Lazarus rolled his shoulder. The bastards had visited him one more time in his cell. And had come really close to ripping his shoulder loose from it's socket. He quietly groaned as bones popped and snapped, his muscled ached. He'd been tortured before. But he usually had an out. His platoon were working to get him out somehow. This though was differant. He didn't have JTF2-Squad B3 to come and back him up. Holly wasn't around, and neither was Jeff or Simon. He couldn't trust for Alita to slip in during the night to hand him a knife for when the breakout occured. He had only himself.

So he was really surprised when he heard shooting and shouting. He got up from the floor and leaned against the wall, just in case. When doors opened, it paid to not be directly in the line of fire. More shots, he heard death rattles. The door opened and he looked down the barrel of his own King Cobra. He hrmed, taking it as it's offered to him. He checked the chambers, then got up and grabbed the rest of his stuff. ammo cylinders, trench knife and the money he had been sent in with. Including the gold coins he thought he was going to lose for sure. He hadn't been sure why the Canadian Government had issued him some freshly pressed gold coins. But he wasn't going to complain, it might prove useful. He gathered his things, and also briefly thought about grabbing a really really grubby looking MAC10 he spotted. But the thing looked like it'd blow up in his hand. Last thing he wanted was to lose his hand to a badly maintained weapon.

He sooned joined Arran outside. He looked at the man, then grunted out, "Lazarus Stamp, looks like I owe you a few here." He extended his hand to the other man, "You said the Scorpion, I know the name...who sent you? Better yet tell me when we get out of here."

As if to prove his point a shot from a long rifle, badly aimed likely without a scope on it whizzed by. The Canadian merc turned, heavy revolver in hand. He looked about, spotted the man with the ancient looking Mosin rifle trying to draw another bead on them. He gripped the big handcannon with on hand, aimmed and squeezed the trigger. The big gun roared. The .357 round rocketing down range, and punching the man off his feet. Sending him down hard to the ground, "Let's get the heck out of here. There will be more coming." Despite still hurting from the beating he had taken earlier. Lazarus lead the way to Merc Hotel. The best place to bunker down after this bullshit. They'd both have to leave Bekalo after this though.

-----

It took them a few minutes to reach Merc Alley. Lazarus having holstered his revolver in the back of his pants for now. Stepping in he looked about, making sure there wasn't anyone pointing a gun his way already. His eyes travelled over the many people in the bar. HE then moved aside and headed for a table, hoping against hope that Arran would follow. Right now, Arran was the only guy he could call a friend in this shit hole. And he desperately needed a friend. He kept casting glances about the bar, trying to figure that if he and Arran were here for the same reason it seemed. Was there anyone else in this room who was too?

As he sat down he felt the twinge of where one of his arms had been badly bruised. Creator damn his soul but he felt like he stood out because of the beating he had taken. He then got to thinking, that this also might make him look like a good target for anyone who might want to make a name for themselves. Shit if things weren't worse.

Laz looked about and instead of staying seated he got up. Catching Arran as he passed, whispering as he passes, "Not the best place. The hotel might be safer." Lazarus limped down the street a few feet, pulled open the door and slipped inside.

Once inside Laz slumped into a chair. Looking about again, making sure of the safety of the area. He shifted his gun into his lap, hiding it against the inside of his left thigh. He looked up at Arran when he entered, "Now...pal...let's talk. I want to know what ever you might know. I parachuted into the country, walked 8 miles, and got picked up by a convoy in the jungle." Lazarus shifted abit, spotting a man walking by, getting stopped by another man. Lazarus was about to put them out of mind when he heard something about the Scorpion. The Canadian was on his feet, "What's this about the Scorpion?" He had his handcannon in hand, pointed towards the ground to try and look as non-confrontational as he could, "How do you know that name? Who sent you? I need to know." He limped abit as he approached the two, "This country is a shithole, but it seems quite a few people know that pseudonym." He caught himself on a wall, holding his side where that bastard jailor had done a number on his ribs, "What do you know? What you know I need to know, and I'm even willing to pay to know it."