Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Red Offerings on 15-05-2013, 03:34:23</h2>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 03:34:23</strong>
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				<div align="center">(http://gp1.wac.edgecastcdn.net/802892/production_public/Artist/1626448/image/small/1307282506_t_shirt_logo.jpg)<br><br>Profile Thread (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=173993.0)&nbsp; &nbsp; OOC Thread (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=174092.msg8226710#msg8226710)&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Scenario A IC Thread (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=174105.msg8227337#msg8227337)&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Scenario B IC Thread (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=174106.0)</div><br><br><span style="font-family: times new roman;" class="bbc_font">Welcome to Black Hearts, Incorporated! This is just another one of your friendly neighborhood professional mercenary organizations. I'm you're Intel Specialist, Siouxsie, which means I'll be your go-to gal for -- my eyes are up here, 30 more seconds sweety, I promise -- mission information, latest intelligence, and any other important information you'll need for mission success. <br><br>Black Hearts is a professional mercenary group which also means that we operate within the legal parameters set forth by the paper-pushing powers-that-be. Any mercenaries employed by us are bound by contract, which means there won't be any random "Kill your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentation of their women," unless it's a legitimate mission anyways, sugar. No narcs or alcoholism because we want you at your very best and we will make you rue the day you joined our fine establishment if you dare go on mission under the influence of alcohol or narcotics and therefore putting the lives of the men and women who work with you on the line. Missions come frequently and they can last for however long it takes you and your team to successfully complete them. That means you'll be away from your families regularly and for sometimes long durations, so keep them happy! I don't like angry wives calling me. I don't get paid enough for that. If you can handle all of that then I think you'll like it here, welcome aboard!</span>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 03:35:33</strong>
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				This thread if for headquarters interaction. Non-mission related events, debriefings, and general settings will take place here.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 04:43:42</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Headquarters, St. Cloud, Florida; Siouxsie; La-di-da-di-Every-freakin'-body!</strong></div><br><br>The radio on the shelf behind the receptionist desk was piped up full volume, blaring Styx's song, Renegade as the blonde behind the desk sang along to the lyrics a little too loudly. At least she could carry a tune. "Oh mama I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the LAW!" she belted out to her pen, wearing a red polka-dot vintage dress with a little sailor's knot fitted right where the divide of her boobs began. Her nails were painted fire-engine red and she had also managed to find cherry red lipstick to finish the whole ensemble off. Apparently Black Heart's resident eccentric had a photo shoot today, but it was hard to say because she typically dressed Rockabilly. She noticed that the light on the phone was flashing and picked it up from the receiver.<br><br>"Hello!? Mmm yeah I can't hear you because the music is too loud!" she shouted into the mouthpiece and frowned as though she was trying to listen to what the person on the other end was saying. She shook her head a moment later and shouted, "I'm sorry! You're going to have to call back when a good song isn't playing!" With that, Siouxsie hung up the phone and bounded from the leather chair, her patent leather stiletto heals click-clacking on the linoleum floor as she gathered up a divided stack of dossiers, bounded around the counter and headed towards the WAR room which was where all of the debriefings, including the one scheduled in about a half an hour took place. <br><br>Headquarters was a large facility that had once been a storage facility for the local museum. It had since been converted into a hi-tech, polished one-stop-shop for their charming little organization. Not just anyone could enter the facility either, each employee had to provide a finger print and ender a punch code in order to even park a car in the lot. The same code and an x-ray scanner followed by a face-to-face with some guards from behind a bullet-proof window. The facility included a vault that no one was allowed into, a huge supply room and armory, two WAR rooms, some offices, and a garage with a group of specialized vehicles.&nbsp; For all intents and purposes it was very professional and would have remained so if the blonde didn't just fuck up the radar of the entire place whenever she was on the move. As she headed towards the WAR Room, Archduke Ferdinand, an enormous German Shepard wearing a red Service Dog vest got up from where he'd been lounging behind the counter and followed after her.<br><br>Siouxsie stopped and turned, separated the two stacked of dossiers and handed one to the dog. He accepted them neatly into his maw and looked up at her with questioning brown eyes. "Take those to WAR Room 2 Ferdi, thanks!" the German Shepard turned and walked past his mistress, down the hall to go leave the dossier's on the table. The dossier's Ferdi took were for <strong>Red, FNG, Doc, and Rico Suave.</strong> She went into the first WAR Room and flopped the dossiers in her hand for <strong>Hi Speed, Pancho, Ferret, and Semi</strong> onto the table in there. Ferdi was just coming back to flop down on the ground near the big chair at the head of the table. He knew she would be returning here shortly because she walked out and came back a few minutes later with a pitcher of water and some plastic cups stacked on top of one another.<br><br>The phone rang from one of the offices and Siouxsie groaned, "Come on Ferdi, let's go see what Mister Grumpy-Pants wants," she said. The dog got up and followed her as she walked out of the WAR Room and entered the office with her. The door shut and locked, and one could hear her exaggerated cheerful voice as she answered her phone, "Heeeeeeeelllllllllllooooo Marcus! How are you?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cold Heritage</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 08:54:35</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Out of Nowhere, is fucking Semyon 'Semi' Prudius!</strong></div><br>Semyon pressed his finger to the reader, and tapped a passcode into the pad, reading it from a slip of paper. He did not have a car to park (Semyon had ridden the bus and walked a block or so), but getting into headquarters was a long string of tedious bits of security protocols. The Russian tried to joke with the guards behind the bullet-'proof' window, but did not get any of them to even crack a grin. It was typical, but then, Semyon reasoned that the guards were no doubt busy contemplating that while there were materials advertised as bullet-'proof' - even though they were not truly impervious to bullets - there was nothing known to humankind that was Russian-proof. It must be terrible knowledge to bear when one is not Russian. Sometimes it was terrible knowledge even to one who was Russian. He carried on past the receptionist's desk and its blaring radio into WAR Room I (much superior to its sequel: WAR Room II). <br><br>Within, Semyon took a seat. It was private sector comfortable. The expense of the chair was palpable, from the pleather covering over lush, plush cushioning to the way it creaked in protest at Semyon's mass. This pleased Semyon inwardly, and not for the first time he daydreamed a little about stealing the chair he found himself in for his own personal use in his domicile. In his mind a bold and daring plan of attack went off without a hitch, a one-man action film with a supporting cast of ever greater explosions that dream-Semyon walked away from without looking at. It was a pleasant way to occupy his mind until the meeting proper started. He was so engrossed in this fantasy that he did not begin to contemplate the job that he was awaiting a briefing for. The mission in his mind was no doubt so much better. And in his mind there were no rules of engagement, restrictions on use of force, or prohibition on foraging - i.e. looting. In his mind, no one could tell him he could not set things on fire. Not that he did in the waking world, of course. And there was ample evidence to prove it. Ample, documented evidence.<br><br>The large man was dressed in semi-formal attire, well-within the dress code and without personal embellishment. He was clean-shaven and recently showered - his hair still had the sheen of moisture to it. Semyon sat with his hands folded together in his lap, leaning slightly back. The others would find him like that, when they entered, and with a small grin on his face. Nothing weird, or anything. Just a pleasant, affable grin.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Blobbe</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 15:21:13</strong>
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				<strong>Appearing without so much a warning (or even an establishing shot), Tassa “Red” Kaye</strong><br><br>Tassa (http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y156/jillvader/tumblr_l2r3y71g6h1qc1ijqo1_500.jpg) had driven to work. It was a point in pride that she never took the bus, and to her mind, waking was for when she was on an op. She was a street racer by past deeds and, as such, she preferred a good, powerful ride to get her to where she wanted to be. She pulled up her car outside the warehouse, clambering out as she headed towards the main entrance. Her short-sleeved shirt showed off the elaborate ink that covered her right arm, the left a decidedly unnatural metal. Baggy khaki pants and thick-soled boots merely accented the look.<br><br>“Hey guys.” She began with a moderately friendly smile as she headed through security, running enough biometrics to confirm that she was herself and not an elaborate double, a cyborg clone or the like. None of those she’d rule out, especially not with the level of crazy she’d seen in the last two years since she joined Black Hearts. True, the security precautions didn’t rule out the possibility that a hostile AI had jacked her brain and was using her as an instrument to kick-start the Singularity, but that didn’t seem to be an issue.<br><br>At least, not yet.<br><br>Heading on past reception, she took note of her instructions and headed to WAR Room 2. Personally, she preferred I; the joke was that if you were in it, you were on the up and up, while 2 was home to the B-Team. Added to that, 2 had so many nicer touches; better chairs, nicer equipment and a better selection of bar snacks. Still, she wasn’t going to argue, especially not with the amout of money she was getting paid to sit in WR2.<br><br>“Bow down and worship, Mortals.” She began as she strode into the room, a confident swagger in her hips. “For your goddess has arrived.” The dramatic statement lost some of its edge given the empty room. <em>Being first in means you can’t make an entrance</em>, she reminded herself, stepping into the room and flopping down into a chair, leaning back. <em>So what’s today’s insanity gonna be, I wonder?</em><br><br>One thing that Tassa knew for certain; there was no such thing as a dull day in the Blackhearts.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Elf</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 16:43:44</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Making his Appearance: Rafael “Pancho” Cruze</strong></div><br>As Rafael goes through the routine to get into the parking he smiles to himself once again thinking about the difference between this job and when he was still in the navy. He maybe driving few years old but well maintained 4x4 truck, but he is thinking about his “baby” that he never would have gotten while enlisted. His 1967 Ford Shelby GT 500 Mustang fully restored to show room condition. When married his wife would have never allowed him to spend the kind of money needed to have her and after his divorce he just could not justify having it and storing. Now however he can afford his own place with a proper show place for her. He absolutely loves to drive that beast, the roar of the engine sends shivers of delight down his spine, then when he opens her and lets her run it is almost better than sex. As he is finally allowed entrance he continues to smile, but his mind starts to think about the reason he is here today, another mission and thus new dangers and thrills.<br><br>In the x-ray scanner Rafael stands on his toes raises his hands over his head and does a parody of a pirouette ending with sticking his tongue out. When he reaches the hardened window with the guards behind he tips on the glass and makes a face like a child in a zoo trying to get a reaction from the animals inside. His expression changes quickly to a pout. ”Oh poo! This exhibit is boring all they do is just set there.” Just as quickly his expression changes to one of excitement. ”What's in the next one? I hope whatever it is it's more interesting than this one.” Then as he moving to leave them, finally gaining entrance into the reception area, he waves at the guards without looking back at them. ”Mornin' boys. Anybody else here yet?” The door opens and he moves on not waiting for their reply, he really does not care if he is the first or the last to arrive just as long as he is not late.<br><br>In the reception area he hears the loud radio and the former navy commander half walks half dances his way through the area to the first war room. He walks in and looks around seeing first the locked door to Siouxsie's then looks to the room itself and sees his very large Russian teammate Semi and the smile on his face. His own face twists into a smirk. Not being shy in any way he had once badgered the bigger man to tell why he always smile like that before a briefing and eventually gotten a story of his daydream. He sits leaving a chair empty between them and seeing that there are only three files on the table knows it will likely remain empty. Although having Hi Speed plant her sweet ass between them would not hurt his feelings one bit. He leans over the table so he can look Semi in the eyes with his head cocked to one side. ”Mornin', Semi. Please tell me you're not blowing up my car again.”<br><br>Rafael leans back in his chair his own little smile on his face, showing that he is just happy to be working again and among friends. He takes his expensive sunglasses&nbsp; and slips them into a breast pocket of his unbuttoned black fatigue shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Below that black shirt he is wearing an equally black tee shirt. At his waist is his typical black web belt. The tee is tucked in and if anybody looks the button on the black fatigue pants is unbuttoned in the usual S.E.A.L. Manner. His feet are in black jungle combat boots which soon find their way onto the table as he leans further back placing his hands behind his head to waited for everybody to arrive and the briefing to begin.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Belisuavious</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 19:49:33</strong>
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				Richard sped down the road to the complex on his jet black ZX11. Unfortunately, the road was too short for him to enjoy the speed he was getting, and he reluctantly slowed down as he approached the parking lot. This was only the second time he had even been to the complex, and he was a little nervous still. He shouldn't be, having served two tours of combat duty in The Sandbox, but he was still going to be then new guy in this operation. Oh well, he would get through it.<br><br>He made his way to the security checkpoint, removing his black helmet and passing it to one of the guards who wanted to check it for anything suspicious. He wouldn't find anything to be worried about. Neither would the scanners going through his black motorcycle jacket and white shirt through the other side. As he was given his helmet back, he fished his phone out of the pocket of his blue jeans and exchanged it for his helmet. Finally, cleared by security, he wished them a good day past their bulletproof offices and went on his way. <br><br>He was supposed to be reporting to WAR II, so he followed the signs to get to the room. He was feeling a little warm, so he unzipped his jacket, showing a surprisingly clean white shirt. Either it was new, or the owner took particular care of his clothes. In this case, it was both, though Richard expected the now crisp colour to fade away soon enough.<br><br>Entering the room, he saw that he wasn't&nbsp; the first to arrive. The other occupants were a heavily tattooed woman, and a man who was, by his dress and spooky-cold demeanor, some kind of scout or sniper. Unsure of what to say, he simply made his way to the closest chair and sat down, placing the helmet on the ground between his feet. Maybe he would just wait for the briefing to make introductions.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 20:27:05</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Headquarters, St. Cloud, Florida; Siouxsie; Anyone, Particularly Shadow</strong></div><br><br>The office door opened and Ferdi exited, his tail wagging as he was fully aware that the place had filled up during the conversation his charge was having. Said charge, better known as Siouxsie walked out, shuffling a page of notes she had briskly jotted down in short hand. She froze in place to glimpse her reflection in the office wind to ensure her hair was still neat and curled in the appropriate places, and then let the door shut behind her so she could walk back up to the receptionist desk with Ferdi in tow. The notes were divided between a couple three ring binders and set aside. She was about to go and say hello to everybody, but she looked up and realized the whole room was practically askew (to her). <br><br>Siouxsie grabbed the counter and swept the room repeatedly with her eyes until she finally fixated on where the balance had been thrown off. Her brows furrowed on her forehead and she rounded the counter with a swirl of her polkadot skirt and approached the <em>very much alive</em> fern in the right hand corner. Yes, yes she could see that some filthy little panty snatcher had wounded her fern and thrown the whole reception area's feng shui off by doing it. She bristled, her red lips forming a terse red line as she spent the next ten minutes rearranging the receptionist area in order to bring the feng shui back. Ferdi watched the entire time, feeling his charge's upset and making sure she didn't need intervention. Since she got most of her frustration out by moving couches in stiletto heels and turning ferns so that their flaws faced the wall, she was essentially fine again. <br><br>Standing back, Siouxsie released a sigh of relief and went to her purse behind the counter. She pulled a perfume bottle out and sprayed herself once and then spent another few minutes primping herself up again. Once she was all glued back together and what-have-you Siouxsie went towards the WAR Rooms, stopping in I first. Her gaze smartly swept over Semi and Pancho, seeking out the stolen fern, but when she saw nothing her face brightened into a cheery smile. "Hi guys, help yourself to the water," she said, pointing to the pitcher and cups she had set on the table. "See you in a few!" And she was gone again, Ferdi stuck his head inside too, sniffing the air. There was no food so didn't care to go in and instead followed his charge towards WRII. <br><br>At the doorway, her gaze once again swept the occupants, Dick, Red, and Shadow--who was <em>wearing</em> her fern frond as a feather! Her eyes narrowed, but she smiled falsely at everyone inside, "Hi! You guys have some more time because I'm giving the briefing to the guys in room one first. They leave before you anyways," she said to everyone and walked inside. Making her way towards Shadow, she stared down at his camouflaged face with pursed lips. Behind her, Ferdi sat on his haunches with his large ears pointed straight up and watched the following exchange avidly. "You picked one of my ferns. And you smell,"&nbsp; she leaned down a little towards him, her left hand on her hip. "That was mean."<br><br>She straightened and made as if to go. But instead, she moved to the side and unscrewed the bottle of perfume, turned, and dumped the entire contents on his hat and down his back. The bottle was given a good hard shake to loosen any droplets onto him and then she glared at him. "Do that again, Shadow and I'll spank you with The Stig," her golden brows rose dramatically on her forehead to make her point clear. Turning back to everyone else just as the powerful smell of roses and amber began to fill the air, Siouxsie smiled at Dick and Red in a much more genuine manner. <br><br>"I'll bring you guys a pitcher of water," she said sweetly and left the room in a flurry of polkadots and silk.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Neysha</strong> on <strong>16-05-2013, 00:28:51</strong>
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				Nichole had the car itself drive to the office. Normally she did love to drive, but commuting was kind of soul sucking towards the end of the work week. Plus, she still needed to finish her breakfast as she chowed, or rather slurped, down the remaining soy milk slurry with bits of walnut, soggy graham crackers and granola bobbing in the fluid and then with a smacking of her lips, saw as the car slowed down as it approached its destination. Putting her disposable breakfast bowl aside, she immediately gripped hold of the steering wheel, indicating she wanted control as she simply drove by and then, in the proper manner, backed into a parallel parking spot behind a familar muscle car from the sixties and what looked like a more update and upgraded street racing version of a common street car.<br><br>Needless to say, she felt someone humbled that she drove her four wheel drive crossover truck. Great for off roading, plus being from Arkansas, she needed something to drive that reminded her of where she was from. Most importantly though, she wasn't going to risk a dinged door in the city. Plus now that the station wagon was making a comeback, the automated driving software in it was simply brilliant, though even after a decades worth of work, it seemed no vehicle could parallel park properly still. Then again, most people couldn't either, so that wasn't that big of an issue.<br><br>Stepping out of her car and heading into the facility, she was nodding her head to her own beat, still feeling the music she had heard from the club she had gone to last night still beating in her head, and her heart. Knowing she only had briefings today, she decided to treat herself and be a little naughty, staying out late last night, listening to halfway decent local poprock music, drinking non-alcholic fruity drinks and dry humping a passed out hipster simply because the opportunity presented itself and one of her friends had a camera available. But now it was back to work.<br><br>Thankfully she didn't feel motivated to harassing the perpetually flat guards at the checkpoint as she made her way through the numerous layers of security, a perpetually blank, even dim look on her face as she seemed to be mouthing unheard words and bobbing her head, like she was in a conversation with herself as she went through the predictable motions of getting into the facility before finally, after being scanned in, she stopped living in her own world, looked up at the guard and flashed a big toothy grin. "Thanks!" she said cheerfully, bringing a slight half smile from one of the security guards as he let her pass into the interior of the facility.<br><br>Her face still glowing as she headed towards War Room One, wearing a tigerstripe military jacket which was more urban fashion as opposed to actual military utility (http://i.imgur.com/Rhc8qVo.jpg) along with a pair of skinny black jeans and black combat boots, fitted for her petite form, as she pushed in the door, leaning in head first and immediately spotting 'Semi' sitting in one of the plush leather seats, doing an admirable job of suppressing it with his heavily muscled bulk. "COMRADE!" she then said, in light sarcasm as she gave him a grin before stepping in. "Don't get up," she then added, maneuvering around behind the Russian and hugging him from behind, her arms wrapping around his head and neck as she rubbed her chin against the top of his noggin simply because she had never done it before and it occurred to her to give it a try.<br><br>Then letting him go, she turned to Pancho, she smiled. "Tijuana wraps... they were amazing," she said, pointing a finger at him, as she made a point of following his food recommendations. She wasn't afraid of admitting the truth. She asked the most Latino coworker she had where the best Mexican food was. And regardless of whatever Pancho's ethnicity was, his recommendation was still spot on. With that said, she then planted her sweet little ass between Semi and Pancho. Even though both of the guys were literal mountains in comparison to her, she still found enough space and elbow room for her to sit between them. Plus in the impossible situation that the War Room was stormed from both sides, she'd have a meat shield covering each flank. One never knew when that could happen, especially with Democrats still in high office.<br><br>Shrugging off her military jacket, she showed off that she was wearing a rather simple Green Day graphic tee shirt and immediately found herself tugging at the bottom edge of her shirt and then started to try and press out the wrinkles. "Laundry day tomorrow," she explained underneath as she tried to mimic the actions of an iron with her hand and failing miserably, answering a question no one except another woman would care about. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Elf</strong> on <strong>16-05-2013, 03:20:50</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Headquarters, St. Cloud, Florida: Rafael: Siouxsie, Shadow, Hi Speed, Semi, any</strong></div><br>His natural alertness and trained awareness tells Rafael that somebody has entered the room before he heard Siouxsie's voice causing him to turn and look at her. Seeing the way she scans the room before speaking and the way Ferdi stays close instantly alerts him that something is wrong. His seeming perpetual smile disappears and is replaced by a look of concern. He is the only employee of Black Heart Inc. at least as far as he knows that knows her real history and that she suffers from PSTD and why. So as she rushes back out he stands and follows her just in case he needs to intervene in something. Standing in the doorway next to Ferdi his smile returns as he watches how she deals with Shadow. When she comes back out of WRII he stops her in the hallway as he gazes into her eyes for a moment. He says nothing but a clear look of concern can be read on his face. This is something they have done many times in his nearly four years he has been working with her. After a moment he smiles warmly at her and lets her go.<br><br>Satisfied that Siouxsie is back in her right mind, well as right as it gets after her ordeal, Rafael steps back into the doorway to WRII. He notes all those their giving both new and old members a silent nod. His gaze focuses on Shadow. ”A couple words of advice. First, do not ever fuck with Siouxsie's space. Second, never show up for a briefing unshowered. Save your showing off for actual missions.” As he finishes the perfume is already starting to affect him with its over powering floral aroma. He turns and heads back to WRI before his eyes start to water.<br><br>When Nichole bounces in Rafael is already back in his seat leaving the empty chair between himself and Semi. He watches the unusual way she greets their mountainous teammate and is unaffected by it. When she greets him thanking him for his suggestion about Mexican food he simple smiles warmly and nods. ”Happy to help. I'm glad you agree that they are the best.” Knowing why she had asked him in the first place he thinks it only to ask her a similar question based solely on her appearance, he knows she is from Arkansas. He looks at her red hair and smiles playfully. ”Perhaps you could return the favor by pointing me to your favorite Irish restaurant.” His smile turns into a smirk as she removes her jacket and fusses with her tee shirt. ”It's just a tee shirt and I think you look great. So don't fret it.”<br><br>Rafael then looks at the pitcher and plastic cups. After a brief hesitation he reaches and takes hold of the pitcher with one hand and the stacked cups with the other. ”Anybody else care for a water?” He then separates the cups and pours one for himself and anybody that says they want one also.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cold Heritage</strong> on <strong>16-05-2013, 05:02:13</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Semyon 'Semi' Prudius: Hero of Glorious Mother Russia, Honourable Recipient of Order of Suvorov for Exceptional Leadership Under Fire and Selfless Heroism and Bravery, One Who Has Saved Many Children From Burning Buildings</strong></div><br>Semyon pursed his lips and seriously considered Rafael's question with the seriousness and gravity it was. "I can be telling you this thing," Semyon said at length, "but afterwards I be killing you and framing you for crimes so KGB does not come and shoot me in back of head. Three times bang." He pantomimed shooting a pistol with his hand, index finger being the barrel and thumb being the hammer. He spoke with a certain gravity that made it uncertain whether he truly believed that the KGB still existed, or whether he was simply joking around with Rafael. Previous conversations supported the former unilaterally, and Semyon swore up and down that anyone who tried to say that the KGB was truly gone was a gypsy. What one was supposed to derive from such a pronouncement was uncertain, and asking generally earned one a stern look with narrowed eyes, but no information. <br><br>The large Russian gave Siouxsie a wave as she entered and dropped off water. He smiled and was a perfect gentleman about the entire affair. Semyon was perhaps singular amongst the male staff of Black Hearts in that he never looked the woman anywhere other than the eye. While Semyon might joke that because he was so tall it made looking down further at her breasts too much effort and checking out her bottom simply out of the question, he was more than willing to play along with suggestions that he was of homosexual inclination, and that he was more than willing to make whomever suggested it his American <em>сука</em>. That generally quieted things.<br><br>He dutifully stayed seated as Nichole entered. The Russian was stoic as she hugged him, and he laughed when she was done. "Hello." The big man said softly. He looked Nichole in the eye as she spoke, but he made no special effort to retain any attention as she greeted and spoke to Rafael. Semyon watched for a moment as Rafael left, but said nothing and eventually his attention to the dossiers on the table. He left it where it was, seeing as it was undoubtedly linked to the briefing. <br><br>"Hmmm." Semyon intoned solemnly as Nichole declared that tomorrow was laundry day. "Very important day. Being careful. Chechen never work, hang out at laundromat. Give girl like you hard time because Chechen having no respect for woman." The Russian looked as though he might spit, but held himself back.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Blobbe</strong> on <strong>16-05-2013, 14:55:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Red, only slightly deflated but still enthusiastically engaging Shadow and Richard in small talk<br><br>Tassa hadn’t been waiting too long when first one and then a second man entered the room. The first seemed to be content to sit there and say nothing at first, something that she found odd; the second, instead, seemed to be a lot more casual or, at the very least, much less shockingly spooky and intimidating. <em>Looks like it’s time to break the ice</em> she told herself, summoning a small smile as she glanced between the two of them. Didn’t hurt that one of them was not bad on the eyes at all, which was certainly an encouragement.<br><br><em>And since we don’t seem to have any rules against fraternization, it’s a bonus.</em><br><br>She gave them both a small nod, leaning forward a bit in her chair as she did. “Well, I might as well break the ice a little.” Tassa began, her tone upbeat and friendly. “They call me Red for some reason that I can’t begin to fathom. I’ve been with the crew for just on two years now, and I gotta say, it’s the best job I’ve had in my life.” That was a loaded statement; most of her prior employment had been in low-paying, dead-end unqualified positions that she’d left after a short period. By that standard, anything was an improvement.<br><br>Souxie’s entering interrupted any reply, Red nodding towards the woman. The response was amusing, watching as she rather liberally perfumed his hat and issued him with a rather cryptic and yet amusing comment. The offer of water was just a bonus.<br><br>“Never a dull day.” Red grinned.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Neysha</strong> on <strong>16-05-2013, 23:24:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Insert for Nichole 'Hi-Speed' Olson Access</strong></div><br><br>Resigning herself to wrinkled graphic tees, she sat back in the chair, thanking Rafael for the water even though she could've gotten it herself while musing in response to his question, before genuinely surprising herself in actually having a suggestion of where to go. "Actually there is this great place off Buena Vista Drive. O'... something or other. I actually arrived early enough to order off the dinner menu once. Great fish and chips... but they served it off a plate instead of like... old, soiled newspaper like they apparently do in England or whatever. Tasted fine without ink on it though. I thought so anyways," she said, before taking a long sip of water and turning to the big Russian, only partially hearing his response.<br><br>"Yeah I'm not a fan of chickens either. Turkey is better of course, but you know what they say, birds of a feather flock together," she responded, having misheard the word 'Chechens' completely but somehow, through sheer coincidence, making up a response that would've made perfect sense to the Russian by stating the Turkish people were only slightly better then Chechens/chickens.<br><br>She took another shot of water before audibly exhaling. "Ah... that's really... thirst quenching," she muttered under breath before wondering if they were supposed to talk amongst themselves or something. She put her half full cup of water on the edge of the table and then glanced around the room, wondering what sort of mission would require the three of them operating as a team. "You know, I've never been to Turkey," she then said, her mind already going idle from just sitting there as she started bouncing off the back of the chair, her mind wandering off to other tangents all in her head. "I'd like to see Constantinople and stuff. All of that Byzantine architecture. And history. And sample the local cuisine. Maybe shoot some people... I don't know."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>17-05-2013, 00:59:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Headquarters, WRI; Siouxsie; Hi Speed, Pancho, Semi</strong></div><br><br>Siouxsie had met Rafael's gaze evenly, he being about the only person who's eye contact she would hold unless she was fixing to open up a can of Campbell's Whoopass or something. He was fairly protective of her and because of their understanding of one another she didn't mind his intervention. But, he would be able to read that there had never been any real danger of an issue arising, other than what had already transpired. She smiled brilliantly at him and reached up, patting his cheek gently. Then she had moved on briskly to fetch that pitcher of water and stack of cups for WRII. She returned to said room and sat the pitcher and cups down near Red and Dick since Shadow was still a dirty, dirty guy even if he had used a baby wipe to clean some of his face off so he could flirt with Red. Flirt, hit on, whatever The Straights were calling it these days. She gave his stolen fern frond a dirty look and flashed Red and Dick a smile a second later, then she had left them to their interaction.<br><br>During this time, Ferdi had sat in the hallway, watching his Mistress walk back and forth. When she walked back to WRI however, Ferdi came in behind her just as she stepped in, put a hand on her hip and said, "Good Morning Angels." This was followed by another flash of a smile as she walked over to the head of the table and tossed the three dossiers across the table to each person. They all contained the same information, just for each individual's reference. "If you'll flip those dossiers open," she began and walked over to the wall behind her so she could touch a small panel of buttons. A squared foot wide portion of the middle of the table rose about two inches and flipped open. Just as she was dimming the lights a holographic image of an individual from the shoulders up flickered on and began turning in a slow circle. This same image was printed in everyone's dossier.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Suspect Image</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <div align="center">(http://img401.imageshack.us/img401/313/scenaquarryriftassassin.jpg)</div> </div></div><br><br>"This is Suspect Kilo Zulu 1530 Xray Xray (KZ1530XX)," she said, obviously getting down to business. "Intelligence on this perp. suggests he's a Rift Slipper, this image here is based off of multiple shitty images taken of him by agents, that's why it's a computed image, its the decidedly best appearance. They don't think he's human. Last known coordinates is here," she brushed the holograph image aside and selected a floating map icon, scooted the screen along the map until it was centered over northern Africa and then spread her fingers closed then open over it to zoom way in on Tunisia on a very small city called Testour. "Anyways, he's been throwing in with all of the well funded jihadist groups and all of the little murdering paramilitary groups that run around Africa. While we wouldn't think much of one person doing much, it's turned out he's very <em>techy</em> and possesses some crazy abilities that are making him pretty treacherous. With his help just in the past four weeks he's raised four Tunisian cities to the ground."<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Map of Tunisia with Destroyed Cities indicated in Red</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <div align="center">(http://img705.imageshack.us/img705/3438/mapoftunisia.jpg)</div> </div></div><br>She zooms out on the map and punches her index finger on four separate spots which develop a red spot over the area she poked. "Right now there's no media coverage because nobody cares much about Tunusia. They want to keep it that way because like everything else that comes out of the damn Rifts, they want to be able to run little experiments and be all Mad Scientisty with them. Which means you can't completely obliterate him, sorry Semi," she paused, flashing him a winning smile. "But you can kill him. They don't really want him alive so at least we don't have to put the Kid Gloves on. " <br><br>"You leave tomorrow, flight's at 4PM, so at 3:30PM you need to be on the tarmac. Any questions before I go on?" Siouxsie asked, glancing at each of them in turn. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Belisuavious</strong> on <strong>17-05-2013, 04:55:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Richard was about to respond when the Intelligence officer entered and dumped the contents of her perfume bottle on the scout's head. An instant later the smell hit his nose. While he had liked the whiff he had smelled in the entrance, this much just made him screw up his nose a little.<br>&nbsp;<br>He waited as the scout, Shadow, made his introduction, and then with the knowledge that this outfit was was a lot more lax than his old unit, began to speak.<br><br>"Well, my name's Richard, and I'm brand new here too, only just got cleared by the security boys three days ago. By the sound of things, this job sounds a lot more fun than cruising around Kandahar waiting to get blown up." He made a wry smile, like he hadn't actually spent two weeks doing just that. "It's a pleasure to meet both of you, looking forward to working with you." And he actually meant it, these two seemed more than good, though there was something about Shadow that just unnerved him.<br><br>"I had a quick question though," he said, directed at Red since she had been here longer, "is there a place I can put my helmet and bike jacket?" He wasn't looking for a fancy storage spot or even a locker room. Just a shelf would work. He desperately wished that he had been given a tour of the base, but that could be fixed later.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kdyami</strong> on <strong>18-05-2013, 01:21:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Name:</strong> Kyle Allardice (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=173993.msg8242243#msg8242243)<br><strong>Location:</strong> Main Headquarters<br><strong> Tagging:</strong> Siouxsie, open<br><hr><br>Kyle arrived at headquarters later then he would have liked.&nbsp; It was his anniversary.&nbsp; Not that many people would know or care, but he knew.&nbsp; He pushed himself harder today and even though he had planned extra time for his morning workout he had gone over even that and now he was driving down the road to HQ.&nbsp; He smirked as he thought ‘I’m probably even going to arrive after the new guy.’&nbsp; Kyle parked in the lot and entered to the building and of course was greeted by crap from the front desk security.&nbsp; Something about his retina displays always screwing up the retinal scans they had to perform, so once again he had to submit to the scanning process so he could be registered. Kyle didn’t resent the men doing their job it was just today, he was slightly off and he had to get it together or Siouxsie wouldn’t let him go on the mission.<br><br>Finally through security he made his way into the armory. Kyle cleaned and cycled his weapons putting them back into the locker where they belonged and made his way down to the WAR rooms and ran into arguably the biggest dog he had ever seen.&nbsp; “Well hello your highness,” Kyle said addressing the Archduke, “May I just say your coat is ever so dapper this morning, did Miss Siouxsie wash it for you?” The dog let out a bark, pushing Kyle’s chest with his nose as he knelt down to pet the furry beast.&nbsp; “Alright alright,” Kyle laughed ruffling the fur on between his ears, “But don’t tell anyone.&nbsp; I cooked this last night.” The dog looked at him quizzically, “hey!” said Kyle, “if you don’t want it….” Holding out the left over beef rib to Ferdinand who snapped it up quickly, “thought so,” laughed Kyle.&nbsp; But Siouxsie came back into the hallway and Ferdinand inhaled the rib and Kyle posed all innocent like.&nbsp; Both pretty sure they hadn’t fooled her in the slightest, but she just kept walking and Ferdinand followed her in. “Ok, guess I’ll be headed to my room then,” he said in a mock huff and wandered over to the other room.<br><br>Kyle made his way into WAR II and was greeted by quite the sight. A man in full camo, even face paint.&nbsp; A woman covered in a different kind of paint. And a biker.&nbsp; ‘Well I must be in the right place.’ He thought to himself.&nbsp; Walking in and grabbing a seat, his HUD scanned them and fed him minor information he had gleamed from Siouxsie, not that that was all that much to begin with.&nbsp; “Alright let me see if I got this right. You must be, well you prefer Red correct?” indicating the only woman in the group. Turning to the man with the motorcycle helmet he said “Richard right? And last but not least, Shadow, yes?”&nbsp; indicating the man in camo.&nbsp; “My name is Kyle Allardice,” he said, I’m a personnel recovery specialist, and I moonlight as a medic.”&nbsp; He smiled sitting back, “So three soldiers, from different branches, and a Girl from the streets.&nbsp; Now this is going to be an interesting mission, Has Siouxsie given any information yet?”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cold Heritage</strong> on <strong>18-05-2013, 22:16:08</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Why They Changed It Semyon 'Semi' Prudius Can't Say; People Just Liked It Better That Way</strong></div><br>"Went to Istanbul once. Guarding diplomat. Assassin tried to kill diplomat. Failed horribly." Semyon said, not bothering to clarify whether he failed or the assassin failed. One could probably infer from the fact that he was not rotting in a gulag in the coldest place in Russia that it was the latter, but one could never be certain: the collapse of the Soviet Union had certainly mollified things in Russia. He sat with his hands folded in his lap, easily settling into idleness while they waited. "Try donair kebab. Delicious. Lamb is best." The Russian added, speaking to fill the silence rather than out of a sense that the gathered mercenaries were carrying on a conversation with one another.<br><br>Thankfully, they were soon saved from this dire peril by Siouxsie's reappearance and the beginning of the briefing. The Russian listened, and it was typical standard fare. He raised a questioning eyebrow at the chiding about complete obliteration. It appeared that Siouxsie had mistaken Semyon for Rafael or the new Canuckistani member of their outfit - they were the ones who handled the explosives, and as such, they were totally the ones who needed to be told that they could not employ explosives to annihilate a target. And because they followed the rules of war - despite being mercenaries and explicitly exempted from the protection of the Geneva Convention and other international agreements to the protection of lawful combatants - he would not be issued a flamethrower. So really, Semyon was the last person who needed such a chiding. <br><br>Why could no one tread softly? They trode roughshod over his dreams, and laughed with every step.<br><br>Semyon shifted, and looked over at his compatriots briefly before returning to Siouxsie. "Am having question. Will be supported by Tunisian Armed Forces? Or any assets in theater?" 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>phoenyx</strong> on <strong>19-05-2013, 02:22:12</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>The Ferret Slips In</strong></div><br>Ferret, as she had thought of herself for years now to the point that only when someone addressed her by her given or last name did she remember she even had another name, walked up to Headquarters. She studied the place as she approached it, as she always did. She entered the security area and entered. She stood quietly and waited as the guards ran her through the protocol paces, moving when she was supposed to, turning as well, retina and biometric scans when they came. Finally cleared, she went on through and entered Headquarters proper.<br><br>Her eyes darted everywhere, and to any watching her, it would be in amazement that she still kept her forward motion while doing so. She made her unusual way to the War Room I and ever so quietly slipped inside without disturbing the partially opened door. She quietly stood to the side and watched the projection and listened to Siouxsie as she started to speak, having arrived just as the lights dimmed. Her eyes never left the projections as they changed. Every bit of information being filed away in her head in some sort of bizarre filing system only she understood. She made no move or comment at Siouxsie’s question, waiting for her to continue. Questions could come after all information was given and they weren’t answered by then.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Blobbe</strong> on <strong>19-05-2013, 15:19:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Red Rock Ramblings</strong><br><br>“There’s lockers for your gear when you need them.” Red indicated to the man, doing her best to keep a straight face in light of what had happened. It wasn’t easy, and she almost considered it to be a challenge. “Pretty much everything you could need comfort-wise is here, so we’re pretty nicely set up and such. It’s not bad, all things considered, as long as you don’t mind the sheer insanity of it all.” That bought fourth a grin. “Oh, and that’s just here. Wait till we get into the field”<br><br>“But for now, nobody’s going to complain if you leave your stuff here. Dump the jacket on your chair, leave the helmet where you like. We’re not too big on formality or rules or the like, so nobody’s going to bite your head off. And we’re pretty casual on uniform regs too.”<br><br>Red noted the newcomer, letting himself introduce himself before smiling and replying. “You got the ‘Red’ part right, which everyone seems to as well. Like I said to our friend here, everyone figures that one out very quickly.” She was sizing him up, rather enjoying what she found; trim, athletic and handsome, she imagined that he was quite nicely built under his clothes. However, as fun a thought as it was (and a couple of others that were in her mind), she snapped back to the here and now and what was in hand.<br><br>“At any rate we haven’t been briefed by Souxie as yet, but the way I hear it, there’s something big going on.” She leaned forwards, glancing over the others, her voice dropping. “They have a team in WAR I already; if they’ve got two teams in brief already, this could be pretty damn important.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Elf</strong> on <strong>19-05-2013, 16:37:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>WRI: Rafael “Pancho”: Siouxsie, Semi, Nichol, Ferret</strong></div><br>A small groan escapes the commander's mouth at hearing that his car was once again blown up in the big Russian's daydream but he still smiles ay Semi. ”Good choice, frame the American soldier that they will already think is an enemy, then kill him so the truth cannot be told. Really if your worried getting three bullets to the back of h your head, don't think you should stop calling them the KGB. Don't they call themselves the FSB now? Nobody believes they are gone, just going under a new name, but it's still the same people and the same game.” He pauses briefly and his smile kind of fades as he studies Semi. ”I'm really curious though. What have you got against my car? Killing me I understand and accept, but not destroying my baby. Nobody makes cars like that anymore. Or is that it, you don't like her because she isn't Russian and nothing like her as ever come out of Russia?”<br><br>When Nichol answers his question about an Irish restaurant Rafael thinks for then lights up smiling at her. ”Yeah, I think I know the place your talking about, never been in there though. I'll have to check them out, thanks. Perhaps we could go together and you could try something other than the fish and chips.” He takes a drink of water and very nearly spits it across the table at her comment to Semi about chickens and turkeys, but he does manage to keep from laughing. By them time he swallows and gets his mouth clear all that comes out is a mild chuckle. He then just kind of looks at the two of them as they just start randomly talking about Turkey and lamb.<br><br>When Siouxsie returns and goes to the head of the table and the control panel Rafael's smile disappears and she gets his full attention as he shifts into work mode. When the holographic image appears and the folders placed before each of them he studies the image intently even while listening to her every word. Even before she stops talking he is already looking through to better familiarize himself with the target.&nbsp; His eyes briefly leaves the image or folder to glance back over his shoulder when something felt odd in the room. He grins when he sees Ferret standing there absorbing the information but his attention goes back to the briefing. The same questions if phrased a little differently had occurred to him that Semi asked and no others so he remains silent waiting for them to be answered.<br><br>In the pause that follows Semi's questions Rafael pulls out the chair on the other side of him from Nichol and pats it. It is his silent way of inviting the attractive Asian woman to come join them at the table.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>phoenyx</strong> on <strong>20-05-2013, 01:01:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>The Ferret Scampers Over and Absorbs</strong></div><br>As the briefing paused with Siouxsie waiting for questions and Semi asking one, Ferret’s eyes start darting around once more. She notes the others on the team and sees Rafael pull out a chair next to him and pat it. Quietly she glides over and settles into the chair without a word or look to Rafael. Her darting eyes settled on the folder in his hand and in a blink she is within his personal space up close and reading the information inside where he has it open. In a few seconds she reaches out and flips a page. She only spends brief moments on each page, maybe no more than five minutes all total while they wait, and she is done and settled back in her chair more proper. She gives Rafael a slight nod as she continues to scan the room and its occupants.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>20-05-2013, 03:14:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Headquarters, WRI; Siouxsie; Hi Speed, Pancho, Semi, and Ferret</strong></div><br>Siouxsie turned her gaze onto Semi's face as she shifted her weight, bent her knee so she could lift her foot up and unconsciously fiddled with the strap of her heel, "That's a good question. If political tensions weren't so high in the region already we might have had their assistance again. So specifically the answer to that is, no. However we might Ranger support if nothing else breaks out while you're there. The support will only be if you all can't handle this on your own." Siouxsie glanced at Ferret as she sat down, her face displaying no particular expression at the moment even if she did wait until she was sitting down before she continued.<br><br>"Transport will take you directly to Testour, as for any travel in this region, hopefully that's where you'll make it. From there, Ferret gets to do a little sniffing around since we won't have any up-to-the-minute information to give you versus you actually being there. This isn't news for any of you. This guy has everything so hopped up right now that I couldn't even get you a contact, not that I trust any of them there anyways. We've got one rat in the tunnel (term used for an agent in the field) and they'll have a compilation of intelligence hopefully downloaded to your iPads by the time you land. Ferret, you know this information you'll be given won't be perfect but you'll be able to use what's provided to fill any blanks. You know the deal when going to that part of the world, ladies cover your skin, cover your hair with the scarves. You don't have to go full burka or niqab but the less you show, the less obvious it'll be that you're foreign. If all goes well you will have a nighttime insertion anyways."<br><br>Siouxsie set her foot down and headed back to the wall to turn the lights up. "I'd recommend everybody take full battle rattle. Helmets too. This is a war zone you're going into and you know I'm a fan of being prepared for any eventuality. Go ahead, go choose your gear, get your weapons, you can use the range to zero and qualify. Don't leave the dossiers, good luck," she said dropping her hand on her hip as she waited for them to all move out and do whatever they needed to do to be prepared.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Deamonbane</strong> on <strong>21-05-2013, 23:52:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Never a dull day.<br><br>That was what they had promised him. He didn't need cash. He had enough of it, and he wasn't an extravagant man. Of course, the paychecks that came in on commission were never wasted, always used for the embetterment if this particular human's well-being, but he really hadn't joined them for the money. He would have been able to get much better paychecks for sitting on a man's beach, just supervising his security. He had gotten offers once it became known that he was on the market. But he had no intention of retiring just yet. Maybe in ten years, but now, he was (reasonably) young, still had all of his faculties in check, still the possibility of dying 'honorably' in a fight still ringing in his ears. Action was what he wanted, and action was what he was getting.<br><br>He was happy with his job. And yet, damn, if they couldn't give him a day off. Never a dull day, indeed. He hadn't joined to have vacations between jobs, but they might have been nice. Enjoying the money well earned, and spending it well. Not wisely, of course. He chuckled a bit at the thought as he had his coat over his arm, the sleeves of his striped light blue-white shirt pulled up to his elbow, carrying a briefcase. And damn, if he didn't look like a perfect businessman. Except for a few minor details. He didn't need padding to fill out the shoulders of his blazer, his arms pressed at the fabric of his shirt, His stomach in sharp relief of his chest, eyes always flickering and moving, hands tense and ready even as he walked.<br><br>He reached into his bag and pulled out a key, car key, moving to the parking&nbsp; lot, finding the car that he had left here the last time. The agency had paid the bill of his stay beforehand, and so he merely unlocked the door of the silver Taurus, and stepped into the driver seat. He checked his phone again, just to be sure.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">Meeting waiting. WRIIl. 15 minutes.</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div>He was going to be a little late. Nothing to do about that.<br><br>He switched the car on, no revving, twisting it around to the exit of the garage, entering the open road less than a minute later, knowing the address of the place that he was headed to by heart already, not needing to consult a map or GPS. He drove safe, always at the speed limit, stopping at every stop sign, red light, crosswalk, as to not grab any attention from law enforcement. More from force of habit than anything else. He arrived 20 minutes later, moving through building, waved through the proper doors until finally, he reached the meeting room. He placed his coat over on of the chairs and sitting, studying the rest of those gathered.<br><br>"Forgive me for being late, ladies and gentlemen," He said with a small, icy smile. He knew most of them, by reputation if not by sight. His accent was almost perfect, with only a slight inflection on the vowels.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Belisuavious</strong> on <strong>22-05-2013, 06:46:48</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Richard nodded as the first man walked in, nodding as the man - Kyle - addressed him. "Yeah, that's right." He said after the other introductions were complete.<br><br>After Red had told him about the storage situation, he grinned. "Thanks, I was starting to sweat in this things." he said, indicating his bike jacket. He shrugged it off and draped it across the back of his chair. He seemed to relax a bit, though not too much. He was still new here of course, and he couldn't afford to act like it was his old barracks just yet.<br><br>As the jacket was pulled away, it revealed the rest of the still white shirt, and the wiry muscle on his arms. A bit of a shake of his right arm stopped gave a slight mechanical whirring noise and the crude Synth-Skin revealed where the augment began, just below his elbow. It worked just as good as his real hand had, though it had taken a bit of getting used to at first, especially the slightly enhanced strength. <br><br>He had just sat back against the back of the chair again when another newcomer arrived. This one didn't introduce himself, and Richard decided to just let it be. He'd get to know who the man was soon enough. Briefly, he wondered what their assignment would be. He decided so long as it wasn't running around, having been given a free license to shoot anything that might, maybe, possibly be hostile like the Red Sun outfit. He had seen enough of them and mercenaries like them during his time in The Sandbox. Seen enough of their victims to know that most of the mercenaries were just some psychos given an outlet. He grit his teeth at the memory, before calming himself down.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Neysha</strong> on <strong>22-05-2013, 19:28:01</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>WRI</strong></div><br>Nichole sat there, rather quiet, mainly because she rarely had anything substantial to say in these briefings. Unlike most of the other mercenaries in the organization, she was more or less barely qualified when it came to the standards of experience and training in comparison to the backgrounds of everyone else. Yet she managed to squeeze on by, one selection after another and so far hadn't completely screwed up a mission yet and thanks to her affable personality, was apparently considered tolerable by others she served with. Plus it wasn't like she was without skills or talents. It's just in comparison to many of her coworkers, her resume was a little shorter.<br><br>Fun size perhaps.<br><br>It became a bit more pronounced during briefings as she, like now, tended to just sit there with only a slightly glazed look coming over her emerald eyes as she absorbed the particulars of her mission, this one being no exception and thus, such processing gave her little time to formulate an effective discussion that might've assisted her or her team in detailing the mission and its objectives. Thus it took her a moment, after the brief Q &amp; A was over, to actually realize that the briefing was over and she had just said as much. Hating to be the first person to move, she felt it gave her the indication of either being impatient or overeager, both of which she tried to avoid for you ended up fired in one case, or dead in the other, typically speaking, she slowly, in an exaggerated motion, made her way up and off of her seat, hoping that she wasn't being too presumptious as she made her way to the armory to go shopping for the mission.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cold Heritage</strong> on <strong>23-05-2013, 00:32:25</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>WRI/Armoury</strong></div><br>Semyon blinked and then looked back down at the dossier, sliding his finger over the edge. It was not unexpected. He listened to the rest of the briefing, but he was perhaps not as attentive as he could be - anything that they would be told was suspect at best and of no guaranteed veracity. There could be ten hostiles or a hundred. And it was just the four of them. While he had long ago made his peace with the S.O.P. of Black Hearts, part of him could not help but recall the days gone by. Air and artillery support were great things.<br><br>Semyon took the dossier, and did not bother to affect any slowness. He lumbered out of the war room, and made his way down to the armoury. It was not difficult to pick out full kit, because he had his own special body armour and other accoutrements. Nobody else took his size. It had kept him out of Spetsnaz. Besides concerns that he was not hard enough, Semyon was just too damned big. They wanted inconspicuous men for Spetsnaz. "So, what you are thinking, Nichole?" Semyon asked idly. The man gave a look at some grenades, but the chastisement from Siouxsie flashed in his mind and he looked away with a stoic, sorrowful look. <br><br>He hefted a steel entrenching tool, and whirled it around casually, testing the feel and balance. "Is bullshit you are wearing scarf." The big man added, replacing that particular entrenching tool and selecting another. Apparently this one was more to his liking, as he held onto it. "They are be knowing you are foreign immediately if wearing full gear. No one is thinking you are tiny baby man."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>phoenyx</strong> on <strong>23-05-2013, 01:55:12</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>The Ferret Scampers Off and Prepares</strong></div><br>Ferret’s eyes settled on Siouxsie as she started speaking. She didn’t blink as the woman finished up her explanations. Some things specifically aimed at Ferret, herself. She gave Siouxsie a nod as she spoke directly to her, then stilled once more. As soon as the information ceased, Ferret’s eyes once more started darting around. Her mind was already accessing the various bits of information she had on their destination, piecing things together from past Intel from her last job.&nbsp; <br><br>As Siouxsie basically booted them out of WR I, Ferret moved quickly and was out the door. She headed down to the armoury and stuffs place to start gathering what she wanted. Her mind was just about done processing what she needed to know about the area as a whole and she was already working on how to fit in there and what she would have to do to get any other information they would need. She started making a list of the items she would pack for their trip. Some things she’d have to buy, but it wouldn’t be too much and with the money she had from her last job and was making here, it wouldn’t be hard to finish up her list.<br><br>In the armoury she grabbed a plethora of knives and very light weight Kevlar. She wasn’t built for big, bulky, heavy armour, and besides, it wouldn’t look right under the berka, no matter how large the material. She also grabbed a Sig Sauer P266 and a double handful of clips. She shoved everything in a bag, nodded to Semi and Nichol before heading out. She had to still get a coupla berkas and she knew just who to go to for the full regalia. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Elf</strong> on <strong>23-05-2013, 03:12:02</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>WRI/Armory</strong></div><br>Rafael is momentarily distracted from the briefing when Ryder suddenly invades his bubble as he admires her beauty up close. However he is a professional and this is a mission so he turns his focus to the file absorbs the information on each page while she is doing the same. When she finally leans back he closes the folder and watches as Semi and Nichol rise and move off to the Armory. He is slow to move from his spot as he thinks about Siouxsie's answers to the questions. Apparently they are going close to blind with no support or backup. This does not surprise him as it has become pretty SOP for Black Heart missions. At first it had taken some getting used to but not much as most of his mission for the US Navy were much the same. He is not in a big hurry to get to the armory to shop as he already has his standard list fairly well established.<br><br>Like Semi Rafael has his own full kit already set which has “Pancho” painted on in a slightly different shape of the color. It is subtle and can only be seen under close examination. His weapons include his favorite 9mm submachinegun, two 9mm semi-auto pistols, a .40 caliber Desert Eagle, his last firearm is modified M-16 assault rifle with a collapsing stock and M-203 grenade launcher. Next he selects his array of blades including his standard combat knife, a larger heavier knife and several smaller ones balanced for throwing. He does take some hand grenades, fragmentation, hi-explosive and flash bang. Finally he checks to make sure his bag of explosives is properly set with a variety of plastiques and detonators. He also has some preshaped discs with a timed detonators. He knows they are not to obliterate the target but it is unknown how many other hostiles they will encounter or what obstacles will need to be bypassed.<br><br>With his selections made Rafael sets his armor, blades, and explosives aside ready for transport. He takes his firearms down to the shooting range to test and align them. Wearing the proper safety gear he methodically tests each and every gun. Once he is satisfied with his weapons he moves off to the adjoining room to just as methodically break down and clean each gun and put them back together ready for action.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>phoenyx</strong> on <strong>24-05-2013, 16:52:20</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>A Shopping Ferret</strong></div><br>Ferret left headquarters giving the security a slight nod in passing. She paused outside to look over the vehicles parked out there and gave a quiet sigh. Why did everyone have to do flashy or big? It was like they were trying to make up for something. She shook her head and ambled over to a shadowy corner where her bike was kept. True, she rarely used it, but she kept it in working condition for the few times she did need it. <br><br>The bike (http://www.motorcyclenews.com/ImgGalleryTn/42/297742/78078_261294.jpg) had painted on it a Dragon (http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2lamaHkQL1r9i5sv.png) that gave a nod to her Asian Ancestry. It was the one thing from the money she has earned from both her past job and this one that she splurged and bought. She’d leave everything else behind but this; she always made sure it made it to her next base of operations. She worked on it herself as it needed, and that way she knew it inside and out.<br><br>There was a small storage bin close by and she reached in and grabbed a full leather riding suit in blues and purples and shimmied her way into it. After zipping it up she next grabbed a helmet that matched the bike and put it on. Getting on the bike, she started it up, and after revving it a couple of times to make sure everything was good, she backed it out and then took off.<br><br>Ferret headed to a seedy part of town she’d gotten to know upon arrival, as she always did in a new town. It was where she was most comfortable, and reminded her of growing up. She parked her bike next to a small Chinese curio shop and the kids sitting around outside grinned at her as she removed her helmet. “我们得到了你的自行车，鼬。这是与我们的安全。” (We got your bike, Ferret. It’s safe with us.)<br><br>She grinned over at them as she unzipped the leather riding outfit. Reaching inside she pulled out something and tossed it to one of them. “我知道了。我付你做得不够好。” (I know. I pay you well enough.) She got off the bike as the kids divvied up the wad of money she just tossed them. Leaving the helmet on the bike, she walked off down the street knowing everything would be there when she got back. <br><br>As she walked to her destination, she reflected how Americans would call this place Chinatown, or Little China, but in truth it wasn’t. It was a melting pot of third world citizens of many Nationalities. True there were more Asians than anything else, and why such places got termed as they did. But then again, the average American usually couldn’t tell a Ming from a Cantonese, and thought all Asians were Chinese. She stopped and chuckled at her thoughts as she read an Arabic sign that basically claimed to have all the things you would need from home.<br><br>She stepped inside, and after a couple of seconds was greeted by the proprietor ranting at her in Arabic about being so scandalous and a heathen being so undressed. She let him go until he had to pause for more breath and she nodded. “Yes, Sugah, tha’s why Ah’m here. Ah needa full berkah.” The man stood there with his jaw open for a few heartbeats as he stared at her in surprise. The giggle from his wife had his jaw snapping shut and he peered at Ferret suspiciously.<br><br>“You not pulling leg, Ryder Sandstorm?”<br><br>“No, Rafe. My job is requirin’ I have one.” He blinked at her, then turned away, motioning her to follow. No questions, no speculations, at least not spoken out loud, and why Ferret liked the man, it was also why he was one of the few in Melting Pot who actually knew her real name. “Ah need it ta be street local fer Tunisia.” He paused and looked at her over his shoulder before continuing on with a nod. Soon he had her outfitted with three different berkas that could pass for different social castes. She thanked him and headed out the door with her purchases. <br><br>She wandered for the next few hours buying this and that, and a rucksack to store her purchases in. She even managed to find a stick shift knob for Rafael’s Mustang. It was the Navy Seal logo cloaked in a Mexican poncho with a Mexican sombrero. A bizarrely strange find and one that had her laughing as soon as she laid eyes on it, so of course she bought it. It wouldn’t matter to her if he never actually put it in the car.<br><br>She headed back to her bike and climbed on after putting her helmet back on and nodding to the kids on guard duty. She headed back to headquarters. Once there, she parked the bike back where it was and stowed away the riding leathers and helmet. She then headed off to home to pack everything up. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Neysha</strong> on <strong>25-05-2013, 01:04:12</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Hi-Speed Shopping</strong></div><br>Unlike Semi and Pancho, Nichole did go shopping in the armory. She was more of a driver and a fixer, (of the mechanical sort, not the assassination sort) but she did relish in the whole soldier-adventurer vibe that the mercenary life gave her. But still, unlike her companions, she made no illusions to the fact she wasn't some sort of Tier One... or even Tier Two special forces operator. Merely a cut above when it came to fieldcraft and combat. With that said, she was tailoring her shopping eye to what everyone else was picking. She didn't want a repeat of her first mission in Ocotal where she ran out of ammunition in her first skirmish and kept crying that no one else was carrying 7.62x54mm and that the 7.62 Soviet magazines just wouldn't fit.<br><br>That was an embarrassing and humbling experience only exonerated by the fact she revealed that she could fly small planes.<br><br>Though at the time, it was something she didn't realize in the moment either. ;)<br><br>Noticing Pancho snagging a heavily customed M16 variant, Nichole snatched up a lighter carbine variant with simple optics and sights, as well as an underbarrel modular shotgun attachment. She knew shotguns, and grew up around them and while wielding one as an underbarrel attachment was awkward to say the least, at least initially, she liked the familiarity of the weapon, as well as the large and diverse plethora of round she could utilize with it. Especially when it came to breaching doors, shattering windows and tires and using less then lethals on the uncooperative who were unworthy of death yet. The only true kit she kept was a P229 pistol chambered in 9mm, the model she was rather familiar with and one that fit in her hand or holster easily and due to that and its weight, was easy for her to use, though that tended to be rather rare in any case. Still when she hit the range, it was always quicker for her to zero her pistol then it was her main weapon.<br><br>Far from Annie Oakley, but she was confident in her abilities. <br><br>"I was thinking I'd be behind the rest of you. Truth is, I'm kinda worried about the kind of numbers and firepower we're facing if they're in the habit of wiping out cities," she then said as she set aside her firearms and started to shop for the other fun things one needed in a combat zone. "I'm hoping that these guys aren't pro, that the reason they're targeting women and children is because they're weak and pathetic and cowardly. I hope that's the case, because if it is, I want something with good traction, poor suspension, big wheels and a high bumper when I run them down," she said before snagging a pair of thick, black rimmed glasses with ballistic tinted lenses. "Gotta wear some shades in the desert," she then said. "At least when I'm driving. But I'm not burkha'ing up," she then added. "I think I'd look cute in a headscarf though. Tunisia is like along the Mediterranean right? I can pass for North African at a glance I think, especially when I get some of the local dust and dirt smearing on me," she then added as she checked out the body armor, looking for something light, with more impact protection as opposed to ballistics before finishing off her look by scooping up a desert chocolate chip hockey style helmet which was also meant more for impact then bullet resistance. <br><br>"For when I inevitably crash into something," she then said in explanation as she took the hockey helmet. "Now for a mouthguard."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cold Heritage</strong> on <strong>25-05-2013, 10:14:33</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Semyon Prudius</strong></div><br>Semyon had in the past used an M16 variant. It was an M4A1 carbine. Somehow, he was supposed to use that to provide automatic fire support to the other mercenaries he had been deployed with. Semyon had put the weapon down on a clean flat surface that someone had subsequently jostled, and the weapon had fallen into the mud. Some might think that the moral of that story was to never lose control of your weapon, but Semyon derived a different lesson entirely as he spent the rest of the mission using his sidearm because the operational parameters did not permit the lengthy cleaning period required to make the carbine combat ready and everyone else had been completely uncharitable about lending him something else to use. In the end Semyon came out of the mission with 34 kills, covered in blood, with a pair of dull knives (that were, due to some space age engineering derived from a piece of recovered Rift-tech) never lose their edge, and forced to sit by himself in the back of the technical that extracted them from the combat zone. <br><br>So Semyon chose a weapon he too was familiar with. It was a Pecheneg 3 - a new model that utilized engineering techniques and science derived from Rift-tech to improve upon the design of the light machine. A heavier barrel added four pounds to the weight of the weapon, which Semyon did not mind. Particularly since the heavier barrel allowed for improved fire rate without danger to the barrel, and a longer overall barrel life. Like the base weapon, the barrel was not designed to be removed in the field. The weapon was tweaked to suit Semyon's peculiarities and preferences: a shield that offered additional protection to the shooter from oncoming fire (fabricated from an alloy derived from Rift-tech that, while heavy, was thin enough while providing worthwhile protection that some might grant the utility of the protection versus adding more weight to a heavy weapon); a forward grip to improve shooter comfort when firing from the hip or shoulder; and a reinforced stock that made it an exemplary striking weapon in Semyon's hands. They worked for Semyon, and he had employed the weapon to grand effect in the past. He was strong enough that an otherwise back-breaking weapon was something he could carry with little difficulty. Semyon was adept at loading a new belt to the weapon and could do it quickly and accurately with his eyes closed. As a backup, Semyon carried as a SR-2MP submachine gun. A pair of combat knives followed, and in this respect the Russian was not terribly picky. He would go to the entrenching tool before the knives. The single non-Russian firearm that Semyon carried - which he admitted was 'trying too hard,' although he seemed more embarrassed that the weapon was of German manufacture - was a Janz-Präzisionstechnik GmbH JTL-E .500 S&amp;W Magnum. <br><br>"Is good plan." Semyon said solemnly of Nichole's 'stick behind everyone else' strategy. He rested his bulk against one of the armoury shelves and looked around, checking who was present and find only the pair of them. "Truthfully, am worried too. Was hoping could call in drones." Having Ranger back up, maybe, if things went to shit was . . . better than nothing, but not as good as being able to call in drones to drop ordinance on entrenched or hardened positions. When Nichole explained that her choices were based upon surviving a crash, the left side of his mouth turned up in a genuine half-smile. He had no problems with the woman's driving ability and never complained. His upbringing left him sadly lacking in a pop culture lexicon that would let him bust out Dukes of Hazard jokes, but one had the sense that if he were not so bereft he would and would do so with a fondness that the hardass tactical operators operating tactically that worked for Black Hearts would not bring to bear.<br><br>"Maybe are being lucky and finding technical when in theater." He mused on the subject of transport. "Something up-armoured, with .50 cal in back. Will be living dream." The big man laughed a little. He could feel an agitation coming upon him. It was not fear, although Semyon was not lying when he said he worried - the four of them against a city-razing force in unfamiliar and unknown terrain did not inspire foolhardy bravado in the Russian. The edge of waiting was what he felt. Maybe something like what a race horse felt, penned up and with the gate against its breast. Semyon knew what was coming and wanted to run. <br><br>The man's eyes narrowed questioningly. "Why poor suspension?" The Russian was no stranger to poor suspension, but he was not one-tenth the wheelman that Nichole was. It was a question honestly asked. Semyon was too poor at deception to convincingly dissemble.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>26-05-2013, 02:29:28</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>War Room II; Siouxsie; Red, FNG, Rico Suave, and Doc</strong></div><br><br><br>After everyone had left the briefing in such high spirits, Siouxsie and Ferdi abandoned WRI for a brief detour to her office. A few minutes later, when she emerged, she wore a heavy red and white artic jacket over her polka dot dress and her stiletto heels had been replaced by a pair of red, faux furry snow boots. Ferdi had a red scarf around his neck and was tolerating it even though it was 70 degrees inside and he had fur. The blonde tromped down the hall after the door to her office shut and pushed the door to War Room II wide open. "Here are the lucky winners, Ferdi!" she declared with great energy as she and the dog strolled inside and halted at the head of the table everyone (and weren't they all so social?) was sitting around.<br><br>"Let's tell them where they've won their luxury vacation, shall we?" She turned and dimmed the lights, then flipped a switch beside the light knob and the middle panel in the table opened up and an image of an arctic tundra popped up in 3d holo before their very eyes. "That's right Ferdi, Team 2 has won a trip to Antarctica! Alexandria Island to be exact!" she said with the same exuberance as before. "The United States military has discovered an object of great interest to them locked below in a chunk of ice. As most of you know, the Army has a outpost out there for scientific research and communications. I would know because I narrowly dodged getting stationed out there when I was active duty," she flashed them all a winning smile as she stood there with her great poofy coat, looking like a young Mrs. Claus. a Mrs. Claus with great legs, damnit!<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Alexandria Island</div><div class="spoiler_body">(http://img89.imageshack.us/img89/2805/antarcticad.jpg)</div></div><br>"You're not going out there to do the work of getting this thing out and yeah, they're being tight lipped about what it is, even how big it is. Not really expecting much action here, though there still have been sightings and instances of attacks with those rift monsters that made an appearance up there a few years ago. Hm...here's an image..." Siouxsie said as she reached across the table, swept the base camp image aside and brought up an image of the rift monsters.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Rift Monster</div><div class="spoiler_body">(http://img801.imageshack.us/img801/3786/riftsnowmonster.jpg)</div></div><br>"I'm going to recommend light body armor and lots of cold weather gear -- bring extra socks! This isn't going to be a short trip, becauuuuuse they want you to escort the item to Roswell. Any questions?"
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Belisuavious</strong> on <strong>26-05-2013, 05:38:44</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Richard smiled as Siouxsie walked in in her more fashion than function snow outfit. The smile died as he realised that it probably meant that this team was going somewhere cold. He became tight lipped when he heard they were going to Antarctica.<br><br>He had heard some rumors about the US Army being on a research mission in the Antarctic, but this was the first actual confirmation that he had of it. Same with those Rift monsters. He knew something was up but except for the units who saw action against them, and they were sworn to secrecy, there had been nothing other than third hand gossip about them.<br><br>With Siouxsie finished the briefing, Richard tentatively raised his hand. <br><br>"So, what's it take to bring one of those things down? Should we be bringing some heavier gear, or are they less tough than they look?" Almost as an afterthought, he added "And what is the supply situation? Will the base camp be feeding us or will we need to bring our own chow?"<br><br>His questions asked, part of his mind already started making a list of what he was going to be bringing. The best snow gear he could find was the immediate and obvious answer. Food was also right up there, regardless of whether or not the camp would be feeding them. Just in case.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Blobbe</strong> on <strong>26-05-2013, 14:55:37</strong>
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				<strong>Red, WR2, Everyone in attendance from the people to the dust motes and the secret nano-entities lurking within who quietly plot the Singularity</strong><br><br>&nbsp;“Well.” Red spoke up as Souxie finished the briefing, raising an appreciative brow. “The wonderful thing about this job is that it never, ever is dull. And, well, you’ve served us up a big ol’ dose of excitement right there and then.” She smiled a little, then glanced at the others in attendance as her brain began to click over the situation. Red had never fought a Rift Monster before, never even seen one either, which meant that right now, she was in for a whole world of surprises.<br><br>“So here’s a question.” She continued. “Are we going to be provided with wheels when we get there or are we going to bring them along? And if the former, can I get a heads-up on what we’ll be crawling along in?” As the team’s driver, Red prided herself on being able to handle anything on wheels, but it was always nice to know a little more about what she was getting herself into ahead of time. “Likewise, how are we getting it back to Roswell, and will we be behind the wheel there too?”<br><br>Internally she was figuring logistics and what she’d need to bring and wear for the operation; in a situation like this, the environment was as deadly as any demonic hellbeast could be. <em>Of course, we have to get the frozen wasteland. Why couldn’t we get the tropical beach assignment instead?</em><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Deamonbane</strong> on <strong>27-05-2013, 10:31:04</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The tall Brazilian turned when Souxie entered, and was immediately shocked into attention by her clothes of choice, scowling a bit. She was a little crazy, but showing up like that to a business was a little insulting. But the scowl was gone with a small adjustment to his tie, and he was silent as she addressed their mission profile... to her dog. For real? He leaned back and took a deep breath as she went on to describe their mission, showing them what they might end up being against. He leaned over to Richard, and whispered," How much do you want to bet that the guys in WRI are being sent to Tahiti for a deep cover investigation on the Miss Universe event?"<br><br>When she was finished, he narrowed his eyes. He was usually the team leader unless the crazy Mexican was involved, in which case shit was about to hit the fan, and they needed both guy's heads working together. Point was, he was usually squad leader, but this was strange. Rafael was a much better choice for open ground and nature involving missions, being the marine mammal that he was - the thought made Tiago smile a bit - and his strength, even better than the Mexican, was urban combat. Why the hell had they called him in for this glorified safari?<br><br>He raised his hand," Should we be directing our questions to you, or the mutt, ma'am?" He said, the only indication that he was irritated," Anyway, We will be needing to know rough edges of the package, ma'am, by which we will be able to know if we will be needing some sort of craft, truck, or something to take it back to the LZ. If they tell us that we are gonna be collecting something that they can't even tell us if it will be lethal to carry without the proper equipment, I am sure I speak for the rest of the team..." He looked around," Well, not so sure, but I speak for myself when I say you can shove this mission up where the sun don't shine, as you Americans say,"His mind was processing the various problems involving the mission that needed solving before they headed out," Also," He leaned forward, squinting at the picture of the Rift critter. He had never run into one before, and so," We might need a better approximation, or, maybe a geologist report on how big these things are, what sort of armor, or whatever, that they have. If they have one, too, a combat vid of these critters in action would be useful as well. We might want to know if we need assault rifles, shotguns, bazookas, or maybe even an aircraft carrier to get past them."<br><br>He had more questions, but he leaned back. Those, plus the questions presented by the other two, would keep their exotically dressed friend, or her dog - another smile - busy enough for the moment.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>27-05-2013, 21:03:08</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>War Rm II; Souxsie; FNG, Red, Rico</strong></div><br><br>Siouxsie's gaze turned to Dick when he asked his question, she grabbed one of the dossiers in turn and flipped a couple of pages before responding, "Heavy caliber ammunition, 7.62 on up. They've been clocked in a full sprint at 30 miles per hour. Annnd those hooks are solid bone, like I said, light armor because you have to wear cold weather gear." At his next question she said, "Yes, accommodations will be provided for, you'll eat chow on the research base. They'll have tents set up for you specifically and they'll also probably tell you some rules when you get there. Naturally we obey Uncle Sam," she finished with a wry smile.<br><br>Red's question went along the lines of Dick's second set of questions so she nodded briskly in response, "From the information I've been given, you'll be given everything but gear, so that would include one of their vehicles. You'll see specifics when you get there." She reached down and scratched Ferdi between the ears and glanced over at Rico when his smart ass mouth piped up. Rico had never liked her, which was fine, she didn't pay them to like her, not that they even knew she paid them, but the comments were unnecessary as was the tone of his voice. She frowned and gazed at him steadily for a moment.<br><br>"Rico, are all Guatemalan's perpetually frowny-faced and constipated as you or are you the exception?" she asked, quirking one solitary brow at him. "Besides, the Archduke is a pure bred, which is probably more than I can say for you. As I mentioned during the briefing, which you might have heard had you not been so wrapped up in whining to yourself and Dick, then you would know that they will not tell me how big it is, or if it's in the shape of a crazy eight, phallus, pyramid, or your face. You will receive a debriefing on the specifics when you get there due to the nature of the security level for this." She might have left it at that and been fine, but she bristled visibly when he opened his mouth about the mission. "You're the executive officer, Pedro, if you have opinions about the missions you're given, then you can submit them to the high ups in formal writing. You're the only one complaining." Not liking him at all right now, Siouxsie turned and headed towards the door with Ferdinand in tow, "Three days and you fly, go ahead and get your gear together. Come on Ferdi, people from Venezuela are so bitchy," she said to the German Shepard and left them in the room to whine or get ready for the mission. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Deamonbane</strong> on <strong>28-05-2013, 06:23:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Rico, as Souxie leaves</strong><br><br>Tiago leaned back into his chair, hands places calmly on the arms of the chair, a placid smile on his face as he listened, without a word, to her petty tirade. Not saying a word. Not really needing to. He had said his piece, and only a fool said more than that. And he observed. Studied her reactions to everything he said, even going so far as to insult him here and there, when talking to her dog. A woman is what she wears, he mused. Petty. Shallow. Got too irritated too quickly. Too easily drawn out. A good leader would have seen his words for the test of her that thy were, and responded either in similar tone, sharp, fast, cunning, and to the point, or used brute force, battered any opposition to the ground, daring anybody else to do the same. Instead, she had stooped to petty name calling. Having worked with... well, with wasn't quite the right word, but instructed by her, he was starting to find such attitudes predictable. Maybe he should start being charming to her, maybe find out what sort of reaction that caused.<br><br>He usually judged the way that he would have been judged. The BOPE, even though only a special police force, had an average approval rate of 5%, lower than the Israeli Mossad. The trainers never removed a person from the training. A person had to quit. Three months of training. The first two were hellish, constant physical, verbal, and psychological abuse, running long hours in the blindingly hot sun of Rio, weight lifting, obstacle courses, all supported on not enough weak food, five hours of sleep, if you were lucky, and, if you had it, pure determination. Then after a full day of physical exercises, came the long, tedious hours of study in tactics, weaponry, strategy, and loads of other stuff. If you fell asleep during class, you were woken up with a baton prod to the ribs, handed a live grenade with no pin, and made to endure the rest of the class with the grenade in your hands. On average, 60% of the 100 applicants dropped out in the first two weeks, and made to bury their caps with a cross over them. RIP indeed. The last month was easier, comparatively speaking, with the theoretical classes done, going on to practice, running the trainees through the favelas, making them work for their approval. By then, only 5-10 men were left.<br><br>In Tiago's opinion, a girl like her would be among the first ten dropouts, if ever made to endure something like that. Meaning the bunch that thought that they had too much self esteem to go through something like that, but in reality, found their egos too fragile to be so roughly handled. Those that dropped out after the first week, or month, he couldn't bring himself to hate as much as those that dropped out in two or three days. They tried, they had the determination, but they just weren't build for this line of work. He would know. He had trained 3 classes of a hundred men and women each. Of course, she would never subject herself to that sort of test. It would probably muss her hair up too badly.<br><br>Tiago, oddly enough, liked playing these little games with himself. There was no leverage to be had over him. He was strong minded, willed, and in body, he didn't have any loved ones, no children, no wife. Torture, both psychological and physical? Hell, he had written the damned books on those. Death held no fear for him. One would have to get very, very creative indeed to have him shaking in his boots. Her? Hell, he would start with the dog and work his way down. <br><br>He turned to his two comrades, smiling a bit," Well, now we know why she keeps a stud like that around," He smiled and shook his head at his little joke, and put his mind to work," If we had more personnel, I would suggest that we have one truck, or something like that, mounted with 2 .50 Cals, with two gunners, a driver, someone to handle the smaller guns and ride shotgun, and another person to help with the loading and handling of the cannons, as well as toting some small arms him or herself. But, since it's just us ducklings, I would say a smaller vehicle, like a tracker jeep or something with one mounted gun, one driver, one gunner, and one person to handle comms and smaller weapons. We carry similar guns that load the same kind of ammo, so we can swap clips of sidearms and heavier shit, grenades, grenade launchers, RPGs... the whole nine yards, since travelling light really isn't an option," He looked around," What do you think?"
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kdyami</strong> on <strong>28-05-2013, 10:57:34</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Name:</strong> Kyle Allardice (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=173993.msg8242243#msg8242243)<br><strong>Location:</strong> Main Headquarters<br><strong> Tagging:</strong> Siouxsie, Red, FNG, Rico Suave, open<br><hr><br>Kyle laughed at the display going on in front of him.&nbsp; It wasn't unlike Tiago and Siouxsie to bicker but it was still amusing.&nbsp; Alexandria Island on the other hand, not so much.&nbsp; Of course the first major concern running through his head was the difficulty or performing medicine at those temperatures.&nbsp; He saw the picture and shuddered remembering his first encounter with one of the rift monsters and his "standard issue" rifle not cutting it. He listened to Tiago as he gave a run down on what he thought they should bring for kit.&nbsp; "Sounds good to me.&nbsp; I can re-calibrate for whatever size just let me know.&nbsp; As for heavier stuff lets not forget to have the sniper bring a long rifle, and don't forget to think about an urban combat scenario since we're transporting the package stateside.&nbsp; Transportation is Red's specialty so I defer to her judgement but yeah something more agile then an M1 but a large gun of some description or 2 could be nice.&nbsp; Maybe a missile system of some description.&nbsp; Theres 4 of us plus the package so space could become an issue in country.&nbsp; But sounds like we've got plenty of allotted space for gear, so lets use it.&nbsp; I've got my med ruck and I'll sync with their medical team, Red's got crew weapons, Shadow's got the extra gun and scout gear, so that's Tiago with the extra com gear?"
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Blobbe</strong> on <strong>28-05-2013, 14:48:26</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>WRII and that which dwells within</strong><br><br>“Hmmm…” Red considered as her mind ran through possibilities. “Maybe a cold-climate rigged Hummer could do the trick. Big, tough and if we got one with a TOW launcher, that’d be even better.” That bought a grin to her face as she considered the possibilities. “Nothing like explosives for going monster hunting with, I reckon.” Red was unashamedly fond of explosions, loud noise and fast cars. This plan was sounding like an awesome chance to combine the three of them into one huge frenzy of high-speed destruction.<br><br>“So then, boys.” She continued with a growing grin. “Explosives and heavy weapons are good and things that I think we can all agree would make for a fun critter-hunting session. Since it doesn’t seem that there’s a question of bringing it back alive or, for that matter, in one piece, I figure we can go hog wild on it as long as there’s something to bring back. Maybe some meaty chunks or the like.” That warranted a raised brow. “Best sort of monster.”<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>30-05-2013, 00:37:23</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><span style="font-size: 14pt;" class="bbc_size">TIME LAPSE - DAY OF MISSION, GROUP I - LOCATION: Black Hearts Complex Airfield</span></div><br><br><br>Palm fronds swayed lazily in the breeze that caressed the tarmac, alleviating some of the typical humidity that was often prevalent during this time of year in Florida. Already, everything seemed white in the glare of the morning sun. The Chinook stood as a still sentinel almost right in the middle of the tarmac, an OD green blob, marring the blinding white. At the moment, some crew members were working to navigate a jalopy looking pick up truck that had DATSUN fading on its rusted tail gate. There was a .50 caliber machine gun weld-mounted to the roof and a hole cut in the top for a gunner to stand up in. Yessiree, the eyesore was tantamount to the state-of-the-art equipment they always went with whenever they ventured to the side of the world they were going to. That impressive piece of shit would fit right in.<br><br>But she didn't. Normally, when teams left for missions, they usually saw no hide nor hair of the intelligence officer, as she was often in the office ensuring every piece of information was up to date and nothing had changed. The only time she ever stood out on the tarmac like she was doing now, in neat dark blue capris a flowing pink blouse with the top-two buttons unfastened though not really revealing anything significant, and a folded white bandana fastened atop her head to keep her hair back out of her face, was when something had changed. And change usually meant bad, only on occasion did it mean good. She had a perpetual frown on her lips which bore pink, shimmery lipstick and her eyes were impossible to see due to the large pair of stunner shades she wore, always completing her rockabilly style down to the minutest and most worthless detail. Archduke Ferdinand sat on his haunches at her side, panting idly and looking like he couldn't wait to get back inside, though it was hard to see his eyes for the dark canine glare glasses he had over his own big brown eyes.<br><br>It was 9 o'clock AM. any moment now the members of team one would begin filtering in, sans one, and she would have to debrief them on the lovely change that was hitting them 14 hours before they hit dirt in Tunisia.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>phoenyx</strong> on <strong>30-05-2013, 01:36:10</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>A Packing Ferret On the Move</strong></div><br>Reaching what she called home, Ferret immediately set to emptying the rucksack she’d purchased and filled. She then went about methodically packing it with needed things. Some of her purchases went within, and other things she thought she might need. The burkas she set aside for the time being as she went about her packing. Soon though she eventually turned to them and started modifying them after gathering sewing supplies. After a couple of hours, she had all three burkas set up for her needs and specifications. She quickly tried them one one at a time and found that they still looked like when she’d bought them. With a nod of satisfaction, she folded them up and set them on top of everything in the sack. <br><br>Next she found an old battered satchel and went to filling it with a&nbsp; variety of items she’d need. After that was packed to her liking, she then finished packing with a pouch that could be tied to her belt under the burkas. Finally done she looked everything over and thought some more. Finally satisfied she forgot nothing, she placed all three bags near the door. Grabbing a banana, a cold left over garlic parmesan bread stick and a pop, she went to her computer and settled in. While she ate her dinner she called up files from her last job. Strangely enough she still had clearance and access to the sensitive files. <br><br>Eating one handed, she started&nbsp; flipping through all the files, taking just a minute to read through each one before moving on. Morning would dawn and she would shut down the computer and go hop in the shower, Grabbing a yogurt, plastic spoon, and her three bags, she would head out the door and to headquarters. Once she arrived there, she would go through security protocol once again then head to the armoury and gather the weapons and armour she picked out into yet another bag.<br><br>Heading back out, she went to her motorcycle and geared up to ride. She tied the bags on to the back of the bike then headed out. Arriving in Melting Pot a short while later, she’d scoot to the back seat and one of the boys sitting there would hop on. Briefly she told him where to go. Once there. She’d strip out of the riding gear and hand them over, gather her things and head inside without looking back. The young man would take off. Ferret always left her bike with someone when she went on a mission. That way, if something happened to her, it always had a home.&nbsp; She headed to the assigned tarmac and waited for the rest of her crew and to board. She was surprised to find Siouxsie and Ferdi there, and frowned at the ill omen that brought.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Deamonbane</strong> on <strong>30-05-2013, 02:10:31</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Rico smiled and nodded," Bring your rifle, the dry air should make for some superb firing. Make sure to get some practice, though, get used to the temperature. But also be ready to handle something that involves more spraying and praying than accuracy, in case we run into any situation in which visibility is gonna drop. Like, snow storms, fogs, that sort of shit. Which also brings us to another point. We can't use motion sensors in storms like that, and the high winds should fuck them up too. I am not sure if we will be able to use heat-seekers either, so... yeah, we will be needing some better info on an efficient way to kill these fuckers if they travel in packs. Kyle, you engaged them before, so I will be deferring to your judgement on this one."<br><br>He turned to Red," You will be handling the driving of us there, as I imagine will be what you would rather be doing, so the choice of vehicle will be up to you, although... I would recommend armor over speed, since we will be moving over hostile territory, won't be able to move as fast as the boogies, not to mention there might be cracks and rifts in the ice, and the slower we go, the more time we will have to react to something like that. But if you can handle that sort of terrain... like I said, up to you..."<br><br>He turned to Richard," Any thoughts?"
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cold Heritage</strong> on <strong>01-06-2013, 01:28:46</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Semyon's Post-Time Lapse Super-Full Morning</strong></div><br>The morning of the mission found Semyon waking in a bed in a hotel. It was a nice room, but not extravagant. The bed was large and the mattress comfortable, although it did dip noticeably where he lay. Most did because of his mass. Semyon was not alone when he awoke: three women of African heritage lay sprawled in the bed. Two were splayed over his body, their warmth pleasant where their dark skin touched and contrasted with his fairer complexion. The third spooned the woman on Semyon's right. All three of them were in a deep sleep, recuperating from a night of drinking - that Semyon had not partaken of, although he had gladly paid for bottles of champagne - and intercourse. One of the women murmured, "no more babe, please" as Semyon worked to extricate himself from the mass of Nubian flesh. He could not remember, but he was fairly certain that the women were models of some sort - their slender, willowy figures aided in corroborating this half-remembered factoid. <br><br>Semyon padded, nude, into the bathroom and washed his face. Given Black Hearts' policy regarding alcohol and narcotics, he was clean, sober, and ready to face the day. While it was a fact that Russians fought better with alcohol in their system - the Great Patriotic War seemed like ample proof of the thesis - Semyon abided by the company policy and had not touched a drop since signing his contract. It was a difficult burden to bear, but he was Russian. Suffering, and doing so stoically, was in his genes. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, and Semyon found that the eyes staring back at him were ones he could live with seeing without the aid of alcohol. Although it was a damnable waste of his natural, inborn talents.<br><br>The large man padded out into the main room, and found a fourth dark-skinned woman nude and laying face down on the couch. He checked her over, briefly, and found that like the others she was simply deeply asleep. Semyon covered her with a blanket quickly retrieved from the bedroom, and as he was draping the blanket over the woman the door opened. It seemed that Semyon had, in the process of getting a blanket, missed any knock that would have heralded housekeeping and when the petite Hispanic woman laid eyes upon the hunched and naked form of Semyon her lips parted and cheeks flushed slightly. It was probably not uncommon for her to see naked men, but Semyon stood out in several ways. The woman murmured a few words in what might have been Spanish before covering her mouth. <br><br>"I . . . the next room's empty." The woman said at last, and Semyon was surprised at what he took as a proposition. <br><br>"Okay." The Russian said, taking a moment to scoop up his clothing before he followed the swaying of a pleasantly curved behind and pleasingly rounded hips, and was impressed at how the woman they belonged to managed to use them to overcome how unflattering her uniform was to her figure.<br><br>An hour and a half later, Semyon found himself in the lobby. He was dressed and showered - though it was arguable how clean he had gotten in the shower, given what had transpired - and looking at the bill. "If you want your . . . lady friends . . . to be undisturbed, the best procedure is just to pay for another night." The clerk said, and Semyon began to slowly nod his head and accept the fact that he would have to pay for the room for another night. <br><br>"Is fair, is fair." Semyon said to indicate that he accepted culpability, and pulled out his wallet. He placed a credit card down and let the clerk going about charging. "And maybe you are keeping number in case my lady friends are wanting . .&nbsp; . eggs? Steak? Whatever is they are wanting to be eating." The large man said. The clerk nodded, and she spared him a longer than necessary glance before her fingers efficiently tapped at the screen, presumably to create an account and store the information he requested in a secure and confidential manner. Some minutes later she presented him with a receipt for his records, a copy to be signed for the hotel's, and his card. Semyon signed, and returned the slip.<br><br>"Thank you. I hope you'll stay with us again soon." The clerk said in a cheery tone. Semyon smiled, and nodded, waving goodbye to the woman.<br><br>Semyon went to a deli, since the next bus home was not for some time yet He went to a very specific deli, because he wanted Montreal smoked meat. Corned beef was okay, if the staff of the delicatessen made it in house, but Semyon had yet to find one that did, so he stuck with what he knew. It was not a coincidence that he had chosen this particular hotel. It lay within easy walking distance of the hotel, and as soon as Semyon walked in the French-Canadian deli owner looked up from behind the counter. Recognition was immediate, and as Semyon held up three fingers he received a quick nod. French with a heavy Quebecois accent flew behind the counter as Semyon took a seat at a booth. The only other patrons were a pair of senior citizens sitting further away, arguing with one another as only old couples may. Semyon suspected that both had poor hearing, which exacerbated the argument but neither raised their voices. <br><br>Soon enough Semyon had a heavy plate laid down in front of him. It was early in the day so he could truly appreciate the freshness of the bread baked that morning, and the tantalizing juices of the Montreal smoked meat soaked it in a way that had Semyon's mouth watering. As always, there was just the right amount of mustard. A glass of water accompanied, and Semyon tucked in. The mystique of watching Semyon eat a sandwich with three pounds of meat in it had long ago vanished, and so the man's mastication merited only the briefest shake of the head before the French-Canadian returned to work. Like always, the sandwich fell victim to Semyon's hunger and there was nothing left on the plate but an errant drip of mustard and a few crumbs. Semyon sighed, and finished his water. The Russian paid and left a generous tip that was actually more than his meal cost, but he could afford it and it was possible he would die and never have another chance.<br><br>The man waited for another few minutes at the bus stop. The bus came, and Semyon took, transferring halfway and then getting off near his home. There he showered and performed various hygiene procedures that he had skipped on because he did not have the things at the hotel. After he was finished and in fresh clothes he popped onto the internet, wired more money home, phoned the bank to ensure that the next of kin information on his various accounts was in order, and ate some cereal. Then he left to catch the bus to the base. He rode in silence, alongside many other dour commuters who did not wish to go to work.<br><br>Semyon went through the motions of the security procedures. He went and changed into his gear, donning the heaviest armour any of the members of Black Hearts wore. Semyon was not as swift as some, and he was not going to dodge any bullets. And as a conspicuous, large target, Semyon wanted to be as hard of one as he could. The discomfort and weight had saved his life several times. He could laugh at 5.56mm while he wore it, which edified the Russian in so many ways as to be ineffable. When Semyon his the tarmac he was ready to go, face concealed beneath a ballistic mask that had the vaguest darker highlights to make a skull face. <br><br>Seeing Siouxsie did not bother Semyon much. It probably just meant that the mission had taken a turn for the worse. Maybe it was guaranteed that there would be no Ranger support now. Maybe there was new intel on their target, and he had transformed into a fifty-foot tall fire-breathing monstrosity. The Russian made his way up to the technical, and made a slow circuit around it. There was no way that he was going to fit through the gunner hole. And that depressed Semyon just the smallest bit, and since it was obvious who was going to drive it meant that he would be riding in the truck bed. <br><br>Semyon accepted that with characteristic stoicism.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Neysha</strong> on <strong>04-06-2013, 03:34:55</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Nichole was always anxious with things like this, and was already feeling restless as she woke up bright and early in the morning. She had slept like a rock, when she had the chance to sleep but just to get to sleep, she had burned through a book on the North African theater in World War Two to use as a sleeping aid. It worked better then anything else and she managed to wake up feeling rather refreshed, as well as anxious. She fixed herself some cereal and sliced bananas for breakfast, pouring the cheerios into a soy milk. Due to her discontent and anticipation over the inevitable mission this was all she could stomach until she was in the theater she figured.<br><br>Once she was there, she'd lose her sense of impending mortality, she knew. That was just how her mind worked. That radical disconnect from reality that she always had when the bullets started flying which allowed her to function, her fighting spirit solely fueled by adrenaline and action. She spent most of her morning double and then triple checking her insurance papers and will and finances, hoping that she hadn't missed any bills and that her auto payments were set up for the foreseeable future, just in case. It proved a useful distraction for her anxiety before battled down the urge to double check her kit that she had packed the night before. <br><br>Instead she just picked up her bags, locked the door and headed out to the curb, where a cab was already waiting to take her away. It was one of those automated cabs. The creepy ones that had no physical drivers. They just... drove on their own. It was a bit disarming just looking at the steering wheel move in the empty drivers seat, while another one was affixed to the passenger seat, only to be activated 'just in case.'<br><br>Not that she cared. She knew how safe these cabs were and anyways, she was a bit too shaky to drive anyhow, at least in the way she wanted to. Instead, she killed her time caught in rush hour by flipping through her Bible and wondering if she was memorizing the same passages that crusaders did a millenium before over what would be the same land. <br><br>"Prepare yourselves for battle and be courageous! Be ready early tomorrow morning to fight these Gentiles who have joined forces to attack us and destroy us and our Temple. It is better for us to die fighting than to stand idly by and watch the destruction of our nation and our Temple. But the Lord will do what he pleases," she started to murmur to herself underbreath, the Southern drawl of her voice only coming out in times like this now.<br><br>Half before nine, she was approaching her stop and realized she had to finish up her passage reading. "Our forces were few in number, but they plundered the entire country and routed the heathen forces. They recaptured the Temple famous throughout the world, liberated Jerusalem, and restored the laws that were in danger of being abolished. They were able to do all these things because the Lord was merciful and kind to them." She closed it before exiting the cab of course, pocketing the book as the cab pulled up to the area and stepped out of the vehicle with a deep, reassuring breath. <br><br>Hoisting her equipment over her shoulder, she proceeded through the facility and went through the standard screenings and preparations for an overseas deployment, before picking up the rest of her kit and equipment and weapons especially, before finding heading out to the tarmac and seeing, somewhat to her dismay as opposed to her surprise, two of her companions were already waiting for her on the tarmac along with Siouxse herself, who still looked overdressed for the occasion unlike herself. She didn't even bother with make up in general today. After all, it'd be a long flight with a Russian and some other chick. And they were going to a boring ass country filled with conservative and perverse prudish Muslims, as far as she could reckon. What was the point of even making an effort. Seeing Siouxse there was unusual, but her mind was too slow to process whether that was bad. Anyways, it took reading through a good chunk of Maccabees to calm down her anxiousness, so it'd be hard for her to get worked back up anyways from her relaxed state.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Red Offerings</strong> on <strong>04-06-2013, 04:25:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Siouxsie addresses Group I, followed by Chief Michels</strong></div><br><br><br>Everyone that was going to show had pretty much arrived within a minute or two of each other. This was good in that she wasn't going to have to repeat herself. It was still bad because the one person who even vaguely understood her was gone due to family issues. This left her with a vacuum of leadership right on the eve of sending a group of her agents into a third world country besieged with war from multiple feuding factions and a gnarly rift assassin-dude. She removed her sunglasses, squinting her bright blue eyes in the sunlight to look at all of them with the kind of gravity that only a person who was weighing each individual would have. Finally she spoke, her tone depicting her displeasure, "Pancho's out - for good. His mother was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer. His dad's too old to handle all of the care she's going to need, you know, hospital visits, treatment runs, all of that. Anyways, he's done with this life, going to use his savings to pay for her medical expenses. Always has been a good guy..." She trailed off, frowned deeply for a moment and then her expression cleared.<br><br>"Semi, it's on you. You're in charge of this mission. Handle it as well as I hope, you might find yourself promoted," she said, offering a smile she didn't feel. "I have no doubts about your abilities to get this job done," she went back to addressing everyone else. "Good news is there is no additional news, which means Ferret's contact is probably still in. Last I heard the Rangers were still Go for support. If they do come in, just stand back, they make a mess," she said as she replaced her sunglasses over her gloomy eyes. Turning, Siouxsie walked around them and clapped them each on their shoulders - except for Semi who she nailed in the middle of his back due to his immense height. Then she snapped her fingers and Ferdi stood up and trotted after her as she headed towards her car, glinting sky blue in the glaring white light of the sun. <br><br>By then, the Datsun had been loaded onto the Chinook and the crew chief approached them with his olive drab helmet and dark shades covering most of his grizzled face. He was carrying a box of MRE's and set it down in front of them. His name was Michels, they had seen him several times during missions when they'd used the Chinook to travel to their destinations. Michels seemed to know who was in charge, which meant he had been told what had happened prior to their arrival. He looked up at Semi and spoke, "These are for you guys, mostly Beef Stew and Chili-mac. Water's in the boxes in the back. You have to wear helmets when we're taking off and when we're landing - of and if we're crashing make sure you slip that bad boy back on your noggin'," he said a little too happily. "We fly in five mikes, get your gear and get to your seats to strap in!" he said, meaning they would be sitting for roughly 14 hours on cargo net seats. It was going to be cozy, but with Pancho gone it guaranteed some leg room.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Black Hearts, Inc. - Professional Merc. Org. IC - Main Thread</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Belisuavious</strong> on <strong>07-06-2013, 04:40:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Richard had stayed silent for the rest of the meeting, nodding in agreement with most of what was said. It did make sense and Rico was in charge of the team. He left the meeting and headed to the armoury, intent on seeing just what the Black Heart company kept on hand for jobs.<br><br>He was not disappointed by the stores of weapons he found. As he understood, they would be able to spend most of tomorrow getting kitted up, so all he did for now was make a mental note of where the armoury was before leaving the building. He still had to acquire cold weather gear and a few snacks just for him during the trip. <br><br>He sped away from the compound, making a quick mental list and trying to estimate costs before he almost crashed into an oncoming car and swerved back into his lane, resolving himself to driving now and thinking later. He arrived at his small apartment, which he rented as soon as he heard that he had cleared the admission phase. <br><br>It was nothing special, just four rooms, and he hadn't even finished unpacking yet. He wouldn't even bother to finish tonight, and instead sat down at his table and opened his laptop, and reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet. A half hour later he had some cold weather gear - Jacket, balaclava, gloves, boots, the whole bit, to be delivered by noon tomorrow. It had cost him, but he figured it would be worth it in the long run, and he could always write it off as a business expense. As for weapons he would be grabbing the latest member of the AK family that Black Hearts stocked and as much ammo as he could fit into a tac-vest. He hadn't personally encountered the rift creatures before but he didn't want to be left empty handed if he had to put one down.<br><br>He passed the night reading what scanty information he could find on the rift creatures, before making a quick chicken teriyaki stir fry for dinner. The night was passed quickly, he had long ago gotten over the anxiety of an upcoming mission.<br><br>Early the next morning he woke, showered and dressed in a quick efficient manner. He then headed over to Black Hearts HQ so he could start his search for weapons and begin the process of gearing up.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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