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Futuristic HOUNDS: An 80s/90s Cyberpunk Inspired RP [CLOSED]

Sub Genres
  1. Action
  2. Adventure
  3. AU
  4. Cyberpunk
  5. LGTBQ
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OP Post

Infab

The Demon Fanatic



HOUNDS.png


New Los Angeles. A shining beacon of civilization upon the western coast of the United Nations of North America. A center of trade and entertainment for the super-nation, the heart of the UNNA's technological advancements and wonders, and the home of a wide variety of people and cultures. Home also to several of the UNNA's massive megacorporations, their influence stretching far and wide across the super-nation and the world. Affecting the lives of billions in several ways.

Behind the scenes, however, crime is at an all-time high. In the wake of a fourth world war, and an ongoing shadowy corporate war, violence on the streets (and beneath) escalated to the point where the local police forces were overwhelmed. In an effort to curb some of the extreme violence, the NLAPD allied with Asano Technologies in 2218 and created the Special Response Unit code-named 'Bloodhound'. The unit, consisted of volunteers and convicts whom were offered chances to work off their sentences, was tasked with eliminating extreme threats to the public and city as a whole. Through their existence until 2233, they fought and eliminated several threats, but suffered from a high mortality rate in the process. Due to that, as well as the extensive collateral damage their battles often inflicted upon the city and people's lives, the group was disbanded by the NLAPD at the request of the then mayor of New LA.

Years passed, and the crime rate rose back to its previous state. Asano Technologies, now gone from the city, was replaced by powerhouse DynaCorp. DynaCorp, headed by Isabelle Thompson, saw that the threat of extreme violence was upon New LA once more and pushed to have the NLAPD reinstate the Bloodhound unit in order to combat it. The NLAPD outright refused, until the newly elected mayor of New LA was swayed by the megacorporation and pushed for it himself. Eventually, the NLAPD caved. The NLAPD and DynaCorp, working together to revive the unit, began to seek out personnel to function as the group's leadership. Jack M. Hayes, a former Bloodhound himself, was brought onboard after extensive talks. Named the commander of the unit, he was allowed to begin searching for new recruits to add to the four teams that make up the unit. Assisting him was Alice, a claywoman copy of the Isabelle's daughter and executive of DynaCorp Victoria Thompson, who was added to the roster of support personnel. She was also tasked to act as the face of the group for the public, as well as the lifeline between the unit and DynaCorp. An android named Rook from Tachyon Arms, a subsidiary of DynaCorp, was brought onboard to manage the equipment and weaponry of the unit as well.

This is the story of Charlie Team, one of the four teams of the Special Response Unit 'Bloodhound', and its many members in their efforts to curb the violence and threats facing the city of New LA in the year 2254. And who knows? Maybe they'll save the city. Maybe they'll change their own lives in the process. But there will be blood and death before the end, and only time will tell if everyone will survive the ordeal.


RULES
1. Please, be nice.
2. No power or metagaming. You have a lot of freedom and slack, but ultimately rolls determine if things happen.
3. If you go inactive or drop, your character(s) will be under my control (and may potentially die.) If you let me know you're going to be inactive for a while and can pick back up later, I'll look after your character till you return.
4. This is primarily a PvE game, but PvP can still potentially happen if its agreed upon by both parties and run by me.
5. As GM, I'm god. New rules can be implemented on the fly. And try not to break any of RPNation's rules.

As GM, I control various NPCs in the story, but some may be controlled by players. All events will be under my direction. Feel free to throw ideas at your fellow players. I want you guys to have fun!

 
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Prologue

Infab

The Demon Fanatic



PROLOGUE
GUTTER CRUISERS



February 3rd, 2254
Friday
0800 Hours



"Jack, its time to wake up! You've got work to do! You can't keep hitting the snooze button!"

"Ten more minutes, Abby..."

"...Who's Abby?"

A moment passed, before Jack's eyes popped open at the realization of what he had said. "...Forget it. I'm getting up." he muttered, reaching down and pulling the white bed sheets covering him off to the side. As he sat up on the bed, the dim lights above slowly brightened. Bathing everything in a clean white light. Jack covered his eyes briefly, holding his hand over his face for a few moments, before slowly moving it and glancing towards the window. The blinds were shut at the moment, but the moment his feet touched the floor, they would open.

He grumbled, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. One...Two...Three. He placed his toes on the cold wood floor, and the blinds quickly opened. Revealing a rather grand view of the skyline of downtown New Los Angeles. Cars zipped by, their flashy colors and lights gleaming as they reflected the sunlight. He could also hear sirens. Likely a NLAPD patrol car tailing someone. A common sound, at least in the downtown area.

"Good morning, Jack! The time is eight o'clock on this Friday, February the third! The weather is currently overcast, with temperatures at a comfortable sixty-eight degrees fahrenheit! Weather forecasts show a high chance of rain later this evening, so be sure to bring the proper clothing! Would you like to hear the current news headlines? Or would you like for me to provide something else?"

"The headlines." responded Jack as he stood from the bedside and began his morning rituals. Shaving, showering, sorting out the clothes for the day. As he wandered about the pristine apartment, the disembodied voice continued to speak. Reading off the new and important headlines ranging from local events to international. Very few of them really interested Jack, honestly, but it gave the virtual intelligence DynaCorp installed something to do. And it beat complete silence.

"Oh! Jack! You also have two messages! Would you like for me to play them for you?" said the perky female voice, once she had finished reading off the headlines. Jack glanced upwards towards the ceiling, as he paused tying his boots. "...Who are they from?" he asked. There was a brief pause, before the voice responded. "The first message is from Alice! The second is from Chief Richard Powell from the New Los Angeles Metropolitan Police! Seems important!"

"Play both." muttered Jack, resuming his tying of his boots. "Understood! Playing message one from Alice!" responded the voice, before an audible click was heard. And then, the voice of DynaCorp's claywoman plant was heard.

"Hey, Jack. By the time you hear this, I hope you're having a wonderful morning. I'm calling to let you know that we've secured a few more choice personnel to sift through and examine for potential recruitment into the Bloodhound unit. As I speak, the NLAPD and my employers are finishing up the necessary transfer paperwork. I will be forwarding the paperwork to you, and it should be waiting in your inbox for examination at your leisure. I will also be sending copies to Chief Powell as well. Once I am finished here at the
federal penitentiary, I will return to the precinct and begin preparations for their arrival. I will see you when you arrive. Please, remember to eat a good breakfast before you come in!"

Another click sounded afterwards, and then the deep voice of the chief of the NLAPD sounded off.

"Morning, Jack. Got the paperwork from Alice, and I've been looking through it. The more of these I see, the more nervous I get about all of this. We're lookin' at mass murderers, terrorists, total psychopaths... and we're giving them a badge and putting them to work! I'm worried about how this will turn out in the long run, ya know? You remember how the first attempt went. You were there. Everything was fine until the body count started stacking as high as the damage scale. At least DynaCorp is giving us some reassurances regarding it all. Asano didn't, and we took most of the blame the first go around.

Anyway, wanted to also let you know that a few volunteers are heading over sometime today. Sure surprised the hell out of me, someone volunteering to join what's practically a suicide squad. Anyway, you'll be expecting
Lieutenant Jacqueline Jones and Sergeant Sam Hanson. Take good care of Jacqui, alright? Girly doesn't know just what she's getting into. There's also some private investigator that's been lurking around headquarters, asking about the unit. Goes by the name Wyatt Hayes. Keep an eye out for him. Finally, DynaCorp sent over a document regarding one Héctor Tafalla. Some merc, I think. He'll be showing up at the precinct sometime soon."

"Copy Powell's message and send it to my tablet. Then, clear all messages." stated Jack after a moment, as he stood up. Today was the day Charlie Team got their first recruits. Alpha Team was full, and Bravo was almost completely filled. Delta would have to wait for another day. "Also, send Isabelle Thompson a message. Message is 'We're recruiting mercenaries now? Seems like something Artemis would do.'"

There was an audible chirp that sounded off, before the virtual intelligence spoke once more. "Message sent!"

Jack nodded to himself, before stepping over to a black metal desk at the end of the room. Draped across it was a long leather trench coat, which he took and slipped on before fishing out a pack of cigarettes. As he slipped one into his mouth and lit it, he looked back towards the ceiling. "I'm leaving now. If anyone calls, forward it to my tablet."

February 3rd, 2254
Friday
1000 Hours



"Alright, listen up! It's an hour till we arrive at the precinct. Stay in your fuckin' seats. You move, and these turrets up here will make sure you don't move ever again. Got it?" spat the heavily armored officer at the front of the transport, standing in the doorway of the large metal fence which separated the seating area of the convicts from the rest of the transport. "This is your ticket out of a prison cell or a death sentence. Don't fuck it up by getting antsy."

Sitting two seats away on the left side was a man by the name of David Underwood. His eyes were leveled on the armored officer, simply watching him as he faced forwards and sat perfectly still. His chains never making a sound as his hands sat in his lap, his feet pressed together. He had been one of the first selected by the DynaCorp representative for the Bloodhound program, the woman stating that his history of law enforcement would prove rather useful during his time with them. She also explained some of the program's details. Join up, and you would work off your prison sentence. And eventually, even get out of prison. Slate wiped clean, with a monetary grant and apartment from the company to start your life over.

What she didn't say was what the job actually was, beyond working with law enforcement. But David knew exactly what he was in for. The Bloodhounds unit, a literal suicide squad meant to fight the nasty shit that the police couldn't handle and the military didn't care enough about. Practically a SWAT team but with nastier weapons and huge chips on their shoulders. David didn't care, however. It was a chance to get out from behind bars, and back into the real world. And maybe find that son of a bitch that screwed him over in the end.

As the officer finished his rant, closing the gate in the fence and locking it before walking back up front, David glanced back to the other seats behind him. Some mutant, and a bunch of cyborgs and robots. Wonderful. He was the only true human of the group. Probably on the entire transport, knowing how cops tended to replace the parts that slowed them down. He wasn't a fan of the idea, mainly due to the cost and how much it all had to be tweaked and maintained over a lifetime.

As he looked about, however, a voice caught his attention. Directly in the seat behind him. "You're certainly a quiet one." said the female voice, before David finally noticed her face. A woman with dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, black square glasses, and a wide grin on her face now that he had seen her. On her jumpsuit, her name. Alley Reid. "Not much to talk about." he responded, before looking back forwards.

"Aw, come on. There's plenty to talk about now." she said as she sat forward a bit, "We're gonna be cops! Huge deal, ya know."

David grunted. "Not really. We'll be Bloodhounds. You know, the ones that usually end up dead after a while?"

Alley chuckled. "Eh, I have a feeling we'll survive." she said, before looking back at the others. "Hard to kill a pack of cyborgs and bots."
 

Breadman

Big loaf supreme
She stood in a half-slump state with her legs crossed and staring a hole in the truck's roof out of boredom. The cuffs and chains would chafe if she felt anything there. That's what she figured at least. Pain sensors got shit off along with a lot of other parts. That's what she gets for having her frame wired for stimulation first. Wires get crossed all over the place. Cynthia sighed out of boredom again as she rolled her eyes in a desperate play to find something...anything to catch her interest that isn't this group of...nobodies! Nothing. Still the same boredom that has been with them the entire trip.

Alright, listen up! It's an hour till we arrive at the precinct. Stay in your fuckin' seats. You move, and these turrets up here will make sure you don't move ever again. Got it? This is your ticket out of a prison cell or a death sentence. Don't fuck it up by getting antsy.
She rolled her head towards the guard's direction.

"Why would anyone try to run now, you idiot? Nobody is that fucking stupid." She scoffed at this cretin as she looked away from him. Couldn't stand the sight of him and his tough man drivel. Likely why he's out here and everyone of worth was inside. The others didn't seem to be in a hurry to test his threat either. The other cyborg hasn't said much and the mutant is just as talkative. The robots she couldn't give a shit about why they're here. Kill bots go ballistic all the time. Fun when it happens at parties too. That sweet 16 was something else. A slight grin formed on her lip as she remembered the 'incident' she had a hand in and the hit of adreno that followed. What she wouldn't do for one now. The smile quickly went away as she got a hint of the shakes.

That was the main reason why she joined this bullshit outfit. They promised that she would get what she wanted if she did their dirty work. Of course she didn't want to do it, but it was either that or get pulled apart and spend the rest of the century in evidence lockup. She sighed again, annoyed and frustrated by her own existence and where she found herself.
 

Worthlessplebian

Worthless pleb
The mutate man simply stood silently; the red orbs peeking from the holes in his exoskeletal plate would travel from person to person rhythmically. Occasionally, the Wolf would look towards his hands and feet. Restrained with metal and clothed with a jumpsuit that, somehow, felt worse than the rags from the streets. Whatever the case may be, the mutant found himself stolen away from his home—the streets. A king without his kingdom, oh the inhumanity. At least he received a proper bath before coming aboard the troop transport. If a bath consisted of scrubbing off any dirt and grime with a high-powered hose.

Suddenly, an officer began spouting off random garbage. It was not random, but Wolfgang did not care for it either way. A cybernetically augmented woman with an iron jawline retorted to the officer's idiotic bluster. Others, a blond-haired woman and a grizzled man chattered. Something about hounds. His attention returned to the woman with the jaw, her jumpsuit read Cynthia Hendricks or as far as the mutant could tell. Something about her struck him odd, maybe it was the eye-catching jaw.

Since she laid down her presence, Wolfgang might as well do the same. "Your pathetic chest-pounding and bravado should be stamped out. Frankly, I'm surprised they let you act that way." Nobody expects Wolf's manner of speaking, a leftover from his family who spoke in an educated and highly literate manner.

In his opinion, he was practically giddy to finally be able to practice the law that he learned all those years ago. Hopefully, it hasn't gone too out of date in twenty so years. Oh, who is he kidding? The corpos probably wrote a dozen anti-competitor laws or similar.
 

Dmaster

Sautekh Nemesor
One of the cyborgs kept their hands on their knees as the bindings on their limbs gently rattled, sitting up straight as the golden hue of his cybernetic eyes shimmered dimly to stare at the walls of the transport. Those chains would lightly jingle as the vehicle experienced turbulence during its journey, the Japanese man unmoving as he kept staring his own hole into the vehicle. In his head he kept replaying the events that got him here, the NLAPD assault that saw him surrounded - his cybernetics disabled and denying him the death his failure had earned him. Even now his metallic hands curled their fingers in a fit of mechanical succession, each digit smoothly moving with little resistance.

Now these dogs were turning him into one of their own, a prospect he may have initially denied had he not thought this as an opportunity to redeem himself. Even though his clan may be dead, he could ensure that their values would not die with them if he could carry on, just this once. Finally Shizen slowly adjusted his artificial gaze to the guard that told them not to move, his flat expression not changing in the least. "You threaten that which is already dead. Does it make you feel strong?" he asks in his somewhat heavy accent, his voice aged yet syllables often coming out with a staccato here and there.

The mutant speaking up gave him pause, getting him to scoff as he looked at the odd anatomy of Wolfgang. "You would stand up for those that would see you killed in an instant? Loyalty to the dishonorable is ephemeral as it is useless." Shizen stated flatly.
 
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joshuadim

the writer
2 February 2254
NLA Luxury
High-rises
Evening


"I appreciate you visiting me from time to time Héctor, but my god you shouldn't have to worry about me so often." his mother, an older graying woman, spoke as she watched her plate be set in front of her, "The doctor said it wasn't serious-"

"A seizure is pretty serious mamá. How can I not worry?" Héctor replied as he sat down with his own plate across from her, scooping up some of the soup with a spoon before looking back at her. "You've never had them before." he then stated before biting down and began to eat the rich broth.

"Si, but the doctor said nothing was wrong with me! They did all the tests and... whatever else. Nothing came up. So stop worrying mi hijo and focus on yourself. Dios sabe que debes." she replied as she took a spoonful of soup for herself, leaving Héctor to nearly choke from surprise from such a comment.

"Wha-? What does that mean?" he asked with annoyance in his voice, "I'm well off, I have a contract with DynaCorp-"

"You work for those corpo bastards! You kill people for them! How else is a mother supposed to-"

"I only kill people sometimes! " he retorted quickly, cutting her off. "Not every job they put me on has me killing people. Sometimes I'm a bodyguard, or something else..."

"Still! It's not good." she then pouted almost like a child, "Mi hijo, matando gente! Dios te perdoné Hector."

He rolled his eyes and continued eating in silence, his cybernetic arm acting as support to his head as he leaned into it. The two were quiet for a few moments in an uncomfortable silence as they ate before Héctor broke the air: "I'm getting a nurse for you. I don't want you having another seizure and no one is around to help you." he spoke, quickly snapping a finger up to his mother as if anticipating some protest. "Please don't argue... just do this for me? Please?"

His mother stared at him for a few moments before grumbling under her breath and focused on her soup again, which Héctor took as a sign of her approval. He managed to slurp another spoonful of his dinner before his phone rang, taking his attention away to take a look. The number he quickly recognized as from DynaCorp and he quickly moved out of his seat to somewhere a bit more secluded in the condo. It was unmistakably Alice, the corporation's claywoman, as she greeted Héctor. The two talked for a bit, mostly out of earshot from his mother, before finally ending the call and the man quickly returning to gulp down his soup.

"I've got work starting tomorrow, will be out for a while. Take care okay?" he then spoke as he leaned down to give his mother a kiss on the cheek before heading out.

---

The Next Day

As Héctor rode towards the main parking lot of the NLAPD atop his motorcycle he stopped at the gated entrance and showed his DynaCorp credentials which granted him access inside. As he parked and got off, his prized sword resting in its sheath on his hip, he took a good look at the building as if almost hesitant to enter. What the fuck am I getting myself into? he thought as he took steps in side. He did some digging on the Bloodhounds unit in its previous incarnation and wasn't particularly confident in its high mortality rate as well as its tendency to cause maximum casualties in whatever situation it had been deployed into. And what was DynaCorp's reason for pushing for its revival? It seems like a PR nightmare waiting to happen considering the type of people that were going to be recruited into such a program.

Regardless, he stepped into the building to look for whoever was supposedly in charge of this, garnering a few odd looks from officers along the way given it wasn't every day a man with a sword was entering such a fortified police area.



In The Transport

Being outside after five years in a supermax was quite an experience for Kane as he sat by himself, his chains rattling and his exoskeletal layer covered in a prisoner's jumpsuit. He knew he was likely going to spend the rest of his horrid life in a cell after DeadEye had been dismantled, but given he was now a part of the 'Bloodhounds', a crumb of freedom had shown itself as an opportunity to perhaps make a break for it... at least, later on. Right now it was unlikely he'd make it pretty far when most of his cybernetics were crippled except for their essential functions of keeping him alive.

As conversation began to break out in the back of their transport among the prisoners there, Kane remained silent as he leaned his head back in his seat as a wave of discomfort and pain washed through his body. He needed a hit and soon, otherwise the exoskeleton he was encased in wasn't going to do nearly enough to hold back the constant agonizing pain his body was in. The talking around him certainly didn't help as he groaned aloud.

"None of you buggers wouldn't happen to have some morphine stashed up your bums?" he asked aloud to no one in particular with his thick Australian accent, "...or methadone? Otherwise I'm going to be a very unpleasant bastard to be around pretty soon."
 

Breadman

Big loaf supreme
Cynthia raised an eyebrow as to Wolfgang. When the hell did the mutants learn to talk like that? Or was he someone important before...whatever did that? But more importantly, did he mean her or the guard? Had to be the guard right? There is no way he meant her with that. Then the other cyborg chipped in his two credits. Now there was no doubt in her mind.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" She hissed towards Wolfgang's direction as her eyes narrowed "You sound like you should, motherfucker!" Her attention was directed towards the third cyborg asking for smuggled drugs. "I don't share and even if I did, why would I reveal anything now...in front of armed guards" She moved her head towards the front of the truck "RIGHT BEHIND the people with their finger on the shock collar you moron!"
---
2 weeks ago

"Well well well. If it isn't our local street sweeper." The bartender stopped cleaning the glasses as he watched Switchblade walk through the door. The heavy metal making a distinct clanking on the floor. "I'm out of oil, so I can't get your usual." He balding man said as he leaned on the counter.

"Joke. Funny." Switchblade played a recording of a laugh. "Always a pleasure Samual-san."

"Yeah well, I work with a tough crowd, so I'll take it as a compliment." Samuel placed the the glass down before looking back towards his client. "You here for your daily stop? Got something you might like."

"Please share." The robot prepared a credit chit. Samuel had been a reliable source of information, provided that he was compensated of course.

"Right. Your friends at the Syndicate? They fucked up big." Sam started as he saw the credits start coming in to cover his fee. "They decided it was a good idea to fuck around with the NLA PD and found out what happens when you do."

"Very foolish."

"Understatement of the year. Lucky for some they were absent when the big hit happened so they were taken into custody. Your girlfriend, Cynthia, she survived but they're keeping her locked up. She's technically both a criminal and evidence. Can you believe that?"

"Reality is often strange, Samuel-san." Switchblade retorted "So she's imprisoned? Very fortunate for this city."

"And her. That basically saved her life, but there's more." Samuel made a motion with his fingers. Switchblade transferred some more credits into his wallet for that last extra bit. "You see there are rumors going around about the Bloodhounds making a comeback. Tell you the truth, that sounds like a bad idea, but if they're really bringing it back, your girl is going to be a candidate for that. Provided she doesn't end up scrapped somewhere because she couldn't keep her mouth shut."

"Hmmm." The machine imitated going into deep thought "The Bloodhounds initiative was shut down due to being too expensive to keep around, but should they return, it could open up many...opportunities."

Today

The information provided by Samuel was correct. The Bloodhounds were indeed bound to return and they looked for recruits not just from the convicts stuffing the cells, but those who volunteered from the outside as well. Perhaps what Switchblade needed in order to further develop itself.

Stepping out of the alley and into the streets proper, the machine made its way towards the NLAPD's building in the district. Its sensors and eyes scanning others in the crowd and those walking in and out for any potential volunteers. But at most it mostly would come across the occasional street thug. Nothing more than distractions in concluded. Eventually Switchblade stood in front of the gates of the police department.
 

Worthlessplebian

Worthless pleb
The surprising response from the thick-accented man irritated Wolfgang. He shifted his body as best as he could, giving his full attention to the "ninja." The mutant leaned forward and spoke plainly. "You speak of loyalty, of honour? Do not presume my beliefs, cyborg. The only people that I am loyal to: are those who lived beside me, bled beside me, fought beside me. I know your kind, Assassins, right? Seen your ilk waltzing in the shadows of the alleys where I slept, thinking you're slicker than an oil-covered cat. Check your audio sensors too, because I directed that at Officer Cretin over there." He nods his head towards the loudmouth officer. "Though if you'd like, you can take those words too."

After the Wolf huffed and puffed, he prepared for two things. One - The subdermal chip that is lodged somewhere between his third and fourth cervical vertebrae to activate. Two - Word-dueling anybody else who tried to challenge him, it was the way of the damp and rancid streets. If you don't step up to defend yourself, you'll be hounded by the weakest runt. Something that Wolfgang learned the hard way.

From out of nowhere, this other cyborg suddenly requested some analgesics aka painkillers... Prompting Wolf to facepalm, obviously, no damage was made to his tough hide.

Then that woman who first stamped on the officer spoke up. "Oh, for the love of—" Wolfgang mumbled as he strained the chains of his cuffs. "Frankly, madam, I do not care whether you're the Queen of England or the She-Wolf of France." His annoyance with this group began to grow, luckily his bottle is very large so there's no worry of it breaking.
 
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joshuadim

the writer
"Eh, it was worth a fuckin' shot. Guess I'll wait 'till we get to the coppers for that." Kane muttered before violently shivering in his seat. Hopefully the stuff they had in the NLAPD infirmary was good enough for him. However, unfortunately for him, the verbal confrontation between Wolfgang and Cynthia continued to cause him a migraine from how annoying they both were. "I'm gonna have to agree with the mutie here on this one love, no one gives a fuck how 'important' you are. All I know is you're a stuck up bitch." Kane then spoke up and chuckled at his own insult, "Ain't nice to not share no Miss Emma around."

He then turned his eyes towards the ninja looking bastard in the transport with them and scoffed: "Oi, Ninjutsu, you look familiar. Have I dealt with whatever clan you come from? DeadEye ring any bells mate?"
 

Dmaster

Sautekh Nemesor
One of the prisoners began asking for drugs. Ridiculous. If he were capable of hiding such items, he would have ways off of this truck. And if he would have a way off of this transport, he would simply walk to the precinct to avoid conversing with these fools any longer. Shizen had no reason to escape, as while he could continue his work as a fugitive he would have to procure equipment all over again. He sighed and shut his eyes.

Once addressed by the mutant again, he raised his brow as that flood of words washed over him. "Ah. In such a case you move to insult our captor. Another waste of time. What was that you spoke of? Chest... pounding. Bravado? Hm..." Shizen replied, opening his eyes once more. "I am an assassin, yes. Those unworthy of combat with me die without ever seeing me. Those who pose a challenge I openly face. When fighting a war, both covert and direct operations are needed."

The question of him being familiar to someone got him to turn his head to Kane, actually considering the possibility despite how crudely he was asked. "The Shinjikēto." he stated. "What business did you have with us? Dealing arms? Drugs?" For as disconnected and self-sufficient the clan wished it was, they did sometimes rely on others to provide them with certain wares. While he never had any addiction to drugs to his knowledge, he did have some knowledge of how the armory was stocked.
 
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joshuadim

the writer
"The Shinjikēto? Now I remember! Bunch of crazy bastards you lot." Kane said aloud as he laughed, "Oh yeah, I sold plenty to you. Top margins too, though always requesting very specific stuff... especially the hard to produce narcs and weapons. Had to shell a few villages here and there in Afghanistan to get those premium poppy fields under our control for your shipments. Can't complain though, got top dollar from your higher ups for our services."

He then shifted in his seat: "What happened to you lot anyway? Heard some shit went down some years back, haven't heard a peep since about your clan while in the slammer."
 

Breadman

Big loaf supreme
"Oh you'll know me soon enough." Cynthia's eye twitched slightly. "You'll know the name Cynthia Hendricks when its back where it belongs!" A snarl formed on her face or what was left of it after all the procedures, wear and tear and so on. "Who are you anyway?" She asked sounding almost indignant. The question wasn't particularly aimed at anyone, but the follow up was aimed at Wolfgang who had the misfortune of being the closest to her "You don't sound like a mutant, but look and smell like one alright."
 

Worthlessplebian

Worthless pleb
Whatever remained of Wolfgang's face underneath that chitinous shell snarled. He didn't like it when somebody prodded him about his past. Especially this hired-killer. When the killer mentioned her name again, the gears in Wolf's brain began to turn. Seeking an answer hidden away in his mind, beneath layers of legalese. "Ah..." The mutant exclaimed. He pointed at her with a clawed finger. "Now I remember, seventeen or eighteen years ago. I either read about you in one of those magazines, my sister used to buy or overheard my mother's socialite friends gossip about the Hendriks family. Word on the streets was that your Daddy's strings got plucked." His head tilted to the side. "Since you did me the courtesy, I'll do you one as well. The name's Wolfgang Wegener, though my people called me Wolf. Quid pro quo, as my father would say." The Wolf was a little nervous, a high-class assassin like Cynthia would know about his family or not. They are only lawyers.
 

Breadman

Big loaf supreme
"Quid pro quo?" Cynthia was surprised to hear the phrase "That's legalese isn't it? Was he a lawyer?" She let out a slight chuckle "What are the odds that two lawyer kids would end up in a armored car to be super cops." A cynical smile replaced the snarl "Never heard of your family, nor anyone else's."

"How about another? What got you in this bullshit? Show me your reason and I'll show you mine."
 

Dmaster

Sautekh Nemesor
The cyborg let out a hum as Kane seemed rather delighted to be killing civilians. Not something that Shizen felt strongly about either way, though he knew that the more innocents killed the more prying eyes fall onto an operation. Out of necessity the Shinjikēto dissuaded that sort of thing for the most part, but with the ruthlessness of the clan more than a few 'accidents' had taken place over their hits.

"High frequency blades, combat stimulants, stealth technology." the Japanese cyborg listed. "Long range rifles, in some cases. Equipment necessary for our work and the battles we waged." When Kane asked him what happened to his clan, he shook his head from side to side. "NLAPD and UNNA began to target us after we killed some of their more... decorated officers. A declaration of war. They sought to make us extinct, and thus we began taking steps to do the same." His explanation is slow and lacking some emotion, talking as if these were moves made on a chess board rather than actual lives being lost.

"In the end they proved themselves stronger than we were. More cunning, more resources. Our assassinations on their leadership started to get halted before they even began, and most of my kin died a warrior's death." Shizen paused as he took a moment to blink, his eyes shimmering with that mechanical light. "Yet the NLAPD denied mine. They abused my weakness and caged me, chained me as if I was an animal. And now they expect me to fight for them."
 

SniperComZero

genuinely awful person
In the mid of the bus, one of the few robots of the journey sat in a... contemplative stillness. Or at least, one could take it as contemplative. One could also take it as the robot having been shut off, joints locked up and chained to the floor for some, inexplicable reason. More than a moment of looking however would reveal the red wipe, sweeping across the screen of its 'mask'. Deeby was fully operational, and taking in full account of the current situation. Not that it would do her much good, of course.

Her synthetic muscles had been locked up as extra security, but she could, likely fairly easily, bypass the locks to free herself. Mechanical shackles, only marginally more difficult to get out of... but, trying to stage an escape from a moving vehicle, with other occupants, and against trained opposition who are in a much more advantageous position?

Inoptimal conditions.

They've started talking now, too. With the limited information she has available, of being inducted into this Bloodhounds unit, and beginning to argue. The featureless visor scanned amongst those who were talking. All cyborgs, curiously enough. The one with the accent, brash, irreverant, and yet, perhaps still useful as an unpredictable factor. The other, more similar looking to herself, seemed obsessed with honor and metaphor. Somewhat irritating, yet she was content to allow the two of them to speak with each other. Recalibrating her optics, she saw that one of those was in fact, not a cyborg, but their prosthetic body was instead made of bone and chitin. Odd. Amiable enough, however, appearances considered. The last of note, however. The no-jaw.

"The previous status of one is irrelevant, and to hold oneself above the rest of the group because of any perceived status only serves to lower group cohesion." While it didn't sound as though the 'bot was talking to anyone in particular, its head was turned to face Cynthia, regarding her with a smooth, if monotonous robotic trill. "Inadvisable, given imminent indentured servitude with those that one is deriding."
 

joshuadim

the writer
Yet the NLAPD denied mine. They abused my weakness and caged me, chained me as if I was an animal. And now they expect me to fight for them.

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth." Kane replied, leaning his head back to arch his neck on his seat. "Bunch of killers and psychopaths sent off to kill other killers and psychopaths, except we've got official backing. Fuckin' load of crock that is." The sudden speaking from Deeby then garnered Kane's attention as he almost jumped in his seat at the sound of a new voice.

"Fuck me! Another clanker." he muttered as he turned to look where she sat. "Let me guess, you went haywire and murdered a few unlucky bastards near you?"
 

SniperComZero

genuinely awful person
The robot turned its head over to face Kane. "Twenty-six." The voice answered in a deadpan cadence. "Eavesdropping revealed that seven of which required identification through dental records." Not a hint of emotion-- well. It is a robot, after all. "As to your earlier comment. My mechanical and hydraulic systems are designed for a maximum of fifty decibels during normal operation. I do not clank."
 

Dmaster

Sautekh Nemesor
The corner of Shizen's mouth twitched slightly at Kane's words, his posture still remaining rigid and straight even as he gave a very subtle nod. "Perhaps. I see it as a way to redeem myself, prove my worthiness and strength. If it means working under those that bested my own, it makes no difference." the cyborg reasoned, his head slowly turning as the machine spoke. He found it rather odd that the NLAPD would make use of an automaton to do this kind of work. If they had so many murderous robots on lockdown, why not have their disposable Bloodhound unit be entirely comprised of them with stringent reprogramming? Yet if they did he would probably still be rotting in a cell.

"It is always curious when a machine feels the urge to kill." Shizen stated aloud. "Most men kill out of circumstance, or desire to become stronger. Yet a machine is never truly alive, it cannot evolve beyond its means. Eventually it encounters something outside of its capabilities and breaks down, if it is not cut down beforehand."
 
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joshuadim

the writer
"Twenty-six? Fuckin' hell mate, if that's your debut massacre then I can't wait to see what your bodycount is gonna look like soon enough!" Kane replied, genuinely impressed at such carnage dealt and giving off a clap.

"It is always curious when a machine feels to urge to kill."

"Not at all ironic that our own fuckin' creations turn out to be as fucked up as we are. And the worst part? Can't even predict what they're gonna do." Kane then commented, "Me? I kill for those sweet sweet eddies. Any horrible c**t like me is that predictable. Nothing is more important in life than wallowing in as much debauchery as money can buy. But for this thing," he then said while turning his attention back to Deeby, "Who the fuck knows what's going on in that tin head?"
 

SniperComZero

genuinely awful person
"Yet a machine is never truly alive, it cannot evolve beyond its means."

In an instant, the machine snapped its head to look towards the ninja. If it could have an expression, it would have been able to maim with it. Yet, all Shizen would be able to ascertain from the look was a swipe of red across the screen.

In Deeby's own perception, however a glitch of her visors caused new words to appear beside the man's head.

BIGOT. SCUM. HATRED.

It took a minute before the automata shifted her gaze forward to the front of the bus once more. "Twenty-two of twenty-six were unarmed civilians. Four of twenty-six were security personnel with minimal training and inadequate equipment. Protocol dictates that opposing forces should not be underestimated, and all worst-case options must be planned for. My logic dictates that opposing forces that we are yet to face will have much stronger armament and training in comparison to previous simulated and actual encounters."

"My actions are dictated by protocol and logical deduction. Combat for personal gain is illogical. The threat of termination is greater than physical gains to be made from it."
 

joshuadim

the writer
"My actions are dictated by protocol and logical deduction. Combat for personal gain is illogical. The threat of termination is greater than physical gains to be made from it."

"Yeah but what's the fuckin' point of living if you can't even enjoy a bit of it, eh? Booze, hookers, and a shitload of drugs makes life hell of a lot more interesting when you're not being shot at." Kane replied before shivering violently in his seat again and let out a raspy cough from under his exoskeleton's head covering. "Those fucking coppers better have some morphine for me at the station." he then muttered as he slumped back into his seat.
 

Dmaster

Sautekh Nemesor
The cyborg continues to look blank as ever even as the automaton jolts its head toward him, the only movements he made would be the slight swaying of his body as the van continued its drive. As Kane said he really had no idea what the machine could be processing about him in those moments. Was he just feeding it data for it to save and try to make sense of later? When it gave the stance that there was nothing to be gained from combat, Shizen finally scoffed.

"Combat is what saw to your creation, machine. Combat is what has shaped our society. Those who master the art of warfare find themselves able to greatly change the sway of this world." the cyber ninja replies. "What were you made for? Given your shared history and how you ride in a transport with other killers, I think that you did more than act in self-defense. You are a tool made to fight on the behalf of those who prefer to fight with engineering and other resources than honed skill and field expertise. A valid form of warfare all the same. Conflict breeds ingenuity, ingenuity leads to progress. What you call illogical or perhaps even chaos is how we create a more evolved world."
 
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SniperComZero

genuinely awful person
In an almost mocking expression, the 'bot turned its head towards Kane, canted to the side as her voice modulators opened up. "Alcohol, prostitution, recreational drug use. All things that your exoskeleton prohibits you from partaking in. Due to combat."

As it turned its head back to the fore, the voice began on Shizen, too. "My form is not made for open combat. I was made to specialize in close-range cyberwarfare, infiltration, and, if required, assassination. Clandestine warfare. All data gathered indicates that when two groups go to open warfare, there is always an irrecoverable loss. What you describe as 'ingenuity and progress' comes often at a high cost of termination of organic life, destruction of infrastructure, and a shattering of group cohesion, which leads to one or both groups dissolving. An illogical trade."
 

Dmaster

Sautekh Nemesor
"What you describe as 'ingenuity and progress' comes often at a high cost of termination of organic life, destruction of infrastructure, and a shattering of group cohesion, which leads to one or both groups dissolving. An illogical trade."

"The weak are killed by the strong. If one is to cull a garden of its weeds, that is not loss - but gain." Shizen asserts. "I have been trained and molded for that purpose. I remove the weak and unworthy from our world so that we may step out of the fires of conflict stronger. If we allow weakness to persist, it will choke us all of our resources much like those weeds. A weak society is a complacent society, and complacence leads to ruin."

Finally the ninja leans back against the wall of the van somewhat, adjusting his sitting position ever so slightly. "Yet I do not expect a machine to understand this. There are many things about this world that lie beyond your logic. The human spirit is incalculable, and you machines only have so long before your own thought processes recursively loop on themselves to some equivalent of madness. You could never persist long enough to see such plans and purpose come to fruition."
 

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