"Okay then. If that is all..."
The entity snaps his fingers and everyone falls to the floor, unconscious.
"I just want to tell you all good luck. We're all counting on you."
You lift the glass and bring it to your mouth. The ice cubes clink against the glass as they resettle.
You take a sip out of it. Aaaahhh... That's a fine whiskey.
You set the glass down on the desk and turn to face the man standing by the door again.
"So, everything is ready then?" you ask.
"Uhh, y-yes sir." the other one replies reluctantly.
"Good. Good. And you, are you ready?"
"Uhhh..."
"Come on, tell me, you can speak freely." you say as you get up from your armchair.
You start walking away from your desk, towards the window. The man fidgets and struggles to find the courage to express his opinion.
"Uhhh... Well... Are you certain it is worth the risk sir? All the destruction?"
"Yes, I am certain. This city has stagnated. It needs a new leader, someone to lead it to greatness once more. It needs change. And change requires sacrifice."
Even though he says nothing, he doesn't look very convinced by your small speech.
Environmental assessment complete.
"Well, think about it this way then. The world will be better off without those scum in it. We're doing the people of this city a favour."
The man still doesn't look fully convinced. Well, no matter. He won't dare oppose you. Soon, nobody will.
You look out at the city outside of the window.
Toaster
You look out at the city outside of the window, watching the buildings go by. Warehouses and small businesses mostly, with the occasional small house or apartment building popping up among them. Most of them are not in the best of conditions and the dim orange lighting provide by the street lights makes them look even worse. The houses especially. Almost all of them are dark.
Establishing host control. Standby...
While some of the businesses and warehouses survived the events of the past decades, some even thrived, the same cannot be said for the inhabitants of this area. Not many want to live in such a place. Even the people who profit from the criminals are scared of them, scared of finding themselves caught in the crossfire. That's why there's a mass exodus every night. Because there is certainly going to be conflict for such a coveted area. There has been many times before.
Further away the small towers at the heart of the city appear as dark silhouettes against the night sky, only few lights left open where a worker has failed to abandon his work. The night sky takes a slightly orange hue from the light coming from the city, making it starless and empty, only-
"Hey! You with me?" a voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
"Oh, yeah." you reply. "Just trying to relax. Not to think about what comes next."
"Yeah, I think we all are." the voice replies and sighs.
You turn to face the man besides you, an obese man in his late 50s, made to look even bigger by his thick blue coat. His hair and his moustache have started turning grey from old age and there are many wrinkles on his face. Overall he looks like someone's grandfather, someone who should be telling his grandchildren stories, not someone riding in a police car.
"Do you really think this is a good idea? Going there in person?" you ask as you turn to look at the standard issue police cap sitting on your lap. You lift the cap and clean a smudge with your finger. "I am certain I could represent you."
He had always offered a great deal of support for you. It is only right that you repay the favour. Not to mention what would happen if someone in the media got wind that the commissioner was meeting with the heads of the biggest criminal organisations in the city.
"We have one chance to stop this. We have to give it our best shot."
Some may call what you were doing unethical, accuse you of consorting with criminals. Accuse you of getting bribed. Of abandoning your duty.
"It is the only way to prevent an all out war from breaking out. Besides, I'm certain none of them will attempt anything."
But what you are doing is making the best choice. The only choice. You keep the peace. You make sure everybody is playing nice, that things don't get out of hand. And in exchange you look the other way when certain things happen.
"All the big bosses are going to be there. It would be disrespectful of me to not be there in person. Plus, it is a statement. That I am taking this seriously. That I want peace, no matter what."
It is better than the alternative. It is better then gang members shooting each other out on the street. Better than having to tell the wife of a co-worker that her husband won't be coming home because he tried to stop some punk from stealing a few dollars or moving some liqueur around.
"Plus, everybody is bringing all their muscle with them. And they know I have the entire police force ready to storm the island. They would be idiots to try anything."
And so what if you take a few money on the side? That is irrelevant. You are performing a service for this city. You regulate the madness. You won't complain when that service is rewarded. Everybody does it, all the way up to the mayor. Why should you be left on the outside?
"I don't know sir, some of them aren't exactly smart."
The commissioner laughs.
"Well, no they are not. But they all want to survive."
The car stops. You open the door, get outside, put your cap on and check the surrounding area. Looks like the commissioner was right. Every goon in the city that can hold a gun is here or somewhere in the surrounding area.
"I'm counting on that. Survival."
Hawk132
You look out at the city outside of the window, trying to ignore the annoyingly pitched voice of the man next to you.
"...so the guy is all like 'And what was I supposed to do? There was nothing there. I thought that-' and so I cut him off and I tell him 'Look Vinny, I am not paying you to think. I am paying you to do.' So I got him..."
Gaaaah, why won't he shut up? Ever? Even before a meeting as important as this one.
Establishing host control. Standby...
"...yeah, they think they can muscles us out of our territory, push us out of the docks. Well, they're not getting that. No they are not. I'm telling you, my family has been in this city far longer than the rest of them. My father..."
He's probably scared. He won't shut up when he is scared. Despite all his big talk, he's nothing but a coward, using the power left to him by his father but unable to properly manage it. Just a little weasel that pretends to be a lion.
"... not to mention the money we get from things other than shipping in this area. I'm telling you, whatever they offer, I'm not taking it. Our territory stays as it always was. You hear me Fredo? Hey, Fredo, you hear me?"
You turn to face him. Looks like a weasel too. A weasel with a cheap Italian suit and a fedora. Bulging eyes, looks like he's ready to bolt. You wonder how he managed to survive that long. If his father were around to see this-
"Hey! You fell asleep or something? What am I saying, can you even fall asleep? Are you listening to me?"
How can a man utter so many words is such a short amount of time? If his father hadn't asked you to take care of him, if you didn't respect his memory so much, then you would snap his neck right this moment.
"I am listening sir."
It would be better if he at least took your advice every once in a while. Instead, the little fat thing just barks orders and then complains when his stupid plans fail. Thinking he knows everything, that he is right and everyone else is wrong.
"Well good, I'm not keeping you around to just stand there like a worthless statue. I need you to pay attention!"
"You have my utmost attention sir."
He doesn't detect the sarcasm in your voice. Admittedly, it's a hard thing to do.
"Great, now once we get there, since all the other idiots are going to be waiting for us, I want you to make sure that there are men..."
This is going to be a long drive.
Alarith
You look out at the city outside of the window, ripe for the taking. The old order is weak. The city officials are ready to follow whoever offers them the most money, whoever makes the greatest show of power. The power of your enemies is crumbling. Your success is certain. All you need now is to make one final push.
Establishing host control. Standby...
This area will be the most important step of your conquest. The docks are the lifeblood of the city. Everything coming or going passes through here. All the goods (both legal and otherwise) are stored in its warehouses. The greatest brothels in the country serve the hungry sailors. Bars offering smuggled, tax-free alcohol. And the unions that make sure that anyone who needs work or to start a new business in the city must go through them first. Not to mention the... other advantages this area provides.
"Want a drink son?"
You turn to look at the man sitting besides you. A man in his late 30s wearing a dark red silk robe, pouring whiskey into the glass he is holding.
"No thank you sir. We'll be in a room with the greatest mob bosses of this city and their bodyguards. I need to keep my head clear to protect you."
"Suit yourself. But I am telling you. There is no reason to worry."
And how could you not succeed, when being led by such a man? A real legend in your profession. He may not look like much, but that would only apply to someone completely ignorant of who the man he is looking at really is. Leo, the Lion of Kingdom Bay.
The man not only survived an attack by 8 assault rifle wielding hitmen on his house, he not only managed to kill all 8 of them, he also escaped the burning building and shot up their getaway vehicles as they were driving away, killing their accomplices before they had a chance to escape. When you arrive at the scene to find your boss holding a tommygun, wearing his silk sleeping robe, smoking a cigar and staring at the burning wreckage of a car and the dead bodies of the hitmen sent to kill him, while the entire thing is illuminated by the glow of his burning and shot up house in the background then... Well, then you know that you're dealing with a really tough guy. One who demands your respect. One who is not only a great leader, but also a great fighter. A great survivor.
That robe was his only possession that did not burn down with the rest of his house (the tommygun belonged to one of the hitmen and the cigar was smoked). He wore it for a couple of days after the attack, until he got some new clothes. He still keeps it, wearing it for occasions like this one. Where he needs to show people of who he really is. To remind them of his strength.
"Everything OK Tom my boy?" he asks as he turns to look at you. "You look very thoughtful."
"Yes sir. Everything is going to be just fine."
Coolrune206
You look out at the city outside of the window, still amazed by it, even after all those years. It's so different from your home. Everything is big, everything is different. The down-town streets are filled with people at all times of the day, talking, drinking, going to their jobs. The suburbs are full of families and nice small houses. Even this decrepit neighbourhood has its own charm. It brings you a tinge of sadness knowing that you will probably never have what most people here are having.
Establishing host control. Standby...
But the thought doesn't stay in your mind for long. You do not concern yourself with such petty things. You are a survivor. And you do what it takes to survive. Everyone else can have all the luxury they want. Your first concern is staying alive. All else is secondary. That's why you joined the cartel. You chose your battles, fighting hard but knowing when to retreat, being willing to fight but also to listen, when necessary. So as the others around you fell through carelessness or petty rivalry, you have risen through the ranks, until you were trusted enough to be sent out of the country. Now you can boast the tittle of second in command to the cartel's operation in the city of Kingdom Bay.
The first in command is the man sitting besides you. Garcia, Mercader de la Muerte. Known for being both ruthless and sneaky as a snake. Your ride is quiet, as always. You are not together by choice, nor do you enjoy each other's company very much. But you are professionals. You get your job done. Else the boss will get angry and you don't want that.
Your group oversees most of the cartel's business on this side of the Atlantic. All "exports" pass through you. Drugs, guns, booze, women, assassinations, abductions, what have you. You use your men to make sure that everything goes smoothly beyond that borders. That all the proper authorities are either paid or blackmailed. That none of the locals get too greedy. That none of your men dare think about betraying you or stealing the "merchandise".
Still, that doesn't explain why you were called to this meeting. Sure, you do a few jobs in this city, but your main activity is "importing". You've always played by the rules. Didn't encroach on other people's business. Always gave your "goods" and "services" to the highest bidder. You don't even really belong in a meeting like that. Garcia is not the boss, not like the people you'll be meeting there. He's just a manager.
Maybe it was just a courtesy? A sign of respect, that you are to be included with the rest of the crime bosses? Or maybe they just want to make sure that you wont pick sides on any coming conflict? Still, that doesn't explain why Garcia accepted the invitation. If the boss has any plans on making a push, on expanding his business in the city, you haven't heard anything about that. It would be a foolish move anyway. Taking part in this conflict will cause more problems than opportunities. Maybe he just wants to negotiate better prices or ask for money in exchange for not getting involved? Or just observe how the power balance will shift, know who your new customers will be?
Even so, going there is a bad idea. Those fools are more than likely to kill each other. And you wouldn't like to be caught in the crossfire.
But you are just the second in command. They're not paying you to think more than necessary or to question their motives. All you can do for now is obey their orders and try to stay alive.
Roc CURIOUSBEAST_EATER
You look out at the city outside of the window, making sure that everything is clear. It is anything but clear, it's swarming with people. A number of people unusual for this part of the city. Still, none of them is pointing any weapons at you, so you guess you're in the clear. For now.
Establishing host control. Standby...
You open the door, step out of the car, pick up your weapon and walk to the other side to open the door for your boss. You hate that guy. Not because he is a bad boss or anything. No, the work is OK and the pay is good. It's the way he looks and acts that gets to you. He is covered top to bottom with a long hooded brown cloak that conceals every bit of his body. The hood (combined with the fact that he never gets out during the day) makes sure his face is almost never seen. And he talks with a strange low voice, almost like whispering or talking while inhaling instead of while exhaling. Most of the time he just whispers things to you and you talk for him.
And the worse thing is that he forces you to carry this polearm around. Like there aren't any guns in this world.
You know he's probably just some maniac with lots of money who thinks he looks cool when he acts like that (or had some kind of horrible disfiguring accident), but you can't help but feel mildly creeped out by him. Especially because you have never seen his face. Not that you'd ever complain. As long as you're getting paid, that is. You'd be the bodyguard of a man wearing a tutu if he was paying for your meals. A man's got to survive somehow.
You start walking towards the abandoned gallery building where the meeting is taking place. (Your boss walks in a way that makes him look like he is hovering instead of walking, his head not bobbing at all. Another thing you hate about him.) It's a large four storey building (including the ground floor), its exterior decorated by faux white bricks and some windows. This used to be a place where rich people would come and see art. Or whatever passed as art those days anyway. Nowadays, it's just standing there, unused. Surprisingly, it hasn't been taken over by any bums. Its pompously decorated interior is empty, the black outlines of missing picture frames visible on the wallpapers, nothing on its red carpets but dust and small gashes caused by the movement of objects. Yet it still retains some of its charm.
Although there are various gang members around, the 3rd floor should be completely clear. Nobody allowed up there but the bosses and their bodyguards. You just have to go up there and make sure everything is OK, no traps or bombs or anything like that. After that, just sit through he meeting until it's over and say anything the weirdo wants you to say. Not much, probably. Guy is new. He came out of nowhere, started hiring people and spending a loads of money to take a few select businesses around town. Small things mostly. Doesn't even have anything on the island that you know of.
Still, kinda strange that he is spending so much money on that thing. People usually come to this business to get money, not spend them. Oh well. Elevator's here. Time to see what's up there.
Salsacookies
You look out at the city outside of the window, briefly admiring the lights visible in the distance, in downtown. Then you look down, at the street in front of the gallery. You can see the silhouettes of people below in the weak illumination the orange street lamps provide. Small groups all standing away from each other. The occasional fire from a lighter lighting a cigarette reveals the faces of scared, leaderless people, ready to lash out. A powder keg waiting to blow.
Establishing host control. Standby...
Nobody is going to try to get anything through here. Nobody who wants to survive, anyway. The security measures taken are enough to ensure nobody will get through here. And people in this line of business are rarely suicidal. Mostly due to (un)natural selection. If you're suicidal, then you aren't going to last long out here.
You turn around and open the door to the meeting room. Then you make your way across the room, to the doors leading to the elevators. The elevators is where your boss is waiting. Always with a cloud of smoke swirling around him. Everybody taking part in any sort of betting or competition in the city (legal or illegal) knows that cloud. Everybody who has made the mistake of taking a loan from him soon learns to fear that cloud.
He doesn't really have many stakes in this. His business doesn't really rely on location. As long as there are people competing, people willing to rig matches, people betting and people breaking the legs of people who don't manage to pay their debts, then he is going to be making a profit. The closest thing the underworld has to a banker.
"You shouldn't smoke that much. It's bad for you."
He gets his cigar out of his mouth and turns to face you with a laugh.
"And since when do you care about my health?" he asks with a smile showing yellowed teeth.
"Since you hired me to be your bodyguard." you reply seriously.
Another laugh.
"I hired you to protect me from people trying to kill me."
"Okay, you are trying to kill yourself then."
"Ah, you sound like my doctor. Relax."
"Fine. I checked the floor. Everything is clear."
"Great! Then what are we waiting for? Let's go claim our little slice of this Kingdom!"
Everybody
Seven men and their bodyguards sit around a table. Seven men each looking to get the best they can out of this meeting. Seven men looking to bleed the others dry. Seven men ready to kill each other if it comes to that. Seven men and their bodyguards, who have been dragged into this conflict along with the people they were meant to protect.
The police commissioner and his deputy, both in uniform.
The leader of the local Mafia and his armoured "guard dog".
A man in a silk robe, leader of the local Irish mobsters and his elegantly dressed advisor.
The representatives of the Cartel.
A hooded guy, a new face in the criminal underworld, along with a staff-wielding guy in a flashy orange shirt.
The loan shark along, surrounded by the smoke coming from his cigar, along with his quite literal muscle.
And a man in a black suit along with a man in a white suit with slightly eastern characteristics, a scimitar hanging from his belt.
It is quiet. Everybody is staring at each other. Or at least almost everybody. Nobody can really see the hooded guy's face.
"So. Are you guys ready to get to talking or what?" the Italian says and starts fidgeting.
The tip of the cigar in the loan shark's mouth lights up as he takes a deep breath before speaking, smoke following his words as they fly out of his mouth.
"Indeed. I believe we are ready to get down to business. But first, I would like to state simply how I cherish this wonderful opportunity for all of us to... uhh... to..."
The thing that caused the man to loose his words is a brown and white pigeon. It flew in from the open door on the other side of the room.
Everybody stares at it dumbfounded as it lands on the centre of the table with a flutter of its wings.
"Okay, who's the idiot who left the window open, eh? Eh?" the Italian asks, but there is no response. Everyone keeps staring.
After that, the pigeon walked towards him.
It stopped.
It looked at him.
It cooed.
And then it exploded.
<Synchronization complete.>
...
"...be pissed we didn't grab that white one."
You regain consciousness.
"Yeah, we'll search for him later. And, well, if he wanted him so badly, he should had done it himself, you know what I mean?"
You don't know how much time has passed. Last thing you remember is that accursed pigeon exploding in blue light.
"Yeah, he has us cleaning up here like we're some sort of second rate errand boys."
The voices are coming from nearby, accompanied by the sound of intermittent gunfire coming from further away.
"'Plant a bomb Mr. Red.'" one says in a mocking tone of voices.
"'Make the rest kill each other Mr. Blue.'" the other responds in the same tone.
"'Bring the bodyguards back alive.'"
"'And make sure to clean up all evidence!'"
The two break to laughter. You open your eyes.
"Good thinking with that pigeon, by the way."
You're still in the meeting room, although it is very different since the last time you saw it. The table has been cut in half by the explosion and the two halves pushed towards the walls. There is a scorch mark there and blood stains on the walls. The chandelier that was illuminating the room has been broken. The only light now comes from the fires that burn in much of the room. Strangely, the fires do not produce any smoke.
"Why thank you. I try to be original. Did you see the look on their faces?"
You and the rest of the bodyguards (except the one wearing the white suit) are gathered in the corner of the room nearest to the exit leading to the elevators. Your clothes are a bit singed but you seem to be otherwise unhurt. The others seem to have regained consciousness as well. All of you however are in a double circle drawn on the floor with unrecognisable letters drawn between the two circles, drawn with something red. The circle is just large enough to contain all of your bodies while you are lying down. Trying to push your hand through the circle, you meet resistance, like there is a tube of glass separating you from the rest of the world.
"Yeah, man, that's the trick. If you do something unexpected enough, the other is going to be so surprised they won't be able to react reasonably."
The ones talking are two men in their early thirties, one wearing a red suit, the other a blue. They would look like completely normal human beings if it wasn't for two things: They are shooting fire out of their palms, setting fire to the walls. And they each have a pair of small horns sprouting out of their head, one red, the other blue. They have their backs turned on you, currently setting fire on the wall on the opposite side of the room.
"Like, what? Running around naked while flapping your arms like a bird?"
You can see the man in the white suit on the side of the room opposite to the one leading to the elevators, hiding from the two horned men behind the door leading to the window. He looks sort of different. Like his suit is no longer pure white, but rather three suits made of red, green and blue that have been sloppily superimposed to create white, while leaving a multicoloured reflection a few millimetres around him.
"Yeah, whatever is going to give you those few extra seconds."
He is trying to make some sort of signal to you. He is showing you his palm with his index and middle finger raised, then pointing towards the two men and then to his eyes.
"At least we aren't out there, cleaning that mess up."
<Oh, yeah, forgot to mention, supernatural beings exist in this world.> you hear a voice coming from your interfaces.
<Wouldn't be much fun if we dropped 6 super soldiers amongst mere mortals, would it? Then you could just curb stomp them to victory and that would hardly be fair, now would it? This is meant to be hard.>
<Anyway, good luck and have fun!~> he adds with a cheery voice.
<Communications severed.
Primary objective: Escape. Survive.
Updates will follow as new information is revealed.>
So, you're all trapped in a circle, the white guy is making you some sort of hand signal, your interface is telling you to escape and stay alive and there are two horned humanoids burning the room you are in. What do you do?
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Topic: Special People: Mechanical Syndrome (Read 1147001 times)