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>>1858627

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>>1858627

A few days after having a 5.56 round dug out of your back, you're back on your feet and out on the town, driving along the beachside road in your Lincoln. Nothing a little whiskey and Vicodin won't fix.

None of the crew have been nabbed or noticed any tails, and there haven't been any warrants or alerts issued about you, either publicly or, according to Zero, privately either. It's crazy, but you just might have gotten away with it.

Of course, you've still got a Triad bounty on your heads, for stealing from them. A ruthless Yakuza killer, who wants the Triads' money for himself. And of course, while you're drawing their attention, their half of the city is being taken over by Ivan the Russian, the fucker who stabbed you in the back and started all this in the first place.

But it looks like the FBI job, at least, went down smooth. You turn on the radio and tune into RK-1, just in time for an update on the situation.

"In case you haven't heard, listeners, our very own Heat City branch of the Federal Bureau of Intervention was knocked over just a few days ago. Even the Feds aren't safe in this place! The main investigation and security agency of the most powerful government ever in history, and they still get their shit stolen. What, did they forget to lock the back door? Oh, that's right -- the crooks went straight in the front. With a van! Just drove it right in there! I wouldn't believe it anywhere else, folks, but this is Heat City, where anything can happen.

"Here's the best part. Witness reports are "confused and unreliable", and since the guys who did this erased all the security footage on their way out, nobody even knows who they are! The spokesman for the FBI is talking a big game about how the "criminals responsible" won't get away with this "heinous act", but I think we all know how it's gonna go. The Feds are gonna make a lot of noise, break a lot of heads, and eventually admit that they've got bupkiss. After all, they're gonna have to collaborate with HCPD, who we all know leak information to the streets like water through a strainer. Ain't much good for more than gunning down drug dealers in the streets. Whoops, Rachel is giving me that look, folks. What I mean to say is, our lovely city's police department is a bunch of fine upstanding law enforcement officials, and please don't sue us. Again. Now before I get myself into any more trouble, here's some music!"

Radio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s36eQwgPNSE#t=1m07s

With Zero's help, you've managed to sort through the intel you stole from the FBI and put it into some kind of order. Most of the crew will be at your place this evening to hear about it. Until then, you've got some free time.


Free Time:

>Go shopping for more stuff
>Hit the gym, work out
>Go to the bar for drinks and games
>Get something to eat
>Visit a gentleman's club
>Punch some Russians
>Watch TV at home
>Write-in

Also:
>Call someone to join you
>Enjoy some increasingly rare time by yourself

>>1858640
>>Punch some Russians
>Call someone to join you
Roxie

>>1858640
>Go fishing alone

>>1858640
>>Punch some Russians
>>Knockout some Russians
>>Kidnap some Russians
>>Feed Mr. and Mrs. Scrufflybumpkins some Russians
>>Trim your Bonsai Tree

>>1858640
>Hit the gym, work out
>Enjoy some increasingly rare time by yourself

PUMPIN IRON

>>1858653
Switching to this

>>1858657
Switching to this

>>1858657
Supporting ti get sone Gainz

>>1858653
This

>>1858653
Supporting this

>>1858653
Hell yes.

>>1858640
>>1858653

Also a fan of this >>1858649

>>1858653
>>1858662
>>1858692
>>1858709
>>1858722

>>Punch some Russians
>>Knockout some Russians
>>Kidnap some Russians
>>Feed Mr. and Mrs. Scrufflybumpkins some Russians
>>Trim your Bonsai Tree

>Maybe call Roxie.

Roll!

Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>1858741

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>1858741

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>1858741

Rolled 3 (1d10)

>>1858741

Maybe we should have just gone to the gym instead

>>1858762
To be honest, I was kinda hoping this would be more choice based than roll based.

Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>1858741

>>1858640

On a whim, you pull off the main road onto a side street, heading west into Blue Ridge. It used to be a mix of territories in here, but now it's pretty much all Bratva. And you have a sudden urge to crush Russian skulls. It angers you that Ivan's troops have had their run of the city, since you've been busy dealing with this Triad shit. Or maybe it's just that you haven't hurt anyone in three days, and some primal itch is sending you forth into violence.

You pull up alongside the mouth of a shadowed alley between two tenaments, a rusty fire escape partially blocking an all-too-familiar sight these days: four Bratva goons in track suits, working over a local hustler with their fists. You roll down your window, and their muted shouts resolve into sharp focus. It's all in Russian, but you know enough swear words and insults to get the gist.

One of the tracksuit goons sees you -- idling at the entrance of the alley with your window rolled down, watching them -- and doesn't seem too happy about it. He approaches you. "Hey, buddy. You don't want to see this. Get the fuck out of here, now."

"Yeah? Or what?"

"Or this, motherfucker," growls the tracksuit, taking out a switchblade and flicking it open. He steps towards you. "You wanna lose an eye, buddy? Get the fuck out of here--"

When he gets too close, you reach up, clamp down on his skull with one of your hands, and slam his face down through the open window onto the door frame. Then you shove him backwards and, as he tries to get up, swing open your car door as hard as you can, cracking his skull. He goes down, leaving a splatter of blood on the ground from his broken nose.

"Ah, shit, I shouldn't have done that," you grouse, wiping your hand off. "I got blood on my car." You turn the car off, pocket the keys, and get out.

The other three thugs are still standing there, one of them holding the hustler up against the alley wall by his collar. All four of them are staring at you agape. You notice a pay phone nearby. "Hey, guys. Mind if I make a quick call?" They keep staring as you walk to the phone, insert a quarter, and dial Roxie's number. You just thought of how disappointed she'd be if she found out you went Russian skull-breaking without her. "Just hold on a sec," you call to the Russians.

Unfortunately, you just get a recorded message saying the number has been disconnected. Roxie doesn't seem like the type of girl who'd remember to pay her phone bill, you admit, and hang up the phone.

You turn around to see a door in the alley emerge, and several more Russian tracksuit goons walk outside to join the original group. That brings the current total to seven, not including the guy on the ground. Some of them have knives, one has a crowbar, the others have brass knuckles.


>Introduce them to Cleaver-chan
>Escalate and draw your M1911
>Really escalate and grab something big from the trunk
>Actually, this seems like a bad idea now.

>>1858844
>Introduce them to Cleaver-chan
Shoulda called Roxie. this is totally her jam.

>>1858844
>>Introduce them to Cleaver-chan
I missed you Cleaver-chan

>>1858844
>>Introduce them to Cleaver-chan

>>1858844
>Introduce them to Cleaver-chan

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>>1858852
>>1858854
>>1858856
>>1858865

Roll!

>Introduce them to cleaver chan

Rolled 3 (1d10)

>>1858889

Rolled 1 (1d10)

>>1858889
Here we gooo

Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>1858889

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>1858889
Jesus, guys.

>>1858844

You pile into the middle of the group, swinging your meat cleaver, but these guys are pretty fast. They might look like scum with their tracksuits and bad tattoos, but the Russians have had to fight and scrap for every inch of this city, and guys like these have been on the front lines. You knock way some knives, cut away some fingers with yelps of pain, but don't do any serious damage. That, and you manage to get yourself cut off from your car.

The crowbar guy gets in a good strike on your right shoulder, and your arm goes totally numb for a moment. The cleaver clatters to the ashphalt, and one of the tracksuits, a lanky guy with the raw-boned toughness of a drug addict, grabs it up. He grins at you with a leer. "Hey, buddy. Nice knife. You get this from the chinks?"

"You'd better give that back, asshole," you growl.

"Or what, buddy?"

>Take it back.
>Shoot him, then take it back.
>Break through them and get to your car.
>Run the other way, down the alley.

>>1858956
>Shoot him

No one touches cleaver chan

>>1858956
>>Shoot him, then take it back.

>>1858956
>Shoot him, then take it back.

>>1858956
>>Shoot him, then take it back.
Best cleaver must be protected

>>1858956
>Take it back.

>>1858956
>>Shoot him, then take it back.

>>1858956
>Shoot him, then take it back.

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>>1858958
>>1858963
>>1858965
>>1858966
>>1858968
>>1858973

Roll!

Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>1858981

Rolled 9 (1d10)

>>1858981

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>1858981

>>1858956


You draw your M1911 and put a bullet in the skinny asshole's forehead. He falls back with a surprised look on his face, but not before you grab the cleaver's handle and wrench it free of his dead hand.

Only a couple of the Russian assholes are packing, and you take those ones out first, two in the chest and one in the head for each of them. The others surround you and attack. You can't defend yourself from every direction, and they get in a good pummeling with their brass knuckles, sharp brutal pains in your arms and ribs. Your forehead gets cut, blood getting into your eye. A knife gets stuck in your shoulder. It's a good thing you habitually wear a vest these days that's both bullet- and stab-proof. Gets sweaty on a hot day like today, but then sometimes a man has a whim to punch some Russians, and doesn't want a knife in the back of the heart for his trouble. Still hurts like a bitch.

You feel like a bear being savaged by dogs. You roar and scatter them, reminding them who the apex predator is around here, swinging your cleaver and firing the last few bullets from your pistol. You cut a man's throat, an arcing spray of blood hitting the alley wall. Three Russians take off, nearly being hit by passing traffic as they dash across the street and away from you. The others lie dead or dying at your feet, their blood splashed across the alley floor.

You stand over the corpse of the skinny guy who took your knife, looking down at the shocked expression he'll wear to his grave. "Nobody takes my cleaver," you mutter. You rifle the guy's pockets. After Dragon's Nest, you're a millionaire, but it's force of habit. He has a pack of Russian cigarettes and some matches, which you take and light one up. It's hard to line up the flame with blood dripping into your eye.

That could have gone better, you think. Could have gone worse too, though.

A car alarm nearby is shrieking, and bystanders are huddled behind cars and wall corners in fear, but you can't hear any police sirens. Bloodied and bruised, you limp back to your car, get in, and turn on the radio again.

Radio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IdEhvuNxV8#t=0m47s

>Get a bigger gun from your trunk, and wait for them to come back.
>Go looking for more.
>Head back to your place.
>Head back, but get some drive-through first.

>>1859080
>Head back to your place.
Still need time for the tree

>>1859084
This

>>1859080
>>Head back, but get some drive-through first.
Burgers will soothe our wounds

>>1859080
>>Head back to your place.
Shame that the meat didn't quite make it, but let's grab the leftovers and head back home. We got some pets to feed.

>>1859080
>Head back to your place.

>>1859080
>Head back, but get some drive-through first.

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>>1859080

You think about getting fast food, but you might cause a bit of a fright to the kid working the drive-through to see you with half your face covered in blood. Oh well. Before heading back to your place, you grab a few odds and ends. Not for you to eat, but for someone else.

Later, you head out beyond your backyard, into the soggy ground that borders the marsh proper. The lowering sun casts striped shadows across the greenery.

"Hey, Mr. Scrufflybumpkins!" you shout out a few times. "Come out, you grouchy piece of shit!" You watch the algae-covered muck, eventually spotting something that looks like an oddly fast-moving green log. "Got a present here, you green-scaled bastard," you call out, tossing out a mobster's severed hand. You grabbed all the pieces you happened to slice off in battle, which tends to happen when you're swinging a meat cleaver around as hard as you can, and brought them with you, figuring, why not give the gator a taste for Russians?

You see the hand disappear, and throw the rest of the goon flesh into the murky water. "Take this, and stay the fuck out of my yard, all right? Eat those Russian pricks instead." Your only acknowledgement is a stirring in the water as your offering is swiftly devoured.

You warm up a microwave dinner. Afterwards, you've still got some time before everyone arrives, so you check on your bonsai tree. The tiny plant is like an entire tree in miniature. You take up the tiny pair of scissors Ryuji gave you as part of the maintenance kit, and squint at the tree's tiny branches up close. He said stuff about having patience and foresight, and how you should only cut it in a few select places every few months. And to be very, very careful.

This branch looks like it could be trimmed off. You raise the tiny scissors, being very, very careful--

The twins dash through the room chasing each other, shrieking at the top of their lungs.

>Roll

Rolled 1 (1d10)

>>1859139

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>1859139
noooooo

Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>1859139
Goddammit

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>>1859139

The sudden noise jolts you at just the wrong moment, causing the scissors to snap down right next to the trunk, cutting off the entire branch instead of just the small off-shoot you intended. The fragile branch falls to the base of the tree, and you stare in horror at the empty space where it once stood.

"GIRLS!" you bellow at the top of your lungs.

When you appraise them of the situation, they are apologetic. "We're sorry, Mister Johnny." "We know sword guy is important to you." "We won't run--" "--or shout in the house anymore." They cough and mutter something into their hands.

"What was that?" you say.

"Nothing," they answer in unison. One of them adds, "Can you still please continue our lessons tonight Mr. Johnny?" The other gives you the puppy eyes.

"Ah, geez," you say, waving them off. You can't stay mad at them, even when you probably should. "All right. We've still got some time before the others get here. Just give me a minute here."

"Yaaay--! Er ..." The girls start to shout and run away, but stop at your stern glare. They clear their throats. "Ahem, yes." "Quite good." "Excellent." They walk off at a measured pace.

You take a closer look at the damage done to your tree, but it doesn't look so bad. Huh. Actually, this looks pretty good! You can totally pass this off as a daring aesthetic choice. Probably. You'll just have to find out when Ryuji gets here.

Still looking at the tree, you start to think about what you could teach the twins. Their shooting is coming along all right, and they sure had a great time getting tased and tear gassed the other night. There are other skills you can think of it would be useful for them to know -- both for themselves, and for you.

On the other hand, maybe you should just teach them how to answer a phone or a door without swearing or insulting at the person on the other end.

>Continue shooting practice
>Continue endurance practice
>Hand-to-hand fighting
>First aid
>Surveillance
>Secretary
>Write-in.

>>1859187
>>First aid

>>1859187
>>Surveillance

>>1859187
>First aid

>>1859080
>Head back to your place.

>>1859187
>>Hand-to-hand fighting

>>1859187
>First aid

>>1859187
>First aid

>>1859202
Switching to this

>>1859194
>>1859196
>>1859203
>>1859208

First aid lessons it is. Writing.

>>1859187

You spend the remaining free time before the meeting going over the basics of first aid with the twins. Any day now you'll be staggering back here, bloodied and barely conscious, and if they know how to stitch and bandage a wound, it'll give you a better chance. There's all kinds of dangerous situations it might come up in, really. As much as you'd like to take them out in a van to teach them FBI-style surveillance, complete with big sunglasses and fake mustaches, the sensible thing to do would be to teach them how to help you not die.

So you teach them some of what you know about first aid, going over checking for spinal injuries first, then assessing the patient's status by checking for further wounds. One of them probes you for ticklish spots when she pats you over, and you slap her hands away with a scowl. You then show them the basic needlework required to make a stitch, which they prove adept at, and how to make bandages and splints for a variety of wounds.

When the doorbell rings, you send them off to their rooms to practice for a while, then head to the door to find Ken and Ryuji there.

"Hey guys," you say. You're about to invite them inside, when you see that Ryuji has a strange look on his face, something in between sadness and determination. "Ryuji, pal, what's--?"

"わたくし -- that is, I --" Struggling with emotion, Ryuji bows low with his hands at his sides and says something rapidly in Japanese.

Ken says, "I'm afraid my nephew is badly affected by his unfortunate error at our latest job."

You think back to sitting in that van, listening in on the progess of Alex's stealth team. It's true that it was a security guard taking Ryuji by surprise that led to the alarm being triggered, and blew the stealth mission.

"He offers his sincerest atonement, and offers his resignment from the crew, without compensation for the job," Ken continues. He looks down at his nephew's back with sorrow in his eyes. "The security guard approached from his blind side. He hasn't had time to get used to missing part of his vision. Perhaps he may, with time. Or perhaps -- well. It's your decision, Johnny. Whatever you decide, we'll abide by it." He rests a hand on Ryuji's shoulder and says something in Japanese. Ryuji straightens up, trying to put a brave face on, but you see a tear forming in the corner of his glass eye.

"Ah geez," you say. "Don't make that face at me, man. Look--"

>It'll be fine. You'll figure it out. You're a pro at this.
>We still need you. Who else is going to do the sneaking? Me?
>You don't have to quit, but maybe you should take some time off. Rest and get some practice.
>I hate to admit it, but he's right. A scout with one eye isn't going to cut it.
>Maybe it's for the best. I don't want you getting hurt again.

>>1859282
>>We still need you. Who else is going to do the sneaking? Me?
>It'll be fine. You'll figure it out. You're a pro at this.

>>1859282
>You don't have to quit, but maybe you should take some time off. Rest and get some practice.

>>1859282
>You don't have to quit, but maybe you should take some time off. Rest and get some practice.

>>1859282
>You don't have to quit, but maybe you should take some time off. Rest and get some practice.

>>1859282
>It'll be fine. You'll figure it out. You're a pro at this.
>We still need you. Who else is going to do the sneaking? Me?
>Look, Sarge once told me- Ok forget that I can't repeat what he said. Point is no use staying down to survive you want to live you get back up and show life what for

>>1859282
>It'll be fine. You'll figure it out. You're a pro at this.
>We still need you. Who else is going to do the sneaking? Me?
>If you're still feeling like you need to work on yourself, I'll be glad to help however I can. Anytime, anywhere.

I'll change to >>1859326

>>1859289
>>1859325
>>1859326
>>1859344

>It'll be fine. You'll figure it out. You're a pro at this.
>We still need you. Who else is going to do the sneaking? Me?
>Look, Sarge once told me- Ok forget that I can't repeat what he said ...
> I'll be glad to help however I can. Anytime, anywhere.

Writing.

>>1859282


"It'll be fine, pal," you say, patting Ryuji on the shoulder. "You'll figure it out. You're a pro at this. Besides, who else is going to do the sneaking around here? Me?" You gesture at your own size. You're actually pretty light on your feet when you need to be, but the point is made. Ryuji cracks a small smile at that. He brushes away the forming tear from his glass eye.

"Look, back in Vietnam, my Sarge told me--" You think back, recalling the arcane mixture of military jargon, slang, profanity, and grievous insult the Sarge spoke in, and do your best to translate it into English that Ryuji will understand. "He said you can't give up. If life beats you down, you gotta just get right back up and beat life back. Kick life in the ass. That's the only way I keep going forward. I fuck up all the time, man. Life beats me down. But I get right back up and kick life in the ass. And here I am," you add, gesturing back at the manor.

Ken looks you up and down, clearly observing your recent wounds.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," he says. "Thank you for the words of encouragement." He says something to Ryuji, who nods, and the three of you head inside together.

"My god," Ken says in the hallway, startled by something. You look around for armed gunmen, or a bomb, or an alligator, but then realize he's looking at the bonsai tree. He rushes up to examine it closely. "Such a daring cut! But the way it enhances the silhouette -- remarkable! Truly astounding. I never would have guessed you had such a talent for bonsai, Johnny." He and Ryuji converse excitedly in Japanese, remarking on the tree's new shape.

"Uhhhh." You clear your throat. "Yeah, thanks. Just got a knack for it, I guess."

(Continued)

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>>1859492


You head out to the front door for a cigarette. The smoke curls lazily upwards, highlighted against the bright pink of the sunset-soaked sky. As you

Kazuya's car pulls up into your driveway. He gets out and hurriedly runs around the car to open the rear door for Catherine, whom he picked up at your request. You open the front door for her, and she gives you a knowing smile as she passes by.

"Damn," Kazuya says, noticing the glance. He looks at you, then back at her, then back at you. "Are you two--?"

"Don't ask," you say, not even close to sorting out this knot in your head. "And especially, definitely don't ask when either Alex or Roxie are around."

"Holy shit," Kaz says.

"Don't. Fucking. Ask," you growl, and a wide-eyed Kaz goes inside without another word.

Alex walks into the driveway, sees you, approaches. "Hey. Um--" She glances at Kaz's car. "I parked down the street. Is it all right for us to be getting together in one place like this?"

"Pretty sure that any interested parties who might be surveilling us already know we're a crew. And if they attack us here head on, well--" You grin and fire a finger-gun off at the hills beyond your property, slowly darkening as the sun lowers. "Who do you think can fight us all together?"

"Don't let yourself get overconfident, Johnny. Maybe we should--" Alex hesitates, then says, "Sorry, I don't mean to be a bring-down. It's just--"

"No, I get it. Someone has to keep their head on straight around here. Stay worried about what could happen. It's a thankless job, but somebody's got to."

You offer her a Russian cigarette, which she takes. "Thanks." She then realizes what she's holding, and eyes it suspiciously. "Where did you get this? For that matter, why is your forehead stitched up?"

"I was teaching the twins first aid practice--"

"Not that! You're bruised and cut up -- what the hell happened?"

Busted. "Well, this afternoon, I was driving around, and I just thought, you know ..."

(Continued)

>>1859504

You get halfway through explaining yourself, before you're fortunately saved from any haranguing from Alex when Nick's car pulls into the driveway. Unexpectedly, Roxie pops out of the passenger's seat. Seeing you and Alex talking, she immediately runs up to you and gives you a big hug. "Hi, Johnny!" You catch her shooting an evil grin at Alex when she thinks you're not looking. Alex doesn't react. Oh god. This is getting complicated fast.

Still pressed against you, Roxie sniffs like a dog, like she's caught scent of something. "Blood? What the hell?" She steps back and looks at you with a startled look. "Don't tell me--!"

"Johnny was just explaining to me," Alex says wryly, "About his casual desire to fight a Russian street gang."

"Whaaaaat!" Roxie cries, putting her hands on her head. "You went punching Russians without me!"

"I tried calling you! Your phone was disconnected!"

Roxie raises a hand to argue, then lowers it and sighs. "Okay, you're right. Rrrgh!" She punches one hand into the opposite palm, then points at you. "You better find me next time!"

"Everybody get inside," you grumble. "And I'm buying us all pagers."

(Continued)

>>1859507

Everyone is assembled in your living room. You wheeled out the big bulletin board in the crime office for this. You've got all the files ready to go, in the order that Zero and Cat prepared them for you. You're not really sure why they expected you to deliver this little speech, give everyone the rundown on what you found in that FBI office. But here you are.

"All right, everybody good?" you ask. "Zero, you can hear us all right?"

"Loud and clear, Johnny," says the speakerphone.

"Okay," you say. "Before we get started ..."

>Good work on the FBI job.
>Thanks for sticking with me.
>Before you ask, yes, I did get beat up. Again.
>Everyone have drinks? Snacks? We good?
>Anyone have anything they need to say?
>Why am I giving an intel briefing? Someone else do this.
>Write-in.

>>1859513
>>Good work on the FBI job.
>Thanks for sticking with me.

>>1859513
>Everyone have drinks? Snacks? We good?
Johnny the bestest host

>>1859513
>Everyone have drinks? Snacks? We good?
>Why am I giving an intel briefing? Someone else do this.

>>1859513
>Before you ask, yes, I did get beat up. Again.
>Fucking Russian's tried to touch my cleaver

>>1859521
Switching to this

>>1859513
>Before you ask, yes, I did get beat up. Again.
>On an unrelated note, if you see a two foot aligator trying to scratch it's way in, don't put your fingers near him and throw some of that meat over his head. (points to bloody paper bag with arm sticking out wearing a watch)
>Everyone have drinks? Snacks? We good?
>Good work on the FBI job.
>Thanks for sticking with me.
>Anyone have anything they need to say?

>>1859521
>>1859523
Both of these two combined.

>>1859519
Seconding best host

>>1859513
>Good work on the FBI job.
>Thanks for sticking with me.

>>1859521
supporting

>>1859527
Retracting vote

>>1859513

Why am I giving the intel briefing? you wonder. Shouldn't Cat or Alex do this? Oh well. For some reason, everyone's looking to you to make the calls. All you can do is try to stand up under the pressure.

"Everyone have drinks?" you ask. Nick raises a glass, showing you whiskey with ice. Next to him on the couch, Roxie belches as she lowers a beer. "Snacks?" Kaz looks up with guilt from a rapidly emptying snack platter. "All right, good. So, thanks for the FBI job, we've got some extra intel on what we're up against. Time to go over what we know.

"To start with, here's the big picture. We've got three guys on our shit-list. All of them want us dead. So we're gonna kill 'em all first. It's that simple. I mean, are they the city's three most powerful criminals? Yeah. Are they surrounded by the most elite bodyguards, high-tech security, and well-armed security forces that the criminal underworld has to offer? Definitely. Do they--"

Alex clears her throat loudly, and you move on. Yeah, you probably should've let Cat do this. Oh well.

(Continued)

>>1859576

"First up is Lau Xiang, the Triad dragon." As you say his name to the group, you take his picture from the stack and pin it near the top of the board. It's an FBI surveillance photograph of an elderly man in a fine suit, still with a full head of white hair, talking on the phone. "He's been head of the Tong for over a decade, and has controlled the city's Z trade with an iron fist for the past few years. He was socking away the profits in Dragon's Nest until some dirty thieves came along and lifted it all. So of course, he's pretty mad. Mad enough to put some bounties on our heads, which are -- well, let's just say they're pretty big. Those of us who are known to the Triads can all expect bounty hunters and low-life scumbags to be coming after us if they recognize us.

"Second is Masamune Kojiro, Yakuza enforcer," you say, pinning up a personal photo of the man that Catherine supplied you with. It's cut down the middle, with another man's arm around Kojiro's shoulders -- you suspect you know whose. "Him and his Monsters were sent here by their bosses in Japan to clean up the mess, but it looks like they've gone off the rails. They want the Dragon's Nest money for themselves, and they're willing to kill or ransom us to get it. Their grudge is with the Yamadas, but when they find out we're involved, they won't hestitate to put us in their crosshairs. So he has to go, too."

"Third is Ivan Mikhaev, or "Crazy Ivan," as they're calling him now," you say. You pin up a newspaper photo from a few years ago, of Ivan and his parents. "Up until recently, his dad Vladimir used to be in charge, and had aspirations of going legit. He kept a fair but firm hand on his territory. But that all came to an end when his mansion burned down with him inside. Did Ivan set the fire? Who can say? But Ivan's the one who set up me and Alex and Nick, started all this shit in the first place. And because we've been fucking around dealing with the Triads and Yakuza--" you hold up a hand to the Yamadas, clustered together on the other couch. "No offense, guys -- but it's given Ivan the opportunities he needs to expand his territory. As he grows in power, he's more likely to find us. And somehow I doubt he'll look fondly on our surviving his double-cross." You glare at his picture. "That and tried to stab me in the back. So fuck him." Turning back, you catch Alex's eye, and she nods.

"So yeah. They're the three king shits of the city, and they all want us dead. Any questions so far?"

Several hands are raised. You sigh.

>Roxie?
>Nick?
>Alex?
>Kaz?
>Cat, take over, will you? I've got a headache.

>>1859579
>>Cat, take over, will you? I've got a headache.

>>1859579
Roxie?

>>1859579
>Cat, take over, will you? I've got a headache.

>>1859587
Switching to this

>>1859579
>Cat, take over, will you? I've got a headache.

>>1859579
>Cat, take over, will you? I've got a headache.

>>1859579
>Roxie?

>>1859579
>Cat, take over, will you? I've got a headache.

>>1859579
>Roxie

>>1859579

Your head is throbbing. Maybe you shouldn't have been quite so casual about the beating you took from those Russian tracksuits. "Cat, can you take over? I need a drink."

"Of course," Catherine says, smoothly rising. She touches your arm gently as she passes by. "Are you all right?" she asks quietly.

"I'm fine," you say. "Just got a headache."

You pour yourself a whiskey and down it in one gulp, watching Cat assume control just with her presence. Roxie's the only one still waving her hand in the air. "Yes, Roxie?" Cat asks politely.

"When do I get to punch people?" she asks, leaning forward eagerly.

"Soon," Cat says, smiling. "We just have to discuss who you should punch."

Roxie sighs and flops back in her seat. "Fine, get to it already." You get the feeling that no answer other than "right now" would have truly satisfied her.

Kaz gets up and whispers something urgently to Alex, who points him to a certain hallway. He rushes off, in the direction of the bathroom.

Cat picks up the stack of files and ruffles through them. "The Monsters aren't mentioned frequently in here. They haven't operated in the United States until now. But there's some concrete information on these hitherto mysterious "Elements" working as Lau's bodyguards. So we'll begin there."

"Earth, name Chen Kangmei, age 36." Cat pins a photograph underneath the Dragon: a mugshot of a incredibly burly Chinese man with a close-shaved head, staring at the camera with a look of barely contained explosive anger. Even you are awestruck by the size of his shoulders. "Expert in several forms of martial arts, specializing in "Hung Gar" or Southern Style Kung Fu. According to rumor, has, er --"repeatedy undergone ancient Shaolin training methods to strengthen the body and inure it to pain,"" Cat says in disblief, directly quoting the file. "Regardless, he's reported to be a fearsome combatant, and unstoppable at close range."

Nick digs at Roxie with his elbow. "Think you can take him? Eh?"

"Fuck yeah I do," she growls at him, and he shrinks back. Roxie turns and points at you. "You'd better not kill him off when I'm not around. I want to fight this guy. Fuck him."

"Moving on," Cat says, pinning up another photo. "Metal. Name Zhao Li-Wei, age 32." A black and white war photograph labelled "1952" in sharpie shows a huge man in a hulking suit of armor, something in between a medieval knight's plate armor and a bomb suit. He's carrying what might be a Type 97 machine gun, a weapon that's supposed to be mounted on tanks. "Never seen outside of his custom-built body armor, reputed to be the toughest in the world. Combines an unknown para-aramid synthetic fiber, ceramic plating, foam, and plastic. And it's modular. He's been seen wearing a lighter version for mobility, and a heavy version including blast collar, leg guards, and increased plating."

"I'll bet I could get a 50 cal round through it," Alex says.

"That, or we'll need a goddamn tank," says Nick.

(Continued)

>>1859618

"Water, name Ying Zhang-Li, age 28." The photo shows a person standing in a grassy field, somewhere in Vietnam if you're not mistaken. She's clad in tactical gear and camouflague, with full gas mask and helmet, holding a heavy pistol with two hands. You can barely tell it's a woman. Is it really her? You remember seeing her for the first time under very different circumstances: wearing only a bathing suit, your eyes meeting through the glass, water dripping from her long, dark hair to land by her bare feet on the poolside tiles.

The second time, the part where she almost killed you, is a little fuzzy.

"She's experienced in maritime operation and amphibious infiltration, but still does most of her work on dry land, often urban environments. Specializes in surgical operations, covert search-and-destroy. Weapon of choice is a heavy pistol. This, of course, we know first-hand." You got a lot of new scars that night, but the big hole in your chest is the one that still stings. "The rumors surrounding her involve her tracking ability -- that she has some form of supernatural ability to sense people from afar, or even that she's a vampire."

Roxie says, "She could have sucked Johnny's blooood," and laughs.

"Forest." The polaroid photograph shows only a rifle barrel emerging from shadow, with a question mark written in the white space underneath. "Name unknown. Age unknown. Stealth expert, possibly wilderness survival as well. He -- or she -- has no clear M.O., but may be behind several assassinations in Vietnam, South Korea and Japan, many of which were in remote locations or harsh environments."

A sobering silence fills the room.

>Ask Cat something. (Say what)
>Say something to the crew. (Say what)
>Have another drink.

>>1859624
>>Have another drink.

>>1859624
>Say something to the crew. (Say what)

Hooo boy, anyone know how to get an anti material rifle?

>>1859624
>Ask Cat something. "So who was Fire, before he died."
>Have another drink.

>>1859624
>Ask Cat something.
>Alright we know who they are and what they can do. The Feds got anything else on them? Where we can find them, safe houses, operations in the city, anything at all that'll close the distance between us and these bastards?

>>1859624
>Have another drink.
>Ask Cat something. (Which Element would you say is most important to their operations?)

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>>1859624
>Have another drink.

>>1859624
>>Have another drink.

>>1859624

"Anyone know how to get an anti-material rifle?"

You're not expecting anybody to answer, but Alex says, "I might be able to work something out. Give me a few days."

"All right," you say, impresed. "So -- who was Fire? You know. Before he died."

Cat flips through the files until she finds his. "Sun Li Jun, age 34. Scarred at a young age in some kind of bombing. Only survivor of his family. He was active during the Vietnam War, where--" Cat turns the page, then nearly drops the file. Her face distorts as she sees something truly awful. Then she closes the file, and composes herself. "The summary of that page, Johnny, was that you did the world a service by ridding of a man who inflicted his own pain on others."

You remember some of the things you saw yourself in Vietnam. Those burning villages, smoke rising high into the air above the jungle. The bodies. Could one of those villages have been his handiwork?

You drain your drink, thump it back down on the drinks cabinet, then say, "All right, so we know who they are and what they can do. What else do we got? Any place we can find them? Safe houses, operations?"

"There's quite a lot of information on Triad operations in the city," Cat says. "With their organization in the state that it is, they can't afford to suffer another major shock, and their enforcement potential is limited."

Kaz, back from the bathroom, says, "So if we hit them hard, in somewhere important, the Elements will have to respond no matter what."

"Precisely," Cat says. "Once we've dealt with them, the Dragon should be relatively undefended. Of course--" she hesitates, then says, "While clearly I've some personal bias at stake, perhaps we'd better deal with Kojiro first. There's information in these files on Yakuza operations as well, enough to plan a strike--"

"And I want to go after that son of a bitch Ivan," Alex says cooly. "Who me and Johnny have been ignoring this whole time, while we run around cleaning up your messes instead. And I haven't complained about it yet. But isn't it about time we did something about him? If we finish off the Triads and Yakuza only to find that we've handed the whole city to him, we're in for some trouble."

You look up from pouring another drink to realize everyone is looking at you. "What?"

They all look at each other, then back to you. Alex says, "It's your call, Johnny. Like you said, we've got three king shits, and they all want us dead. Who do you want to deal with first?"

>Set up a trap for the Elements, and then kill the Dragon. No more bounties.
>Track down Kojiro. Fuck him for going after Ryuji and Cat.
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest.

>>1859657
>>Set up a trap for the Elements, and then kill the Dragon. No more bounties.

>>1859657
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest.

>>1859657
>Set up a trap for the Elements, and then kill the Dragon. No more bounties.

>>1859657
>Set up a trap for the Elements, and then kill the Dragon. No more bounties.
As much as I hated Ivan we have to strike while the iron is hot we might not get any other opportunity like this again

>>1859657
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest.
Just as a delaying measure. Hopefully we gain more time than we lose with this. Definitely, after that we
>Set up a trap for the Elements, and then kill the Dragon. No more bounties.

>>1859673
Disagree, by the time we made progress with Ivan the Triad would have already consolidated and got back on their feet.

>>1859676
Maybe, but do we really want fewer factions on the board? The more there are, the less resources they're able to spare to come after us. We can't let Ivan take dominance, otherwise he will turn all those assets on us.

>>1859657
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest.
Gotta halt some of that momentum before we clear house.

>>1859680
It might be true that they might have more resources to point at us but I think that will impact us less than it is to have one more enemy at the table

>>1859686
And I think the opposite. We can't keep ignoring Ivan, and he won't keep ignoring us. Especially after what he may see as a challenge when we beat down one of his street thug gangs.

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Still tied up, so I'll leave this open until sometime tomorrow and see if further discussion comes to an agreement.

>>1859657
>Set up a trap for the Elements, and then kill the Dragon. No more bounties.

>>1859657
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest.
we can't let him get the whole city before we deal with him

>>1859657
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest.
We need to slow the bear before he gains too much power. if we can cripple him like we did with the Dragon's Nest he'll be forced to stop and recuperate, giving us room to work around and through him

>>1859739
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest

>>1859657
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest.

>>1859657
>Set up a trap for the Elements

>>1859657
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest.

>>1859739
>Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest.
Damn I miss this quest.
When will we dress up in tracksuits and yell CHEEKI BREEKI IV DAMKE while we shoot the real cheekis and the breekis?

>>1859657
>>Set up a trap for the Elements, and then kill the Dragon. No more bounties.

>>1859657
Eh fuck it. Changing to
>Set up a trap for the Elements, and then kill the Dragon. No more bounties.

By a narrow margin, "Put a dent in Ivan's plans of conquest" wins. We'll do something to prevent him from taking the whole city, then turn our attention back to the Triads to finish them off. I'll be back in about 9 hours from this post, and we can get started on putting that into motion.

>>1859657
Two birds, one stone.

Hit the Triad in a fashion that pins it on the russians. Like she said, the elementals HAVE to respond. So let them deal with the russians.

Then we go after the Yakuza.

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>>1860051
I mean.

We really should try to turn these guys against each other so they don't just focus on us.

>>1860896
Oh sure when I say we should frame them for the FBI job it's stupid but now people are on board?

> MFW We get caught out because who the fuck except Russians would smoke their shitty cigarettes.

>>1859657

Turn them against each other as far as possible. Hit Ivan to create a weakness, and make sure his competitors know about it.

>>1859657


While everyone in the couch circle voices their own opinions, a debate that gets increasingly heated, you stand silently by the drinks cabinet, pouring yourself another whiskey, and then another, while you carefully weigh your options. Sometimes it's better to think things though.

"We're going after the Russians," you say eventually. Not everyone hears you, so you have to repeat yourself, but it immediately kicks off another round of loud debate.

Nick gestures at the files spread out across the table. "But all this! What the hell did we do this for if we weren't gonna use it, huh?"

Ken says, "The intel will still be good a week from now. They can't afford to change up their whole operation just for us. Not now."

"But the bounties on our heads--" "Kojiro's men will--" "--Ivan's got a deal with those crooked cops--" "--how are we going to--" "--there's no way we can--"

"Hey!" Alex snaps, cutting off the arguments. "It's Johnny's call, right?" She folds her arms and looks around. "Anyone disagree?"

Silence fills the room. Roxie glares at Alex, but doesn't say anything.

"Then it's decided. Shut the fuck up and let's think this through." Alex looks at you. "We gotta decide our approach, but let's take a break for a minute."

(Continued)

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>>1861600


The two of you head outside for a cigarette in the cooler night air.

"Fuck off with those Russian smokes, by the way," Alex says, holding out a pack of Marlboros, from which you gladly accept one. She lights her own, and the two of you smoke in silence for a few moments.

"All right, out with it," you say. "I can tell you're planning in that head of yours. Hit me."

"Guilty," Alex says shrugging. "The way I see it, there's a few ways we can do this." She ticks them off on her fingers as she lists them. "First, we get some intel, then target some key positions: leaders, stash houses, things like that. Surgical strikes. We'd be attacking their strong points, though, so we'd be dealing with their best. Second, we declare open season on the street-level thugs, go to town on them. They're punks, but there's a lot of them. It'll get messy fast, but it'll send a message. Third--" She hesitates.

"What's third?" you ask.

"Go straight after Ivan. Kill him."

"Cut off the serpent's head, and it dies, right?" you say.

"Yeah," says Alex. "Or cut off the hydra's head, and it grows two more. Depends on which saying you like more."

"Old sayings always seem to be double-edged," you grumble.

"One more thing," Alex says. "It's sort of option four, sort of its own thing. There's a lot of smaller gangs in the city, right? Groups that managed to stay independant, without joining either alliance. Cuban Marielitos, the five families, IRA, and others. They'll be anxious to grab a slice of the pie for themselves, now that the big dogs are weakening. And they're going to want to know where you stand."

"Me?" you ask. "Why should they care what I think?"

"You tell me," she says. "You're the wrecking ball that's crashing through the city. In case you haven't noticed, Johnny, you're kind of a big deal now."

You're not sure how you feel about that. You didn't have any ambitions when this all started. You just wanted to get paid.

Seeing your ambivalence, Alex moves on. "Anyway, one of them might propose a working relationship soon. Or we could approach them about it ourselves. We could also ignore them and keep doing our own thing. Just putting that out there. You know, so you've got even more to think about," she adds wryly.

"Well, thanks for helping me keep all this straight," you say. Looking up into the night sky, you try to think about how you're going to handle this.

>Cut off the head of the snake
>Surgical strikes on key leaders and positions
>Open war on street-level gangs
>Find allies

>>1861606
>Cut off the head of the snake

>>1861606
>>Open war on street-level gangs
Chaos pls

>>1861606
>>Find allies
Try the Cuban coke smugglers and Haitian gangbangers.
>Cut off the head of the snake

>>1861606
>>Surgical strikes on key leaders and positions

I don't want to try making new allies til the bounties are off us.
just takes one over confident fuck to try and backstab us

>>1861606
>Find allies
>Open war on street-level gangs
Let's get them hot and bothered first, and then we go after the head.

>>1861606
>Open war on street-level gangs
Something something chaos is a ladder.
If we want allies, IRA isn't a bad choice.

>>1861606
>Open war on street-level gangs
I second looking at the IRA for allies.

>>1861606
>>Open war on street-level gangs

>>1861611
>>1861632
>>1861635
>>1861636
>>1861645

>Open war on street-level gangs
>Something something chaos is a ladder.
>If we want allies, IRA isn't a bad choice.

Writing.

>>1861606

"I want to take it to them at ground level," you say eventually. "The Russians aren't relying on tactics or strategy. They're just overpowering anyone who stands against them, with brute force. Those tracksuit thugs kick the shit out of anyone running any kind of operation or hustle who won't give up a cut, and sometimes they do anyway. The goons are tough sons of bitches," you say, scratching at the cut above your eye you got earlier that day, probably a new scar to add to the collection. "But they're not as loyal or organized as the Triads or Yakuza. If we assault them directly, they might cave. Once his gangs get thrown into chaos, Ivan will have to stop and actually get organized. That should give us the time we need."

"Sounds good to me," Alex says.

"I'm thinking something direct and brutal. Fists and knives will be good enough to start with, but soon enough we'll need something bigger. Guns. And bombs. Even if we don't need it now, that stuff will definitely come in handy when we take on the Elements." You take a drag on your cigarette, thinking. "You know who knows all about that stuff?"

"Besides the Russians, you mean?" she asks. "The Irish."

"Right. If we can get in contact with those crazy bastards, I'm sure we can work out some kind of deal. "Bombs for cash." We can afford it, after all."

"For now. The Dragon's Nest money won't last forever."

"When it runs out, we'll just have to pull another job."

"You're a crazy motherfucker, Johnny," Alex says, shaking her head.

"That's why I need you around."

"We should do this fast, right? When do you want to get started?"

>Let's take a few days to plan, then hit them all at once.
>Tomorrow, when I've slept off this headache, and picked a good spot to start with.
>Fuck it, let's go right now. We'll just pull over at the first bar we come to with a sign in Cyrillic.

>>1861702
>Tomorrow, when I've slept off this headache, and picked a good spot to start with.

>>1861702
>Let's take a few days to plan, then hit them all at once.

>>1861702
>>Let's take a few days to plan, then hit them all at once.

>>1861702
>>Tomorrow, when I've slept off this headache, and picked a good spot to start with.

>>1861702
>Fuck it, let's go right now. We'll just pull over at the first bar we come to with a sign in Cyrillic.
MAN MODE
Then we get talked down to
>Tomorrow, when I've slept off this headache, and picked a good spot to start with.

>>1861702
>Tomorrow, when I've slept off this headache, and picked a good spot to start with.

>>1861713
supporting this

>Tomorrow, when I've slept off this headache, and picked a good spot to start with.

Writing.

>>1861702

You send everyone home, telling them that tomorrow you'll figure out the first target, and call who you need to, so they should be ready to go. Alex is the last to leave. She lingers by the door a moment, like she's about to say something, then turns and heads out.

You go to bed, your shoulder aching from where you took a crowbar earlier that day, and your back still sore from that round that cracked your armor in the FBI office. You have uneasy dreams in which huge figures loom over the city against a dark background, laughing, as you run through a labyrinth of endless, twisting streets.

The next morning you wake up to the smell of bacon, and wander into the kitchen to find the twins cooking, so that improves your mood a bit. You sit at the living room table with a hearty breakfast platter, a cup of coffee, a newspaper, and cartoons on the television.

"We now return you to Zaltron, Lords of the Universe!"

The Rangers are in their secret base. "Argh!" cries the bespectacled green ranger, clutching his helmet. "I can't believe the Evil Space Army has taken over Galacticore! And now their ships are moving into Sector 9! This wasn't what my calculations predicted!"

"It's because we were so busy dealing with the Dark Sorcerer, and the Barbarian Princess!" The blue ranger stabs an accusatory finger at the red ranger. "This is your fault! If you were a better leader, none of this would have happened!"

"Stop fighting!" cries the pink ranger. "I can't stand it when you boys fight! Don't you see we need to work together?"

"She's right," says the black ranger. "What are we waiting for? Let's take Zaltron over to Sector 9, and kick their butts!"

"Let's do it, team!" shouts the red ranger.

Everyone raises their hands for the collaborate pose and salute. "GOOOOO ZALTRON!"

There's something weirdly familiar about the stuff that happens in this show, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

(Continued)

>>1861797

Putting the cartoon from your mind, you start thinking about where to hit the Russians. There's a few different places you can think of, just off the top of your head, where you'd be likely to find a big group of their goons.

This is going to be brutal, you admit to yourself.

The Triads and Yakuza are disciplined and fanatically loyal, but outside of those fucking swords the Japs carry around, they usually don't have a ton of firepower. Their street-level members are just hotheaded kids, more interested in clan mentality and intimidating regular folks than actual fights.

The Russians have guns, and plenty of them. They've also got battle-hardened veterans, former KGB, Siberian prisoners, all kinds of serious badasses with endurance to pain and a deep familiarity with violence. There's plenty of dumb fucks who get paid to stand around and look tough, too, but in and amongst them will be the hardcore bastards. More of them as you get closer to Ivan.

Screw them. Doesn't matter how tough they are. You were made to break men like them. You're going to show them that the hardest, meanest son of a bitch in this city is you.

No need to set up an elaborate job for this one. Just you and one or two others, maybe someone else as a driver. Get in the car, drive over there, smash some shit, drive back. Simple.

You sip your coffee, thinking about where you're going to start killing people.

Target:
>Slaughterhouse
>Construction yard
>Dive bar
>Fight club

Allies (1, 2 or 3):
>Alex
>Roxie
>Nick
>Ryuji
>Ken
>Kaz
>The Twins

>>1861804
>Slaughterhouse
>Roxie
>Alex
>Kaz

>>1861804
>Slaughterhouse
>Alex
>Roxie
>Nick
Who knows what goodies Nick could swipe from the Slaughterhouse?

>>1861804
this works>>1861827

>>1861804
>Slaughterhouse

> Ken

> Ryuji

> Kaz

Fuck we should dress up like one of the Elements and make them think they got hit by 'em.

>>1861804
>>1861864
Also - if Earth wants to dress like a Tank I say we treat him like one. Cover him in molotovs spiked with magnesium.

>>1861873
>beating Earth with Fire
Try an anti-material rifle to the noggin, Tree style.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wu_Xing

>>1861804
>Fight club
>Roxie
>Ken
>The Twins

>>1861887
> Beating earth with fire

This is America. Not gay as wujin fitan majik.

We have all the fire we could ever need and more.

Also yeah fire word great against tanks and such. All that heat cooks them alive. It's horrific.

We don't use nearly enough fire in this quest. Ivan understands.

>>1861892
>>1861804
I'll switch to this.

>>1861893
What, not enact poetic justice? Let Ivan be put through the Rasputin treatment: stabbed, shot, drowned, and poisoned. Not necessarily in that order.

>>1861903
We ain't a poet we're a thug.

> Vox's cancer is spreading

>>1861932
But the so-called 'thugs' write out rhymes, we can do so too! And don't you forget the justice part, that's important. Street justice. After all they did doublecross and left us to die first.
Granted, our poetry will be spelt and spoken with all-american assault ammunition instead of alliteration, but it'll still be awesome nonetheless.

>>1861989
> Fucking street monkey "Thugs" not being over produced bullshit.


I'm down for the Street Justice - but not being a faggot about it.

> Granted, our poetry will be spelt and spoken with all-american assault ammunition instead of alliteration, but it'll still be awesome nonetheless.

I mean. This I can get on board with. Let's just blow him up. Getting fancy is where mistakes get made.

> What makes a man Namefag, is it just that he has a heart full of faggotry?

>>1862051
Hey, every society needs a jester, and apparently namefags are kind of like that for 4chan?
But the more important question you'll be asking is "when can we start busting people's ass?"

>>1861989
Fuck off fag

>>1861806
Seconding

>>1861892
>>1861897
You guys stupid or something? The Russians have more than 1 gun per group.

>>1861892
Are you actually a fucking retard? Are you serious? Why are you opting to willingly bring children into this? What the fuck? And Ken has repeatedly expressed that he's too old for this shit, it'd be much easier, simpler, and honestly more effective to bring Alex. In fact, just to try and safeguard against stupid team votes, Raven please count my vote for Nick as a vote for Kaz. It's a good choice too, and anything to avoid bringing FUCKING CHILDREN into a slaughter. Johnny is many things, but an employer of child soldiers isn't one of them, especially when he has other options that are far more effective.

>>1861897
You too, you raging autist. Don't think I don't see your faggotry trying to bring Ryuji in after we've just told him to take some time, and Ken after he's made it clear that he wants out of being a killer. Especially after that incident with the grenade. Fuck that. And fuck your idea about pretending to be the Elements.

>>1861903
>>1861989
>>1862079
Are you even real?

>>1861806
>>1861804
>this

>>1862109
What is real, anyways?

>>1862121
Ke goblokan luh cibai

>>1861804
Backing >>1861827

>>1862109
U mad bro?

>>1861804
> Roxie
We promised
> Nick
He can probably come up with - A CUNNING PLAN

> The Twins.

It'll be fun.

>>1862131
>doesn't vote for location
>votes to bring twins to a fight with guns
>votes to bring the guy with the least amount of combat skills when our goal is to kill as many people as possible

>>1861806
Supporting >>1861804

>>1861804
Alex
Nick
Max
Dive bar
I'd specifically like to request not bringing the twins to something like a fight club though

>>1861804
>Dive bar
>Alex
>Roxie
>Nick
We give Ryuji time to adjust to the lost eye

>>1861804
>Slaughterhouse
>Alex
>Roxie
>Kaz

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>>1862109
lol

>>1862125
ndeso ojo neng kene, neng fsc wae dul

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The vote is:

Slaughterhouse

Alex
Roxie
Kaz

We'll get started in about eight hours.

>>1862134
Slaughterhouse was clearly winning.

Better than mister "I want two votes" here >>1862156 who wants to have his own votes AND block votes against the twins.

This quest is getting filled with autists and faggots like you and >>1862109

Fucking single post votes as far as the eye can see.

You're the cancer that kills this shit you know. Just shut the fuck up and vote.

>>1863917
Nah, been around since thread 1 and going strong.

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>>1863917
>calls anons autists and faggots
>wants to bring the kids to the equivalent of a 2hu level IRL, where the air is bullets

>>1863968
>>1863930
>>1863917
Please trip fag so I can block you all.

>>1864052
no

>>1861804

The slaughterhouses and meat-packing plants of Heat City have belonged to Russian immigrants for decades, maybe since the start of the century. It used to be a home for honest, hard-working refugees from the Bolsheviks and Stalinist purges. Now it's a wasteland, choked from pollution and neglect, home only to slaughtered pigs and Bratva thugs. The industries are all fronts for their shipping operations now.

Garbage litters the streets, the alley dumpsters overflowing, and smog clouds the sky overhead. Small knots of meat packers and tracksuit thugs loiter at barrel fires or squat at dice games. Inside your Lincoln, everyone keeps their windows rolled down against the unbelievable stench.

"Here we are," Kaz says, pulling your Lincoln up to the curb in front of a huge, gloomy-looking warehouse. "Er -- that is, I think so. There's no address. You sure this is the place?"

"Only one way to find out," you say, cracking your knuckles. You turn around to Alex and Roxie in the backseat, who have been studiously ignoring each other the entire trip. "I don't know what you two are mad about now, but is there going to be a problem?"

"No sir," Alex says, at the same time as Roxie says, "Fuck no."

"All right. Alex, check the side entrance. Roxie, you're with me. Kaz ..."

>You too.
>Go with Alex.
>Stay with the car, and be ready.

>>1864286
>>Go with Alex.
Might as well get him more experience.

>>1864286
>Go with Alex.

>>1864286
>Go with Alex.

>>1864286
>>Stay with the car, and be ready.
dunno if he has any fighting experience.

>>1864307
He was in the Triad and was with us on our last job.

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>Go with Alex.

Writing.

>>1864286
>Go with Alex.

>>1864286
>Go with Alex.

>>1864286
>>Go with Alex.

Operation Meat Shield for Worst Girl go!

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>>1864286

"Go with Alex," you say. "If you want to stay alive doing this, she's the one to learn from. Do what she says and watch her back."

Alex, taller than Kaz, looks down at him with an impassive face behind her sunglasses. "Just don't fuck up, kid," Alex says. "And we'll get along fine." You remember being in his shoes, hearing that line, and you don't envy him. Alex heads off down the alleyway, taking out her P226 and screwing on a silencer. Kaz gulps and follows after her.

You look at Roxie. "You ready?"

"You betcha," she says, stretching her arms overhead. She hops from one foot to the other, warming herself up.

"Looking forward to trying out your presents?"

"Yep!" Roxie opens her ragged jacket showing her two shoulder holsters, each with a brand new Beretta 92FS.

"All right, then let's get started. Alex and Kaz should be ready by now." You walk to the glass front doors, smeared with grease and mud, and peer inside at the shadowed interior. "Doesn't look like they're open to the public today." You try the door. "Locked. Roxie? Ladies first," you say, stepping out of the way and indicating the door in a gentlemanly manner.

Roxie grins, hefting a brick she seems to have found nearby, and hurls it at the door, smashing the glass. She takes off her jacket, wraps it around her hand and wrist leaving her fingers free, then reaches through the smashed glass to unlock the door. She pulls it open and steps through, glass crunching under her boots, and you follow her.

Inside is a dingy reception area, barely used. Three guys in casual clothes sitting at a low table have abandoned their card game and are standing in shock. "чтo eбaть?" "What the fuck buddy?" "Looking to steal some shit for drugs? You come to the wrong place, buddy."

A fourth guy walks in to see what the noise is about, and reels in shock. "That's fucking him, you idiots! That's the guy! Get him!"

Choose 2:
>Fuck them up.
>Scare them off.
>Don't get hurt.

Then roll!

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>1864560
>Fuck them up.
>Don't get hurt.
We ain't here to scare

>>1864560
>Fuck them up.
>Scare them off.

Rolled 3 (1d10)

>>1864573

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>1864560
>Fuck them up.
>Scare them off.

>>1864560
>Don't get hurt
>Fuck them up

>>1864567
Actually, this is true, I wasn't thinking. Switching to this.

Rolled 3 (1d10)

>>1864591
Rolling because I'm a nub

>>1864560
>Don't get hurt
>Fuck them up

Rolled 5 (1d10)

>>1864560
>Fuck them up.
>Don't get hurt.

>Fuck them up.
>Don't get hurt.
>7-3-7

Writing.

Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>1864560
>Fuck them up
>Don't get hurt.

It would be a nice change.

>>1864560

Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GoXs6wTxNKw

The Bratva goons don't waste any time. Two of them pull out knives, a third grabs the stool he was sitting on, and they spread out and advance. The fourth, who just entered the room, turns around to head back into the slaughterhouse, probably to alert everyone else, but Roxie picks up the brick and pitches it at the back of his head like a baseball. He goes down with a surprised grunt, the brick leaving a bloody dent in his skull.

The other three come at you, but they aren't sure what to expect. All they know is your reputation, and they aren't sure if you can back it up just yet. You'll have to show them. As the closest goon approaches and readies himself to cut at you, you give him a front kick straight in the gonads. He drops his knife and buckles over, groaning, and you give him a devastating uppercut, lifting him up and knocking him flat on his back. The other two attack, but you sidestep and shove them into each other. Roxie grabs the far one, dragging him down to the ground, mounting him and bloodying her knuckles on his face, turning it into pulp. You grab the other one's head in your hand and slam him against the wall once, twice, three times, until he goes limp and a big blood splatter on the wall is smeared with the imprint of his face, and you drop him.

Further inside, you can hear gunshots as Alex's P226 fires. You grab Roxie by the upper arm and drag her off her victim. "C'mon!" she protests. "I wasn't finished yet!"

"Gotta help Alex," you say doggedly. Both of you already bloodied, though not with any of yours, you push forward into the slaughterhouse proper, leaving crimson smears on the plastic sheeting.

A huge sterile room, filled with row on row of pigs dangling from meat hooks, or spread out on butcher tables, in various stages of being sliced apart and packaged. Ribs jut from exposed flesh. Trails of blood leak across the stained tiled floor. The room is filled with workers in their uniforms, long sterile coats and facemasks. They haven't noticed you yet -- the scuffle in front seems to have been overshadowed by the gunshots in back. About half the workers are rushing off in that direction, while the others remain. About ten.

(Continued)

>>1864737

Roxie picks up a bloody meat cleaver from a nearby sink, hefting it. "I can see why you like these." She hurls it at the nearest worker, and it lodges in his back in between his shoulder blades. He goes down with a cry, alerting the other, who spin around to see you and Roxie.

"Damn," you say. "You've got a good arm."

"Thanks!" Roxie says.

"Hi," you say to the Russian slaughterhouse workers, who don't look pleased to see you. "We're with the sanitation board. And uh, phew." You wave your hand in front of your nose. "I'm pretty sure you guys are violating a few regulations here. There might be a moderate fine involved."

The uniformed workers charge you, shouting Russian curses, grabbing knives or whatever comes to hand. Both you and Roxie draw your pistols, and the deafening bark of unsupressed gunshots fills the room. Three go down before they reach you, then there's a sudden chaos of fists and shouting. You fight defensively, keeping yourself safe with one arm and firing your pistol at any vulnerable targets that present themselves, giving them one in the chest to put them down and one in the head to keep them there. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a huge, brawny asshole with tattoos all over his arms pick up Roxie like she was a doll and slam her against the wall. You wrestle free of your current opponents, jam your pistol against the back of his skull, and fire your last two bullets at point-blank range. The last remaining worker swings a knife, but you duck at the last moment, the blade whistling overhead, then turn and pistol-whip him in the face, dropping him with a bloody nose. Methodically, you eject your M1911's magazine, insert a new one, and finish him off.

"You all right?" you ask Roxie, reaching out a hand.

"Yeah," she says, reaching up to clasp your forearm, and you haul her up. She spits a big glob of blood and saliva on the floor, wipes her mouth off, and cracks her neck. "Ready."

Beyond the door of plastic sheeting to the next area, you can hear shouting and cursing in Russian as another group of workers is alerted of the situation and comes running.

>Charge in there before they can get organized.
>Stand and fight. All these meat hooks around, shame to waste the opportunity.
>Find Alex before she and Kaz get into trouble.
>Pretend to retreat, lure them into an ambush.

>>1864741
>Find Alex before she and Kaz get into trouble.

>>1864741
>Stand and fight. All these meat hooks around, shame to waste the opportunity.
As if putting people on meat hooks isn't obviously the best choice.

>>1864741
>>Find Alex before she and Kaz get into trouble.
Our friends are top priority

>>1864741
>>Pretend to retreat, lure them into an ambush.

>>1864741
>Stand and fight. All these meat hooks around, shame to waste the opportunity.

Cheat on Cleaver-Kun.

>>1864741
>Stand and fight. All these meat hooks around, shame to waste the opportunity.

>>1864741
>>1864750
Changing vote to
>>Find Alex before she and Kaz get into trouble.

>>1864756
Did you change your vote JUST to tie it up?

>>1864741
>Stand and fight. All these meat hooks around, shame to waste the opportunity.

It's my phone post!>>1863917


Stick with our strengths.

>>1864741
>Stand and fight. All these meat hooks around, shame to waste the opportunity.

MEATHOOKS
E
A
T
H
O
O
K
SKOOHTEAM

>>1864741
Changing to
>Find Alex before she and Kaz get into trouble.

>>1864741
>>Find Alex before she and Kaz get into trouble.

>>1864771
I mean maybe he knows his option won't win and doesn't like meat hooks.

But guys, l
l
l
M
E
A
T S
H K
O O

>>1864741
>>Find Alex before she and Kaz get into trouble.

>>1864795
Fuck formatting.

Before we're tied again ...

>>Find Alex before she and Kaz get into trouble.

Roll!

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>1864802

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>1864802

Rolled 5 (1d10)

>>1864802

Rolled 5 (1d10)

>>1864802
Roll for meathook

>>1864789
> Doesn't like meathooks

What kind of person is like that. Disgusting.

>>1864815
This guy; this guy gets it

>>1864815
My thoughts precisely.

>>1864832
But not smart enough to write coherent sentences, apparently.

>>1864834
People who's smart enough to know it's overrated and to not talk to ghost ;^]

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>>1864832

>>1864741

You were hoping you'd get through to Alex and Kaz before they get into trouble, and unfortunately that's exactly what doesn't happen.

A group of tracksuit thugs has intercepted them and dug in behind solid cover, wall corners and heavy machinery, and they've been reinforced by a group of slaughterhouse workers in uniforms who've grabbed anything nearby they can use as a weapon. You can't see your friends, but you can hear their gunshots. The two groups are trading fire, the tracksuits equipped Skorpion submachine guns. One goes down to a spray from Alex's Tec-9, joining the two bodies already on the floor, but one of the workers immediately grabs up the gun and starts firing. The rest of the workers seem to be marshalling for a charge.

Roxie taps you on the shoulder and points behind you, where the Russian curses are getting louder. "ты чё, cyкa, oхyeл, бля?" "oтвaли, мyдaк, бля!"

"We're about to get sandwiched," she says. "What should we do?"

>You hold them off, I'll help Alex and Kaz.
>I'll hold them off, you help them.
>Both attack to help them.
>Both stand your ground.

>>1864846
>Both attack to help them.

>>1864846
>>Both attack to help them.

>>1864846
>Both attack to help them
"I call this one the meathook maneuver"

>>1864846
>I'll hold them off, you help them.
I'd rather not get flanked, thanks.

>>1864846

>Both attack to help Alex and Kaz.

Kill or cause the group pinning Alex and Kaz to retreat quick, then all four of us attack the group behind us.

We only need 20-30 sec...

>>1864846
>Both attack to help them.

>Both attack to help them

Roll!

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>1864877
MEATHOOK

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>1864877
Death to meat hooks, glory to cleaver-chan

Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>1864877

>>1864880
>>1864881
>>1864882
If this teaches us anything it's: Shut up and roll.

>>1864846

"No time to waste," you say, steeling your nerve. "We gotta get there before we get flanked and fucked up. This is gonna be rough, though. You ready?"

Roxie nods, a big smile on her face, and you see she's battle-high. Time for you to get there yourself. "Hit me," you say to her, and she obligingly slaps you without even asking why. You focus on the pain, dredging up the anger and hatred from all the shit the world's done to you. Part of you remains lucid, just enough to take the sawn-off shotgun out from your jacket and pump the action. "Let's fucking do this," you say, and then --

-- it goes kind of red. You see yourself emptying the shotgun into a tracksuit's bearded face, laughing. Another tracksuit grabs the shotgun, and you blow his guts out, but he wrestles the gun away from you even as he's dying. A worker leaps over him, raising a meat cleaver above his head, and you drop the shotgun to block his attack by grabbing his wrist. You yank your pistol out with the other hand, fire a couple of rounds into his stomach and one into his head, and then someone hits you in the back of the head with something fucking hard and you should drop but you don't, you just stand there and laugh and the guy hit you with a goddamn fire extinguisher but you don't even care, you just pick him up with one hand and then --

A worker shoulder-checks you up against a doorway, like he's slamming you up against the boards in hockey. The door gives way, and both of you crash to the ground in a dark room, the worker on top of you. For a moment you struggle, before the weight is suddenly lifted off of you.

Still stunned by the impact, you shake yourself back to clarity to hear the worker shouting in terror, pleading for his life. "Пoжaлyйcтa! Heт!" His cries are cut off in a gurgling scream.

You push yourself up and look in the room you've just crashed into to see ...

(Continued)

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>>1864916

The butcher turns around, slowly. His face is obscured by a porcine mask, his apron stained a deep rust-red. He holds a cleaver much larger than yours, slick with fresh blood. He lets out a slow, heavy breath, looking down at you.

>Okay. Let's do this.
>Go find your shotgun or one of the tracksuits' SMGs.
>Good thing you brought a grenade.
>You know what? Fuck this. I'm out.