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It's 2007. It's been fourty-four weeks since the first outbreak. Europe is up in flames as "The Rage in the East" has continued to decimate the region, starting with the United Kingdom. The fires of Europe are becoming too hot for the world community to avoid, as the Far East deals with it's own vulnerabilities in the wake of millions of refugees fleeing their destroyed or dying countries. Most of the United Kingdom, France and now even Germany has been overrun with these crazed beasts, which destroy and murder anyone they can.

American life has nearly come to an absolute halt, as the loss of entire nations and economies has crippled the west, and has left most Americans stuck at home, trying to find work, or joining the protests in the streets, as more and more Americans demand action from their government.

Some Americans want a peaceful, humanitarian solution, while others advocate for the preemptive destruction of anything that could possibly doom the West to fall victim to the same rage that has brought the East to it's knees. Many of them want jobs, many of them want protection, but all of them want the same thing; action.

With the Red Fleet stuck ever too closely off the coast of New England, and an apparent tropical storm brewing in the Atlantic, it looks like Halloween is definitely going to be interesting this year.

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It's 2007. It's been fourty-four weeks since the first outbreak. Europe is up in flames as "The Rage in the East" has continued to decimate the region, starting with the United Kingdom. The fires of Europe are becoming too hot for the world community to avoid, as the Far East deals with it's own vulnerabilities in the wake of millions of refugees fleeing their destroyed or dying countries. Most of the United Kingdom, France and now even Germany has been overrun with these crazed beasts, which destroy and murder anyone they can.

American life has nearly come to an absolute halt, as the loss of entire nations and economies has crippled the west, and has left most Americans stuck at home, trying to find work, or joining the protests in the streets, as more and more Americans demand action from their government.

Some Americans want a peaceful, humanitarian solution, while others advocate for the preemptive destruction of anything that could possibly doom the West to fall victim to the same rage that has brought the East to it's knees. Many of them want jobs, many of them want protection, but all of them want the same thing; action.

With the Red Fleet stuck ever too closely off the coast of New England, and an apparent tropical storm brewing in the Atlantic, it looks like Halloween is definitely going to be interesting this year.








Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Firecracker_
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It's 2007. It's been fourty-four weeks since the first outbreak. Europe is up in flames as "The Rage in the East" has continued to decimate the region, starting with the United Kingdom. The fires of Europe are becoming too hot for the world community to avoid, as the Far East deals with it's own vulnerabilities in the wake of millions of refugees fleeing their destroyed or dying countries. Most of the United Kingdom, France and now even Germany has been overrun with these crazed beasts, which destroy and murder anyone they can.

American life has nearly come to an absolute halt, as the loss of entire nations and economies has crippled the west, and has left most Americans stuck at home, trying to find work, or joining the protests in the streets, as more and more Americans demand action from their government.

Some Americans want a peaceful, humanitarian solution, while others advocate for the preemptive destruction of anything that could possibly doom the West to fall victim to the same rage that has brought the East to it's knees. Many of them want jobs, many of them want protection, but all of them want the same thing; action.

With the Red Fleet stuck ever too closely off the coast of New England, and an apparent tropical storm brewing in the Atlantic, it looks like Halloween is definitely going to be interesting this year.
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It's 2007. It's been fourty-four weeks since the first outbreak. Europe is up in flames as "The Rage in the East" has continued to decimate the region, starting with the United Kingdom. The fires of Europe are becoming too hot for the world community to avoid, as the Far East deals with it's own vulnerabilities in the wake of millions of refugees fleeing their destroyed or dying countries. Most of the United Kingdom, France and now even Germany has been overrun with these crazed beasts, which destroy and murder anyone they can.

American life has nearly come to an absolute halt, as the loss of entire nations and economies has crippled the west, and has left most Americans stuck at home, trying to find work, or joining the protests in the streets, as more and more Americans demand action from their government.

Some Americans want a peaceful, humanitarian solution, while others advocate for the preemptive destruction of anything that could possibly doom the West to fall victim to the same rage that has brought the East to it's knees. Many of them want jobs, many of them want protection, but all of them want the same thing; action.

With the Red Fleet stuck ever too closely off the coast of New England, and an apparent tropical storm brewing in the Atlantic, it looks like Halloween is definitely going to be interesting this year.









Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Firecracker_
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It's 2007. It's been fourty-four weeks since the first outbreak. Europe is up in flames as "The Rage in the East" has continued to decimate the region, starting with the United Kingdom. The fires of Europe are becoming too hot for the world community to avoid, as the Far East deals with it's own vulnerabilities in the wake of millions of refugees fleeing their destroyed or dying countries. Most of the United Kingdom, France and now even Germany has been overrun with these crazed beasts, which destroy and murder anyone they can.

American life has nearly come to an absolute halt, as the loss of entire nations and economies has crippled the west, and has left most Americans stuck at home, trying to find work, or joining the protests in the streets, as more and more Americans demand action from their government.

Some Americans want a peaceful, humanitarian solution, while others advocate for the preemptive destruction of anything that could possibly doom the West to fall victim to the same rage that has brought the East to it's knees. Many of them want jobs, many of them want protection, but all of them want the same thing; action.

With the Red Fleet stuck ever too closely off the coast of New England, and an apparent tropical storm brewing in the Atlantic, it looks like Halloween is definitely going to be interesting this year.











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It's 2007. It's been fourty-four weeks since the first outbreak. Europe is up in flames as "The Rage in the East" has continued to decimate the region, starting with the United Kingdom. The fires of Europe are becoming too hot for the world community to avoid, as the Far East deals with it's own vulnerabilities in the wake of millions of refugees fleeing their destroyed or dying countries. Most of the United Kingdom, France and now even Germany has been overrun with these crazed beasts, which destroy and murder anyone they can.

American life has nearly come to an absolute halt, as the loss of entire nations and economies has crippled the west, and has left most Americans stuck at home, trying to find work, or joining the protests in the streets, as more and more Americans demand action from their government.

Some Americans want a peaceful, humanitarian solution, while others advocate for the preemptive destruction of anything that could possibly doom the West to fall victim to the same rage that has brought the East to it's knees. Many of them want jobs, many of them want protection, but all of them want the same thing; action.

With the Red Fleet stuck ever too closely off the coast of New England, and an apparent tropical storm brewing in the Atlantic, it looks like Halloween is definitely going to be interesting this year. New York is in for many surprises.















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September 26th, 2021, Sonia’s Log.

The happiest thing I can really say is, ‘At least the heat isn’t sweltering anymore.’ And that about ends the list of positive things I can mention. Everything else is pretty… discouraging, to say the least. Our stock of just about everything is running pretty thin, not to mention morale is starting to tank. Can’t say I don’t understand how sour the mood’s gotten, though.

Leaving Reno was probably the hardest thing most of us have had to do, and this fruitless venture through Nevada has been just throwing salt into the wound. Carson City, Tonopah, everything along 95 is gone, and then to see that Vegas itself had fallen really just took the wind out of our sails, so to speak. Sure, we’d lost radio contact with them some time ago, but we’d assumed it was on our end. Knowing now that Las Vegas was infected really took the wind out of our sails, so to speak.

Neither Paradise nor Henderson weren’t spared from the spread of the infection, and both were swarmed with Feral. It’s nothing short of miraculous we made it out of that area alive, if it wasn’t the Ferals chasing use out of Nevada, or the sweltering heat of the Mojave, something was always trying to kick us while we’re down, so still being in one piece is definitely something to be proud of.

Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Firecracker_
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maverick eshlin, a criminal born and raised in louisiana


⌝ former life
For a few years leading up to the Fall, Maverick had been an active small time criminal, and had just recently become involved with a drug smuggling operation deep in New Orleans. Quickly, though, the activity had garnered the attention of the FBI and DEA, and after a botched drug deal, Maverick fled, leaving his old friends behind to clean up the mess. With his former associates out for his head, and law enforcement wanting to lock him up, Maverick took the best way out he could think of and headed for the Northern Border, to escape into Canada. When the virus hit and society collapsed, Maverick had barely made it into Michigan, just short of his goal of making it across the Great Lakes. He was stranded and alone, and now had to deal with the dead rising around him.


⌝ appearance
Maverick stands on slender, toned legs, with the rest of his body following suit in form and tone. Never having been the most built or muscular man, Maverick has always been on the thin, lanky side, but it’s always worked in his advantage, most of the time at least. His wiry build holds him up at a healthy five feet, nine inches tall, a well rounded height to maintain a low profile. Overall, his figure is nothing of note and doesn’t draw much attention, but that’s exactly what he wanted, and it worked well for his previous life.

His hair is now a long, overgrown mess, with only traces of the well-kempt haircut he used to have left behind. His beard has taken over most of his face, with his narrow, naturally sort of pursed lips being nearly enveloped by encroaching mustache whiskers. His eyes are slightly sunken and dark, with bags and circles he’s had since before the Fall, but which have only been exacerbated since. He has what some people have described as “Resting Bitch Face”, meaning that his neutral facial expression usually isn’t a friendly or inviting one. His eyes are narrow and distrustful, with his smile being a thing of rarity.


⌝ personality
Most would say that Maverick has a cool personality, and some would say he’s cold nearly to a fault. His line of work and general upbringing never put much value in extended and warm conversation, and so he’s learned to be mostly succinct and efficient in his speaking. Sentences one or three words in length are normality, and his usual tone of voice is unsurprisingly also lacking in energy. Maverick has barely spoken a word in years, and his lack of social interaction really shows in conversation.

None of this should be taken as an express indication that Maverick is actually a cold, heartless man. Make no mistake, he’s no street tramp with a heart of gold or some sort of soft-spoken anti-hero, but he’s still a man with a decent set of morals and an intact sense of empathy and sympathy. It’s simply that, most of the time, his desire for expediency and efficiency keep most of these thoughts away from the forefront of mind. If you scratch his back, he’ll scratch yours, but don’t expect him to be jumping in front of moving vehicles anytime soon.

Maverick is not a man of thinking, he’s more a man of action. If something needs to get done, he’ll get it done, as long as he has a solid leader in his life. His lack of strong leaders in his development years led to him always searching for someone to give him direction, for someone to please, and that’s how he fell into crime and stayed so good at it. Give Maverick directions, and he’ll follow it up to the T, anything short of throwing himself off a cliff, he’ll accomplish to the best of his ability. That’s the only way he knows how to act, and it’s what kept him alive for so long in Louisiana. The Rangers were a great chance for him to find some semblance of organization again, as he’d spent the better part of the last 5 years wandering, staying just barely alive.


⌝ biography
Born in New Orleans, Maverick spent a majority of his early life in a small suburb east of the Big Easy. His father left his life very early on, but not because he was some vagabond that couldn’t be bothered with a child by any means. His father, like Maverick would later become, was a career criminal, and decided one night to rob the wrong house, and was quickly shot and killed by the homeowner. Left by herself with a child and no job, Maverick’s mother tried her hardest to get her life together, throwing herself into multiple jobs, all while juggling the stress of raising a child alone, still in pain over the loss of her husband. Quickly, though, the pressure of a child and two jobs became too overbearing, and she reached a breaking point. What was once a little indulgence here and there to relieve stress, became crippling addiction that dictated her life more than her jobs and her child.

Maverick’s early childhood was a mess of being abandoned by his addict mother, and with no other family members she could even pass responsibility to, Maverick was truly alone. His memories are characterized by periods of hunger and sleeplessness, fighting off the fear of being alone, but even when his mother was present it wasn’t sunny. She tried her best to be the mother she knew she could be, but she had fallen so far from grace, her child learned to raise himself sooner than she could.

The pattern of abandonment and drug abuse continued for many years, that is, until the hurricane hit. In the disarray, Maverick was separated from his mother in the early hours of the morning due to the severe flooding, and was rescued just before sun up, in nothing short of a miracle for the young man. That same miracle couldn’t be replicated for his mother, though, as she remained missing, lost to the growing floodwaters. Going from refugee camp to refugee camp, his mother was nowhere to be found.

Even after all these years, Maverick has never found his mother, as she remains one of hundreds that are still considered missing to this day.

Having lost just about everything he had, from his only family, to his own few material possessions, Maverick had no means to travel anywhere to start anew. He had to drag himself back to his old life with only the clothes on his back, only now, there was almost nothing left of anyone else’s life, either. Same as his mother, a lot of his friends had gone missing or died in the floods too, so the few friends that he had, all banded together and tried their best to fend for each other.

Scavenging and thievery were the best way to get by for a while, but as reconstruction and revitalization efforts came underway, many of them were able to get steady jobs, with some slowly getting back on their feet and venturing out on their own. Others found it too difficult to continue living a shell of an old life, and either left, fell victim to addiction, or just gave up on life entirely. Those first few years after were the most difficult of Maverick’s life, but they forced him to grow up faster than he ever thought he’d have to, and molded much of who he is today.

Even when money began to flow back into the destruction-stricken area, it wasn’t always enough to keep those sinking people afloat, and just like before, many turned to crime to support themselves, Maverick being no different. It had been three years since the disaster, and Maverick was still struggling, both mentally and financially. Many of his friends had moved on and left, leaving Maverick alone once again. Seeing how many of his friends had taken to crime to support themselves, he followed suit, joining in on the ranks of petty street crime and drug dealing. Desperation and hunger make for a dedicated worker, and it wasn’t long before he caught the attention of some of the underworld’s veterans. Mack was known as a dedicated worker, who wasn’t afraid of a challenge or susceptible to the ordinary harassment or violent threats that people like him faced regularly.

Mack had ingratiated himself with the old guard, favors here and there, small time jobs from time to time. He’d proven to be reliable and honest, two traits that meant a lot, but most of all, he wasn’t a talker. Most joked that he’d never even learned to talk, and only knew how to communicate through nods and blinks. Jokes aside, his work ethic and professionalism had earned him a good name with those that it mattered with, and before he knew it, he was starting to move up in the ranks.

After a few years of hustling, just a week after his 23rd birthday, Mack was brought in on something much larger than himself. The bosses had become part of a much larger, statewide operation of smuggling drugs. No more dimebags or eight balls on street corners, this was bigger money and bigger stakes, all of which was enticing to Mack. He’d made good money off the streets, and was hungry for the chance to make even more.

The entire operation was based in the docks, where the increased amount of construction supplies coming in were used to smuggle more drugs than they had ever before. Yes, security was tight, but everyone was having a tough time, and the right people were easy to bribe. Once the cargo landed, that’s where Mack and his crew came in. They were in charge of making sure all the shipments were being broken down and transported properly and as secretly as possible. The less eyes and hands, the better, and he was thriving in the new environment. Working in the dark, quietly and diligently was the exact kind of work that he favored. As long as he kept his part of the daisy chain running smoothly, he was paid and fed well.

That was all well and good, for the moment, at least, but, large scale criminal operations like that take a lot more than a few greased palms and strong-armed snitches to keep under wraps. Distrust between the ranks began to grow. As small pawns here and there were caught and imprisoned, some were beginning to think that there was an informant in the mix. Soon, eyes fell to Maverick, and it came time to prove his loyalty.

In front of him was a single, bound man. In his hand, a loaded pistol. Behind the captive was a deep grave, dug in a filthy lot in a long abandoned part of town, and behind Maverick was a duo of criminal lieutenants, observing to be sure he could prove his loyalty to the bosses by killing someone they’d deemed expendable. When it came between Maverick’s life or the man in front of him, the choice seemed obvious and easy to him.

Not too long after it happened, it became clear that the man he killed was more than just a simple snitch, and now the docks were swarmed with police activity and surrviellance, and many of the bosses were going down with the ship. Maverick’s loyalty and hard work, however, only went as far as they could pay him, so instead of sticking around and seeing it all to the end, he fled. Mexico was too obvious a choice in his mind, and the southern border was far more secure and heavily-manned than the northern one, he imagined, so instead of south, he fled north. Even as most of his colleagues had decided to go down with the ship and keep the code of silence, Mack slipped away when the least attention was thrown his way, and made his dash for Canada.

The journey north was fraught with fear and loneliness, but if Maverick was to hang on to whatever freedom he had left, his life depended on it. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t been used to, though, and everything leading up to this point had properly prepared him to make this sort of trip. What it didn’t quite prepare him for, though, was the virus that had begun to take it’s grips on the country during his flight from Louisiana, and he found himself in the middle of Michigan when it finally all hit the fan. He wasn’t very close to any major cities, so he was spared of the initial carnage of it all, but the collapse’s effects inevitably spread wide and far, and what was a fight for his freedom turned into a fight for his life.

After the Fall, he never did leave the state of Michigan, as, after society collapsed, there was little reason to continue into Canada, where he’d probably have an even harder time surviving. Quickly, though, he found himself scavenging and surviving alone, until he found reliable stability in Wolfwater. Even now, with relative safety, Maverick desired a new sense of purpose. Crime was no longer an exception, it was more or less the norm, and Maverick had tired of running around and working only for the benefit of others who made a profit off his work. In the Rangers, he saw a chance to work with good, dependable people for a change, and for a positive goal, no less. Not so much a transformation, it was more of a “predictable transition” for the criminal. If you could call it that, at least.


⌝ gear
▣ Glock 22 .40Cal Handgun x1
- 15 Round Magazine x3
- SilencerCo Osprey Supressor x1

▣ A Medium Combat Knife
▣ Brass Knuckles
▣ Compact set of Binoculars
▣ IFAK Medkit


⌝ skills[center]
◈ Resilient - Maverick hasn’t just used sheer luck to persevere through the hardship that’s been presented to him. He learned young that he’d have to learn how to process and deal with adverse situations quickly, and have a level head about any sort of obstacle. He may not be good at encouraging others, but he is good at keeping himself afloat and clear minded.
◈ Hardened - Crime wasn’t an easy job, and one has to put up with a lot of threatening talk and physical violence in that line of work. It will take more than a few punches or violent words to bother Maverick, which is proving fairly useful in this new world.
◈ Brawler - Having been in a fair share of fist fights and melee brawls, Maverick is well versed in the ways of an amatuer pugilist, and can use his brass knuckles to great effect. His grappling and footwork have helped him stay away from the snapping maws of infected countless times in the past, and will probably continue to do so for a while more.
◈ Criminally Skilled - Need a car hotwired? What about a lock picked? Or maybe you just need someone who can shoot guns out of moving vehicles and actually hit something? Well, all of that is in Maverick’s wheelhouse and he’s not scared to use any skills he can to survive.
◈ Terrifying Presence - Always being around the worst of the worst, and having your life threatened on a regular basis can really thicken someone’s skin and give them a look on their face that most others don’t find comforting. Combine his cold looks with his cold demeanor, and you have someone that is naturally a bit intimidating, and someone that can get downright scary when he really needs to get a point across.


⌝ flaws
◇ No Teddy Bear - On the flip side of that coin, having a mean look on your face and not talking much isn’t very conducive to making friends or having people like you. People tend to be turned away by his abrasive nature, and he’s not exactly the best at winning back through anything but great effort. He’s not good at talking himself out of situations or making good deals on trades either, unless maybe he can intimidate to get out of a tight spot.
◇ Walled Up - Maverick has gone through a lot of loss and tribulation, and it has made him unwilling to forge relationships with new people, both out of fear of making connections and plainly not wanting to be bothered with it. It even ends up making him unwilling to allow others to help him, hiding wounds and refusing assistance, even when he probably should.
◇ Self-Centered - While able to pragmatically work with and cooperate with people when it’s mutually beneficial, Maverick isn’t very willing to do things that benefit exclusively other people or actively harm his well-being for the sake of others. He’ll leave you behind, if you trip, you better get yourself up. Not the best battle buddy to have.


⌝ Other
Nothing I can think of right now.


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Olex froze in place, and like an animal staring into the lights of the vehicle that would shortly kill it, his eyes bore into the small gleam he could see radiating from the blanket of shade over the ally, before muttering a series of expletives and reaching inside his shirt for his gun. His fingers wrapped around the grip of his pistol, whitening his knuckles with the force, but as he pulled the gun out, one of the silhouettes had bounded forward, and the glint of a polished cybernetic hand shined in Olex’s eyes, with the augment taking full grip of his wrist, pushing it against his chest, and the shadow’s face only half illuminated by the beam of light. The force pushed Olex into a wall in the alley, away from the crowd that was already drawing to the commotion, and made it difficult to breathe as he struggled with the force from the assailant’s brute power. He responded in kind, his left hand going straight for the assailant’s neck, with his right arm snapping taught as the dueling motors of either augment roared against the other’s force, the whining creak of metal rubbing against metal bouncing off the surrounding brick walls. Punctuating the fight with a deafening pang, the assailant’s hand caught Olex’s before he could get his vice grip on their neck. It was only as he began trying to crank his wrist to point his pistol, even with his arm pinned to stomach, that he slowly became cognizant of the assailant yelling his name, and it slowly became more and more perceivable until he was looking straight up at the half-lit face of the would be assassin.

”Don’t, Asahi! Don’t shoot, it’s me!” A woman’s voice rasped as her dark brown, wide eyes stared into Olex’s own blue ones.

Olex continued to struggle for a bit longer, feeling his own arm whir as his grip loosened, having almost crushed the gun in his hand. It took a moment, but the familiar voice combined with the use of an old nickname made him snap out of his craze, and fully observe the details of the face in front of him.

”Wha- Who the fuck? Is that you, Grail?” His voice was incredulous, but he craned his neck backwards to get a more complete look at the woman’s face, and it indeed was one he hadn’t seen in a long time. In an instant, he could recognize the small star tattoo at the corner of her forehead, the shrapnel scar across the left side of her face. It was Grail, coined so after the “Holy Grail”, in reference to her ornate and beautiful engravings with inlaid gold she kept so immaculately clean, covering all her augments, which, now that he was paying attention, Olex could see still shining brightly in the small ray of light that hit them. Her eyes looked scared almost, but he knew the woman that currently had him pinned to a wall seldom ever felt actual fear.

”Yes! Yes, it’s me, Oleksandr. Just calm down, we aren’t here to hurt you. Let go of the gun, and I’ll ease up on you, alright? Put it away.”

Us?

Finally breaking his eye contact with Grail, he shifted his view over her shoulder, and could see a much younger man, with a crazed look in his eyes, his one solid black arm of gunmetal and titanium training a gun on Olex’s head. He could tell, had the young man’s arm still been made of flesh and bone, it’d be shaking violently, with a look on his face that was that of a fish out of water.

Grail felt the tension in Olex’s arms release, and she relaxed in kind, looking up at his face to see that he still hadn’t looked away from the young man behind them, and she craned her head to look behind her. Light flooded her eyes, and through squinted eyelids, she could make out the form of her partner, who was still pointing his pistol at the man in front of her.

”Put the gun down, kid!”

The young man hadn’t broken his stare with Olex either, and hadn’t even moved since the scuffle had begun. Slowly, Olex began to bring his hand to Grail’s shoulder, and gave her a gentle push away from him, to his side, so that nothing stood between him and the young Tinman. He took a step forward, and the young man responded by taking a step backwards, gunarm still jutting forward, finger on the trigger. Grail began to protest, but Olex hushed her, and put his arm up to keep her from getting in between.

Another step forward, another step back, the pair of men maintained their icy cold stares, the young man’s pupils having contracted nearly to the size of pinheads as his eyes were stuck wide open. With every step, Olex and the man moved forward and backward respectively, until the man was now the one with a back against the wall. All the while, Grail had been more and more aggressively telling the two men to calm down, while also trying to clear the small crowd that was watching from the end of the alley.

With the gun still jutting out between the two men, Olex finally took a step too close, and the young man’s entire body tensed in reaction. Grail noticed, but in the few scant moments it took for her to begin yelling and bounding forward to try to get between the two men, Olex’s hand flew up from his side, violently and sharply slapping the weapon from the man’s hand. The crash of metal on metal made the few remaining spectator’s jump, and then they further fled as the handgun found it’s flightpath right through the middle of the crowd, crashing into a crimson brick wall across the street, breaking into a few pieces. The last of the crowd finally scattered, leaving Grail to finally jump between the two men. Even as she gave Olex stern shoves to try and create distance, he had gotten a tight grip on the young man’s wrist, who now fought hard to try and wrestle away his one robotic hand.

”When you’re this close, you never just keep your hand out! Bring it in close to the body!” He yelled angrily over Grail’s protests. Finally, he let go of the young man’s wrist, and was sent a considerable distance back by the powerful force of Grail’s advanced augments.

”Asahi, fuck off, and chill out!” Grail exclaimed as she finally separated the two men, then turned to the young man. Surprisingly, she gave the man a slap across the face, seemingly waking him from his stupor as he finally looked down and acknowledged her.

”And you! The next time I give you a direct order, you will listen, you understand that? You fuckin’ hear me?”

As Olex watched the woman grab the man by his face, and turn his eyes into his, Olex had finally noticed how small the man was in comparison. Not only was the man considerably young, but he was also of smaller stature, looking almost like a terrified child being disciplined by Grail.

”Y-Yes ma’am.” The young man quietly muttered.

Seemingly in unison, the group all took a deep breath collecting themselves, and before it seemed like the two Tinmen were ready to continue, Olex spoke up.

”Alright, what do you two want? Finally come to take me out, or what? I know you’ve been following me for years, how and why did you finally find me?” Olex demanded, rubbing the sore area on his torso, red and tender from having two metal hands forced into it.

”No, Olex, look… We’re not here to kill you. We’re looking for one of ours that’s gone AWOL. His last known location was here, in the Reclaim. We’ve been here for almost two weeks, looking for leads wherever we could, damn near a door knocking campaign.”

Olex interjected. ”Why look for him yourselves? Why not just hire some P.I firm? People around here aren’t exactly eager and willing to help out Tinmen.”

Grail let out an exasperated sigh. ”Look, technically, he’s not supposed to be here. Tight-lip contract, top secret bullshit. APEX-”

The young man quickly interrupted, taking a step forward. “Ma’am! You can’t just tell hi-”

Grail simply hushed the young man by putting her hand in front of his face, giving another sigh, giving his protests some thought, and realizing he was probably right.

”Look. Long story short, it’s a confidential contract, but he stopped responding to communications. He’s been radio silent for too long, and we want to keep this as quiet as possible. We were acting like we were just looking for a lost friend, but once people finally started talking about a man with shiny, fancy cybernetics, it ended up being you they’d seen around, not our man” She took a moment to compose herself further before she continued.

”The guys have talked about you here and there for a while now, Olex. How you just vanished, how you got cut off by your family. After we heard that they’d sent the Hounds after you, we all figured you were dead. But now, here you are. We go looking for our man and find you instead. For someone on the run, you’re actually not that hard to find after all, pal.”

Olex scoffed, looking over his wrist for any sort of scuffs or dents, then looked up. ”Yeah, well, after eleven years, I figured either you guys had given up at this point. Either that or I’d shaken you. Either way, you guys aren’t here to kill me apparently, so I guess it’s worked out this far. What exactly is it that you want from me?”

It took a few moments before Grail began to speak again, as she simply looked Olex up and down, a strange sense of weariness and nostalgia washing over her.

”I guess I just wanted to see an old friend, is all. It’s hard to believe it’s really you. You were just a kid the last time I saw you, and I thought for sure you were dead, but yet, here you are. After all these years.”

”Yeah, that’s real nice. Real, real nice. How do I know you aren’t going to go blab to your fucking CO as soon as you get back? I know you were always a lapdog for command, and yeah, you didn’t find your man this time, but you sure did find something else.”

”What, no love for an old war buddy, Asahi? It’s like that?” Grail smirked, a mixture of surprise and disappointment in her voice.

”I never liked you in the first place, Grail. You were a cunt, always playing junkyard dog for command over the smallest shit. A sniveling little shit who never had the balls to stand up for herself, only brave enough to bully the young ones. Now, here you are, a decade later and you’re still a pain in my ass.”

Grail simply sneered, as the younger man walked past her, trying his best to put a look of intimidation on his face as he confronted Olex.

”What about you, asshole? How do we walk away from this whole thing knowing you won’t tell anyone what happened here?”

”Who the fuck am I going to tell? I work for a grey market intelligence courier in the middle of shit town. I’m not exactly popular with the enforcers. If you two stop walking around the Reclaim like moron out-of-towners, asking where your big, shiny metalfuck friend is, maybe it’ll all stay under wraps, you ever thought of that? I’ve got more at stake here, tell me why I shouldn’t leave you both dead in this alley.”

”Because you can’t.” Grail growled, pushing the barrel of the pistol she’d drawn in a flash up to Olex’s head.

”Disregarding the fact that you don’t have the ability nor talent to kill my partner or I, there’s nothing in this for either of us to kill each other. You kill us, that’s the Hounds right on your trail again, and this time they will find you. We kill you, that’s the Enforcers and and your little buddies at the office on our asses. Not that it’d be a big deal, but that’s a lot more trouble than it’s worth when we’re trying to find someone in this shithole city. So how’s about we both agree to keep our mouths shut and go on our merry ways, huh?”

With tense fists and eyes full of hate, Olex stared down Grail, taking everything she’d said into consideration. He didn’t like it, but the two parties seemed to be at an impasse, with neither having anything to gain from violence, even if every impulse in his body screamed for him to kill them, like a crazed group of spectators thirsting for blood. His chest rose and fell, and he finally craned his neck to the side, moving his head out of the way of the gun.

”Fine. Fuck off.”
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Focusing almost entirely on trying to maintain his walking pace, Olex’s walk from the Central Square was adding up to be even weirder than his the time he actually spent there. The original crowd had dispersed, but now amongst the people vacating the Square were a few outliers. They were dressed better than the average Citizen
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