[h1][center][color=lightblue]Raymond 'Ray' Cheng[/color][/center][/h1]

[color=khaki]"I've got nothing."[/color]

[color=lightblue]"Hrmph."[/color]

[color=khaki]"Ray? Any bites?"[/color]

[color=lightblue]"No."[/color]

[color=khaki]"Well damn."[/color]

Huddled underneath cheap raincoats, feet dangling off the edge of a makeshift wooden dock in one of the hidden nooks deep within the West Bengal Port sat a pair of hunched over men- idling by a pair of fishing rods. A cooler with a single, tiny fish and a growing number of empty beer cans sat between them, and a tray of bait sat relatively full atop a small platform of empty cans. Hoods pulled over their face, all that could be seen of the two men sitting on their own were their scruffy beards and a pair of beaten up sticks of tobacco with cherry red tips. The larger of the two men shifted in his seat, throwing a crushed beer can into the cooler. 

[color=khaki]"You've got work coming up?"[/color] the scrawnier of the two men asked. Ray nodded as he took another puff of his cigar. 

[color=khaki]"What's the job?"[/color]

[color=lightblue]"You know Ahmad, they didn't quite say."[/color] Ray replied as he reached out and plucked his fishing rod out of its nook in the dock and began collapsing it. 

Ray regarded Ahmad with a glance. Ahmad was a kindly fellow- perhaps too kind for the rough waters of New Malacca. A smallish, simple blue collar laboring man- who spent his days slaving away at the docks for dirt pay and spent his nights drinking beer and fishing with a foreigner whose primary trade tools were firearms and bullets. Quite frankly it was a miracle Ahmad had not yet been mugged, shot, and left floating in the water yet. To his credit, the man did keep his head down and out of trouble most of the time, and no one was too interested in messing with a pair of fishermen when one of them had a shotgun leaning next to him. 

Collecting up the rest of his fishing equipment, Ray tossed it all into a damp rucksack that sat just behind him, slinging the heavy pack over one shoulder, and pulling his shotgun sling over the other. Ahmad began packing up his stuff as well, muttering something along the lines of always having terrible luck with the fish when Ray was around, and that they could smell the man's chrome and knew to stay away.

[color=khaki]"Don't go off and die now."[/color] Ahmad said as a way of saying goodbye.

[color=lightblue]"You might actually have to spend time with your wife if I did."[/color] Ray retorted with a grunt. Ahmad snorted and the two went their separate ways.

A short walk to the transport hub, and a ride on the water taxi later, and Ray was cruising his way into the heart of the Canton Canal. If it wasn't for the extravagant cost of living, Canton Canal would be the closest thing Ray had to home in New Malacca. The neighborhoods and local shops all spoke Cantonese, old chinese men sat around smaller cafes playing mahjong for seemingly weeks at a time, and of course there were the Triads. Even though Ray had no particular love for the Triads- something about their presence just reminded him of home, in a seedy, watch your back or else you might catch a knife kinda way.

Suraiboshen reminded Ray of the quieter nooks of Hong Kong- out of the way, not as much foot traffic, and devoid of the constant neon glow of street signs and advertisements. Almost akin to a small hole in the wall restaurant that only true locals would know about. Of course this wasn't the case with Suraiboshen- it wasn't just dinner, it was a meeting with who knows who for a job doing who knows what. Who it was and what they were doing, Ray didn't particularly care about. Like most jobs in this place, the legality was questionable, and the motivations just as seedy. 

There was a small security team waiting for him at the restaurant- as well as a growing crows of what Ray could only assume were his new coworkers. Not entirely surprised, Ray could only hope that the juicy 500,000 they offered was an individual fee, and not something to be split up amongst the group- as unlikely as it was. 

The security team didn't even have the chance to open their mouths before Ray's shotgun was unslung and placed into one of the guards' hands. They looked at his pistol but didn't say anything. Sidearms weren't an uncommon sight in New Malacca anyway. He received the chip from the other guard and pocketed it. He was about to take another step when the guard held out a hand. 

[color=gray]"What's in the bag?"[/color] the guard asked, his hands already rifling through the pack. 

[color=lightblue]"Meds, ammo, fishing rod."[/color] Ray listed off plainly as the guard handed the pack back to him with a grunt.

[color=gray]"He's clear."[/color] the guard said- but probably not to Ray, [color=gray]"Wait in the hall with the others, the boss will call you in when its time."[/color] 

Ray walked into the hall where the others stood around waiting. [color=lightblue]"Evening."[/color] Ray nodded at the collective in a way of acknowledgement. Some of them were vaguely familiar- others complete strangers. Not that Ray was completely opposed to the idea. He, likely similar to many of the others here, preferred working alone. It harder to get stabbed in the back when it was just you- but he wagered if the client had the capital to offer up 500k on a job, chances are he had the resources to scout out at least professional wetworkers. 

Ray popped open his cigar case- possibly one of the only dry spots in the building, and pulled out a thick, but fairly beaten up cigar. There was the short click of a lighter, a puff and a short grunt as Ray leaned himself against a nearby wall, smoke gently curling away from the burning tobacco stick.

All there was left to do now was wait.