Name: Zero<br/>Tag: Rutlis, Charisma<br/><br/>"Oh,<em>Mr. </em>Zero is it?" Zero smirks a little, looking past the messenger (big as he is) to the source of the message.  It seemed like Marcus wanted to poke a few beehives.  The cattle call for low life made sense then.  A band of cheap street thugs, almost unknown (most of them), certainly unaffiliated, made a great bit of cannon fodder.  Marcus could wind them all up like toy soldiers and set them off, with no strings attached.  Zero guessed he was selling it as a 'test' but it was as much a nice bit of keeping his hands clean as anything.<br/><br/>Marcus' plans were also a recipe for a riot.  A bunch of out of control, hyper-violent strangers throwing down without much planning in the same place - that wasn't going to stay neat and tidy, that's for sure.  Zero's grin widened at the thought. He had a weakness for riots - loved the random violence, where innocent passersby might find themselves victims ... or something inside them might flare to life and they'd become monsters for a night.  A good riot was a beautiful thing.<br/><br/>The demon gave Charisma's ass a sharp slap, and he grinned at her.  Zero's teeth were plain, blunt human, and there was nothing monstrous in his form or features yet that smile was ... uglier than most scales and horns sported by the savagest of beasts.  "Looks like there's a bit of violence on tap for tonight, baby."  He chuckled.  "Wanna see a good nights work, here down in the bloody part of town?  Maybe I'll let you kiss me better when I'm done."<br/><br/>The demon had the same n-space container as anyone else - they could be purchased from most corner shop mages for a good price and it beat clattering around the street like a video game character.  Guns would be the order of the night.<br/><br/>Zero wasn't as durable as some of the heavy lifters he'd seen Marcus tap (well, this body wasn't, and he'd gotten used to it) and he didn't plan to go throwing himself into the thick of the bloodshed - especially with people like Jack around who were as likely to take the head of a friend as an enemy.  But there'd be plenty to do, dwarf establishments always had more than the obvious way out and the grave diggers were called diggers for a reason.  The club, or at least some exits, probably extended below ground.<br/><br/>He'd steal a car for this job.  No reason to get his pretty new one all messed up.  Besides, it was too memorable and he needed something Charisma could use for cover, if she decided to come, and if things got too messy.