly named, is a region about the size of Mexico that has abolished state government altogether. Having formerly been a part of the Federation of Democratic Republics, the society grew so corrupt and so engrossed in capitolist ideals that the goverment was little more than a commodity to be bought and sold to the highest bidder.

In an effort to save what little credibility remained, the region was deemed 'lost ground', and those who were still loyal to the governing nations packed up and left; moving into areas where the governments still had considerable influence. Now there is no government in this area, and the rich and powerful rule as far and as wide as they extend their influence without repercussions from another power. Lawlessness rules, gangs and private armies run the countryside and the cities.

For a while The Free World was used as a dumping ground for the undesirable parts of society; criminals were exiled into it, waste was dumped in large quantities without regard for the environment, even surpluss weaponry was sold to the highest bidder; a practice which the Reclaimation Forces are now clearly seeing the folly of.

Description: The city of Heaven's Gate is divided into four districts; none of which are truly distinct or defined, except for the Green District. However, the city is not divided up like a pie, giving an equal slice to each area... they are simply slang names that describe the area based upon the average economic level.

• Yellow District - The Yellow District takes up roughly 40% of the city, and holds around 50% of the population. The yellow district largely consists of low-income neighborhoods, slums, and gang territories. Mostly residential areas and small businesses are present in this area, though as they have few to no exports except for cheap labor, the economic situation in the Yellow District has steadily worsened over the years to the point that many of the residents can barely scrounge a living for themselves and their families.

The Yellow District is home to those trying to make their way, gang members, and small business owners.

Blue District - Taking up rougly 35% of the city, the Blue District is where those with money come to spend it, win it, and lose it. Individuals and families that have enough money to move out of the crime-ridden neighborhoods in the Yellow District often come here to the more stable and better taken care of parts of the city. Rougly 30% of the population reside here, and have a much better standard of living than those in the Yellow District. Factories, small businesses, and large businesses, alike, can all be found here. The Blue District ranges from suburban areas to the downtown, and the red-light district. While gang policed and protected areas of the Blue District aren't necessarilly any larger than those in the Yellow District, they are much better enforced. Because of this, street violence, store robberies, and various other crimes occur much less frequently; though the ones that do are often much better organized.

The Blue District is home to the middle class, organized crime, and large businesses.

Purple District - The home to the elite, the Purple District, takes up around 10% of the city. Only around 5% of the city's population lives there, though, due to the average size of the landholdings for those wealthy few. Most of those that live in the purple district are really just servants or thugs for the rich and the powerful, and there are very few who own more than their position in the hierarchy grants them. These few own large estates in the Purple District for themselves, as well as many other buildings and properties in and out of the city. Common crime and vandalism here is virtually nonexistant, as such a tight leash is kept on security by the goon squads, and nearly the only times that a crime is committed is at the hands of a criminal leader's goon squad, or when two crime families go to war with each other.

The Purple District is home to the wealthy elite, the heads of crime organizations, and the headquarters of corporations.

Green District - Taking up 15% of the area of the city, the Green District encompasses a large section of what used to be the Yellow District and a chunk of what used to be in the Blue District, as well. This district is controlled by the Reclaimation Forces, and it is parolled tightly. About 15% of the population reside here, under the umbrella of the military. Civilians need a special pass to even pass the checkpoints into the area, unless they manage to find a way to sneak into the district through some other means. At the edge of the city, near the heart of the Green District, the military officials live in luxury. Crime here is nearly nonexistant, thanks to the armed patrols that roam the streets regularly. Other than this, the area closely resembles the economic and business situations of the Yellow and Blue districts; though trade between the Green District and any of the others is taxed.

The Green District is home to the Reclaimation Forces, and lower and middle-class citizens.

White Tower - Thirty seven stories high, and standing proudly at the north end of the city, White Tower is a symbol of Creation Industries' influence. It houses the offices of CI executives, city officials, and even foreign embassies. The underground laboratory beneath the tower, which extends into the face and the heart of the mountain behind it that it is partially built into, are under lock and key to anyone without the proper clearence. The CI R&D labs are here, as well as the munitions and heavy robotics factories.

The top few floors of the tower hold the offices of the highest executives in the company, with the private offices of Vincent White on the top floor.

Creation Industries: Creation Industries, the corporate superpower in Heaven's Gate for the past five years, has recently been expanding its influence into other regions. Most of The Free World uses a large amount of products shipped by Creation Industries or its subsidiaries, and they have recently begun shipping products overseas, as well.

Originally VerTech Pharmasuticals, a business based out of the Blue District and owned by local-born businessman Henry Dillan, in the past ten years the business has grown incredibly; innitially aquiring ownership of many local distributors and exclusively selling their products through them, profits quickly increased. With the aquisition of a local factory, the company became independant of suppliers, and was able control its own product quality and availability. There were no magic tricks or secrets to how VerTech became so large so quickly; the products spoke for themselves with the low cost and wide distribution that soon made VerTech the exclusive supplier of medical goods in Heaven's Gate.

The company renamed itself six years ago, after three major landmarks: the buying out of InterPower, one of the leading distributors of robotics in the city, the completion of White Tower, the newfounded Creation Industries headquarters building, and the transfer of ownership from Henry Dillan to his long-time protege Vincent White. The previous lack of media attention directed at young Vincent (only 13 years old at the time) was completely shattered by this new development, and rumors quickly arose as to the reasons for this bold move by the aging Dillan; one of which involved the corrolation between Dillan's adoption of the boy five years earlier, and the recent rise to success of the company over the last four.

Creation Industries, while seeking to monopolize distribution and sales of goods in the Heaven's Gate area, has always maintined the same low prices and product quality that made them number one in the first place. Their police forces patrol the streets regularly, keeping down crime in the Blue District, as well as responding to emergency calls from all over the city. While some may complain that with the way CI is headed, Vincent White will soon rule the city like a dictator, not a soul in the city can deny the good that has from the myriad charities, medicare programs, policing actions, and low-income housing options that Creation Industries has made publicly available.

Creation Industries is a main supplier of the following items in Heaven's Gate and the surrounding area: Medical supplies and medicines, medical machinery, prosthetics, factory robotics, automotive parts, chemical substances of all types, and basic human services. CI owns the power company, the city water supply, and one of the local news networks. They provide courier services throughout the city, as well as arranging for similar services with out of town shipments, have established local fire houses throughout the city, and in addition to owning a half dozen hospitals, donates supplies to all others throughout the city, as well as offering medical training for doctors and staff. The CI Learning Institute in the Blue District also provides all the services of a community college to the public. All in all, Creation Industries performs the tasks that one would normally expect of city officials; even going so far as to collect taxes and perform roadwork.

Two years ago, in an attempted coup, the Reclaimation Forces attacked White Tower openly. While losses were suffered on both sides, the Reclaimation Forces were eventually driven back. After this, Vincent White filed a complaint with the FDR, and petitioned for The Free World to be recognized as a nation. The petition has been held up by heated debate in the Federation Congress for the past two years, and the issue has still not yet been resolved; though if The Free World was to be recognized as such, it would make any further attacks by the Reclaimation Forces an act of open war.

The Reclaimation Forces: The Reclaimation Forces are a military organization dispatched by the FDR in order to reintroduce government rule into The Free World. Bit by bit they expand their influence, recapturing lost ground in the name of the nations that lost it. Their methods are often brutal, and they are prepared for conflict if it arises with the local authorities in an area that they have set their sights upon.

Currently, however, they are confined to the Green District by a joint effort of the local organized crime families defending the city interior, and the blockade errected between the Green District and the rest of the city by Creation Industries. Both through firepower and diplomatic relations started up between the FDR Congress and the unofficial leader of Heaven's Gate, Vincent White, the advancement of the Reclaimation Forces into the city has been stopped for the time being.

The current commander of the occupying forces is Colonol Frank Edwards, who was appointed after the court martial of the previous commander, General Seth Grathael; the whereabouts of whom are currently unknown.

Location: Situated on the western coastline in The Free World, Heaven's Gate is separated from Gaia by the Federation of Democratic Republics to the east and south until the end of the land, and then by hundreds of miles of the Justenian Sea. To reach Durem by plane, it would take about a six hour flight.

The surrounding area is mostly flat, with rolling hills moving inland. To the north and northeast there is a forested mountian range. To the south, the beginnings of the badlands.

People: The people of Heaven's Gate, while living in a region without law, are not without order. Though there is no government to dictate rules to them, there are still the morals and ideals that bind society together. Communities pull together tightly and operate under their own rules. Anarchy is hardly a reason for people to commit crimes anymore, as there is no government to rebel against, so for the most part even the criminals are interested in the common good. A local street gang might charge protection money from a neighborhood in exchange for defending their homes and businesses from rival gangs, or a crime lord might sell off the merchandise from a recent warehouse raid at a very low cost, so that all the merchandise is moved and a profit is still turned.

Aside from some of the lowlifes that you could hardly call human, that is what the majority, nearly all, in fact, of the population is. Only recently has CI begun trade relations with Gaia and started attracting attention to itself. A few nonhumans may migrate into the city, but for the most part the population is 100% mundane.

Climate: The weather ranges from hot and humid in the summers to mild snowfall in the winters, with the occasional blizzard. However, for the most part the climate can be described as damp. Warm durring the days, cool durring the nights, and seeming to rain on and off nearly every day. The city is always filled with a fog that rolls in from the coast and mixes with the dirty atmosphere of the city, where the wind can't take it away. Because of that, the city is almost always cloudy and grey.

Outside of the city, however, the wind sweeps away the fog, leaving partly cloudy skies with frequent rainfall, but a generally warm temperature.

Production/Trade: Creation Industries produces nearly all of the exports that the city has. With the surrounding farmland providing the city with food and CI covering many of the consumable needs of the population, Heaven's Gate does not import a great deal of products, other than materials that are refined and then turned into exportable goods.

Resources: There is an abundance of open land outside of the city which has been rationed out to farmers and sharecroppers to ensure that the city population is provided for. As it is on the coastline, fishing vessels set out from the port on a daily basis. And the mountains to the north provide both lumber and stores of minerals just waiting to be mined.

[ Reserved post for something. ]

Kitten Only Wrote:

((How about a layout of the SODs headquarters for that empty reserved post. ))

Okay, it's a room on the thirty-fifth floor of White Tower. Beside the express elevator. There's a divided sex bathroom across the hall. And a water cooler. And desks. If you want I can draw a map, but I don't think it's that necessary unless a fight breaks out in the room or something. St. Andrew has his own office, cuz he's cool, and everyone else shares a big room. The office 'structure' takes up about 1/3 of the 35th floor of the tower.

Vahn Kyonuske Wrote:

> Rosalind Wrote: > A young woman born in the slums of Durem, Rosalind is a stern, serious sort of person. She entered Military School where her father is an instructor. Rumour has it that her entry was influenced by him, though it has not been confirmed whether he had any direct bearing on the decision for her entry. Under the stern tutelage of her father, she flourished, becoming a top marksman, even surpassing the very man who had taught her. She graduated with honours at the top of her year, and was recruited immediately afterwards. > > > > > Her skill with guns and her steadfast personality have gained her Matthew's absolute trust. She is loyal; she will stick by her comrades in a fight, and betrayal is an alien concept to her. The one flaw in her personality lies in her seriousness. She is a person that sees the world in a linear fashion, and any deviation from that perception of the world is not welcome to her. Others may have accused her of being rigid in her thinking, for she will often get an idea and refuse to budge from it if she thinks she is right. > > > > > Weapon: Handgun > > > > > Random Notes > > > > > 1. The relationship between Rosalind and her father is implied to be less of a father-daughter relationship and more of a professional one. > > > > > 2. She uses proper polite forms of speech with everybody she meets, even using the proper honorific forms when she addresses her coworkers. The only people this does not apply to are soldiers, civilians and St. Andrew. > > > > > 3. Rosalind is a good support player. She's rarely caught off guard, and her strength is second only to Durman. The only thing is that she's a horrible close range fighter, so you'll either want to make sure your enemies don't get too close to you, or that you have a good sense of where your enemy will attack from. > > > > > - Kitten Only -

> St. Andrew Wrote: > St. Andrew is a rather brash, proud young man. An ex-gang leader, he spent his time getting into turf wars with other gangs and running about on various stolen motorbikes. Made the leader of his gang at the age of 18, St. Andrew's towering self-confidence allowed the members of his gang to place full and complete trust in their young leader. Having come so far in his short life and never knowing the taste of defeat he lived life with the certainty that nothing could possibly take him down. It was that sense of overweening pride that prompted him to test out his skills by trying to steal that motorbike. > > > > > In the rather brutal fight that ensued in his attempted escape from the Goverment building, he realized that perhaps he wasn?t the big shot that he thought he was. He quickly realized that if he wanted to become the best, he?d have to work with the best and accepted the offer of employment. He now has his sights set on becoming the best there is in that small group, and has aspirations for leadership. > > > > > Weapon: Electric Metal Rod > > > > > Random Notes > > > > > 1. St. Andrew is something of an expert in the area of maintenance and repair of motorcycles. He's also a good driver, though I wonder if that applies to other vehicles as well or if it only applies to his driving skills on a bike. > > > > > 2. St. Andrew has the tendency to become, in the words of one of my friends, "psycho absorbed" during a fight. During the course of a battle or just after it, he'll sometimes swing his weapon at you. In other words, there are times he loses himself during a fight, and sometimes isn't careful about distinguishing between friend and foe. His impulsive, rather rash attitude may also contribute to this. > > > > > 3. The speech patterns he uses in the game are rather uncouth and informal, something that's especially evident when he's around his friends. > > > > > 4. He doesn't particularly like snow. > > > > > - Vahn Kyonuske -

> Sayaka Wrote: > Sayaka is a hunter who has been raised in Barton. The (presumably) only daughter of a well to do family, she is the epitome of genteel breeding, and has developed a taste for particular hobbies that accord with that breeding. Her love for hunting was instilled in her at a young age, and her skill in that area ? and her expertise with the shotgun in particular ? what was caught the attention of the people that recruited her. She's a fan of big game hunting, and it shows in her work as well. While big missions incite a certain zealous enthusiasm in her, the smaller missions don?t really hold her interest. Sayaka is a rather flashy person with a flair for the melodramatic. She has a firm grasp of who she is and is confident in what she can do. > > > > > Weapon: Shotgun > > > > > Random Notes > > > > > 1. Sayaka is often referred to as the "young lass" The image this conveys is of a princess, or a daddy?s little girl. It is implied that her parents doted on their daughter, and she was given the best of everything, so it stands to reason. > > > > > 2. She comes off as a bit over the top in some situations. > > > > > - Kitten Only -

> Rafe Wrote: > Rafe is a former bodyguard to the Von Helson Sisters. He's a fast and accurate shot with a gun, and is something of a legend in the world he inhabited. It was said that by the time you looked upon his gun(s), you were already dead. Rafe eventually grew tired of the world he was working in; more to the point, he was tired of the politics that overran the scene in Durem and decided he wanted out. > > > > > It was around that time that he got an offer. Knowing that his dissatisfaction with his situation wasn't likely to go away, and that his defection would not be kindly looked upon by the Sisters, he accepted, leaving the underground world and its intrigues behind. Cool headed and a consummate professional, he carries out his orders, and he carries them out well. > > > > > There is only one major flaw Rafe has. He has spent almost his whole life under the radar, and quite a bit of time in the Sister's employment. As a result, he is used to doing things a certain way. He often comes to loggerheads while on his missions because he now has protocol to follow, and team members he has to work in tandem with. This is something that he has to get used to if he is to succeed in a formal working environment, especially where the ability to follow orders and do things exactly the way Matthew want them done is paramount to his success survival. > > > > > Weapon: Handgun [x2] > > > > > Random Notes > > > > > - themightyjello -

> Cyr Wrote: > Cyr is a mercenary recruited when Matthew decides that they are lacking the required manpower to deal with problems. As a mercenary, Cyr has seen a lot of battle, and is certainly used to taking orders, so her adjustment is easier than it has been for some. A thoroughly businesslike woman on a mission, she gets her work done with a minimum of fuss. She is level headed, alert and perceptive, and is able to assess a situation and take the most prudent course of action. > > > > > She uses a special kind of attack style that involves twisting herself in the air mid-jump and kicking out at her opponents. When executed just right, she can run through a series of attacks in succession, leaving her opponents dazed and often incapacitated. > > > > > Weapon: CQC > > > > > Random Notes > > > > > 1. She almost exclusively uses male speech patterns. Having worked as a mercenary for as long as she has (naturally, most of those mercenaries were men) she just sort of picked up on their speech and behavioural patterns. She became, essentially, "one of the guys". This isn?t to say that she's "butch", because there are things about her and the way she acts sometimes that are distinctly feminine. She's just grown accustomed to being the way she is. > > > > > - Shouyin -

> Durman Wrote: > Durman was brought aboard at about the same time as Cyr. He is an ex-detective from Gambino, where he solved some rather complicated cases. A passionate, hot blooded and courageous man, he puts his all into everything he does ? a trait that carries through to his personal as well as professional life. > > > > > His tendency to rely on his emotions eventually got the better of Durman. He got himself into trouble, presumably in the course of his work and, finding no way out, took the job offered to him by the Goverment who had been recruiting him for some time. > > > > > Weapon: CQC > > > > > Random Notes > > > > > 1. Durman is extraordinarily strong physically. The punches he packs almost always do more damage than most of his other teammates attacks. However, the downside to this is that he moves rather slowly when attacking. There will be a moment's pause during which he rears back to punch, which gives the enemy time to attack. > > > > > 2. He is also something of a gentleman. He speaks courteously to women ? this actually irritates Cyr, and their interactions are some of the more amusing ones. > > > > > - Shouyin -

A young woman born in the slums of Durem, Rosalind is a stern, serious sort of person. She entered Military School where her father is an instructor. Rumour has it that her entry was influenced by him, though it has not been confirmed whether he had any direct bearing on the decision for her entry. Under the stern tutelage of her father, she flourished, becoming a top marksman, even surpassing the very man who had taught her. She graduated with honours at the top of her year, and was recruited immediately afterwards.

Her skill with guns and her steadfast personality have gained her Matthew's absolute trust. She is loyal; she will stick by her comrades in a fight, and betrayal is an alien concept to her. The one flaw in her personality lies in her seriousness. She is a person that sees the world in a linear fashion, and any deviation from that perception of the world is not welcome to her. Others may have accused her of being rigid in her thinking, for she will often get an idea and refuse to budge from it if she thinks she is right.

Weapon: Handgun

Random Notes

1. The relationship between Rosalind and her father is implied to be less of a father-daughter relationship and more of a professional one.

2. She uses proper polite forms of speech with everybody she meets, even using the proper honorific forms when she addresses her coworkers. The only people this does not apply to are soldiers, civilians and St. Andrew.

3. Rosalind is a good support player. She's rarely caught off guard, and her strength is second only to Durman. The only thing is that she's a horrible close range fighter, so you'll either want to make sure your enemies don't get too close to you, or that you have a good sense of where your enemy will attack from.

- Kitten Only -

St. Andrew is a rather brash, proud young man. An ex-gang leader, he spent his time getting into turf wars with other gangs and running about on various stolen motorbikes. Made the leader of his gang at the age of 18, St. Andrew's towering self-confidence allowed the members of his gang to place full and complete trust in their young leader. Having come so far in his short life and never knowing the taste of defeat he lived life with the certainty that nothing could possibly take him down. It was that sense of overweening pride that prompted him to test out his skills by trying to steal that motorbike.

In the rather brutal fight that ensued in his attempted escape from the Goverment building, he realized that perhaps he wasn?t the big shot that he thought he was. He quickly realized that if he wanted to become the best, he?d have to work with the best and accepted the offer of employment. He now has his sights set on becoming the best there is in that small group, and has aspirations for leadership.

Weapon: Electric Metal Rod

Random Notes

1. St. Andrew is something of an expert in the area of maintenance and repair of motorcycles. He's also a good driver, though I wonder if that applies to other vehicles as well or if it only applies to his driving skills on a bike.

2. St. Andrew has the tendency to become, in the words of one of my friends, "psycho absorbed" during a fight. During the course of a battle or just after it, he'll sometimes swing his weapon at you. In other words, there are times he loses himself during a fight, and sometimes isn't careful about distinguishing between friend and foe. His impulsive, rather rash attitude may also contribute to this.

3. The speech patterns he uses in the game are rather uncouth and informal, something that's especially evident when he's around his friends.

4. He doesn't particularly like snow.

- Vahn Kyonuske -

Sayaka is a hunter who has been raised in Barton. The (presumably) only daughter of a well to do family, she is the epitome of genteel breeding, and has developed a taste for particular hobbies that accord with that breeding. Her love for hunting was instilled in her at a young age, and her skill in that area ? and her expertise with the shotgun in particular ? what was caught the attention of the people that recruited her. She's a fan of big game hunting, and it shows in her work as well. While big missions incite a certain zealous enthusiasm in her, the smaller missions don?t really hold her interest. Sayaka is a rather flashy person with a flair for the melodramatic. She has a firm grasp of who she is and is confident in what she can do.

Weapon: Shotgun

Random Notes

1. Sayaka is often referred to as the "young lass" The image this conveys is of a princess, or a daddy?s little girl. It is implied that her parents doted on their daughter, and she was given the best of everything, so it stands to reason.

2. She comes off as a bit over the top in some situations.

- Kitten Only -

Rafe is a former bodyguard to the Von Helson Sisters. He's a fast and accurate shot with a gun, and is something of a legend in the world he inhabited. It was said that by the time you looked upon his gun(s), you were already dead. Rafe eventually grew tired of the world he was working in; more to the point, he was tired of the politics that overran the scene in Durem and decided he wanted out.

It was around that time that he got an offer. Knowing that his dissatisfaction with his situation wasn't likely to go away, and that his defection would not be kindly looked upon by the Sisters, he accepted, leaving the underground world and its intrigues behind. Cool headed and a consummate professional, he carries out his orders, and he carries them out well.

There is only one major flaw Rafe has. He has spent almost his whole life under the radar, and quite a bit of time in the Sister's employment. As a result, he is used to doing things a certain way. He often comes to loggerheads while on his missions because he now has protocol to follow, and team members he has to work in tandem with. This is something that he has to get used to if he is to succeed in a formal working environment, especially where the ability to follow orders and do things exactly the way Matthew want them done is paramount to his success survival.

Weapon: Handgun [x2]

Random Notes

- themightyjello -

Cyr is a mercenary recruited when Matthew decides that they are lacking the required manpower to deal with problems. As a mercenary, Cyr has seen a lot of battle, and is certainly used to taking orders, so her adjustment is easier than it has been for some. A thoroughly businesslike woman on a mission, she gets her work done with a minimum of fuss. She is level headed, alert and perceptive, and is able to assess a situation and take the most prudent course of action.

She uses a special kind of attack style that involves twisting herself in the air mid-jump and kicking out at her opponents. When executed just right, she can run through a series of attacks in succession, leaving her opponents dazed and often incapacitated.

Weapon: CQC

Random Notes

1. She almost exclusively uses male speech patterns. Having worked as a mercenary for as long as she has (naturally, most of those mercenaries were men) she just sort of picked up on their speech and behavioural patterns. She became, essentially, "one of the guys". This isn?t to say that she's "butch", because there are things about her and the way she acts sometimes that are distinctly feminine. She's just grown accustomed to being the way she is.

- Shouyin -

Durman was brought aboard at about the same time as Cyr. He is an ex-detective from Gambino, where he solved some rather complicated cases. A passionate, hot blooded and courageous man, he puts his all into everything he does ? a trait that carries through to his personal as well as professional life.

His tendency to rely on his emotions eventually got the better of Durman. He got himself into trouble, presumably in the course of his work and, finding no way out, took the job offered to him by the Goverment who had been recruiting him for some time.

Weapon: CQC

Random Notes

1. Durman is extraordinarily strong physically. The punches he packs almost always do more damage than most of his other teammates attacks. However, the downside to this is that he moves rather slowly when attacking. There will be a moment's pause during which he rears back to punch, which gives the enemy time to attack.

2. He is also something of a gentleman. He speaks courteously to women ? this actually irritates Cyr, and their interactions are some of the more amusing ones.

- Shouyin -

((How about a layout of the SODs headquarters for that empty reserved post. ))

"Why in the hell can't I see him?"

The brunette looked at the blond barring her way into the office with a glare that bordered on absolute hatred, despite having only walked into the foyer ten seconds previously and having exchanged only a single sentence. Her voice was quickly becoming a screech, much like an owl with constipation.

The blond merely sighed and crossed her arms over one another, the visible grip upon her sleeve telling that she was already aggitatied but wasn't about to show it in any more manner then this. "Because, Miss Sayaka. Mr. St. Andrew is busy." Using the leader's name formally to get it through to the showy woman that not everyone would get caught up in the drama.

The glare that Sayaka shot at the blond would have been enough to kill lesser men, but Rosalind said nothing more, just waited for her coworker to leave, her eyesight moving over the small office that the CI S.O.D.s were based out of. It was in between 'grand' missions that Sayaka got cranky and then usually it was left to Rosalind to deal with her since she was 'female' and thus understood her. Like anyone could understand the over the top brunette.

"You know, Miss Rosalind, for coming from the blue district, you sure are uppity when it comes to St. Andrew." Smiling as she spoke, so there was no chance of it being considered insubordination or even harassment, though that was in fact what it was. Everyone knew the two didn't exactly get along but they worked together well enough on the team, it was only when it go personal that it got nasty. And it only got personal in between big missions. It was a danger after all to send Sayaka on a normal one. She liked showing off far too much for that.

From the tips of their perfectly polished boots to the tip of their perfectly coifed heads, they were both professional and perfect. The boots glimmered in light, their clothing pressed. It was only the small things that set apart their personality differences within. The loose cuffs upon Sayaka?s sleeve. The precise and perfect posture of Roasalind. The little things that no matter how elite they both were within their ranks, they were worlds apart otherwise.

"I may be a guttersnipe, Miss Sayaka, but at least I know when to leave St. Andrew alone and deal with my own small and petty problems that don?t concern him. His job is his. 'I' don?t tell him how to assign anyone, let alone myself." Her head cocking to the side and she simply smiled blandly at the other woman, who silently fumed. Rosalind had obviously known exactly what she had wanted to talk to St. Andrew about.

The brunette threw up her hands dramatically and loudly sighed, allowing any of the other members of the S.O.D.s in the outer office to hear. A faintly whispered, ?Here she goes again? could be heard before the full tirade began. "We've been assigned to home base for how many weeks now? How many Rosa, how many? We haven't done anything vaguely interesting in all that time. I've given up hunting, spending time with my family, just to sit in this office all day, awaiting the word from the almighty St. Andrew that the bossman has given us an assignment that is actually something worthy of our skills. Why shouldn't I complain."

Rosalind waited until the little 'Diva' was finished before she calmly explained, her arms uncrossing and standing at her sides. Peering down at the other woman from behind her glasses she began and ended simply. "Because you simply won?t accept any assignment unless it's big enough or grandeous enough to fit in the drama that you think your life deserves is not a reason to ...complain."

Though it was obvious she wanted to use another word, like whine, or b***h. "... to St. Andrew. He has tried giving you other assignments but none of them are worthy of your time. So the rest of us go out and do them. We are paid to do a job and we do it well. " She looked over at the others and nodded formally, acknowledging their existence.

"But we don't always get to pick our assignment. Now go back to your desk, and if he has another one that might fit you, I'm sure he will call you back to his office." Leaving the other woman to fume and stomp back to her desk. They had this same conversation every day and every day, it ended the same way.

The scenery went by fast. Too fast.

Gloved hands revved the handles up a bit further, increasing the already insane speeds he was cruising at. His eyes never veered from the stretch of highway, the black helmet making sure to protect his eyes, and head of course, from the windshear; even if it did clash with the black suit he wore.

A steady beeping sounded off in his right ear, causing him to move one of his hands up to the earpeice there. The amount of balance he maintained on the bike was admirable to say the least.

A crash at these speeds would leave him into an unindetifiable paste, splattered all over. But of course, he didn't seem to mind.

"Hey." His right hand resumed it's place on the right handle, and he moved into the right lane. "Gotcha. Hook me up with the rest of the crew, I'll let 'em know, yo."

The biker continued speeding along, zooming and manuevering through a few other cars and trucks. Ahead, in the distance, a large White Tower slowly came into view.

At this point, the same steady beeping would be heard on every other SOD's PDA (dunno what loadout they have in terms of staying in contact with one another, so feel free to put cell, walktie talkie, magical bean, whatever).

The silver bike zoomed along, getting a helluva lot closer.

Down the block, word soon got to the home of the Urban wolverine's. There was a scramble of men, as they grabbed weapons here or there, leaving a few men behind just in case, and setting out.

Though many did stay in there homes, several gang members prepared, setting some bottles with rags hanging out the top on the tables near the windos, and waiting for the jeeps and such to get close. Three in all, two on the left of the convoy, and one on the right, yet they were a bit ahead of them.

"Surrender now, and face trial!" the man with the loudspeaker continued to shout from down the street. They weren't ready to move into firing range just yet. A sniper could get them from here, or vice versa... though the range was pretty far for conventional close-range firearms, and the angle was bad for the turret to fire on the building from.

The two jeeps revved up their engines, two men jumping off from the backs of them to join the men in the street and the remaining spare man jumping up to man the mounted chaingun in the back, and the man waved his hand in cue, even without giving an order to the men. The eight soldiers in front and the two jeeps moved forewards, the men keeping to the side of the street that the building was on, while the jeeps drove up onto the curb on the opposite side to give the chainguns a better firing radius.

"Resistance will only result in injury or death! Surrender now, criminals!"

It seemed convenient for the Reclaimation forces to forget that the 'criminals' were the only thing keeping this neighborhood safe from real crime.

(( PHS... cough ...I mean... cell phone. And GPS locator for the CI satelite, but that doesn't really get in contact with them, just lets HQ know where they are if they're less than 10 feet below ground. ))

"Hut! Hut! Ha-HUT!" Every shout of exertion was accompanied by a dull thud as a fist, an elbow, or a foot struck one of the many punching bags in an otherwise nearly empty room on the 30th floor.

Two strikes. Rafe slammed an elbow into one of the bags, causing it to swing back slightly and rattle the chains which suspended it from the ceiling; with a twist of his body and a step to the side he threw a backhand into the side of the same bag an instant later.

Four strikes. He pivoted on one foot and spun around to face it full on again, letting his back foot touch the ground for only a split second before he pushed off of it again and twisted his entire body to throw the heel of his left hand into the center of the 100 lb bag, which swung back about eighteen inches. Both his hands pulled in towards his chest, and he rolled back onto the heel of his back foot as his knee bent. Then he straightened out and threw his arms forwards with a strike as the bag swung back, using the heels of both hands this time.

"Excuse me, Rafe, si-"

Click.

"...si~r..." the receptionist for the fitness area on the 30th floor nervously took a step back towards the outer room; her knees shaking.

"...yes?" Rafe uncocked the weapon, sliding it back into the back of his pants, with the handle against the small of his back. The punching bag was still swinging back and forth, rattling the chains which held it up. Watching the woman, he crossed the room to a small bench against the wall, where he picked up a towel and began wiping the sweat from his shoulders.

"You... have a call, sir."

"I'll be right out." He picked up his shirt from the bench and pulled it quickly over his head, padding over the tatami mats on the floor towards the light of the doorway in the otherwise dark rom.

"This is your last warning! Surrender peacefully, criminals!" The man hopped down from where he was sitting, getting onto the far side of the tank and using it for cover as he walked along beside it, but into the open yet. The tank hadn't advanced, it still was down the block from the building.

The twelve soldiers, now, that were moving in towards the building did so in teams of four; passing each ally in incriments and keeping their rifles trained on the building, watching for enemy fire and waiting for a signal. The jeeps pulled up in front of the building across the street, and the two mounted chainguns on the back swiveled up to face the buildling.

The man with the loudspeaker waved his hand, and one of the chainguns opened fire; tracing a line of bulletholes along the building between the first and second floor. Warning shots... so far.

"Lack of responce will be taken as a declination of surrender!"

Two figures approached the might Shin--- I mean White, Tower. One, a man, wore a long dark grey overcoat over a white dress shirt, black and grey striped button-up vest, and black suit jacket. Accompanying these items were a pair of black suit pants to go with the jacket, two sturdy, but well polished, black shoes, a pair of leather glothes, and a blood red tie tucked under the vest. He was obviously getting on in years. Rough skin hid behind a grey moustache, and thick, pointy beard running up his jawline and meeting his short grey hair.

And to finish the package?

A very dark grey trilby pulled down and to the right over his head.

This was Durman.

The other, a woman, was considerably under dressed in comparison to her companion. In fact, if they were standing but a few inches farther apart, one would think them two separate parties, with different destinations entirely. Shoulder-length blond hair was tied up loosely behind baby blue eyes. A dark green t-shirt pulled over average breasts, a thin silver necklace, worn blue jeans and a pair of black sneakers was everything else worth noting about her.

Oh, and she had a small gold hoop earring in either ear.

That was Cyr.

~

Their two cell phones then decided to ring in unison. One came out of a coat pocket, the other a pants one, and both were flipped open and pressed to their respective ears. With the same unnerving symmetry they were closed and returned to their pockets. Coincidentally, they'd reached the doors of the place they were meant told to go to almost immediately after the short phone conversation finished.

"Well, after you good lady." Durman stepped over a tad and motioned politely to Cyr.

"Oh shut up." But she entered through the doors nonetheless.

Sustained chaingun fier is grossly innaccurate, though it was accurate enough to clip the sniper in question, effectly taking a nice chunk out of his leg. He fell face first onto the ground, and screamed out in pain, rolling on the ground in agony. His rifle landed next to him. He wasn't about to be getting up to shoot again.

The second sniper quickly chambered another round and aimed for the one still firing upon his buddy. He quickly fired as the crosshairs settled onto the man's neck/head area.

The molotov throwers weren't fired upon, so it gave them proper time to reposition. Two of them picked up their extras and ran to another window in the building, while the last one, the one closet to the shooters, lit another molotov and threw it through the other flames, in an attempt to keep the soldiers at bay.

The line of men situated behind cover found it best to stay behind it, and though the shots coming through the fire were in the dark, they were somewhat accurate. One of the men managed to put his gun above cover and fire several rounds through the fire from his Steyr submachine gun. Blind shots, and random at best. Maybe he'd catch someone in the leg or something.

Someone on the right side of the group, however, took the opportunity to aim his bolt action rifle and aim it at the fleeing jeep, trying to get a good shot at the tires. When he fired, he hoped he'd at least gotten them to swerve and turn over.

Sayaka leaned against the side of the elevator doors, simply waiting for everyone to get there, the almost negligent look to the woman appearing as if she hadn't a cae in the world to the passerby. But anyone who knew or worked witht he woman, would see she was on high alert and slightly excited. The brunette's eyes constantly looked around them in approval of the high class digs.

"So what do you think..." Whatever it was she was going to say cut off by motion of Rosalind making a slashing motion towards her neck. As the elevator reached them, Rosalind mentally checked off each person who appeared untill all were gathered.

A slender finger reached to press the up button beside a pair of closed elevator doors, but was swiftly interrupted by a leather glove covered one swooping in and pushing it instead. The gloved finger returned to a right hand which returned to the rim of a hat, which Durman tilted slightly in Cyr's direction.

"Shove it Mr. Gentleman."

Durman grinned just slightly, and watched the blinking lights indictating what floor the elevator was currently on during it's journey downwards. Fast forward three seconds and the pair of doors standing in front them slid open and Durman stood still.

"God damn it, this again? Someday I'm going to kick you in the head Durman."

"Yes yes." He stepped in ahead of her, to his great discontent, turning around to watch her come in behind him. -She- pressed the button marked thirty seven before he got the chance to, and they both headed up up and away. With their arrival on the designated floor they'd head to the office of Vincent White.

Durman nodded to St. Andrew upon their entrance.

"Seems like it. But I think we are missing someone."

"Yeah, yeah, and who would that be?" Rafe sauntered slowly down the hallway from the stairwell beside the elevator at the other end. His face, like always, was a perfect expression of calm sarcasm, even if he was the one that they were all waiting for.

His left hand in the pocket of his undone jacket, the top two buttons on his shirt unbuttoned, his tie hanging loosely around his neck with about six inches of slack in it, and his mid-length blonde hair slicked back over his head; still wet from the gym showers. Though that was hardly an excuse for his appearence... this was about as professional as he ever looked. Though with the piercing gaze of his jade green eyes watching over the top brim of a thin pair of sunglasses that rested halfway down on his nose and an unlit cigarette hanging from his lip (unlit only due to the policy of no smoking in the building), he was unmistakable as either an agent or a player... perhaps both.

"Chief!" he said, lifting his chin a little when he neared the doors, "You know what we're up to this time?"

(( I need to edit the bios a little bit... some of the stuff mentions Gaia in it, I should edit it to include parts of HG or mafia families in the area instead... ))

"Defintely," Sayaka smiled at the attention given to her by St. Andrew but was still profesional about it all and moved to follow after but before she could move, Rosalind was there, her head slightly down as she moved behind St. Andrew. One eyebrow raised as she looked at her coworker. "You okay Rosa, you look flushed suddenly?" Drawing attention to the fact as was her style, but didn't have time to say anything else before they were moving into the office of the bossman himself and all was business once more.

"I am fine Sayaka." her hastily mumbled words spoken before the flush deepened for just a moment then faded completely and all was well again. Her blue eyes took in everything around them, it was easily to see Rosalind analyzing everything around them, making everything was secure. Last but not least, her eyes fixated on the man's back in front of her, St. Andrew, waiting to see what was next in store.

((Suddenly wants to draw the whole group...odd that... And yes, I'll go back to bed now. ))

"Heh, you wouldn't have called us in if it was otherwise, President White." (( ALBINO KING! :One Piece crew does the hand slap: ))

Stopping at a respectable distance, he stood straight up, both hands resting slightly within the pockets of his slacks. Behind him, stood the assembled SOD members.....for the most part.

(( There is no "Albino King" character in One Piece.

I was just making a joke, and whenever a joke is directed towards the audience in One Piece, the characters sorta slap their hands to the side and get funny looks on their faces. ))

Durman slowly raised a finger, confirming that cold weather was to his taste.

Cyr punched him in the shoulder.

With one step, Rosalind placed herself beside St. Andrew, saying more eloquantly then words where she'd prefer to be but as always she would do as she was told and she would do her upmost best to perform and exceed standard. Her back ramrod straight, her piercing blue eyes followed Vincent White's form as he paced, her expression inquistive but polite.

A small giggle erupted from Sayaka though, "A little winter 'hunt' never hurt anyone. It's exhilarating. The chill in your face, the thrill of the hunt as you see the beauty of nature in all her starkness.. " Then again, she considered all missions hunts, where the best excelled and she was proud to be one of the best. "....err... " A hand quuickly darted behind her head to rub at her neck in embarrassment as her face flushed. "...I mean...I like the cold." Glancing around at the men to dare any of them to say a word about her outburst.

Albino King Wrote:

Taking count on each of their reactions, President White stepped casually behind his desk again, and picked up one closed packet of papers from the top of his desk; leaving another one behind underneath it. He looked to the group of six once more, taking the time to rethink his decisions, but only shook his head slowly in agreement with his earlier decisions.

"Cyr, Rosalind, Rafe!" he slammed his hand down upon the desk in front of him; the loud sound echoing throughout otherwise silent office. "You are the representatives."

He stood straight again, walking to the group of operatives and handing the packet to the closest member of the team; Cyr.

"You three will be meeting a contact that has been arranged for you. A local agent that Mr. Black has contracted. All the information you'll need is in there. Your plane will be departing from Dock 12 in four hours."

Rafe Wrote:

"Where we going?" Rafe asked, one hand still in his pocket as he peeked over St. Andrew's shoulder from his spot at the back of the group; taking a glance at the unmarked package that had been handed over to Cyr.

Albino King Wrote:

"East, my man... east. To Durem."

"Ohhh... I sure do miss that place."

St. Andrew placed both hands along the insides of his pockets now, leaning back on the balls of his feet. "And us? You got anything for us, boss?"

Sayaka Wrote:

The brunette's eyes had gleamed at the word 'representives'. That sounded important. But she managed to restrain herself and simply took fact in the sastifaction that Rosalind would be seperated from St. Andrew at least. Sure it was petty, but until she found out if her mission would be worthy of her time, she would still indulge in small things like that. It would nevr affect her work.

Rosalind Wrote:

Blue eyes brightened, then darkened though almost unnoticably as President White spoke her name along with the other two. Her loyalty was absolute however and there would be no complaint from her. She made a small formal salute before turning and waiting for Cyr to finish perusing the letter, so she could have a look at them, herself.

Though she knew that St. Andrew didn't like the cold, and Durem wasn't exactly cold so whatever mission he was being sent on would by all logic deal with that, seeing as how she doubted the Albino King had brought it up for no reason, there was no outside sign of that remorse for the man she respected.

Rosalind Wrote:

There wasn't a single glimmer of spite on her face, but she was pleased by her mission compared to that of Sayaka, even if she wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of being a 'representive'. She also didn't much like the cold. She would do her best to meet the standards that President White expected from them. And as usualy, she would most likely succeed or die trying.

Sayaka Wrote:

The brunette's face fell as she looked out at the sky outdoors. Sure she liked the cold, but Guldor? That was taking things a bit far. What could be so important that they needed to go to that frozen wasteland. Hell, from what she understood, they would even need special equipment to even survive there. Their guns would be almost useless. But she smiled prettily and patted St. Andrew reassuringly on the shoulder. "It's only cold, you just got to keep active to keep warm." giving him a small smile and wink, knowing that was a little innocent sounding, but hoping to sound reassuring.

"The heck's in Guldor, Sir?"

He raised a hand, scratching along the back of his neck. He was confused, but then again he was happy doing as he was told. As long as he had his bike, and that open road, he was good to go.

Sayaka Wrote:

If Sayaka could have prat fell she would have. As it was, her eyes simply went wide and her jaw dropped!

"DUREM!?"

"B...black..."

Her face went crimson then white. Ash white before she moved back. Not saying another word. Her body as rigid as Rosalind's would have been normally in an at ease position. She looked not at another person but stared out at the horizone, trying to compose her thoughts.

Rosalind Wrote:

Rosalind watched her coworker but said nothing, simply watched Vincent pace around. One delicate hand lifted a hair that had fallen from it's place, finding it once more before resting at ease and awaiting final orders so they could leave and finish the mission as soon as possible.

"Hey, I've got no complaints." St. Andrew scratched the bridge of his nose idly. Both his hands now rested on his hips, head canted to the side. "We'll pick the boy up and return to Durem."

He grinned. "'sides, I always wanted to see Eskimos."

God damn. What a horrible place to live this is. I say this as a bystander, looking in on the kind of choices that the person I'm going to be narrating, has made. Jesus Hewlett Christ. it's like the third world, except it has running water, however toxic and opaque. I can see abestos leaking out of that wall, like sand in an hourglass, it's making a small pile.

Speaking of the walls, which are cracked everywhere, not from earthquakes, but from the constant roar made by large somethings moving down the road outside. It rumbles in here at least every half hour, shaking the dust off everything. When you try and turn hot and cold on at the same time, dust shoots out. My refridgerator is warmer than my bed, because it was made with better insulation. He sleeps in there sometimes.

The lights make everything look like it's in sepiatone, and what with all the creaks in the house, it is completley thief-proof. That's saying something in the Yellow District.

The man sighed, and rose from his sleeping position on the floor next to his bed, and, with a smile on his face, proclaimed to the world, as the world was listening,

"I love it here."

((Time to get something moving here, six months is too long, lol))

Charitable Order Work In Heaven's Gate

They came silently, secretly, one at a time, mixing in with the locals of the Yellow District. They spread the worship of Ymir among those mired in poverty. From across the sea comes small shipments of food which are dispersed among the poor to help them suplement their meager rations. Medicine, food, and medical care is given to those who need it free of charge whenever possible, but everything must be done covertly, the crime bosses and corporate lords must not feel the loyalty of their cheap labor threatened.

The reclamation forces are more open to allowing the charities to help the poor, as long as they receive their bribe money. It helps them in two ways, keeps the people happy & fed letting them use less resourses to do so, and lines their pockets directly through bribes. A small, humble, little church to Ymir has been built in a formally yellow section of the green district, where worship services can be held every other day.

Zetsumeii Wrote:

the entirety of the rag-bound man shuddered and slowly rose to its feet. Once fully erect, the figure slightly teetered for a moment and began to walk the direction of the abandoned street. As more coughs racked the thin body, two things ran in a never-ending loop in his mind; 'get some goddamned food and find the 'Ymir'. Get some goddamned foo..'

The street wasn't entirely abandoned, there was a humble preist of the charitable order. A withered old man in his mid eighties. He was frail with age, and walked slowly with a gnarled walking stick. He saw the rag bound figure approach and felt pity on him. He pulled at his food pouch, his ration of bread and water for the day was inside. For a week now, the order had received no assistance from the other continent, supplies were getting scarce.

"Sir," he called, barely able to get his voice above a whisper, "You look badly in need of some food, I have some water and bread in my pouch. Take it."

Zetsumeii Wrote:

He remained silent for a moment, yet when he realized the old man was sincere, he extended a thin arm and greedily took the rations without thought. He was nearly about to rip open the package when his eyes once again caught the sight of the frail man. Looking back down at the package, he let it hang limply by his side as he queried in a soft voice, "Why would you do this? Look at yourself. I can manage to steal or kill for what I want, yet you can't do anything to sustain yourself." He extended his hand with the food once again and murmured, "Here. Take it. As much as I hate to say this, you need it more than I do."

The old man refused, keeping his arms by his staff, "I am a monk of the charitable order and a worshiper of Ymir, it is my duty to help those that society has cast off. Please partake of my sustenance, anything done to help the suffering is a light for my soul upon the parting that will take it home. If you want, you can follow me, I can manage to put together a meager meal for you at the temple."

He would find himself in a small church, worship services were being held. Everyone was in black robes, bent down in prayer before a picture of Edward Yaits III. Beside that was a picture of General Bakkar in his High Preist Robes. The dour prayers of the church goers where more for the Bakkar, who had been the high priest of the Charitable Order. In this building were depictions of Ymir, who was essentially worshiped as their god. No one paid attention to the old preist as he led his guest to a back room. It was a simple dwelling with a mat serving for a bed, a small writing desk, and a wood burning stove. The old man lit the stove. Water from a jar was poured into a pot to boil for tea and poridge.

"Excuse our mourning," said the old man, offering his guest the only chair, "The order has been beset terrible with misfortune as of late. We have no more supplies to give to the poor since the death of Yaits, the money used to bribe the guards and pay the taxes is drying up, and now news has come to us that our high priest may be dead as well. I thank Ymir my aching bones aren't long for this world. I can feel death coming, I can smell it. It smells like nutmeg."

"No, I'm sorry, Mr. White isn't taking calls right now." The receptionist spoke calmly into the phone while filing her nails. "If you'd like to leave a message, I can't promise when your call will be returned. Otherwise, I can transfer you to another department."

Despite that it was the middle of the day at the beginning of a work week, neither the chiefs of staff nor the S.O.D. department were taking calls. In fact, the messages had been piling up for the better part of a week with no sign of the President or his staff. She was just a secretary, though, and wasn't privy to all the details about where, when, and why. She was just told that certain members of the staff would be unavailable for a certain period of time, and that the instructions were to say that they weren't taking calls.

No exceptions.

"Very well, sir, please hold while I connect you to Mr. Mitsurugi." The receptionist depressed the small plastic buttons while transferring the call.

No one was in right now... none of the department heads, at least. Wherever it was they had gone to, something big was going to happen...

つづく

"Move aside! Move aside!"

Shouts came from the back of the crowd that had gathered around the street corners and the disused intersection. The loud cries of several men ordered a path to be cleared and without a single word of protest from the crowd it was done just as they said. There were three of them walking toward the intersection where Scarker was taking challenges. From their looks they were obviously far better off than the destitute citizens of the Yellow District; one openly carried a pistol in a holster on his hip, another was more subtle and carried one in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

"Awright, what's goin' on here? What's all the commotion?" The man in charge spoke with a thick city accent while tapping a wooden baseball bat across his shoulder with an air of superiority. Like the others he was wearing what could be passed off as a suit jacket and a decent pair of slacks, but the man also wore an untucked, unbuttoned shirt underneath and had his hair slicked back with enough grease to fry a turkey in a look that just screamed 'gutter trash'.

Regardless, several members of the crowd shouted out in reply. They shouted that Scarker had been taking fights for money. They shouted that he'd beaten up a good number of tough-guys already. They shouted that he was practicing witchcraft.

"...oh raaly now?" the thug said, quirking an eyebrow at the last one. Sure enough, it was there plain as day. Scarker squatting in the middle of the street waving glowing hands all over a bleeding man.

"HAY!"

The thug shouted in a voice that came straight out of his cajones. He picked up the bat he'd been resting across his shoulder and wapped it a couple of times firmly back down on the threadbare shoulder of his jacket.

"If you're lookin' for a fight I'll be happy to give ya a beatin'."

As if emboldened by the thug's words, the crowd seemed to take a step forward all at once.

Either this man was some sort of hometown hero in this neighborhood, or the people of this city didn't take kindly to witches, mutants, and things that weren't human.

(( Sorry there, flu got me. ))

"You've certainly got a lot to say for someone who come in here meddlin' with these people's lives," the thug snorted and cleared his throat; then spat an oozing loogie onto the street corner. "If yer here lookin' for trouble I ain't got no qualms 'bout stickin' ya."

The thug swung his bat in the air a few times, loosening up his shoulder as he did so; then slapping laquered wood against the palm of his hand.

"Step off, boys." At his word, the goons on his wings took a step back to the same distance as the rest of the people standing around were waiting at. They weren't going to get involved if the new guy in town wanted to start a brawl with the 9th street boys. At least not until the boss said it was okay to get involved, that is.

"John Dunn, bud. And you've got a lot of nerve to set up shop down here without comin' to pay your respects to Mr. Riley first. So hows about we get you some ice for that concussion and take you on down to see 'im, eh?"

The bat in his right hand swung low across his body like a player warming up for the pitch.

(( This time it was just me not seeing your post for a bit and then having things to do over the weekend. I'm really not the best person to be exchanging with unless a rapid-succession can be done. Tend to get sidetracked a lot and not carve out the time in my day to make posts. ))

Well that one was fairly obvious, wasn't it? Scarker lunged forwards with his blades in a scissor-slash, and John Dunn swung his bat. A pretty lazy, half-hearted upwards swing. He didn't have to swing it hard to do a good amount of damage to a man's head, but he could swing it even lighter when he was just throwing a monkey wrench into the machine.

Scarker's 'scissors' would close around the business end of a baseball bat before they got much further. Unless those things were impossibly sharp or there was an unbelievable amount of force behind them, leverage would be on John's side today.

His next step would be to the right, past Scarker's left shoulder. Twisting the handle of the bat skywards as he did so, he would first of all apply a solid barrier to the back of the weapon in Scarker's left hand so that he couldn't pull it back immediately, and second of all the twisting motion would wrench the bat free of the blades with only a few minor chips off of the wood and a shallow gash on either side to show for it.

It sure wasn't much for an opening attack, but John wasn't keen on throwing the love-tap that would have happened if he'd tried to punch across his body with the left... and he really did want that bat back, after all.

Scarker had started off with the advantage of having two weapons there. The advantage was all but gone now, with John standing where he was.

(( Maybe so... but hopefully I'll just catch you on sometime. My schedule is pretty unpredictable lately, what with school (and thus fluxuating amounts of homework), work, and other obligations (both IRL and HoH). ))

Well... damn... was this guy crazy or something?

John had stepped up beside Scarker's left arm to give him an edge over that two-sword style that the guy was using. He'd expected that the guy would try and back away, or get himself turned to face John again, but... damn.

Even if he reversed like that, Scarker was still taking a willing disadvantage by turning his back to the other man. It didn't have anything to do with having eyes in the back of his head or something like that. It had everything to do with having elbows that only bent one direction. Reversing his grip would give Scarker a little extra reach with that thing, but it'd still be an awkward motion with comparatively little extension compared to a forward thrust, even with the cross-body motion that he'd have had to use with the right blade. But there was another disadvantage to this as well... whether he was striking with that right hand across his body in the front, or swinging it behind him like he was, there was really only one attack that he could make: a thrust. Knowing exactly what was going to come at you made staying out of the way of it a whole lot easier... it was how those kids at the corner arcade kept kicking his a** in those games. Predictable move patterns.

John was dumbfounded by this guy's strategy for a moment... conveniently, the moment that it took Scarker to switch his grip on that sword of his. Getting out of the way was as easy as fading back a step and moving the other way... towards the right if Scarker kicked out his elbow, towards the left if he kept it close to his side.

The rest was just accepting an invitation.

The guy had offered John his back, so after grabbing the butt of the bat with his left and choking up on the handle to the tapering part with his right, he decided to take the guy up on that offer; bringing the hardwood instrument down in a wide vertical swing for the eyes this guy had in the back of his head.

(( ...this is what I was afraid of, here. I had a bunch of work last week and had to fix my computer twice. So now I'm 11 days behind in responding to you. See? ))

The guy had pretty quick reflexes to get his arm up that fast... no, that wasn't it. The guy had pretty good eyes to catch the thing coming at the back of his head.

John's two-handed smash with the bat cracked hard against the edge of the sword without an ounce of mercy in it. The sharpened edge sank in a good quarter inch on the wood, causing a few small chips to splinter off around the gash, but all in all the solid piece of wood held up pretty well under pressure. It was a Louisville Slugger, after all. The tip of Scarker's sword would move a few inches at the tip from the force of the impact on the weapon. Even if the guy was tough enough to stop the thing dead in its tracks with his hand, catching it on a long blade gave John the advantage of leverage enough so that the back of Scarker's weapon would sink uncomfortably close to his face in the hasty defense.

"Punk."

It was the sole of John Dunn's left shoe, however, that made it painfully close to Scarker's face when all was said and done... or maybe his chin, if he was looking up from his dropped stance... or even his chest, since the narrator can't remember if Scarker is supposed to be one of those HEUG GAIZ that have been skulking around the place lately. A fast kicking-in-the-door style kick that he was so familiar with as a strongarm member of the local neighborhood watch.

Blade punch? Only if the guy had the reach for it while he was falling over backwards.

(( Oh yeeeeeah. Scarker was the super -old- guy, not the super -huge- guy. I just remembered that there was something obscene about his stats, and I suppose I've been having to deal with too many "built like a tank" people lately due to HoH. ))

This guy was pretty cheeky.

"Yeah, I got somethin' going for me..." John said, placing the head of the bat in his left hand and rubbing the blemished surface with his palm to break away any rough chips that were barely hanging on. Seeing as Scarker had called a time out to work a kink out of his jaw by mouthing off, John figured he had time to give the ol' girl a pat for a job well done... maybe tie his shoes... straighten his jacket... take a piss. Maybe. It all depended on how long this guy was planning on running his mouth.

Hoisting the bat up over his shoulder again, John snapped the fingers of his left hand and cocked his head a bit to the side in a subtle gesture. "...so if you show me yours, I promise you'll be seeing mine."

Khaaaaaaakkk~

John cleared his throat rudely, slushed it around for a bit, and then spat a loogie onto the street curb with a pretty pissed off expression.

Pthooooook!

"The hell is wrong with you witchy types? Always trying to make things more than they are. Huh!?" He raised the bat up a few inches and slammed it down hard on the meaty part of his shoulder. His manner made it pretty clear that he'd rather be slamming on the crunchy part of the magic user's head. "Everything's gotta be mystical this and secrets of the universe that! You must be thick in the head if you can't see what this is right here in front of you. This is a pissed off guy with a bat and two beers in him lookin' to kick your a**."

That was it. That freak had spent enough time licking his wounds and whatever the hell else he was doing. John strode right up towards him ready to put this show back on the road where it belonged.

John was pretty quick to drop the bat when it suddenly and mysteriously decided it wanted to explode. He wasn't that confused about it, though... hell, it all made perfect sense to him.

"It's your call," John said right back to him with a pretty unfriendly tone. "You gonna come peaceably along or you gonna keep makin' witchcraft in a city full of xenophobes?"

A couple blank stares and scratched heads from the crowd settled the impression that a lot of these poor folk had no idea what the term meant. They did know, however, that the people in that town and particularly the poor sector that they were in who would be welcoming to a magic-spouting weirdo that barely passed as human were few and far between.

"Either way, I'm gonna kick your a** before the day is out."

John cracked his knuckles and waited for a reply.

Tugging on his hat, the blonde out worlder approached the city from the west, the bright red cloak covering his left arm, his right arm put and holding down his large straw hat. Not due to fear of being blown off, as it was tied to his chin, but for various habits. His movement was quiet and deliberate, with no signs of anything quick.

He wore old world style armor, and carried around a pair of swords at his hip. Their hilts sheen with golds and silvers, he was tall, about 6'4 in height and built large but not too large. He was a good three miles out from the city itself, approaching it at slow pace which would take about an hour and a half to reach the city itself.

His armored boots pressed lightly against the ground, making no noise even when stepping over leaves or branches or any other ground trash. This new world was new to him, advanced in technology and quite impressive in scope and range of peoples. It surprised him some, faced with the off chance he would get into a fight in a large city sent his blood pumping.

He was unaware of the dangers this place may hold, or the danger of firearms as of yet. He was only a recent arrival to Gaia, and had only had time to find about the HoH and find a small team he was recruited into. Though he had yet to meet his team.

Hans Lied walked down the pavement to his own beat. Well, it wasn't to his beat, but to what only he could hear. One might conclude he was listening to music, and that one would be correct, but no electronic device was there. Nay, he heard it of his own accord, and that was all he could hear.

He wore a camouflage shirt with a hunting jacket and pants. With tactical gloves adorning his hands, dog tags hanging from his neck, and a red bandanna covering his brown hair, he was ready to go. And go he did. His only concern was catching fire with every song change. For indeed, not only could he only hear his music, but was affected by every song. It was annoying at times, and beneficial at others. Immolating at the right time during a fight with a gang had a major deterrent effect, but it was a hindrance when you're trying to be stealthy. After all, who isn't going to see the walking ball of flame over there by the wall?

Ah, one must be careful what they wish for. Hans wished for his music, and he obtained it. It sometimes got old, for it would be nice to carry on a conversation without having to read lips, or sign. But there was nothing better when he was in a fight, someone finds an opening, the song changed, and broke his hand on newly stone-hard skin. Despite it all, life was good. Even in this town. Then again, it may be the town that made life good. Never boring here, nay, quite exciting. Probably why he stayed.

"Ahh s**t.." Erulissë rubbed the back of her head, "I better help him out.." she mumbled so no one would hear. She turned around and walked carefully back to the front of the store. She played with her lip ring inside her mouth with her tongue. The ring itself dead in the center of her bottom lip. Her hair was in multiple thin, thick, small, and long braids and the rest clipped here and there on the top of her head. She dressed comfortably, being a native of this city. She clearly wasn't human, so it was harder to convince the guards, or even be accepted at all.

"Excuse me, good sir. This man is clearly an outsider, see the way he dresses? He is clearly not from here. He uses swords, not machinery. And it was only for his defense. This man charged at him. If needed be, I will assure you this will never happen again." she put on a good show, she smiled warmly and kept calm. This was a skill obtained over the years, so the likely hood of it working was quite high.

Kong didn't have time, his FIGHTER flashed rapidly. It was time to leave. Turning on his heels he bolted down the road and back into the wilderness on his way to his prelim fight. He wanted to thank them for there help, but he has more pressing matters to attend to.

The tournament was about to begin, he had less then a day to make it to the ring and begin his prelim. No time for breaks, no time to stop. He ran and ran, and the rest...Well, that's for another time.

The girl had stayed in the main inn, a 50 story tower which wasn't by far the tallest building in the purple district. She was on the forty-fourth floor, in a pretty nice suite. Koyuki had ascended to the top floor already, where the commotion was happening. Four giant men in black suits with giant bazookas stood there, with a lady sorceress in the middle, on a giant hovercraft type . Koyuki growled menacingly, though the five were still destroying the top of the building.

The sorceress cackled, shooting thousands of lightning bolts and bursting them against the side of the building. Suddenly, her attention was brought to a thin line of blood streaming from her face. "What?!" The thin edge of a sakura petal rested on her shoulder. "Nice to see you've noticed me." Koyuki's lips nearly touched the sorceress's ear, as she thurst the sword in her hand fowards. The sorceress smiled, flicking a finger and spinning, creating a giant lightning shield which deflected all six swords. Koyuki jumped backwards, and stopped, staring at the sorceress. "Good job Koyuki... too bad master didn't teach you better." Maya? It was. That frizzy red hair and hooked claw nose would be no one else.

"So... are you going to fight me?" The men had aligned behind Maya, and Koyuki snorted. "Sure as hell."