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[COLOR=AF7AC5][indent][sub][B]Location:[/B] [COLOR=white][I]Belize City, Belize[/I][/COLOR][/sub][sup][right][b]A [color=228B22]Green[/color] God, A [color=228B22]Green[/color] Devil – 1.02[/b][/right][/sup][/indent][/color][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][color=AF7AC5][sub][B]Interaction(s):[/B] [COLOR=white][I]None[/I][/COLOR][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][b]Previously:[/b] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5178901][I]1.01[/I][/url][/right][/SUP][/color][/INDENT]
[indent]“They’re not [i]my[/i] kids,” admitted a bulky man wearing only shorts and a loose, open shirt.

His partner in guard duty, resting by the door in a folding chair with an AK at his side, couldn’t hide a light grimace and roll of his eyes. Slouching down, he reached a lanky arm to scratch an itch on his back that didn’t want to go away. Trying to keep his mind of things, Arnold pulled a phone out of his cargo pants, skimming through a mess of apps in search of a time waster, something to keep his mind off things.

Hearing some slur or curse word echo out from behind him, Arnold turned his head. Newer to the group, having come around from El Salvador, he hadn’t fully acclimated to the norm. Looking out from the entryway, he saw the moored ‘Indignation’, their shipping vessel, and the stretches of warehouse around it dedicated to either storage (a crane bolted firmly in the ground propped nearby), or production, makeshift rooms with walls of translucent plastic letting off fumes of god knows what the chemists were working on. The voice actually seemed to come from the catwalks above, a few men patrolling, except two who were in each other’s face, the prior insult having developed into a budding fistfight. Another voice called out, the two looking over to the room mounted to the corner of the rooftop ceiling, seeing their employer in its open window, before reluctantly separating.

Arnold didn’t care for the work, but it paid well and it was easy. People were smart enough not to fuck with any kind of cartel usually, and between pilot and navigator, they could avoid any patrols and generally keep out of danger on the open sea. Considering how various local families benefited with members in other regions working for their sake, the area was pretty quiet and generally overlooked, and many of there spots elsewhere were no different. Considering the poison, or whatever it was, that got made and passed around to allied or unaffiliated crime groups for use in warfare, Arnold generally didn’t feel too bad about what they did, even though he knew it wasn’t right. But that was before today, when their boss ordered an abduction. Children, innocent children. Swallowing, he shook his head and went back to his phone. If he thought any more about it, his anger would bubble, but he knew it couldn’t go anywhere, else he’d be shot dead and left as fish food in the middle of the ocean.

As if to purposely pull his attention away, there was a rapping on the door. Two knocks, the fist requesting a welcome. Arnold looked to his shift partner, just as confused, before the two stood, grabbing their rifles. It wasn’t their usual procedure, and they hadn’t gotten word from any lookouts over their walkies yet.

“What the fuck is that by the door?” crackled the devices scattered around the warehouse. Arnold took it back. Look to his partner, they flanked the side door, the larger shutter nearby rusted closed and in no need of use. Reaching his hand for the door, Arnold gently twisted it.

The world came down around him. With a crash, the sheet metal walls and the door separating them from the outside crumbled down, flattening the two guards. The force dislodged dust untouched in years, debris partly obscuring a massive form as it shuffled in carelessly. Standing tall, the Hulk’s disgruntled gaze elicited grunts of surprise. But the Hulk did not turn his attention on them, they were bugs. Rifle fire raining down, the Hulk winced at the noise as he walked, unfettered. Occasionally a hand would brush away at an itchy spot that had recently met several bullets that had been traveling at 700 meters per second (only to stop dead, bouncing off his skin like it was a BB gun against tires). Mosquitoes were more dangerous to men in comparison, but unlike these gunners, mosquitoes were quiet.

That made Hulk mad.

Looking to a gun poking out of the plastic wrapped lab, Hulk reached in and yanked a screaming man out. Tossing him up and catching him again like he was a baseball, he turned to the catwalks. Pulling his arm back, he sent the man flying. He crashed into the railing, made of reclaimed scrap as it was, and shook the whole walkway. The two gunners behind the railing were knocked back as their shielding buckled and broke, the man shaped projectile knocking them down. Rocking back and forth, weak ties shattered, bolts knocking loose, the walkway they were on spilled them off unceremoniously. As the walkway hung, dangling above the ground, its former occupants lay on the floor, broken.

The rest of the warehouse had gone quiet, those remaining too starstruck to think about retaliating. Only one of them was capable of looking on without shock or distress. Those kind of things were alien to Jagger. Casually sitting in his office, one hand loosening the collar of his cheap dress shirt and briefly adjusting a gold chain, he merely watched as the Hulk moved about, ripping open the lab and kicking down tables of valuable equipment and product as if searching for something. Jagger looked to his right hand, the man expressing what he recognized to be bewilderment, fear, and anger. Jagger knew it wasn’t the time to put on any of those masks: he was calm, he liked being calm, and if there was a time for calmness, this was it.

[color=8689B3]“He wants the kids.”[/color] Jagger knew. The Hulk wasn’t a user, that was for sure. The musculature was too clean, refined. Even true Venom had a tinge of the aberrant in those utilizing it, let alone Jagger’s knock off. But there was an appeal to that. Looking down at the boat, still docked, unnoticed by the Hulk, he saw a few heads poking out, trying to get a bearing on things. Before any more violence broke out, Jagger spoke into his walkie, [color=8689B3]“Let the kids go.”[/color] A moment past, the Hulk looking around at the walkies echoing his voice, before he turned his gaze on him, standing by his window. [color=8689B3]“Just spook them a little first.”[/color]

The Hulk bared his teeth, moments before gunfire echoed from the boat, followed by children screaming in terror. The Hulk looked on, feet shuffling as he went to move into action, but hesitation reeled him in. Daring just a bit, he placed one foot on the boat, his weight shifting the whole thing, more cries of shock coming out. He retreated back a step, before a green eye glared up at Jagger, the boss feeling an uncharacteristic chill tingled in his neck. One he’d only felt twice before. Once was first time he stared down the barrel of a gun as a child, a brief feeling that went away the follow minute while he was beating the teen’s face in with a pipe. The second was when he watched Hurricane Iris rip the world around him apart, the one time in his life he felt truly helpless. And so Jagger smiled, letting the beat of his heart overcome that chill. He was deeply looking forward to the chance to bring this monster to his knees.[/indent]