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[hr][hr][right][code]DST-29-EAST: Mostly Cloudy 12C Precipitation: 2%, Humidity: 97% Wind: 5km/h
The Rowdy Wrangler, bar/club, known gang activity hub and drug-den[/code][/right][/center][hr][hr]

At the bar a lonesome man was seated, glass in hand, awkwardly spinning the drink inside of it around, whirling it like a drainage pipe whirling rain water. Before the drink could spill over the edge, he stopped swirling it, and slammed it down. The drink went straight down his throat, the burning after-sensation being nothing to an experienced drinker like this. The Rowdy Wrangler, this place was called. A shitty drug-den, but it was his shitty drug-den. A grimace crept up on the man's lips, as he thought about that. Mhm, yes, well, that's just what he told himself. [i]My shitty drug den.[/i] The place was a notorious hangout for some of the more seedy characters in Europa, and although the club had a unique vibe, there were hundreds if not thousands of places like this one. 

Coincidentally, the Rowdy Wrangler was also a known hangout for bounty hunters and mercenaries that were.. a bit more uncaring as to what job they did. Pavlov was one of them. 

The door behind them opened up, and a group of five stepped in. Heads turned, assuming the people to just be a set of regulars. But the heads remained turned and, slightly confused about what they were looking at, Pavlov turned too. At the door stood four armored and armed men, bearing the official Eurocorp EDF emblems on their sleeves. The fifth and final member was one dressed in corporate garb, not military. He held out a holographical interface, this time not with the EDF emblem but with that of the Eurocorp headquarters, proving their official warranting of the following message.

[i]“Eurocorp is hiring,”[/i] the man stated loudly, his voice emboldened by the microphone augmentation in his cheek. It overpowered even the music and, almost directly when he started speaking, the music cut out, causing the DJ to raise his hands in anger. It seemed the EDF was jamming the signal of the music temporarily. [i]“And you're joining. We're offering a premium bounty of 500 credits for every 17DEM head you take, and 250 credits for every 17DEM civilian sympathizer. Eurocorp requested deathsquads, you're supplying. Come see me at the table over there if you're interested.”[/i] The soldiers raised their guns into a standby position as they looked around the place, before following the corporate crier to a nearby table, setting it up and clearing out the trash that was sitting on it by simply shoving it aside, onto the floor. Not like anyone was gonna complain - the place was filthy as it was, but besides that, Eurocorp didn't give a shit about places like these.

Immediately, the veteran mercenary teamleaders moved to take the job. They had entire teams, meaning that for every 3 men you could supply under one name, you got an extra raise on the premium. Some groups, as big as ten, would make big money on these 17DEM punks. Pavlov was not one of them - but 500 credits per head was a good bounty for 17DEM guys. The 250 credits for sympathizers was how you earned the rest of your monthly rent - sympathizers would mean anyone that was in the area that didn't have a gun. So.. basically, civilians. But they'd never say it like that.

Pavlov got up from his seat and headed to the table as well, to sign up for the death squads. He simply stood in line until it was his turn, then answered the questions that were barked at him. [i]“Name?”[/i]

[i]“Pavlov Akilov.”[/i]

[i]“Pavlov.. Akilov.. Russian name. You Korporat affiliated?”[/i]

[i]“Ex-Korporat operator.”[/i]

[i]“That's not what I asked. Are you Korporat affiliated? A spy, saboteur, etcetera?”[/i]

[i]“.. no.”[/i]

The recruiter looked up momentarily and raised an eyebrow. [i]“Yeah, I figured. That question is just standard procedure. Legal liabilities and stuff. Ex-operator you said, so I'll just write that down as experience. You got your own weapons, ammunition and armor?”[/i]

[i]“I've got this,”[/i] Pavlov said as he padded onto the holster that hold his Katie, the sub-machine pistol. [i]“I've got enough ammunition for a few trips. I've also got T-2 armor.”[/i]

[i]“Cyclops, biclops, or standard visor?”[/i]

[i]“Cyclops.”[/i]

[i]“Alright. I've filled it in, this is your risk assessment and the additional sign-up fee you're being granted. You're considered a high-risk hire because you only have a pistol, since the Katie is legally classified as a pistol no matter how much it acts like a chainsaw. Your armor is good, but it doesn't cover the chest well enough to account for Eurocorp standards. According to these calculations, you're going to get a 250 credit signup bonus.”[/i]

[i]“Fine,”[/i] Pavlov answered, and he was about to turn away and get ready. The man spoke up again, though, forcing him to stop and listen.

[i]“I'm patching your augmentation into our comms system. You'll be listen-only-no-speak for the first bit, until you're automatically placed into a squad. Listen carefully for where you're supposed to go.”[/i]

With that done, Pavlov was finally allowed to leave, exiting the shady bar and heading for his apartment where his shit was stored. The place was messy, as usual, which Pavlov was kinda used to at this point. The armor stood on a rack in the corner, so he promptly put that on while listening to the mercenary broadcasts. [i]“First fly-out is at 12.05, any latecomers will be penalized 500 credits from their accounts...”[/i] The suit fit him perfectly, and he briefly tested the visor, seeing if the HUD was tracking his eyes. The red circle on his visor tracked his eye movements precisely, so it was all a-okay. He pulled his gloves on tighter, and reached into a satchel next to the armor stand, grabbing a set of ten magazines for the Katie. Good thing it was lightweight, so he could carry plenty of mags for it. He put them all into their respective place, before heading out again. Strangely enough, it never seemed to be the case that people stood out when wearing armor in public. It was.. simply fact of life.

[hr]

[i]“You, you, you! Move to the other VTOL!”[/i] A man with an EDF patch on his shirt guided people into the right vehicles, giant vertical-take-off-and-landing things that could take you just about everywhere. They flew over Europa often, but Pavlov never had the experience of sitting in one of the Eurocorp models himself. Until now, he'd only flown in Korporat ones, which were arguably a lot less.. comfortable.

He loaded into one of the VTOL's, with at least seven other guys, all mercs, before they were automatically assigned to their team. The comms beeped momentarily, alerting the users to the channel switch. [i]“Beep, beep. Channel 4 Zulu-Romeo-Romeo-Alpha. Channel privileges now set to: read, write, listen, speak. Enjoy your flight, and Eurocorp thanks you for your services.”[/i] The mercenaries all looked at each other, giving a firm nod before the heavy blast of the VTOL's engines roared out and sent them into the air off of the platform. Pavlov saw the ground slowly disappear under him, before it started speeding up and they were moving towards the 7th district.