Leaping into the cab, Bethan and Sean took a seat on the dirty and old looking Kamaz's passenger bench, the passable French that Bethan had getting them out of the situation. It was pretty poor, but it would do, just about, to get them through. She'd lied that they were COGS, and while the gambit hadn't worked, the guy seemed friendly enough. He wanted them to stay out of trouble, and very firmly asked them to reconsider. Given the state they were in, and the fact they'd been shot at by a lot of COGS troops, it was probably for the best. The two looked silently at each other, exhausted and only taking in the atmospherics here. Even the Francophone speaking gent felt it too, they were not here because they were willing. It was obvious to see. And Sean felt it too. The rainforest had swallowed them and spat them out, just about whole. They'd gone into a territory they had no right to be in, a place that was dark, humid and full of people who knew it inside out. They were tourists in the tiger's den, trying to do what any stupid westerner does, that of pretending they could end this with a nice easy resolution. It was not ideal. They were being taken back to a local SAMC camp, and from there, more likely than not, they were being funnelled down into the capital. Whatever had to happen was going to, Sean reasoned- and he only had one last play to get them there. From there on out, they had to find any other mean to get by, and that was likely working for the SAMC.

----

Two hours later and journey had taken them through the dusty foothills and out of the rainforest, the tense heat growing and growing, humid and sticking to every pore. The roads threw them all up and down, and sitting in the back of another Kamaz, this one filled with rice, they had to admit it wasn't great. They had no money, well, nothing aside from two 50 dollar notes stashed in Sean's boot, the only bit of cash he had as an insurance policy. They took it at the camp and laughed at the two, and told them to get on a local's truck into the capital- these weren't the typical SAMC mercs but more a local militia that clearly had no care for the wellbeing of the mercs, just the dollars they had and a ticket out of their way to stop being such a nuisance. A kind of "welcome to Africa" sort of welcome, but better than being shot.

Now, they were very fucked. No money, nothing at all. It was bankrupt and scavenge for the two of them, in the poorest, glumest shithole in Sub-Saharan Africa. They had kept their soaked DPM jackets for now, knowing it probably beat the sporadic showers of rain when they were going down in the open-topped rear just about for now, but wouldn't later. And the sight of the haze and the hustle of the city was probably an area it would blend into. Firefights and skirmishes seemed sporadic, and there was this overall feeling that there was no direct control here. Individual companies had held it together, with no accountability. Dollar had become king, and any semblance that there was a government, or anyone in their way felt absent. It just felt like warlords, everyone for themselves, and people trying to survive in their villages and local areas. The King might have ruled these lands, but it felt like that soon was going to dissolve into no control at all.

Stepping out of the truck, they had nothing to thank the driver given the fact he'd given them warm food, drink and no shit for the last few minutes, keeping them alive beyond the money they'd just had to bribe the camp foreman with. On a dusty street corner a few blocks away from the SAMC HQ, they had a little less walking to do, but they were close.

Heading through the town, Bethan looked up to Sean, who seemed a bit bemused still about the situation.
"So, we're going to a barbecue, in the hope of working for some mercs? Again, honestly, this still makes no sense at all..." Sean asked, Bethan nodding.
"Yeah, that's the plan. We don't look the best, but fuck it, they might offer us work. And you still don't have any alternatives to my plan" Bethan replied, Sean shrugging as he kept an eye on the trucks going past, loaded up with crate after crate of what looked like ammunition, a worrying sign indeed for any capital city of the world.
"Well...you know the average wage around here on average is less than a dollar a day? Sorry if I seem stupid but that doesn't sound like a lot of money to live on, if that's what they offer, Beth. Sounds like a pretty crappy wage to nearly die on, and I thought the UK was bad..." Sean was straight, Bethan nodding in turn.

"Well, they pay foreigners more, because they're not expendable. We actually know how to shoot, kill, maintain guns, lead, etc, etc. It's not about the money. Think of the bigger picture, they give us bed and board, we might get a lead on how to get guns, local intel, and what needs to be done. Some allies to actually find out who the Hyena is, what he does, where he goes, and so on. White man's in a gully here if those SAMC militia seem to think we're worth keeping alive to go to the capital."
"Or easier to get ransom money for. We're gonna end up on fucking LiveLeak." Sean saracastically remarked, to a chuckle from Beth.
"Fair point. Well, this Hyena seems to be a fucking ghost. He threw our own intel off that badly, so that ain't good. Probably not a great idea to go around mentioning it too. Our intel might be poor, but the Hyena's the name they keep mentioning. Has to be something to it. Just have to find out how he's fuelling the fire, the amount of cheap ammo and guns here is ridiculous." She commented, to no reply from Sean, as they rounded the corner, the large concrete walls of the SAMC compound, and the imperious looking barbed wire on it making a clear point that they didn't want unintended visitors.

"Shit, here we are. Alright, act cool." Sean said, Beth blowing a rasperry as Sean stood in front, the imposing Ulsterman wiping his brow of sweat as he stood in front of the SAMC merc on the gate, the man even taller than Sean and armed with a PKM that he was comfortably holding on a sandbag.

"You here for the grillades, ami? Name?" He asked, his tone baritone, certainly with a French inflection, maybe Malian or Burkanbe.
"Sean Mason. And Bethan Mason." Sean replied, the guard chuckling.
"Frere et soeurs?" He asked, eyeing them up, turning his gaze to Sean again.
"Marri...seperated." Sean uttered, cutting himself halfway through.
"Very funny. You are here together in this mess, non? You are not seperated. That is fact. Go in, make your way to the garden." With that, he pulled the gate open, and Sean and Bethan made their way inside the compound, the smell of a barbecue and the hubub increasing as they walked past the main office and around the rear into a garden, the company offices here lavish and beautiful compared to the slums that surrounded it. It felt surreal, almost strange, other mercenaries gathered here and clearly sent to a place where they would be assembled into teams and put into work. For Sean and Bethan, they had some networking to do, as the two of them made their way towards the BBQ itself and mingled.