Futuristic [Argon City] - Open World Cyberpunk RP - Always Open

[Viper Actual]

Marcus was just about to end the brief tour of the Taurus quarters for Shawn and his men when a police assistant showed up. She was young, a sergeant. Marcus excused himself and stepped aside to speak with the officer. Judging by the look of her face it was important. "Commander Bishop, sir. He's here."

Marcus widened his eyes and spoke into a microphone on his wrist. "Code red. Code red. Code red."

Before Shawn and his men could even get a word out every single member of Taskforce Taurus dropped what they had previously occupied themselves with and geared up. Members of Bishop's assault team put on their armor while investigators working with Taurus wore simple body-armor on top of civilian clothing.

Two minutes later Bishop, followed byt he rest of his team, walked into the main lobby. ACPD officers armed with pistols and compact carbines were gathered around windows and on each side of the door. A K9 officer hushed his dog as it started to bark.

Marcus nodded towards the two officers at the door, prompting them to open it.

Outside the streets had cleared out, leaving the Ringmaster alone in the middle of the road.

Slowly and very cautiously Marcus and his men exited the building, weapons raised and trained at their target. "Did he seriously just walk into our arms? For what purpose?" Thought Marcus to himself as he stopped six meters away from his target. His men spread out, forming a semi-circle around the criminal. Behind them the less-armored officers stepped out as well, taking cover behind some of the ACPD cars parked outside the precinct.

Above them an ACPD VTOL-craft arrived, circling the scene like a vulture. It served mainly as a distraction for the two ACPD SWAT teams moving in from the sides and for the two snipers deploying on the precinct roof.

Marcus turned his orange visor transparent, allowing the Ringmaster to see his face through an orange filter. "ACPD! Drop the cane, please."

Shindoku

 

[Boi69]

Shawn rushed out the building with his team and he was ready to draw his sidearm. He was staring at the Ringmaster and his creepy mask that he had one. He never knew he could meet the Ringmaster first day. His men on the side were pointing their guns at him. They were also prepared to lay him out. Shawn had decided to observe the situation and ordered his men to back up.

 

[TARDIS06]

Smoke from the rooftop swirled around Mitchell’s nostrils as he stared at his laptop, squinting slightly as the rising sun reflected over the screeen. His back still ached from yesterday, and a cheap motel bed didn’t really help. Glancing away from his screen for a moment Mitchell smiled lightly at the horizon. The blue atmosphere was set on fire from the sun to his right, the colors dancing slowly between the rising buildings that shone brightly. The underground had nothing on this view.

Hopping down from the ledge, Mitchell used his boots to slow the fall every few meters. The wind once again tossed his hair about his visage as he fell, with a bit more control this time. Nearly missing the opening, he dropped past the rustic building and into a mechanically opened shaft that led to the underground. The smell of oil immediately made its presence known, it’s what he got for using one of the old transport systems. For a few moments Mitchell continued to fall, nearly burnt out lights illuminating in unequal intervals the shear amount of rust in the system. Soon he hit the bottom of the shaft, a thick padlock held together the vertical door that he landed on.

Carefully stepping around the murky pipes that a few too many rats scurried through, Mitchell made it to a brick wall that was covered in mold and moss. After pushing on a few key spots of brick that were actually exposed, the wall gave way and opened out into a dark alleyway. Synthetic light that was produced being blocked by rusty iron scaffolding that had been turned into a little shack. Mitchell banged loudly on one of the green copper panels that covered the structure as he rushed passed: “Morning Chuck! Rise and shine old timer!” A scraggly old man with white eyes burst out one of the panels that was decided as a door, the face behind the curly beard red with anger. “I swear to Argon Mitch, one of these days you’ll get a deserving rude awakening!” The old man soon shuffled back into the hut after grumbling to himself about today’s society not respecting sleep.

Mitchell casually walked out onto the open street, giving a sarcastic wave to Chuck before turning the corner. The road was littered with the shells of broken down cars, stripped clean of all valuable material and even some invaluable, a gearjunkies logo was painted onto a nearby wall. Pulling out his sagax Mitchell began texting a few contacts after rerouting the signal a few dozen times. Frowning at their responses when a few minutes had past, he pulled up his hood as he passed a few officers. Now knowing he couldn’t sell the processor without fixing it, which would apparently cost more than it was worth, he didn’t want to worsen his mood. Yet and epiphany floated into Mitchell’s head as he stopped in his tracks.

A phone rang across the precinct for a few aggravating moments before an officer answered it. Mitchell was sitting on a deep brown chair, in the one place he never would have thought of. A cup of water sat on the desk to his right, half empty now after he had some. A purple ID card had the name ‘Mak Gorgon’ scrolling across the top with a picture of Mitchell being displayed; it was laid next to the broken processor and a holo-sketch of the perpetrator who supposedly dropped the stolen security tech. He did his best not to laugh hysterically when the investigator believed him that the perp was a short bald man with a red hoodie. The digital paperwork was soon completed while Mitchell mentally made a note to delete it later. After he was transferred a few hundred credits as a reward for finding the processor, the officer went to to grab a receipt for the transaction. Mitchell turned as he looked out one of the windows, pausing slightly he raised an eyebrow as none of the ACPD seemed to notice the famed circus freak twirling his cane through the street. He was about to say something when every speaker repeated the same phrase at once: ‘Code red. Code red. Code red.’

Immediately there was chaos in the precinct. Every officer, agent, and investigator were either giving or taking orders while dealing with the rush and the panic that followed the presence of the Ringmaster as the masked man shouted at the chaotic mass of people. So that’s where the name came from. Taking the opportunity while he could, Mitchell grabbed the processor and ID card and booked it for the roof; chortling to himself when he turned back to look at the dumbfounded investigator who just noticed the now empty chair.

Popping out onto the open roof, Mitchell slammed past the green door that led to it, strides filled with adrenaline. He was at the edge of the roof when he noticed the large hover vehicle circling the scene, it’s spotlight trained on Ringmaster. He was about to make a comment on how absolutely screwed that guy was before he felt a metal cylinder being pressed against his head. Turning around slowly with his hands up, he muttered an “Oh f*ck” before realizing he was staring down one of two ACPD Licensed SWAT long range barrels.

The two officers were clad in black with noticeable holo projectors mounted on their chests, one barely paid him any mind as she positioned her rifle against the ledge towards Ringmaster; while the other stared directly at Mitchell. The officer stood as still as a statue for a few painstaking moments, an assumingly permanent frown etched upon his bearded visage. The man then slowly leaned his head over the radio microphone that was attached to his shoulder: “Marcus, co-conspirator on precinct roof. Be advised.” Mitchell’s eyes went wide with an understanding of the situation, and then immediately failed at trying to talk his way out of it.

 

[Shindoku]

Ringmaster sighs "I thought I said only one person, and no guns" he shakes his head "I'll give you one last chance or a bomb is gonna go off, and even I don't know exactly where it is, shoot me and it goes off without my input" He looks directly at Marcus "If you know anything about me you know I am a man of my word, I have brought information, nothing more, nothing less, if you wish to fight then the casualties will be high and you know that"

 

[Viper Actual]

Marcus stared at his adversary. Shit. Was he bluffing? Was it a ruse? And what information could possibly be worth all this attention? Then Marcus remembered. The Ringmaster loved attention.

When one of the snipers mentioned a co-conspirator Marcus' hope got somewhat improved. He glanced at Shawn before speaking over the radio. "Commander Bishop to all units. Executive order: stand down. External personnel; disengage and retreat five hundred meters. Precinct personnel; return inside and wait for further instructions. Oh and snipers, have the co-conspirator taken into custody."

Reluctantly the officers started to move back. Members of Taskforce Taurus had their doubts but knowing their boss it was best to follow orders. Above in the sky the ACPD VTOL broke off, returning to its staging ground.

Once all the officers had cleared out only Marcus and Shawn remained on the street. Slowly, Marcus lowered his rifle.

"There," he said. "You got what you wanted." Marcus nodded towards Shawn. "This man is my colleague and represents the Federal Government while I represent the ACPD in this case. What's this information you have?"

Boi69 TARDIS06 Shindoku

 

[Shindoku]

Ringmaster nods "I would shake your hands but I feel like it wouldn't be very welcome" he chuckles "now this information isnt free, release the person you claim is my co-conspirator, this was soley done on my own, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time... now then, the gearjunkies have been planning a massive killing spree against the crimson legion, I'd recommend getting involved in that somehow. Remove civilians, fight them off, etc, etc, etc, I promise that I will be keeping my eye on the situation" Ringmaster turns to leave "That is all, go about your business of... well, catching me I suppose" he laughs and starts walking "oh, and dont follow me"

 

[Viper Actual]

Marcus held up a hand. "Wait!" He took a couple of steps forward. "What do you gain from telling us all this? Gearjunkies fall out of favor or something?"

Shindoku

 

[Shindoku]

Ringmaster sighs and looks at Marcus his voice much more serious than his normal jovial tone "I'll be honest Marcus, I just want to minimize civilian casualties, and I am not in a position to do that myself." Ringmaster nods "I'm sure you understand." He turns and walks away back into the alley he emerged from

 

[Viper Actual]

Marcus could only watch in silence as the Ringmaster vanished into an alley. "Marcus. How the hell does he know my name? Who am I kidding? Of course he does..." Thought Marcus to himself. He looked at Shawn. "Time to get to the bottom of this."

Even if the suspect in custody wasn't a co-conspirator he had still trespassed which itself was a crime. Once the order came to stand down Marcus and Shawn started to move towards one of the interrogation rooms where the suspect had been left in cuffed to the table.

---

Liz ducked for cover behind the car which was riddled with bulletholes. She gritted her teeth and checked the holographic ammo counter on her pistol. Seven shots remaining.
Behind her was Lopez, another undercover officer tasked with observing the gangs in Midway.

The two of them had met up to investigate a tip from one of their informants. Suspicious activity around one of the old recycling plants.

As soon as the officers had approached they spotted members of the Gearjunkies unloading heavy duty equipment, most likely their own homemade cybernetic fabricators.

Before Liz or Lopez could report the find one of the Gearjunkie scouts had spotted them, sounding the alarm.

Lopez cursed under his breath as he inserted a fresh magazine into his carbine. "They don't seem happy to see us."

"You think?" Replied Liz right as she got out of cover. A Gearjunkie armed with two buzzsaws for hands came charging against them. Two shots center mass foiled that plan, causing the man to fall face-first onto the concrete.

 

[TARDIS06]

“I swear I’m no-!” The barrel of the rifle was bashed against his back, Mitchell swore his spine was going to snap one of these days. After Ringmaster disappeared he found himself walking back down through the dull grey stairscase, handcuffs digging into his wrists. “Don’t I get rights or something?” This time it was the stock of the rifle that hit his back, followed by a grumble between the officers about being a bit obnoxious. Once again walking back through the precinct, he raised his hands and gave a wave towards the investigator he ditched, who then spit out his coffee.

Finally reaching the interrogation room, Mitchell was shoved through the door, causing him to stumble slightly. The two officers for some reason felt the need to continue to escort him to the chair, making sure to attach the handcuffs to a ring in the table; he tried to ignore the blood specks that were half hazardously cleaned off of it: “Nice place you got here, could use a space heater though. Hey wait that’s impor-” He winced as his backpack was dropped harshly onto the table before the door was slammed shut, leaving Mitchell in the room. Walking up to Marcus and Shawn, the bearded flatfoot pointed back towards the interrogation room: “Good luck with that one.”

Mentally he was kicking himself for being careless again, being in one of the only places he shouldn’t be. Well, besides wherever his excursions led. The grey brick walls that encompassed the room were scratched like nobody’s business, some of the paint chipping away, and a little camera was held up in the corner, bolted to the ceiling. It could have been worse. Mitchell stared at the obviously two-way mirror that interjected between the cement bricks in front of him: “Any possibility of getting a cup of tea?”

 

[Viper Actual]

Marcus took a sip from his coffee with Shawn standing next to him. Infront of them was the one-way window connected to the interrogation room. The boy inside the room started to look less cocky for each minute that passed. So far it had been ten minutes.
Tex spoke up after reading through a small file which had been handed to him by Marcus. "Bishop, I don't get it. He's just a boy."

"Exactly," replied Marcus. Tex shook his head. "I'm not sure I'm following you."

Marcus took another sip before turning to face Tex. "Trespassing on a law enforcement facility. Five years. Espionage and/or illicit mapping of law enforcement activity. Two years." Bishop paused and gestured towards the dossier which contained a quick search on three of Mitch's faked identification chits. If they were anything to go by this boy had plenty more aces up his sleeve.

"There's also these fake IDs. Another year or two on the sentence."

Tex shook his head once again. "Bishop, look, the Ringmaster just walked up to us in broad daylight. He caught wind of our investigation before it had even started properly. There's bigger, much more important things, to focus on than dropping the book on some street punk who was at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Marcus chuckled. "I don't want to drop the book on him." He placed his coffee mug on the table. "I want to recruit him."

Tex looked at the boy and then back at Marcus. "Recruit him? For what?"

"To take down the Ringmaster," replied Marcus. He crossed his arms. "That kid in there might be just what we needed. Street-smart. Unpredictable. Impulsive. A chameleon. Think about it; the Ringmaster always manages to stay one step ahead. Why? Because we always follow protocols. Routines. Chain of command. A kid like this could operate without difficulty. Quick and easy intel. Recon potential targets."

Tex sighed. "Do it."

-

A few minutes later the door opened up. Marcus, now dressed in unmarked tactical police fatigues instead of his armor, stepped in followed by Shawn. Marcus placed a small bio-plastic cup filled with water infront of Mitch while Shawn closed the door.
"Sorry for keeping, Mr. Gorgon." Said Marcus as he pulled out one of the chairs to seat himself. A folder was placed on the table.

"Or should we call you Mr. Aloysisus? Mr. Haskell? Mr. Neviks?"

Marcus put his hands together. "You better think real hard on what you'll say next. It best be the truth."

TARDIS06

 

[TARDIS06]

Tap tap tap tap tap... It felt like it had been hours. Mitchell had already counted every dull grey brick and ceiling tile in this damn room, 912 and 49 respectively; and now he was left to tapping his foot. If only his backpack was within reach, he was getting more antsy by the second, or whatever unit of time was actually passing. He knew he should’ve just let go of the processor, found another quick job that probably would’ve paid double, or at least recharged his EMP before coming here; great, now he was over-analyzing past decisions. He only hoped he could leave before the existential questions started popping up.

Finally the dark colored door opened, two officers stepping through. Mitchell only slightly recognized them, he couldn’t really pay attention to what happened with Ringmaster when a barrel was pointed at his head. Quizzically raising an eyebrow at the cup, he questioned internally about what it was with officers giving people specifically small amounts of filtered water. He was about to pull out his best South Neon accent to talk about how he ‘just wanted to run to the hills when the Ringmaster came ‘round to these here parts’ but the folder on the table forced his mouth shut, he did his best to not keep glancing at his backpack. Without even asking he started flipping through the pages of the tan file, his recent alias was on top, followed by bank and motel records; of course there were other cameras he forgot to wipe. C’mon he even looked directly into that one! He may have forgotten how tired he was after that gen chem heist. Though there was one thing that he thought was lacking within the dossier.

Looking back up at the copper, Mitchell leaned forward slowly after the officer’s statement that he could only describe as having little to no bite to the bark. Taking a pause to look at the man’s weathered face, a smirk spread across his visage: “How long did you flatfoots actually spend digging this up? ‘Cuz I’d like to laugh at whoever was tasked with it.”

 

[Viper Actual]

Marcus grunted and followed up with a chuckle. "I hope your humor keeps you fed, alive and happy because otherwise prison will be a rough time for you." Marcus stared directly into the eyes of the kid infront of him. "Everything we have here today is enough to lock you up for at least ten years. Think you can survive for that long inside the Icebox? Good for you. If you don't, well, I just so happen to have a special offer for you. Want to hear it?"

 

[TARDIS06]

A scowl replaced the smirk as he listened to the officer, only barely keeping eye contact as he considered the words being said to him; Mitchell’s poker face sucked. Pausing slightly, he leaned back in the chair; using the handcuffs that were attached to the table to barely balance himself. “You’d be surprised how much just a few words could get.” Though he soon nearly fell at the mention of an offer, that was the effect of hysterical laughter. After a few moments he slammed the chair back down with a sardonic grin, squinting slightly as if trying to visually detect the officer’s plan: “Enlighten me.”

 

[Viper Actual]

Bishop remained quiet for a moment after Mitch began to laugh hysterically. Despite the grin and cocky attitude Bishop knew he was getting through- it wasn't his first time dealing with street kids who thought themselves to be untouchable. They always cracked, one way or the other. As for Micth? It was time for a reality-check.

"Short version? We want to recruit you for a mission. Play your cards right and you'll be pardoned, hell, you might even get a job out of it." Bishop then crossed his arms, leaned back in the chair and nodded towards Shawn. "If that doesn't interest you I'm sure my friend here would be delighted to add some federal charges on top of your other ones. Your move, hotshot."

Boi69 TARDIS06

 

[TARDIS06]

“Wondered when the good-cop-bad-cop routine would start.” Mitchell sighed under his breath as he looked at the other officer; or rather federal agent according to chrome dome over there. Admittedly the man didn’t look like most federal agents he’d seen, jury’s out on whether that was good or bad.

He’d watched enough of his colleagues sit through this same spiel to know how these deals usually went; pardons aren’t worth a damn and once the national government gets involved suddenly every news outlet in Argon knows about you helping the cops catch a wanted criminal. There was no way he was about to make the same mistakes they did. Pursing his lips, Mitchell stared at the copper in front of him, he would be lying if he said he couldn’t exploit this eventually; not to mention having Ringmaster behind bars would definitely help in the market. Hoping he wasn’t jumping the gun too much on that assumption about the ‘mission’, he doubted the flatfoots would go to such extremes for anything else.

He nearly slammed his head down in frustration. But instead an exasperated sigh was released as he looked at the dried blood stain on the ceiling tile above him. Mitchell really needed to leave if he wanted to delete those files on time, once it got on the federal hard drives it would take way too long to remove; the clock was ticking. “Two conditions.” A pained look crossed his eyes as he carefully went against every instinct in his body. “This needs to be off the records— completely— your precinct’s data banks are way too easy to break into. And you,” gesturing towards the dark haired agent. “Try to contain yourself around the press, I know how you government types like to frolic but I’d rather not be followed by cameras once Ringmaster’s out of the ring.”

Boi69 Viper Actual

 

[Viper Actual]

Marcus grinned as Mitch spoke up and voiced his terms. Kid's got balls.
Bishop glanced briefly at Shawn before leaning forward once again. "It'll be as if we never met. You have my word."

That said, Marcus extended his hand. "Deal?"

TARDIS06

 

[TARDIS06]

Mitchell stared at the extended hand for a moment, he wasn’t naive enough to immediately trust someone’s word alone, but he supposed the officers wouldn’t even be here right now if he was worthless as an asset. Reluctantly he extended his hand across the table, arm shaking as he fought down his own instincts. “Just don’t expect me to call you chief, cue ball.”

After he let go, Mitchell raised his arms expectantly; the chains of the handcuffs clanging against the loop they were fed through as he ignored how painfully rigid they were against his wrists. “Now, you wouldn’t happen to have the key to these would you?”

Viper Actual

 

[SCRUBLORDPICKLE]

The alarm clock buzzed at 8:00 AM, like every other day, and Keith was ripped from his peaceful sleep. He layed in bed, merely mentally preparing himself for the day to come. "Alright, Keith." He thought to himself, "Let's roll out of bed, shower, eat, take your pills, and off to work we go." Keith never had a problem going on with his day, but ever since his wife passed away, and his daughter moved out, he's found comfort in inner monologue, for it's someone to talk to, rather than going on with your morning routines in absolute quite, save for the stir of the city out his window, and his neighbors loud radio.

Keith now stood at his door, slipping on his shoe. Glancing back at his alarm clock, it was now 8:40 AM. "I should really take shorter showers. I'm driving my bills way up, and wasting time doing nothing important." he thought. With his single shoe firmly on, and his prosthetic leg fit snugly on his nub of a leg, he gathers the essential: his Keyring of 50+ keys, his wallet containing his Identification Card, and his J&J Revolver. Now, he was out the door and on his way to work.

It was a 20 minute trip for anyone else, but for Keith it was about 30 minutes. Unhealthy from copious amounts of alcohol every day, as well as a missing leg, made day to day activities for him much more taxing. He made it through his residential block's labyrinth-like hallways, down to street level, and out the building, greeting strangers and old friends in passing. It was a silent trip the whole way there, no one stopped to talk to him, no one waved a hello, not even any honking cars. This was a rarity, and he took in every second of it all; peacefulness and tranquility, in a city that never sleeps.

Keith took out his keyring and unlocked the door of Tangy Mango: Family Bar. He's owned this place longer than most have been alive. "Sixteen breakneck years. I remember the first day Margaret brought Amanda here, the look on her face when she finally got to see her father at his job. Gods, I wish that woman would call me sometimes." Keith immediately threw these thoughts to the back of his mind, now was the time to work, not the time to wallow in self-misery.

Keith turned on the radio and got to work; dusting off every single plastic plant, cleaning the windows, mopping the floors, preparing some fresh bread, making sure every glass and mug was cleaned spotless. Every action was done on autopilot, with the only thing going through that dumb mind of his being the music in the air. He's had this job for far too long. He wants to retire, but then Argon City would lose the best Family Bar it has ever seen. Too many people would go hungry without him, too many wouldn't have a person to talk to in a time of need, and most of all he would lose the only connection he has to the outside world.

"Alright, every corner's cleaned, all the glasses are shined, lights are on, breakfast foods are being made, and John's already lined up outside" he smiled as he talked, looking out the window and seeing his brother sitting in one of the chairs just outside his shop. "Guess I better open up." As he spoke, he walked to a neon light on the front door, flipped it on, and the words "Now Open" shined brightly into the smog covered streets outside.

 

[Viper Actual]

Bishop smiled. "Let me go get it from the bailiff."

---

A couple of hours later an unmarked police vehicle turned into a dark alleyway not far from the tunnels leading to Midway. Bishop and an unnamed officer exited the vehicle with the former opening the door to the rear passenger seat on the left.
The unnamed officer on the other hand, who was clad in a plaincloth outfit, placed his hand on the grip of a holstered pistol at his hip while eyeing the alleyway from behind a set of sleek shades.

Bishop motioned for the occupant to leave the vehicle. As Mitch stepped out Bishop handed him a grey go-bag.

"Inside this bag is an emergency beacon, encrypted datapad with your own server uplink and a encrypted Sagax-device. Once you start the datapad it will ask for your thumbprints and a codename. From there you'll be able to feed us intelligence on gang activity related to the Ringmaster. You'll also have a bank account which is refilled once a month to help you with...operational expenses."

The nameless officer chuckled in the back.

"Your first objective is head down to Midway and help a undercover ACPD asset. She's looking into the increased gang activity though she doesn't know that the Ringmaster could be involved. Questions?"

TARDIS06

 

[Shindoku]

Ringmaster sighed as he wandered through the streets of the underground, he had started it, the beginning of the end, or so he hoped, one way or another, things will be changing, it's only a matter of time before the police get involved in the gang war he has begun.

Who will win? His money is on the government, but he has contingency plans for any outcome, or so he hopes, a plan is only good until first contact after all. He shakes his head and pulls out a small Sagax device pressing a few buttons and setting it to his ear as he continues walking through the streets. Soon phase 3 will begin.

And he wants to ensure all the pieces are in place

 

[TARDIS06]

Mitchell stared out the window occasionally as the vehicle whooshed through the trash littered streets; run down buildings passing by in a slight blur. Despite how shiny the vehicle was against the drab cement, he would admit that the comfortable seats were a relief when compared to the precedent of that worn down metal chair in the interrogation room. Though that feeling began to be squished when Mr. Shades over there hopped into the car as well; it felt like he was about to get cement shoes and thrown into a river.

Doing his best to not accidentally slam the door, it shut with a soft click as he closed it behind him. His rugged boots crunched on the broken road of the alley; the cement might has well have been gravel with how grated it was. A look of puzzlement crossed Mitchell’s face before the officer started to explain the contents of the small bag that was handed to him. Personally not thinking he needed any of it, he restrained his comments at the mention of a bank account. The wind ruffled his orange jacket as the officer continued to speak, Mitchell glancing all around them at constant intervals as smoke continued to billow over the rooftops while a few air conditioning units hummed in the distance.

Pulling out of his mouth the strawberry sucker he took from the precinct, he looked down the rusted tunnels before speaking: “Anywhere specific I’m supposed to look besides the entirety of Midway?” The open ended nature didn’t bother him, he just preferred to know what was expected of him before deciding on whether or not to actually to follow through. Plus Mitchell was wanted by what could only be guessed as a quarter of the people in Midway and really didn’t want to take too many wrong turns; they were easy to steal from.

Viper Actual

 

[RayPurchase]

The police cruiser rounds the street corner, litter and refuse kicked up by its powerful engine as it goes about its way. Outwardly the cruiser had seen far better days, there were chips and scrapes on the paintwork and bullbars on the front of the car. The only unblemished parts were the ACPD shield on each of the front doors, and the car number on the roof and rear doors, SI-35. Whilst the boys down at the precinct garage did their best to keep the shields emblazoned (As well as keeping the beating heart of the cruiser underneath its tired facade pumping), it was Sergeant Keating, who would sit down after each shift, who maintained the car number. It had been his for 12 years, aside from a brief moment around year 3 of his career when his cruiser was completely written off. The people of this city knew the number, and his the man behind the wheel, a man to come to with problems that needed to be solved, when justice needed to be served, or just when a friendly face was needed.

Like the car Derrick Reynolds was no longer new and unblemished. A slightly crooked nose told the tale of a GearJunky smashing a bin lid into his face, shattering his nose which never really set perfectly. The slight limp that plagued his left leg, not enough to slow him or cause him pain but noticeable if you looked carefully, a result of a Crimson Legion bullet nicking a nerve, the docks had done a pretty good job patching him up, but still the slight reminder was there. Reynolds wouldn’t trade any of them though, and wore them with pride. A tapestry of injuries detailing his service to the city he called home.

Patrol had started at 6am, and in the resultant 3 hours he had encountered 2 counts of possession of illicit substances, 1 count of possession of a fire arm, and 1 count of public indecency. He frowned shaking his head, that was a particularly strange incident.

The clock ticked over to 9:15 on the dashboard.

“And that makes it breakfast,”

He says aloud. For his own benefit really, the closest thing he had to a partner in the seat next to him was the pump action shotgun. His previous partner had transferred out, offered a promotion to the murder squad, not that he could blame the kid, chance to make detective. But he couldn’t lie he was happier this way, until they transferred some new rookie his way he was able to do things his way without some snot nosed kid straight out of the academy questioning his tried and tested methods.

The car pulls up outside directly out front the Tangy Mango, gravitating towards the neon ‘open’ sign. He jumps out of the cruiser, his body armour on and pistol strapped to his hip. The helmet was left on the seat as he slammed the door. Useless piece of crap, he’d seen crimson legionnaire bullets rip straight through it, and if a GearJunky got close enough the helmet would hardly be helpful. It was hot, uncomfortable and he’d much rather people saw his face. Personal policing. He strode through the door, making his way up towards the bar itself and grabbing a seat on a stool, giving out a few nods and good mornings to familiar patrons he’d encountered on the job. He settled himself onto the stool, adjusting himself slightly with the weight of his armour to get comfortable.

SCRUBLORDPICKLE

 

[SCRUBLORDPICKLE]

Faint Country Music, Idle Chit-Chat, and the snaps of Grease on the Grill. An Elderly Couple at the far end of the bar, a Family of Four seated in a booth, and a Coffee-sipping Business Woman typing away on a Sagax Tablet. All were commonplace here, especially mornings. Keith never once thought of it, but the same people showed up on the same days, in the same place, ordering the same food, at the same time, every day now for the past few years. None of it ever bothered Keith, he had grown into a life of cold comfort since his Daughter moved away. He went throughout the day cooking the same foods and serving the same Cocktails and Stouts. All in an Autopilot-like daze; his mind blank and his stare cold, but adeptly performing actions without thinking.

This daze was promptly broken when the door's chime rang out, signalling another guest, and Keith looked over to see an Unfamiliar Face enter his shop. Keith was certainly surprised, he thought his Bar faded into obscurity, with how little newcomers there were. Keith scanned this man from head to toe, trying to gauge this man's personality before he even opened his mouth to speak.

"Good morning," the Man spoke to another customer. "Ah shit. Too late for that," Keith thought, as the man grabbed a barstool, promptly sitting down. "G'Mornin', I haven't seen your face before, so I'll assume this is your first visit." Keith says while passing this man a laminated Menu, detailing Meal after Meal, as well as a 'Build-Your-Own' section with a wide range of different foods to combine together for anything from an unholy amalgamation of different foods, to a meal 'Fit for a King!'

"I got all the typical breakfast foods:" Keith begins listing off each ingredient while simultaneously counting along with his fingers. "Eggs, Sausage and Bacon, Bagels, Donuts, Breads to toast, Coffee, Milk, Juices, and more. I've also got a wide assortment of Meats, Vegetables, and Fruits, so if you're in the mood for something more fit for Lunch or Dinner, don't think they're off the table just because it's early morning." Keith gives off a large and hearty smile. "It's always so nice to get new customers."

RayPurchase

 

[RayPurchase]

Derrick grins broadly at the guy behind the bar flashing him a not quite pearly white grin. The owner or manager He reckoned judging the confidence about him, taking the laminated menu.

“Sure am, first timer right here, Derrick Reynolds,”

He leans over the bar offering a hand in greeting.

“Local beat Sergeant, saw your open sign, and though what better place to frequent, give a local business my custom. How long you been open here for?”


He flicks his eyes over the menu. I mean it would be tempting to get the whole bloody lot, from his seat he could get a good whiff of the kitchen, and boy did it smell good. I mean almost anything would smell good after 3 hours of driving round the streets with just a nutrient bar for breakfast. But he reckoned this would have smelt good regardless.


“I mean a full roast would go down an absolute treat, but I reckon that would mean me knackered for the rest of my shift. We’ll just go for the classics. Bacon sandwich, white bread butter and a health dollop of ketchup. And just a black coffee with two sugars,”

He taps the menu against the bar happily.

“Hey always happy to be somewhere new. You the owner of this joint?”