"So we picked you up on the road American. What are you doing here?" A tall, thin African man with an odd east indian accent sat across the table from Lazarus. Laz looked at him with a brand of annoyance. He called him American, what the heck, why does everyone think that every white person is american? What in the actual fuck?

The man spoke again, "I thought you American's like to talk? Tell us what you're doing here American." Laz sighs, "Canadian..." The man blinked, "You talking crazy American? What the hell are you doing here?" Laz shook his head, "Canadian. I'm Canadian. I'm not from Americ-" He rocked as the man slammed his fist into his face. Lazarus let out a soft growl. But didn't say anything, and couldn't retaliate either what with his hands being cuffed behind the chair. The man grinned, "You want to talk stupid talk again American? I can beat you until you die American. Now tell me why you are here!" Lazarus hrmed, smiling, "Canadian...you ignorant fuck! I'm Canadian." The man hit him again.

Lazarus woke some time later, face down in a cell, the same cell he had spent a few hours last night. He coughed a few times to loosen his throat then rolled onto his back. He sighed then let out a groan of pain. Bastard had really done a number on him. Laz sat up carefully, groaning softly as he stretched to work out the kinks. A chuckle coming from the next cell over, "The guards didn't like your answer to something did they pal? Kept calling you a stupid lying American. You're obviously not American though. YEah the people out here can be pretty stupid." Lazarus just chuckled, letting the man know he heard him.

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An almost pristine Jeep Wrangler pulled up into a parking a man in a business suit popping out of the driver side, a business case in either hand. And making a street beeline for Merc. Alley, the site of alot of weapon vendors, and equipment stores. He walks up to one of the vendors. The man behind the stall looking at him oddly then starting. Mumbling something about the Lord of Guns. The man smiles, opening his cases, revealing a quadruplet of brand spanking new integrated silenced MP5s. The stall owner looks at the guns then down at the crappy AK74Us on his stall. The man in the suit smiles, "No charge for it, just ship something my way later when you have a moment." He looks around at the other weapon vendors nearby. He raises a finger to his lips, "I'll do the same for the rest of you. Just kick up 10% to me. Do that and I'll replace all your inventory by the end of the month."

One by one the vendors all agreed. Who could say not to an offer like that from the famous Scorpion. Just as quick as he came. He was into his Jeep, started it and in front of everyone the man no one would instantly know as the Scorpion was off, having brokered yet another business operation. Bekalo

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Lazarus sighed softly, and tried to think of a way out of here. He couldn't stay here for too long. He'd have to get out. There was someway to get out. No one knew he is here as far as he knew. And it didn't sound like these guys were about to let him go either. They seemed to think he was either someone else entirely, or under some kind of orders from the U.S. for what ever purpose that was.

He groaned, then pulled himself up onto the bed in the corner of the cell. Nothing he could do now.