<div align="center">(http://i1264.photobucket.com/albums/jj499/MzHyde/HeavyMetalLogo_zpsf2863b60.jpg)</div><br/>At the expected time, all the mercenaries had gathered at the coordinates and, as expected, they were picked up. The Bon Scott screamed in overhead and lowered it's rear ramp to allow the newbies to board. Once they were all on, the ship took off again. A series of running lights led the way for the new crew, showing them the way up to the upper deck and from there, into the meeting room. The ship seemed abandoned, devoid of personell. Save for the screaming rock music playing over the speakers, it would be akin to moving around in a ghost ship. Once they were in the meeting room, however, things changed. The doors whooshed shut behind the newbies, leaving them in the small, round room with THE Briar bloodthorn, the Queen of Carnage herself. She'd made quite a name for herself on behalf of Heavy Metal Industries, doing a hell of a lot of work in an impossible amount of time. HMI had closed so many contracts in the past few months they were now in direct competitions with the top merc guilds in the Hagar System. It was obvious that Briar knew it. She had on a shit-eating-grin. She stood there, arms folded, standing before a display screen showing nothing but static.<br/><br/>"Evenin', skags! Welcome aboard the Bon Scott! Dio willing, it's gonna be your new home! Of course, before we get to any fillin' out yer fuckin' W2's or any of that shit, we gotta little test for ya. Think of it as yer interview. Only with blood. An' fuckin, violence, or whatever."<br/><br/>The redhead jerked her thumb at the screen behind her.<br/><br/>"Take it away, boss." From behind her, the static-filled screen cleared a little. Just a little. A vaguely human shape appeared and the room filled with the voice of HMI's mysterious benefactor. The voice was gender-neutral, almost robotic. It was clearly someone trying to disguise their voice, species, and gender. Briar didn't seem to give a shit.<em>"Thank you. Welcome to Heavy Metal Industries, all of you. As Briar said, we will be conducting a sort of interview. Come back alive, and you're in. Die, and we will mail your remains to your next of kin."</em>Not express, though. Fuck that. Standard shipping only.<em>"We have an open contract and your completion of it nets you employment with HMI, plus a portion of the reward we were promised. You'll find that working with us will make you quite wealthy indeed. Allow us to explain the contract."</em><br/><br/>The screen changed, turning from static to an image of some unremarkable city. From there it zoomed in on an area just to the north of the city, away from the hustle and bustle and into a more remote, wooded area. It focused on a set of buildings. The view was top-down, so it was hard to judge what was going on, but by all the police vehicles out front and one entire building in flames, it probably wasn't good. That, or a bitchin' party was going on.<br/><br/><em>"Morning Wood School for Girls has been under siege from the infected for three days. Ninety percent of it's student body and staff have become infected with Kellis-Amberlee, or 'KA', as it's known."</em>said Leader.<br/><br/>"Zombies. They're fuckin' zombies," quipped Briar.<br/><br/>Leader cleared it's throat,<em>"Quite. Yes, Kellis-Amberlee, named as such for the scientist who inadvertently invented the, ahem, 'zombie' virus while searching for a cure for the common cold and patient zero, respectively, turns it's victims into something akin to the undead. Their brains swell, they have high fevers, become immune to pain or fear, and are filled with homicidal rage. They are nothing more than snarling, clawing animals. The virus transmits itself through contact with bodily fluids; blood, saliva, etc. So the hosts claw and bite at anything they come into contact with in order to spread the virus. Local police forces have always had trouble containing it; that's why Iowa ceased to exist in 2015."</em><br/><br/>Briar snorted, "And nothing of value was lost."<br/><br/><em>"The person responsible is this man,"</em>said Leader, the screen changing to display a handsome fellow with thick, wavy dark hair - just a touch of grey at the temples,<em>"Briar, if you would?"</em><br/><br/>Bloodthorn sighed and rolled her eyes a little bit. She waved her hand at the screen, "Right, right. This is 'Handsome' Hal Hardlight, former leader of The Hardlight Riders, one of the worst piece of shit raider guilds in the system. I say 'former'" she even did the finger quotes here, "because.."<br/><br/>The screen changed, showing the same man. Ish. Kind of. The person the group was now looking at was horribly scarred. It looked like someone had given him a Glasgow smile to the extreme, leaving scarring going from the corners of his lips to his ears in a Cheshire grin. The rest of his face showed patches of rot and half his luxuriant hair had been shaved off to make way for large, obviously surgical, scars and, of all things, a bolt. Sticking out of the side of his head. He looked like Frankenstein fucked an ugly hobo in a dark alley. He looked like a dried out turd on a bad stretch of road. He was ugly, is the point we are driving home, here. The mad grin and twitchy look on his face showed that, yes, he was upset about this development.<br/><br/>"...I took a chainsword to his head about a week or two ago. At the time I was preeeeeeeetty sure he didn't survive it. Y'know. Top of his fuckin' head off an' all that. Shit USUALLY kills someone. Guy was an arrogant asshole who thought he and his gang were tough shit. Apparently, however, his gang members fuckin'<strong>LOOOOOOOOOVED</strong>the guy. So, some of his smarter cronies used science, some stolen KA, and a roll of duct tape, I'm guessing, to bring the fucker back to life. He ate their faces." The screen switched again, to still shots of Hardlight attacking his own gang members and, yes, eating their faces.<strong>JUST</strong>the faces, though, which strikes as fairly odd. "Eventually, and we're still not sure why, he made his way to Morning Wood and started spreading the fuckin' virus around. Apparently Hal, though undead, retains brains enough to do more than slobber, scream, and bite - though he's sure to do plenty of all that."<br/><br/><em>"Quite,"</em>Leader broke in,<em>"Your task will be to clear the grounds and take out Hardlight. We're sure there's some reason why he's doing this but, to be quite frank, we do not care. The contract says to clear the grounds, not interview the man. Complete the mission as you like. Questions?"</em><br/><br/><strong>Vixen Vickers</strong><br/>You actually know Handsome Hal. You slept with him. Of course. He's not quite so handsome now, but you certainly know why his crew loves him so much. He's actually rather charming, despite being a blood-thirsty former gang leader turned zombie. Or at least he WAS charming. Dio knows what he's like now. Probably insane with rage. That's a good bet.<br/><br/><strong>James Morgan</strong><br/>You recognize Briar Bloodthorn. You've heard her name before, obviously, but until now you've never actually seen the woman. You recognize her from Tranellore. She was with the rebel group that day of the ambush. She was leading a portion of the rebel forces that slaughtered some of your crew. You were both there for the money, obviously, but still. She done fucked up your bros. You saw her chainsword a guy you had beers with once. Then she used him as a human shield before throwing his corpse at another one of your friends and kill him, too. Granted, those two guys stiffed you for their part of the beer tab and they were kind of dicks, but still.<br/><br/><strong>Artorias</strong><br/>You've basically been held prisoner on this ship for the last three days, ever since it picked you up. Sure, you've been fed, tended to medically, and you haven't been tortured (unless you consider the blaring rock music to be torture), but you HAVE been confined to your room. You had no idea what was going to happen until you were led, with the others, into the conference room. Part of you understands that they can't just let some stranger wander around the ship unattended, but on the other hand, it sucks being held captive. Sorta.