Starlance

The Conflict

As Bethan and Sean explained their plans, Yekaterina tried to fit her rifle into the backpack to hide it. It was getting crowded in there, and her efforts to conceal the barrel sticking up out of the bag by wrapping a spare shirt around it were interrupted by the lovebirds getting into each other's hair again.

“If there were ten of us, I’d say that Sean and Hayden could go talk to Malkia, see if he’s willing to deal. But if the wizards in his head tell him you looked at him funny and he turns you into cheburek filling, that’d be 50% losses for us and we can’t afford that, our mission outcome is doubtful enough as it is. Besides, we’re unproven, sent out on a trial run. If she’s as paranoid as I think she might be, then I got 100 Rubles that say we’ll have a tail.” She tried to break up the argument. She didn’t think Victor had any reason to do that when he sent them to steal the truck, but here, she wasn’t that sure. “And what intel do we have that Malkia would be interested in in the first place? We can claim that Victor is striking out on his own, but this isn’t a political process in mother Russia, you can’t just say ‘He’s bad, trust me, I know when I see that.’ and expect it to work, I don’t think our word holds much weight around here. And I don’t think gangsters and warlords are someone we want to hitch our wagon to. If you want to play the sides, then I suggest we stick with Victor until we have some hard evidence that he's working outside of the company hierarchy and go talk to someone from SAMC directly. Fuck, we should’ve kept that MAN dossier. And even then, if we’re willing to sell out Victor, that wouldn’t paint us as a reliable workforce, would it?”

Sean’s ideas, however, did give her an idea. “Either way, I think Sean is partially correct. Having dirt on people doesn’t hurt as long as they don’t learn about it. And when someone decides to throw us to the sharks, we could use it to buy us some friends - however temporary - and burn whichever bastard tried to screw us over in one move. So I say from now on, we hold onto documents, maybe see about at least some of us getting a dictaphone or a phone that can record audio to try and record important conversations - like the slimeball revealing that he’s working outside of company chain of command in the limo on the way here, that wasn’t the smartest thing to do by any metric - maybe even a camera in case we come across something we can’t hold onto.” She presented her thoughts, the thought of selling out Victor having crossed her mind on the ride here, Sean’s thoughts extending that line of thought to anyone outside of the three westerners currently standing around her.

The Conflict

She had no fucking clue what was happening. Psychopath grand melee, blue-on-blue on top of it, unfolding before her very own eyes. And not much she could do to break it up. Sure, she could drop the rigging and have the rifle trained on the two weirdos in no time, but with the two this close to each other and with the stock folded, the chance of hitting Hayden by accident was too high. She could’ve drawn the Gesha, but what good would either of those be? It’d be about five seconds at most before Melani’s goons came running, and then what? End of the road. So she did the only thing that made any sense in this situation: Backed up, gesturing for the two Britons to do the same, putting some space between herself and the knife-wielding maniac.

Yekaterina didn’t need to be told twice to leave, taking the lead and extending her steps to get out of that place as soon as she was able while still maintaining the illusion of a dignified exit. “Jesus Christ. And I thought Chechnya was bad. I wish I had taken time to make friends in the air force, one Sukhoi with a few air-fuel bombs in there would be a service to humanity. Probably the same deal on the other side of the line, too, I’m afraid we’re about to see.” She grumbled once she was sure they were out of earshot, stopping to put the Poyas-A rig she’d bought on under her jacket and retrieved the map, folding it out on a nearby empty stall to try to figure out where they were, where they were going and which way they should run if things turned sour. Maybe they should’ve kept the Caddie, if not as transport, then to be sacrificed to the mob while they disappeared.

“So, how do we want to approach this? Like last time, we’ll be pretty hard to miss around here, unless we can find an errant can of brown shoe cream.” She stated the obvious, “Think we’ll have a better chance if we spread out and stay in visual contact, or do you want to take a chance as a group or two pairs?” Yekaterina offered, inwardly wondering how much more use they’d get out of the phones provided to them by Victor as they walked. It’d be exceptionally rotten luck if one of them got hit with the ‘We are sorry, but your credit is insufficient.’ message when trying to let the others know they were being surrounded by angry-looking locals armed with crowbars and carving knives. This would’ve been easier up North, where she and bethan could’ve - no, would’ve been obliged by local customs - to cover their heads, and they’d all be able to blend in a little more. Still, could’ve been worse, too. From what she remembered from school, white Britons would probably be hard-pressed to find a friend just South of Matanbai’s border.

The Conflict

And of course Victor weaseled out of answering anything. He was a corporate executive after all, it would be weird if he didn’t. But that itself wasn’t even the most infuriating part, oh no. That honor belonged to Victor admitting he knew the answers, but choosing not to answer. She managed to not groan or roll her eyes in frustration. Maybe growing up in Brezhnev and Andropov’s Soviet Union was useful for something after all. She followed Hayden’s lead and dug her gear from the back of the limo, slinging the rifle, set to safe and with the stock folded, over one shoulder and the rigging over the other. Not because she thought they would need it, but because it was pretty much all she had to her name except the clothes on her back and a sole diamond in her wallet, and like Hell she’d leave the stuff out of her sight unless absolutely necessary.

Passing by numerous stalls offering various food, ranging from completely unidentifiable through vaguely familiar to something she was almost certain was a rat, Victor led them deeper into the district. After a while of moving through the district, their path snaking in a way that made remembering where they came from a bit of a challenge, they finally rounded a corner and…

…And first impressions were not great. Asking Victor too many questions likely carried a risk if he didn’t like them, sure, but she had a feeling that doing the same here would’ve had much more dire consequences. Before now, she considered the locals to be somewhere between chimps and neanderthals on the mentality scale. Now, she had proof of it. And leaning toward the chimpanzee side by the looks of it, except these people had guns and could probably swim. Caution would have to be exercised here, and her previous conviction that weapons would not be needed here was slowly vanishing. Not like they would help against these numbers. Maybe as a quick exit. And if this was described as the better alternative to a complete butcher? Either the other guy was that bad, or Victor lied. Normally, one wouldn’t wish for the latter, but here…

She slowed down until she was side by side with Bethan, “Hey, could you do me a solid? If it ever looks like I’m going to get captured, vent my head, will you? I’ll save you a spot in Hell next to an AC unit.” the Russian whispered to the Welshwoman, keeping her attention at the guards to keep her mind off the mutilated bodies surrounding them, not quite managing to hide her apprehension.

“Your well-dressed associate here,” Yekaterina started in response to Melani’s question and Victor’s silence, gesturing to the latter as she spoke and avoiding the word ‘friend’ for good measure, “said you have some problems that need solving and brought us along to do just that.”

The Conflict

No problem, life happens.

The Conflict

So they were getting introduced to the Tangayi bratva. Or a ragtag bunch of idiots with guns made from boiler plates and hose clamps, they’d see in a few minutes. “How do we tell your friend’s people from the other side? Probably won’t be as easy as red and blue bandanas.” Yekaterina wanted to know at the mention of being ready to fight the other side. On the plus side, if their temporary new boss was dealing with guns, they needed a supplier. Unless they were actually trying to be the next Khyber Pass. Probably wouldn’t be their target directly, but you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, right? And if most of the guns in the country came from the Hyena, then these people were either connected to his - or their - lackeys, most likely as local distributors, or they were competition. Maybe they know people, who know people, who know the man, the myth, the legend himself. Maybe they hated his guts and had some dirt to share. Either way, there could be some sort of thread to pull. They just had to be careful about it. She liked her kneecaps intact and all fingers attached.

The other guy’s description, on the other hand, painted a clear picture of the type of person - and thus an entire organization to a certain extent - the removal of which she signed up for the army in the first place. Forget the loony bin, straight into the trash. A certified piece of human garbage even the team’s Welsh moral compass wouldn’t have to feel sorry for. Yes, there was usually a difference between the group and individual members, but the way she saw it, they either worked for someone like this because they wanted to and shooting that was public service, or they had nothing else left to do in life and then one might consider it a fucked up form of mercy. But an arsehole was hard to tell from a person through one’s sights anyway.

Unlike Sean, she was going to ask questions. She expected maybe half would be answered at most, and she was going to ask the same things to Bowaylo anyway, but strike the iron while it’s hot. “Anything we should know about the slum or Bowaylo? Such as what is her turf and what is bandit country?” She went to reach for the map, mouthing a quiet curse as she remembered the map was in her rig in the trunk, “How well equipped and organized are Malkia’s thugs? Are we looking at a one and done type of deal or long-term help? And has your friend indicated to you what she wants? Must have, at least a hint, since you decided to bring us and not an accountant, a cook and two janitors. What is it? Another kidnapping, removing undesirables, scaring people into submission or just ‘Go there and do as much damage to the wannabe vampire as you can.’?” She rapid-fired some more questions, trying to conceal that her patience with Victor’s corporate way of talking a lot but saying very little beginning to wear thin.

The Conflict

She managed not to roll her eyes at Victor’s attitude, starting to understand the amazons’ plight of dealing with this all the time. The Russian let the others speak their piece first. Some of the most effective lies were based on truth. Nice to see Sean seemed to be headed in that direction, at least as far as she knew, as it more or less matched what she was going to do. If the others had spun some wild tale, she might have had to adjust her line of bullshit on the spot. Sean even led into it by accident. She left a brief pause after Sean was done, waiting to see if Bethan wanted to add anything onto it before speaking up. “And some fucking road that was, all the way from the South.” Yekaterina chuckled, “Leeeeeeet's just say my former employers and I aren’t on speaking terms anymore, and I thought it would be wise to make new friends elsewhere and get out of sight and out of mind as they say. Where I came from, not only do the walls have ears, but they like to get friendly with walls elsewhere so they know what’s going on all around the globe. And unfortunately, a cozy, high-paying job at a diamond mine isn’t the most inconspicuous way to disappear for a while. And as Sean here pointed out, this comes with a lot less paperwork, so here I am.”

Good thing they were seated on the side seats, because that allowed her to see both Victor and some of her companions, watching for any hint of two and two coming together. The incident wasn’t covered on Russian news, then again a lot wasn’t, but the western world had a knack for digging up the Motherland’s secrets, and who knows where a corporation like SAMC had ears of its own? A dozen civilian and five GRU casualties. Could that slip through the intelligence gathering net? Surely not. Only question then was if the news trickled down to the other three operators, if they were still in favor with their employers by that point. The others will probably take exception to that second part when - not if - it comes up. Seemed to be the part Moscow was bothered by at the very least, though for different reasons.

“I wouldn’t call what we have ‘proper’ tools quite yet, we’re still missing a few things, but that’s nothing another handful of weird coal couldn’t fix.” They were still pretty much naked when rounds started flying. Personally, she would’ve liked four class 4 plates at least for her inner peace, but that would probably remain nothing more than a dream for a few weeks or more. “And Sean? If you’re wanted in Britain and they find you on your beach in Spain, aren’t you getting sent right back to old Albion? I guess on the bright side, you’d get to fly with British Airways for free, silver lining right?” She added with a grin before turning back to Victor, asking a question of her own to test the waters. “This introduction you mentioned? Renting us out to an associate of yours?”

The Conflict

Sorry I took this long for this little, the wellspring of talent is drier than usual it seems.

The Conflict

“Molodets. Good one. Might be a scumbag, this guy, but a street smart one.” She added in Bethan’s direction, storing the map in her empty magazine pouch. “Upper left pouch in case you need it and I’m not around to tell you where it is.”

She removed the magazine and ejected the chambered round, catching it in mid air before handing the pistol to the other woman, accepting the Austrian weapon in exchange and unloading it in the same manner. “Sure, here you go. Made to run the 7N31 AP rounds without falling apart after a thousand or so. Striker fired like yours, borrows some other features from Austrian tupperware, too, like the trigger safety. Except despite being brand new, mother Russia only had to shell out a third of what importing Glock 17s would cost per unit. Something about a screwed up tender if I heard right. Trigger’s a stiff bitch, though that might get better as it gets broken in. A lot of people still prefer the PM or APS over this, though the APS is so big you have to carry it in a bag if you want to conceal it. And unlike the PM, you can’t open a beer bottle with this one, but that’s a matter of personal priorities I guess.”

Yekaterina took a moment to admire Hayden’s catch. “I had no idea they made disc mags for Brens. It looks like the DP’s uglier cousin. The things you learn every day. If you go off the rails now, there’ll be no stopping you. Wouldn’t want to be the poor bastard who stands on the other end of that.” Their new arsenal was more varied than she expected, but on second thought, it made sense. A FAL, an FNC, even the venerable Bren were all proven workhorses, all of them in African environments as well. With some care and a measure of luck, they might even last long enough for them to spend their next shopping spree on protection and utilities rather than replacing the weapons.

She reloaded Bethan’s Glock, returned it to its owner and made herself comfortable in the limo. Still a little surprised at getting another job this quickly, she turned to Victor. “You said you had questions? Ask away then.” Having strung together a few lines of bulshit in advance, expecting some poking and prodding into their backgrounds, she was more curious than nervous of what would be asked of them and what her compatriots would answer. Of course their answers were likely to be vague or false if the questions got too close to home, but even the way a person lies tells you something.

The Witcher: Metaverse

I'd love to throw my hat into the ring if you still have room.

The Conflict

Victor’s limo was truly something out of this world, at least as far as the country was concerned. Blessed be the infinite patience of the poor bastard who had to park the thing. Or turn it around. She half expected a brick or two at any second, but the locals’ resentment of such a display of wealth, if there was one, seemed understandably tempered by their fear of retribution. Easily two tons of armor just on the sides, definitely a few more on the bottom, with no doubt corresponding aftermarket parts in suspension and drivetrain. The limo was easily worth over a year of her wages. Maybe their combined wages, before they ended up unemployed, in a drug trade or put on ice. Viktor was indeed paying for something special she thought, already halfway through a second sandwich.

Although the market smelled wonderful, she knew better. Such street food markets were often dodgy, even in first world countries. Then the market became dodgy for a very different reason. Not to the Russian, who looked around like a fat kid in a candy store. True, some of the items on display had seen better days, but true to life’s nature of a coin, with two opposite sides, some of the stuff there looked better than what she had in Chechnya just two years ago. Katya stared at the case of diamonds a little dumbfounded for a few seconds, her brain’s operating system taking time to process what she was looking at and that it was real. Probably. “I’m just going to check something.” She reached down to grab a diamond with her left hand, taking care to keep her hand far away from the SKS’s trigger and the weapon pointing down so the Amazons didn’t get the wrong idea. Then she scratched a steel part of the weapon. The rock left a visible mark on the bolt carrier and a smile on the Russian’s face. “What this briefcase alone could be worth in the civilized world.” she muttered as she returned the diamond into the briefcase.

Yekaterina took time to wander through the market, exchanging a few words with several merchants and checking out their wares. Finishing a circle around the market, she parked herself in front of one of the stalls, letting her Russian accent off the leash. “Privet. I’m in the market for a rifle and some equipment. You have something from home that doesn’t remember Korea?” She gestured to her captured SKS. Truth be told, she wasn’t too enthusiastic about Kalashnikov pattern rifles, but Beth would’ve been right: AKs had the advantage of familiarity.
“Naturally! A paratrooper 74, from Serbia if the supplier wasn’t lying. Yours for a mere 14 diamonds!” the merchant hollered enthusiastically in an accent she couldn’t place so quickly it rivalled the rate of fire of his goods as he handed her the AKS-74.
“Guy over there is selling a solid stock one for 12.” She lazily pointed over her shoulder to one of the stalls she’d visited earlier. The fire selector moved smoothly from the wear, and the stock rattled around when stowed, but a look under the top cover showed a decent, if used, firearm.
“Bah, Paulus. Dresses up his antiques to look nice, and then it falls apart on you! Stay away, I’m warning you for your good. 13 diamonds.”
“13 and I get a sling to go with it.”
“Deal. You’ll need bullets and magazines, of course.”
“Say, five magazines and 150 rounds of 5.45 and 10 9 mil.”
“Let me see, that would make seven diamonds for the magazines and rifle bullets and one for the pistol.”
“And if I give you this on top?” She placed the Simonov on the table.
He examined the weapon briefly. “Two diamonds.”
“And one more for the bullets and stripper clips.”
“Two for the whole deal. You’ve said yourself it’s old.”
“I may not be buying from Paulus, but selling’s another thing.”
The merchant though for a second. “Gah, fine.” he relented and yelled something in his native tongue into a hut behind him. A few seconds later, a boy no older than ten came out, carrying the agreed upon items. On the way to find the others, the Russian shelled out another diamond for a chest rig that looked like Afghanistan was just the start of its long journey. One diamond left.

“So much for a unified caliber.” She laughed when she found the others and saw what they picked, taking a seat on the fountain’s edge. “And I thought living with eleven people in a three bed apartment to make rent in Moscow was a budgeting nightmare. This place, though... Here’s hoping we can get Victor to set aside some corporate hidey hole for us as part of further employment. Would be better than paying for some seedy trucker den with piss-stained mattresses. Safer, too.” she lamented the economical situation. Taking advantage of a solid surface and some time on her hands, the Russian swapped the magazines in her Gesha and began the arduous process of reloading the old one. Since neither Mr. Gryazev, Mr. Shipunov or any of the other engineers thought to include a belt clip in the loader’s design, she had to make due trying to compress the uncooperatively stiff magazine spring with a suitably shaped pebble, giving up after a minute of wasted effort, wondering whether a more or less matching loader or even a piece of sheet metal bent into the right shape was a worthwhile investment or if she should abandon it entirely and get a different backup. Where did that loader end up, anyway? She had it in Samara, and then it disappeared into some pocket dimension to join all the odd socks consumed by the laundry basket and tupperware boxes she could only find the lids of. “We could’ve nicked the map from the Caddie. Getting lost and wandering to the bad- badder side of town here of all places could be bad.”