The surreal feeling of the limo was a shock to both of them, as they stepped inside. It was fucking surreal, and made zero sense at all. This was too nice, too good. As if they stepped out of the poverty out there and back into the west. It was a culture shock, and a total confusion at first, well, until they found the champagne and mini bar.

Taking the bubbly, Sean could only chuckle, looking across toe the group.
"Fuckinn get in, lads!" Sean added, pouring a glass of it as Bethan grabbed a few sandwiches, some for now and some for the long run into her pockets, starving and completely in need. 
"Yeah, why not...this is mad..." Bethan simply commented, sighing as she leaned back in the seat, looking across to the team as they drove across the capital's rugged and rough streets, heading away from the compound and to the market. And that market was a deep jungle of itself, and going through it after leaving the limo left nothing to the imagination. The limo dropping them off and the introductions made to the market felt even more surreal, Bethan and Sean following the team through and over to Victor. Even in a world gone to shit, free market capitalism still reigned true. After all that had happened, Bethan had pushed down that part of her that felt what she did about what had happened merely 20 minutes ago, understanding now it was follow or die with this madness.

Standing by Bethan's side, Sean saw the case get opened as Victor slid the case over to Hayden, walking over to him and looking him up. With barely a flinch, he took his machete and seperates 20, 20, 20, and another 20, looking to the three others as he flicked a few aside going through them. It showed that he knew product, and while he might have been a thick, sometimes plain Marine, he knew how to make these things work.
"As per earlier. It's safer and fairer, if anyone decides to go and get greedy, they won't have any ideas either. Keep a few in change, food, water, accomodation and all that." Sean simply stated, letting the others take their share as he took his, the best part of 20 stones each and enough to go do some light shopping with. Looking up to the two Amazonians and Victor, Sean nodded, diamonds in hand, as he eyed one of them up to take a look at it's glimmering sheen.
"Not a bad shout, Victor. They could fit an engagement ring pretty well. We'll go and get tooled and regroup." 

----------------------

Sean went his own way at first, finding a trader towards the end of the market, after walking through and getting a general gist of what was going on here. With the Mosin Nagant in hand, he approached the last trader of the road, knowing it was quieter here, and a little less filled with hustle and bustle.

"Hey, big man, you got any FALs in stock, any R1s? Got this thing to offer you up in exchange, and I'm paying in stones." Sean asked with the confident swagger of someone who normally sold cocaine to rich people, the Irishman half clued up on what was the local variant of the right hand of the free world, made into the third world's favourite people thinning device that wasn't an AKM.

And with the trader coming back in, Sean chuckled, as the trader pulled out a relatively decent looking version, from where he did not know but that backroom seemed almost infinitely filled when he had peeked through the mesh door. It had Rhodesian markings on it no less...and a fucking weird looking flash suppressor. But then again, the Mosin Nagant he put on the table was fair barter, worth something.

"Rhodesian FN FAL rifle, Halbeck flash on the end, selector switch. Taken from their reserve storage, it is as if brand new, sir. 12 diamonds. Your rifle and ammo is worth two to me." The trader said, selling it up beyond what Sean could very much see. The rifle's flash suppressor was odd, but the solid stock and the dusted paint on it said it wasn't brand, brand new.

"7 diamonds for the FAL. That thing is at least 40 years old. And the markings show it's been used, but maintained. Not in storage. I want a good tool. So seven." Sean replied, the man angered but aware that Sean was not a regular tourist given he looked very shifty and willing to walk away as he trued the rifle in his arm, no mag inside, checking it over. It was definitely well looked after, this thing not looking like it would explode, but then again, it was old- and it needed to be cleaned and checked over in the mud and dirt of this place more than a rifle usually would.

"9. No funny business, mister. I promise, it's good." The trader's reply got a wry smirk out of Sean, as he nodded.
"Deal." Sean added, as he chuckled, looking at mags. 7 spent total, trade in completed.

"Gimmie six magazines, and 120 rounds, standard NATO 7.62, all FNJ. No Chinese crap." 
"That's another eight diamonds, sir. I've got South African, that good?"
"Nope, five. Whatever it is, it better shoot straight."
"Seven."
"Six. Last one." Sean's last offer was right there, on the money. 
"Fine." The trader replied, as last but not least, taking a look at his other selection. 13 spent.

"Need 30 more rounds of 9x19 too."
"That's two."
"One." 
"Just for you, one. You drive a hard bargain, mister. I have a family to feed." The trader jested, knowing he could at least guilt him on the next purchase. 14 spent.

"I feel like you're going to get a lot more business from stupid westerners soon. I know how it feels to have a family to feed too. It's the market rate, I've already checked." Sean chuckled, as Sean took the two boxes of rounds, and the FN FAL, eyeing up the iron sight, and smirking. There was a reason he went for this. It was a classic British service weapon, the L1A1 had been much loved before the SA-80's jamming and shit operation had replaced it. In the old days back in Bosnia, Sean would take it any day over the L85A1 if he wasn't lugging around an FN MAG as a tool for use. While old and dated, it did the trick and felt tried and tested, even for the third world.

"One more then...have you got a tactical pack lying around? That and light webbing. Got anything?" The trader took a moment to think, and after going to the back, brought something out, noting the DPM that Sean was wearing. A 28L assault pack, MOLLE-set with zips and straps on the back, similar to the kind he dropped in with, in fact. The webbing was similar, a tactical vest that would be a better replacement for the coat he was using, lighter and able to carry mags. The coat would be handy in a pinch, put inside the bag, but he'd been boiling in the heat. The trader eyed up Sean, knowing customers weren't often as specific as he was.

"You are English, I think? That weird accent. Where are you from, sir?"
"Northern Ireland, pal. Place here looks like it's got more trouble than home. That I appreciate, good tools. Two." Sean ignored the fact he was just called English, that was a no-no, but then again, fuck it. Worth letting those things go when you were being a hard cunt.
"Three diamonds. Just for you, this is special."
"Two."
"Fine. You are a hard bastard, Irishman." 
"They all tell me that. Pleasure doing business." 16 spent, it left enough to get food, drink and keep a couple of diamonds spare if shit hit the fan, Sean leaving the market on that note.

------------

Meanwhile, Bethan had gone to another trader, and finding her AK worth a little bit more. She didn't like the platform - and while aware Yekatarina might have been more familiar, it looked like absolute shit, rust everywhere and like it would explode probably if cycled through two more mags. It felt very, very wonky- as if the weapon had been totally neglected and was more a mantlepiece item. The hustle and bustle made her feel exposed, like she wasn't belonging in this place, like a fucking white saviour with blonde hair here to shoot a charity ad rather than buy a gun.
"Afternoon, mate. I've got a list of stuff to look for. This AK, how much? Diamonds, yes?"
"Three diamonds for that, it looks like shit. Merde, I should give you two, but just for you being pretty three." The French-accented trader made Bethan chuckle, as she left the Kalash there, looking up her.

"Well, you'll make me blush now. Okay, so I need a few bits. What's the going rate on rifles at the moment?"
"Pfft, you ask, you get anything you want. A good AK, 10 diamonds. I even have M16s in there, twenty. Though just for you...I've got a special shipment of FNC rifles. Straight from in from the DRC."
"I mean, I don't believe that, but fuck it, whatever. How much for one of those?"
"13 diamonds. I promise, all good. Special price. Battle used, but still capable. Skeleton para stock, selector, standard length." The trader turned and took the FNC out from the storeroom behind, placing it on the table, Bethan truing it up. The rifle looked pretty much as good as it would be, and she'd known this rifle to be something decent- better than the equivalent in an AK or AR family. It beat the AKs that were out there- those would be near enough unusable in her western paws, while an FNC might stand a chance. More unreliable, but then again, more accurate, more modern, and more tactile to use when travelling. It still looked maintained, but even in spite of being newer than Sean's FAL, it looked like it'd gone through the same sort of life in that span of time. Full auto 5.56 always worked, and she knew her Swedish pals always raved about their AK5s. So it was 10 diamonds spent in total.

"Fine. I need five mags, 150 rounds of 5.56, 20 rounds of nine mil, a tactical pack and some pouches."
"That's another eight diamonds." With that, Bethan nodded, the trader bringing out the goods and Bethan simply paying out the 18 total that was spent in this little transaction. Wrapping it up, she handed the stones over, and after a brief inspection, was off on her way, carrying a slung tactical pack over her shoulder and a basic mag carrier vest, with enough room to fit the 5.56 mags she'd also gotten.

She'd gotten what she needed, and checking the black FN over, knew she had something a bit more proper to go to work with. Bethan, like the awkward tourist she was, didn't haggle. It felt more transactional, like she wanted her shit and wanted gone out of this place. Emerging out of the market, she found Sean at an old abandoned fountain, loading rounds into the mags, FAL between his legs, looking up to see Bethan turn up with her FNC.
"Not bad, not bad...can't go wrong with a trusty Fabrique Herstal tool, ain't that so?" Sean noted, nodding to the rifle in her hands, the black and tanned rifle a paratrooper's dream given it was a neat little carbine.
"Well, they work. Mine is definitely better than yours. 5.56 is lighter, nicer to handle too." She smirked with a reply, the seperation somewhat good to give them both distance from each others' malice. 
"You definitely overpaid. Newer, but harder used. And you're forgetting that this thing in full auto with a compensator is a Rhodesian's wet dream. Fuck, my CO told me about these. Full auto 7.62, no problemo." Sean chuckled, Bethan disaproving but almost bantering along now. 
"What, and you went from one genocide tool from that Mosin to a Rhodesian FAL? Fuck, you kill any more people today and we'll be off to the Hague next..." Bethan said, to almost a cathartic laugh from the two of them. They could be knocked back on their asses again. But this morning, they'd done something more important. Gotten tooled, and while they had gone to hell and back, wanted to shoot each other, and hijacked a truck in a slum and ended up in a dirt-poor market, at least they now had something to show for it. Sean realised that this world could take, but so could they. The laugh almost felt like a "fuck it" moment, the two of them so broken and worn through all that had happened, that they couldn't just remain constantly at each others throats right now.

"What next then? What do you think Victor has for us?" Bethan asked, Sean shrugging as he finished his second from last mag, and started feeding bullets from the last of the plastic bag into the last tan-looking 20-round NATO magazine.
"No idea. But I have a feeling the diamonds were an investment. Not payment, you know? And look at that gun market. Everyone's merchandise is top-notch, not just AKs, SKSs and Zastavas like I thought it would be. The Hyena has resourced every single one of them. I bet our C8s are back in for sale there. Makes you wonder, why aren't we asking them?" Sean asked, musing on the question for a moment.

"You think they know the network? Chances are, no way. The fish above them probably don't know. I've got to guess that they get their instructions and go point to point, drop to drop. The buyers are the people that matter- they're the people who likely interact with The Hyena directly. And those are Victor's bosses, or maybe, their bosses." Bethan replied, shrugging as she got to work with her mags, loading 5.56 rounds into the old, dusty looking STANAG spec steel mags.
"True that. Well, either way, we need to keep going. Whatever we're doing gets us respect from Victor. Gets us diamonds and we can buy what we need from that. Finding transport is gonna help us long run too." Sean sighed, finishing the mag, loading it up and cocking the rifle up, chuckling as he checked the bolt, and then the overall profile of the tool he'd spent his hard earned stones on.

Bethan- 2 diamonds
Sean- 4 diamonds