FourtyTwo

Vigil!

I do want to make a short post for Lucas contacting Austin about "work-related" topics and his general private investigation work, but I feel that doing two posts in the time the GM hasn't got one up would be a bit rude, if anything.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

Natalie moved swiftly, setting the charge on the road, as she moved back up into the forest, to set the charge on the piled bodies. Two very neatly placed traps, that would buy her a significant amount of time, if about a minute was significant enough for her to do her work. Moving back to her previous position, she established a reconnaissance once again. Just watching over the area, picking out what she needed to find again. The situation looked mostly the same. She didn't even see the Drop Pod and the parachutes a few klicks out, that were coming into ram-raid the place. They had authorization, but this was something the big Russian female didn't know.

She moved down the hill, keeping out of sight of any searchlights, the pouring rain thundering now as she dived down behind a set of shrubs, crawling from here on out. She entered the pipe, just holding her stomach together, barely being able to even stand at her full height, so she crawled through what must have been a reverse Shawshank Redemption, moving slow. No wires, no cables, no charges. She wouldn't be suprised if she didn't find a Claymore or Proximity Charge in here- the stench wanted to make her almost be sick. Moving through the pipe, she found a small ladder, barely fitting through, her large features on her front and rear occasionally requiring a Natalie-strength pull to get through, trying as she did to hold her flatulence together. Now was not the time to vent off, especially knowing that it was a bombastic occasion when Natalie did.

Clambering the ladder, she wiped her face of shit, moving through a hatch, as she looked around. Clambering up, she moved fast down onto her two tits, diving to the dirt behind a concrete barrier, waiting for a patrol to pass, before clambering a little forwards. She was close to the vehicle store, and only a handful of welders were about, the rain still pattering down, as Natalie clambered up. Moving forwards, and adjusting her beret a little, she moved into a side entrance of the vehicle store, a small warehouse, moving from cover to cover, before moving up behind one of the welders. Taking him with a strong chokehold that took him off his feet, she threw him behind a BMD, before then propelling herself, like a projectile, rear first. The man struggled, but he slowly became limp, completely dead, before she moved up, taking her PKP to hand. It was exessive, but the weapon was comfortbale in her hands. Shooting the other welder with a simple shot, and a man on a balcony above, she smirked, aware this area was clear.

Rigging up charges over the BMD's, the noise of a base alarm could be heard, as men were running outside, yelling intruder. Then, the noise of what Natalie knew could only be one set of munitions came in. It was Victor.
"Bastard! Can't he just let me have this one?" She exlclaimed quietly to herself, as the radio kicked in.
"Major, this is Central, we've got a Private Military force inserting, they came out of nowhere! We're scrambling the SU-34s to escort them out of our Airspace..."
"You will do no such thing, Colonel, that is the sound of a privatized military making a bigger distraction than my two tits and explosive charges ever will. Get the Mi-24s prepared, the air defenses are going to be down in a few moments. The SU-34s can blow those Tunguskas." She added, as she exhaled hard, moving from BMD to BMD, as men ran out. Then, a patrol saw the big 7"2 Russian, slightly covered in shit, but like a walking death sentence to anyone approaching her.

She was faster, and mowed them down fast, the silenced PKP collecting a bodycount, as she ran through, moving through the muddy barracks, aware that they were focussing on the fact that a heavily armored Titan was basically walking into this base, and not going to give a fuck about what else. The noise of a BMD moving from the courtyard could be heard, and Natalie was already fast enough to put herself in the right place at the right time, plucking the RPG-72 off her back, flipping the sight, as she saw it head to the front, to flank Victor.
"Boom." Natalie simply said, clicking the trigger, as the projectile slammed into the rear of the IFV, the rear armor of the Airdropped tank being blasted apart, as she chuckled quietly. Natalie was good at chaos, because she knew nobody had watched the position she had fired from- the small alley being empty, as the majority of men were moving to the wall, to fight the big giant that had decided to start laying waste to the compound's walls.

Natalie heard the whoosh of the Anti-Radar missiles, as men ran to the rooftop, to the IGLA and ZSU platforms, Natalie aware that she had to respond a little faster than they already were. One round left for the RPG-72. This was going to be creative. The Anti-Rader missiles almost blew apart the area that the Tunguska was in and the Mobile AA itself, but the concrete structure still stood, the two-storey block having a wall or two blown apart, but being structurally intact. Natalie changed that. Another rocket into the left hand side, and the structure almost completely collapsed, as the people on the roof realized suddenly what was going on. Natalie moved to cover, and had the PKP ready, as the whole shitshow collapsed down, Natalie shooting those who jumped, before then ducking down harder behind the concrete pillar, feeling bullets spray past. She caught one with her leg and another right into her left buttcheek, squaling like a pig. Victor could extract that one, she thought to herself, as she lobbed a grenade, before falling back. Moving quickly, she heard the sound of more fire from the other side of the compound roar, as well as the sound of AGMs rain down into the compound's helicopters, Natalie moving down into cover behind a Bulldozer of sorts. Hitting the clacker, the vehicle depot was up in flames, as she reloaded the bulky PKP, doing it with a pace and precision that most didn't have with a LMG like this. She raced through it, though was just as precise as any other person would want a gun like this to be reloaded.
"Central, AA is down, send the helicopters in. Maxim is within 500m of my reach, I can subdue him if required." She added, as the radio buzzed.
"Copy, Black Eagle. Do not kill, I repeat, do not kill him." Ilya simply said, as she chuckled.
"I'll give him an experience." Natlaie said to herself, as she changed comms channels, to Victor's usual.
"Good work, Brute. I'm securing the HVT. We've got friendly Hinds coming in, try not to kill them. If you want, I could always use a shield." Natalie said, as she took out a few more contacts on the far side, moving to the concrete structure, aware that this was turning to anarchy. They dropped with a fluid motion, as Natalie laid down a volley of fire, the dark-blue/grey camoflaged Russian giantess aware of the fact that there was a lot more to take out. The jets blitzed above, as the dark and bleary rainy Taiga was now getting an additional bloodstain to it's image. The base was completely embroiled in conflict, as Natalie moved from cover behind the bulldozer, keeping her big frame down as best as she could as she used the side of a portcabin for cover, slinging the PKP over her back as she took out her two Skorpions. Chuckling, she moved round, spraying down the group of enemies ruthlessly, sliding over a UAZ's bonnet, as she moved back down into cover behind a container, one that she was almost as tall as, scarily enough. Reloading the two weapons, she kept her head back as a gun opened up, using the moment to inspect her chest.
"Fucking bra..." She said to herself, just feeling it protruding more, just knowing her suppressing bra had decided to give up the ghost. She moved around the other side, and kicked down a flanking enemy, putting one gun to his chest and opening up, as she took out another moving down a stairway of a portacabin, before moving back to her previous cover, switching back to the PKP. Maxim didn't have much choice, but he was going to fight hard, that was for sure.

(DONE)

Vigil!

Please do, if you could. Or at least place it in brackets by it, just for reference.

Vigil!

I think Dry Humor is fine. I think even Lucas will use it sometimes, for sure.

Vigil!

Also, jivusa, what is your character saying, if you don't mind me being nosey.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

GG. Skyth, Silverwind, go right ahead. I haven't given you a lot to go on, but from here on out, I do hope that things get a little louder, as the team clambers up onto the rooftop. I know Skyth's got Medved, and Silver, you can do basically whatever would be logical at the time for Scott to do in terms of reconaissance on the rooftop.

Vigil!

Austin's character is going to be probably one of the few points of contact with Lucas, I should advise. Think the relationship between T-Bone and Pearce in Watch Dogs, though of course, I only ever take inspiration, so it's very likely to be even completely different to that.

As for Lucas, if the backstory does seem a little inspired from anywhere, if you threw Watch Dogs, Punisher, and half a dozen other sources of vigilantes in, you'd have Lucas.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

The corners came one after another, as Ryan kept his composure, each and every turn, just staying concentrated, just taking it on one corner at a time. The car was feeling like it wanted to die, but Ryan couldn't let that happen. He had pole. And he was staying on it, no matter what. Muller went in close as they swept through the left-right hander chicane at the end of the straight leading to Turn 8, Ryan having to brake early but fend his outside tight, as the car slid through, the roaring V10 absolutely beautiful, as Ryan's blood swept through, his forehead sweat covered and every nerve in his body fighting, like absolutely mad. The next straight was just as sweepingly quick, and Turn 11, 12 and 13 were a nice complex, Muller trading a little paint with his bumper, like the tiniest of nudges. Ryan held on. The car was going, and he knew that Gina was right on him, willing to slip through on the one mistake he could make going on the offensive. Through Turn 19 and 20, Lucas pulled roughly 2/10ths of a second away from being basically in the Z4's grill, and the next corner, the penultimate one, wasn't an event. The last one, the kerb rolling under the spent hard compound of the R8's tyres, was uncomfortable, but doable. Getting round, the Z4 close, Ryan floored it. The cheqered flag awaited.

-----

Pulling into the pit lane, and then in front of the garage, Ryan cheered, as he stepped out. Lucas watched on, just happy for him, as Lucas took his helmet off and stood on his car, klaxons in the audience blaring. Muller was the real champion, but here, in this race, Ryan had did it. As Gina pulled in, and took her helmet off, Ryan hugged her, a little high on the moment, as he looked over to the podium.
"Whoo!" Ryan yelled, as he smiled, just knowing that this moment was too good to ignore. Deep down, however, something said that this was in vain. That he was second anyway. In his first season of GT3, yes. But second wasn't something that felt worthy after today. Not the way he had raced.

----

OST

The end of the race had been a climactic event, with the whole event being something wicked. It was surreal, just brilliant. First place was good, though second in the series did feel like it had let Ryan down a little. The podium and medals had come out, and it had been a huge event, with at least three hours between then and now. A press conference, a bit of news here and there, and then that was it. It had been a hell of an event. He sat in the garage, head back, looking at his R8. Lucas walked past, patting him on the shoulder. Though that said, Lucas did feel angry. A little betrayed. This was a lot of effort, and not for a lot. Second in the championship was great, but for the first time, he wasn't getting a lot of reward. Maybe others had seen the potential, but the team hadn't.
"You did good, kid. Not bad. Second is good, the whole season, in your first go. Not a lot of people get to do that. Gina pulled out a cracker of a performance too. So, what now?" He simply asked, as Ryan looked over.
"I don't know. GT3 is good, but I've got a few other offers. Better paid. Better accommodating, in some other disciplines. And I know you don't like your job either. Could move." Ryan simply said, exhaling.
"Look, we got the car running as good as we could, there's nothing more we can give..."
"No, horseshit. The car was great, we were great, and I'm the first loser. We won't even get bonuses. Second in my first fucking season. Just like you said. You should be getting paid, Gina, me. That sort of performance, from a team that's expected mid table. That includes you. We were asked the world and didn't get the world, so here we are. Lot of money down the pisser. And I don't want to be about when Sean goes through another fucking brief." Ryan simply said, exhaling.
"And anyway, I want something new. GT3 was good this year. Touring Car racing was good too, but I'm seriously thinking of going back. Besides, rather than getting stressed out, I want to sit in that car and know I'm not racing for some dick's management scheme." Ryan added, as Lucas nodded.
"If that's how you feel then. I'm with you if you go. My bonus will be cut, but wherever the hell you're thinking of going to, it better be good." Lucas replied, as Ryan nodded, taking his baseball cap off as he looked out at the darkness, then at the two R8s, and back to Lucas.
"I have a good place to go, I think I have a rough idea." He simply said, as he stood up, looking around, as he checked the time.
"Shit, those visitors are meant to be here. Said they'd stop by. Come on, Gina." Lucas simply said, as he headed to the rear exit, looking over.
"Gotcha."

Heading out, the parked cars sat right in front of Ryan, the sight of a fairly rounded out Scot sitting on the bonnet of a red Mercedes-Benz C63 AMG, and his feminine partner by her vehicle, both here to visit this particular pair of racing drivers. There were many reasons, many, many reasons. And it brought a smile to Ryan's face, as he saw them both. They looked formidable, like they were good friends, and good rivals on the road. People that were as fast as they said they were.
"Second place isn't bad. Good to see you two." Ross simply said, as Ryan chuckled, Ross's face one of confidence, just knowing already of what Ryan felt; even though he didn't race himself, he could tell it from afar.
"Don't see you out on the racetrack, Ross."
"The road is ours." Ross said, chuckling, as he patted the bonnet of his C63.

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

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Part Two: Horsepower

OST

The C63 roared, as Ross put his Oakleys down, shifting up as he heard the 6.2l V8 thunder, as the skyscrapers of Dubai lined the streets, Ross pulling right into the exit, the sight of two very fast cars moving through the center of Dubai a centre to see. The sun was out, and the evening was slowly coming in, as the sun did veer off to the West.
"Down here, Kimberly, don't look behind! There is a fuckload of police, they look pissed!" Ross added, turning down the music a little, as he braked hard, the rubber screaming as he pulled hard into a tight 90 degree turn, smoke blaring from the rear wheels as the distant noise of cop cars could be heard.
"We're approximately four miles out, we've got not long left. Fuck me, whatever we are carrying, I have a horrible feeling it's gonna cost us if we stop, more than just a speeding ticket..." He simply added, overtaking slow moving traffic, moving onto the opposite side of the road, as he slid back in, just gunning it through, the tyre smoke and roaring V8 blaring. Turning left, he moved into a smaller alley, the noise of cop cars flooding, as Ross kept on the gas, just knowing he had to keep up the momentum. The Red C63 had been a beauty, and the Sheikh that wanted this car back, had something inside from Abu Dhabi. Something that needed delivery, and fast. It needed to be incognito too, so Ross being the entrepreneurial person he was, knew that it was always time to have a little bit of a race. No JDM, but muscle, stuff that was going back to the Sheikh afterwards, stock but powerful. And it felt awesome. Pacing back onto the Sheikh Zayed Highway, the traffic building as the day came to a close, Ross put it back into fifth, already thundering back on the pace, weaving through cars, just loving this. Right in the center of Dubai, they were transporting something, and it was total anarchy.
"More cops, right ahead! Back off the motorway we go!" Ross added, as he turned right, back off the highway, into some construction work, that he had to smash through a barrier to get through. Keeping the throttle on, he skidded around a crane, aware the police was a little confused, before getting back on the road, continuing to storm down.

Vigil!

Violence. Check.

Meth Labs. Check.

A Breaking Bad inspired scene. Sorta, check.

Zip Lines. Check.

Stoned Solicitors. Check.

Welcome to Trident.

Vigil!

Somewhere in New Realna's Old Quarter
2200 Hours

The city had died down, and while the nightlife was running wild, on an ecstasy and coke fueled binge combined with alcohol down below in the cosmopolitan old city, a place of bars, cafes and predominantly drunks. The latter was the most frequent sight down below. Because Lucas wasn't amongst the chaos that was a night out on Realna's Old Quarter. No, he was doing buisness. Things that needed to be taken care of. He'd done some simple reconaissance the night before, and was now moving, quickly and with a purpose, across the roof of the terraces, leaping up onto a slightly higher level, clambering over with the precision of a Gazelle leaping a hedge. He wore a black set of infiltrator's gear, with a simple harness attached at his hip, and a small MP7A1, with an attached silencer and optical sight lingering on his back, alongside a carbon-fibre Crossbow and rope system. His Kimber M1911 at his waist, and in his small rucksack, a few mixed explosives. Two 2kg Thermite charges, and two 2kg PE7 charges, the latest and greatest in blowing shit up. His black beanie on, and his distinctive Black, Blue and Grey bandit that he wore meant that only a trained eye, with the correct knowlege of who it was, would know that Trident was running. His face concealed, but he saw fine, the matt black infiltration equipment he wore bringing him to darkness. Sliding across a rooftop ventilation system, he moved forward, crouching by an old stone wall, looking over at the scene in front. He had to have a reason to be like this, right? Fully kitted up with more than enough equipment to be arrested almost several times over for weapons breaches, explosives possession, and worst of all, trespassing. So why?

Because across the other side of the terraces, at a slightly lower level, lay a very, very serious Methamphetamine and Weed operation. The weed was the primary produce here- it wasn't grown, it was refined. They were making Skunk, a highly catching version of Weed that would blow most stoners out of the water. Literally. It was an aggressive, hard form of the drug that practically zombified people in an appropriate dosage, or at least rendered them pretty fucking inanimate, from what Lucas had seen in high enough use. The Russian Mafiya was making a good buck out of it, and it was a continuous process, running out of the second floor of the four storey building opposite, right in plain sight. That said, all the windows were barricaded, nobody could even see in if they were sober on the street below, where the bars ran open on this fine weekend. But on Trident's fifth floor, he had a way in. Taking the Crossbow off his back, he loaded the bolt in clean and steady, the steel cord attached to the bolt more than strong enough. He had a target. A nice metal ventilation system on the roof of the target terrace, where he'd move to.

Pulling the trigger, the bolt silently buried itself into the metal casing, embedding itself strong enough for Lucas to get a firm control of the steel line. Moving back, he tied it tightly to a well positioned telephone wire clamp, tying in neatly and quickly, as he took his karabiner from his harness. Clicking in, he adjusted the mechanism, doing up the screwgate, as he breathed hard.
"Think." He simply muttered to himself, Lucas just calm. Putting the Crossbow back on his back, he looked over the gap, almost five storeys up. This opposite building would be mostly empty, but a body count could come. The plan was simple. And simple was good.

Moving forward, he lept up, leaning back as he whisked himself far across the road, the silent noise of metal against a metal cord being not something exceptionally loud, but drowned out mostly by the noise below as the zip got him to where he had to go. Nobody even saw him. Feet up, he braced himself, as he hit the other end, looking around before he dropped off. Lucas ditched the karabiner that he had used to get across, moving across the rooftop. He'd leave the line- if it dropped, people would know something was amiss. Right now, it looked like a power cable, or something like that. Vaulting over a small wall, he slid into cover, as he heard two men, with cigarettes, talking up ahead. Ducking down, he slid behind a pair of oil barrels on the roof, smelling methlamine. The basic ingredient for methamphetamine, formed from a variety of Amines, and Methanol. A simple product, but one that made Crystal Meth. Which fuelled the frenzied rage of this city, when shit got real. The two men were talking, about the clap, and then about the operation below. One held a beer of sorts, while the other smoked, perhaps out of the labs to avoid contamination. Moving across, as they looked out down below, Lucas was fast, as they looked off the roof of the old building. The Tomahawk was a fine weapon in Lucas's hands, and today, more than ever, it was perfect in his black kevlar gloved hands. The Native American weapon flew into the neck of Smoking man, whilst Beer-holding man was too slow to even comprehend what had happened to his friend's fate. Lucas had iced one- but he wanted the other alive. For a few seconds longer.

Moving forwards, the man dropped his glass on the tarred floor, as Lucas was able to use his slow reaction, the SEAL-issued dive knife already out. The short, sharp blade was like a shiv, but faster, and more comfortable. Beer man threw out a slow punch as he came close, his friend well and truly dead, blood spluttering from his neck. Lucas was quicker, and dodged it, with a swift shank to the abdomen putting the man completely out. He was about to scream, had it not have been for Lucas's gloved hand covering his mouth. Slamming him to the ground, he knelt, looking down.
"How many people, are inside? You lie, you deceive me, I'll know. I can tell liars, and right now, you best not be. I'll pull this out as slow as I can from the moment you start. That's going to rip your whole intestines out, you hear? I think whatever you just had for dinner will be on my knife." He said, the man screaming in muffled tone, as Lucas shook his head. Lucas's voice was hard to distinguish, beneath his thermal bandit.
"Scream, you die, slowly. So you're going to be a good boy, and you might just live. Understood?" Lucas added, as the man blinked twice, Lucas slowly easing off.
".....ten, there's ten!" He said, almost howling in pain, as Lucas put his hand back on. The man was completely incapacitated, just in total agony. The knife hadn't been random, it had been co-ordinated to go just there. Not death, but a slow one.
"Nicely done. But you make Crystal Meth, and I've seen it's affects. Lying is a smaller sin than ruining a hooker's life. I think I can have one white lie." Lucas said, as he pressed harder, the man's muffled scream increasing, as Lucas twisted the knife out of his abdomen, before slitting the man's throat open. The blood spluttered, as he fell dead, Lucas not even caring. He was bad, sure, but not as bad as these people.

Moving up, he headed to the door they'd gone in through, swinging the MP7A1 off his back, checking the EOTech 552 Holographic that sat on the weapon. Moving down, he moved around each and every corner, sweeping carefully. This place ran continuously, and it had to. Now, would be a time for the charges. Moving down the stairs, and around the corner, target number one was found. The Meth Cookhouse. The cooks inside were too down to work, before they heard the black-clad figure make his way in through the plastic sheeting. The spluttering of 4.6mm rounds across the room left a bloody work, and downstairs, the Skunk operation had already ground to a halt as a result of that. The two cooks were gone, completely dead and riddled with rounds. Lucas smirked, as he took out the Thermite Charges, lobbing it over to the far side of the room, a clacker hooked up. This serious military grade equipment was perhaps what most sane people would call excess force. Lucas called it his equalizer. He lobbed it close to a few barrels, right by one of the bodies that had become lifeless and limp, completely devoid. Not that Lucas had a single concern. Moving back out, past the complicated equipment and two vats. The noise of men changed that. Lucas scrambled below a workbench, reloading quietly but surely. They were some guards of some sort, armed with pistols, nine mils. They were searching around, and didn't pick out the black figure of Lucas in and amongst the carnage that was here. Smashed bottles, leaking sets, dead bodies, and nobody to find to blame it. Lucas moved around the left, taking out the pair with a burst of co-ordinated shots, completely switched on in operator mode. Moving out the door, he headed to the staircase, hearing people move up. They had scaled up, UZIs in their hands. No problem. Moving down, he kicked the first man that was moving up the stairs, moving from a hidden position around the corner, kicking him down onto his friend, before emptying the mag between the two. The overpressured AP round in the MP7 was designed to eat body armor, but it was able to punch through one man into the next, whilst not being the most damaging round. And that was why the next two, six out of ten now, were dead. Four goons, two scientists, and that was discounting the rooftop pair. The stairs were concrete, and the inside of this older building hadn't seen much conversion, bar the rooms inside that had served as the laboratories and production facilities.

The skunk room wasn't anything complicated, but the people inside were resilient. Moving up, Lucas felt bullets whizz by, as he dived behind a wall, feeling rounds punch through the wood and stone, chipping parts of the door and surrounding pieces apart. They knew he was there. Bringing up the clacker, he let his instinct keep running. The operator's mind, the mind that thought both logically and unorthodoxly, at the same time. Lucas knew that at this point in his raid, getting into the Skunk lab would be hard. But he had thermite set up in the Methamphetamine lab, on a mainly wooden floor. Right by the store of Hydrochloric Acid, too. Used to purify the product, filter off wastages in reaction. It was complicated Chemistry, but understanding the basics had been why Lucas had targeted it in the first place, and knocked this part of the chain out. Shooting unarmed men wasn't a written code of honor, but in this circumstance, what he'd do next would be worse to the men in the Skunk room. He didn't want to think how gruesome it would be, but clicking the charge, the noise of intense burning upstairs, followed by a loud bang, was enough to say the least.

The loud bang blew off part of the plywood covers on the side of the building, down into the street below, as the floor burned, hot acid and thermite eroding through, as parts of the lab above began to subside down. A huge vat slammed down into the Skunk room, as the four kilos of thermite, alongside the masses of acid that had been spilt onto plain floor, now burned a hole like hell. Moving through, Lucas took out the distracted men, the last of what the man that he'd interrogated upstairs had mentioned. The place was hellish, and the acid had mainly burnt out, though almost a quarter of the meth lab's equipment was now inside this Skunk Lab, where huge crates of Weed sat, alongside a couple of processors. This was the last bit. Taking the last two PE7 charges, Lucas rigged up the shipments, knowing full well this whole room would be blown to pieces, and probably the rest of the floor if he set this off. Setting it to the same clacker, he moved over the dead bodies, with a certain movement, a certain speed that a remorseless man had.

The cargo lift was at the bottom, and Lucas was able to use that to his advantage, choosing to take a different route down. Moving to the lift door, with a sharp pull, he opened the metal doors, leaping out onto the cable as he slid down, like he was fast roping back down to ground level. Hitting the roof of the lift, he moved through the hatch, dropping down, hiding behind the side of the lift's doors. The noise of movement could be heard. There was a lot of men coming through the door, the scene was hellish from where Lucas was. They weren't going for the lift, they were going straight up the stairs. They had some sense, they would have guessed taking the lift was going to be dangerous, if someone was waiting upstairs. So they were going systematically, floor by floor. And that played right into Lucas's hands. He was actually surprised, more than anything, that he didn't need to expend more ammunition that needs be. They were going straight to the Skunk Lab, and they would find what they were looking for. The garbled Russian through the wooden floors was enough to give Lucas his prompt, as it became an exclaiming tone. Click.

The side of the building visibly shook, as almost four kilos of highly explosive plastic charges sounded off, blowing the side of the plasterboard and stone out, as well as almost blowing apart all that was left of the Skunk Lab, and the men that had moved in. Glass and plywood rained, and a huge mess was left, everything and anyone poor enough in the blast radius of that floor well and truly dealt with. Both labs had been completely levelled, utterly destroyed, with no parts salvageable, utterly ruined. The building wasn't leveled, but those two rooms had basically become a singular cavern of dead bodies and destruction. Lucas didn't know how much he had destroyed, but with guards on this level at this time of night, he could guess this was at least $1 million. Yelling turned to screaming, as Lucas moved, not thinking. Heading round to the left, he moved to the back, kicking in an emergency door, and moving down, into the parking lot. Throwing the MP7 onto his back, he ran, moving with a pace and agility that many would struggle to keep up with, unless they were parkour artists or athletes. He didn't want to be here any longer than need be.

A couple of blocks later, running through alleys and out of sight, in the multi-storey, Lucas found his escape. The RS7 was parked neatly where he had left it last, and he knew precisely what the German-engineered machine would do. The 4.0 litre V8 roared, as the Quattro system gave a quick getaway, Lucas pulling out of the multistorey and quickly getting on the road, into the darkness. The anarchy that was left behind in his rear mirror was a world away. No tails, no witnesses, nobody that had seen him. Even if they had, they'd be describing a figure with a black beanie, and a thermal bandit of sorts, with infiltration gear and a compact SMG. They wouldn't know height, precisely at least, or even a name, physical appearance or anything. He was hidden. For now at least.

-----

The Next Day
0900 Hours

Lucas leaned back, looking out across the desk, a few case files to deal with. His office was located above a small conveinence store, the entrance being on the opposite side, in a quieter area of the Central of town. A car park out front, it was a small joint, but a simple place to be. He wore a navy blue shirt and simple pair of black suit trousers, looking over this one particular case. A suspicious husband wanted his wife monitored, from the moment she left for work at the Courts to the moment she left that to go home. He had dug up some interesting things, with a few other contacts he had in this business, as well as his own talent in following incognito. That world was completely different to what Trident did. Oh, it was different. He looked over the photos, seeing the few that he'd taken. Oh, they were golden. Caught this woman right in the act of good old fashioned drug abuse, because she drove over towards Jamaican Turf, a gang that was at least semi-in-line with the Mafia's workings in Realna. And she bought an ounce of weed every time, then proceeding to smoke it, spending at least an hour in her car, lighting up the most cracking spliff that he'd seen a solicitor take. It made no sense, but in this city of madness, nothing did. Perhaps her supply would be affected by what he did the day before. Lucas didn't care. He would just give it back to the husband, and let him do what he wanted. Get his pay. That was all he wanted.

Exhaling, he sat up, looking out the window, as this city, the city of crime and grime. And here he was, cleaning it up. Many things fuelled him. The main one, was just knowing he was giving people confidence. The Mafia was no longer untouchable, and they didn't know what to do. They were scared, and they had to be. Perhaps they would hunt him. But Lucas knew that it would take an awful lot to stop him. Perhaps things would change. Perhaps more people like him would come, but he doubted it. He was alone, and the term, "Lonely are the Brave", never fitted him better. No kids, no family he could really talk to, and only a few loose ends from his past life were left. All that mattered, was that he got his rush out of fucking up the Mafiya, and making those Ruskies pay, for every evil they brought here.