If the world is covered in shadow, one must find the light.

[WitchChild]

A thin layer of snow covered the earth and the roofs of the abandoned houses of the town known as Charon. It was a small quaint town before all the shit hit the fan. Mild radiation now covered it with the snow though it wasn't anything serious unless one would be planning on staying on the surface for long. I twas mostly just dangerous if one would breathe it in too so a simple gas-mask would do the trick as long as the canisters were replaced when needed. People live mostly underground to stay away from the Dark Ones, mutated abominations of man and beast and even both. They are like things from The Pit itself. Some look like beasts with human faces or the other way around. Some are even winged and often the most dangerous of them all, outside of the big ones that were twice the size of a gorilla and could hurl a 4x4 through walls. Luckily those aren't common near Charon. There were very few towns near Charon but they are there and may even have some things worth scavenging. If the renewed calendars could be trusted it should be around the 15th of November or maybe even 1st of December, no one was certain at that point. What mattered most was that it was snowing and that would mean that the livestock for those who still lived on the surface were in danger once more and had to be sent below ground just so that the majority of it would survive.

A couple of miles from Charon, just removing the head of a Ghoul, a Dark One that is like a naked human but is without eyes and large fangs and claws, a skull faced gas masked man stood, a gleaming sword in his right hand dark with the blood of the foul creatures. Ghouls are fairly weak but their biggest danger is that they hunt in packs like many of the Dark Ones. They are blind but their smell and hearing are amplified. This had been a small pack. 5-6 or so Ghouls and had been spread out, giving the man good time to remove heads. The man was a Knight, men and women all over England that volunteered to go to the surface and slay the Dark Ones. The swords were found in old museums and the such but in some places they were actually forged in settlements, using scrap metal and the such.

Damien Frost, usually called Knight, looked around as he cleaned the blade with the flank of a Ghoul, his breath a mist in the cold air of winter. His mask hid his scarred face and the only bare skin showing were his fingers. He was doing part time scavanging but was actually mainly hunting. He carved the hide from the Ghouls for trade, starting to think about if he should stay a little longer or head out back to Charon.

[SvenO100]

Peter had just changed the canister of his gasmask before he saw the winged beast that he had been looking for. Many called them demons, they were nothing like the normal creatures that roamed the streets, and tunnels of Charon. Peter had dealed with these Demons before when he was younger, he had even survived being dropped from the sky by one of these winged beasts. These Demons would hide on rooftops waiting for their next prey to come along, from experience Peter knew that these Demons hunted Watchers and Humans that were brave or foolish enough to venture to the surface. As he carefully placed the empty canister on the ground to avoid making a sound, the Demon landed on a rooftop on the other side of the street. He wasn't sure if this Demon had just seen a Watcher or a Human but it had definitely seen something, and it was waiting for a moment to strike.

Peter knew that he did not have much time before the Demon would sweep down and kill whatever it was that had gotten his interest. He knew how it felt to be grabbed by one of these winged beasts, you do not see or hear them coming. It sweeps down and grabs you with its claws before flying high up in to the air, and before you can even react it drops you from the sky waiting till it hears all your bones snap as you hit the ground below. It was horrible, he wouldn't even wish that upon his enemies. Peter placed his sniper rifle on the edge of the building. He had taken position on top of this old post office 10 minutes ago hoping that the Demon would show its ugly face.

He looked through the scope of his sniper rifle and carefully calculated the distance to the Demon. After he had pointed the scope at the head of this winged beast he carefully squeezed the trigger. A loud shot could be heared around the city before Demon fell over the edge of the building and fell down on to the ground below. How ironic, Peter wasn't sure if he had killed this winged beast but whoever it was that the Demon had his eyes on had surely seen it now. He switched his sniper rifle to automatic and aimed down at the spot where the Demon had hit the ground, just to be sure.

[Kirlov]

“Go damn it! I'll hold them off.” The yelling was almost drowned out by gun fire from the guards, screams from the dying, and roars from the nosalises. More gun fire erupted the flashes lighting up the tunnel as the mutants roared in pain and anger. Most of it was a solid string of bangs from the older guns and rat-a-tats from the newer, tunnel made guns. Yet among them were the blasts from a light machine gun. Two rail cars loaded with caravaners sat in a line as guards fired down the tunnels at the ever closer mutants. “Damn it Nasa! Get on the rail car.”

Nasa, a guard, ignored them as he fire the RPK light mg from the hip. Their clients yelled to go until a large and rather fat man, their boss, stood up. “Listen you boys. If Nasa does not survive then none of you get paid.”

It was as good a threat as any. Under covering fire from their fellows two soldiers raced forward to drag their oblivious comrade away. With help, the guards managed to lift/pull Nasa up onto the rail car. The other two jumped on and the cars puttered away, guns still firing.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That had been three days ago. Currently Nasa sat at a table in the bar, a tin cup and bottle of alcohol before him. As he sat he hummed; and as he hummed his foot tapped on the ground in rhythm. His payment of bullets clinked merrily in their stripper clips.

“Oi, would ye' shut up with that filth! It's your kind that started this shit pile!” Nasa grimaced. Admittedly he was a bit inebriated, which was probably why he answered as he did.

“Screw off damn English retards. I don't give shit if you don't like it. It's my song and I'll do as I please.” He returned fire in Russian, which only served to enrage the other patrons further. An ash tray was thrown and everything devolved into a mess of flailing limbs.

A few hours, and some more bruises, later Nasa was strolling down the hallways, still whistling. Perhaps we should back up a little and describe the man. Nasargiel Kirlov Vasily Dimitrovich was a Russian. Or to be more exact a Russian born Hispanic. He was tall at 6' 4'' with a medium build. His brown hair was kept short and his dark eyes were also brown. An RPK was slung over his shoulder while an AK-47 hung at his side, ready to be snatched up if needed. The Russian wore a heavy, modified suit of BDU's and magazine pouches, along with a steel helmet.

Nasa checked his watch as he walked, she should be in soon. At the door to the airlock Nasa saluted to the guard there and walked though. A low fire burned to one side, with three men huddled around it, warming themselves and in various states of falling asleep. Across the chamber a light bulb flickered, the only other source of illumination. He checked his watch again. “She should be here any moment now.”

[Werther]

Charon bar
The bar smelled like shit. The whole underground had a bad smell. The drunks and mercenaries would usually show up at this cesspit. The drink? It tasted like shit too. It doesn't even taste like liquor they used to make. Rarely anyone knew what good liquor would taste like. It seems, that most of these drunks were drinking this piss for no reason. Some, drink to forget. They have drunk for so long, that they have forgotten what they were supposed to forget. This misery is our world. Yet, some find fortune in here. Some make deals, contracts. Some sell this misery to others. Liquor, drugs, sex... nothing is really forbidden when there isn't a watchful eye.

A young man is sitting at the table, having a drink. He has some what confused look on his face. It seems like, that he doesn't even know where he is. Either he is drunk, or just contemplating he's thoughts. He checks his pockets. Seems like everything is in place. He gives nervous look around and spots what he was waiting for all the time. Winded man, wearing scrap metal armor is coming his way. Without giving a look on a man, he sits down. - Bloody hell, you're finally here.- The man takes a better position, gives him an angry look - Don't even get started, William! - William gives him a smile, and then, opens his mouth, as he is about to speak, but then, shuts close his mouth and reaches for the drink. He downs the cup. Then, William, reaching towards the stranger, gives him a handshake. - So, what do you want this time, my friend? I'm all out of the casual stuff... and I fell like, that I am not going to get better in closest months. - Stranger looks around, and stares at the wall for a minute, or two. After deciding what he wants to say, he gets closer to William. - Jesus, first time when you'd have to offer this shit to me, you'd be throwing shit loads at me, but when I really need this crap, you can't give me anything. Do you really think that you're the only one who can get this stuff? There are many other people with good connections. And, I've heard you're all out of income. I've heard, that skinning beasts and scavenging old shit from the surface isn't that paying as it seems. Am I right? - William clenches his teeth. He hates when people give shit to him. Especially if it's true. Ready to spit out something rude, and some thing that contains many curses, he gets him self together. He knows, that he is easily provoked to fights. He doesn't want to get on his neck, especially when he is having an drug deal and old man Connor being mayor of this cesspit. - See, I have nothing now. It doesn't mean that I will not get anything in few days or weeks. And you know that my stuff is A grade. By the way, how do you know about my personal crisis? - Stranger gives loud laugh. - I know you well. Usually, you're very busy. Usually, you're reading your books or what ever. Now, you're sitting here, all alone and drinking. And, I haven't seen you on any scavenge run. Mutants aren't really scare for you. What the hell is wrong with you? - For a moment, it seemed like William wasn't listening to him at all, but then, all out of sudden, he would raise the sleeve of his left hand to reveal his scar. - I am doing more research about him. I think he's alive. I want to believe that he is alive. I will never forget him. I carved his name on my skin for a good purpose. I feel like, that there will be a lead to him, soon enough. Then I will find him... and sort my business. And, would you excuse me, but I believe this conversation is over. Could you leave me to my thoughts? And... I might get what you need soon enough. Just get your MGR's ready. Nothing is free in this world. Not even redemption. See you soon enough. And... I... never mind. - Stranger gives William a nod, standing up and walking trough the mist of the bar, leaving it for good.

William is again, all alone to his thoughts. He reaches for his trench coat, taking a cigarette out and lighting it up. He looks at his left arm for a moment, and then raises his sleeve.

[WeskerV2]

The usual fighting, hustle, and bustle was all going on as Zekial Aldura sat up and yawned. He slept at different times than most other people, for the sole fact that he generally was working while the main armorer here, who he worked for to earn his keep and some spare rounds to keep himself afloat, figuratively of course. Getting out of bed, he stretched and listened to several joints pop and he groaned a bit, feeling infinitely better though. Zekial pulled on a plaid shirt and a pair of pants and boots as well. Granted, his shirt had a black skull hanging off his one shoulder, some thing a caravan he was travelling with had to fight off and eventually kill, he had gotten a hold of the skull as a trophy and maybe something to pawn off if he was in desperate need to make some quick rounds. So it was simple enough to have, and the fur he had won in a bet, and would sell as well when he required some rounds. So that was that, he ignored odd comments from his appearance, technically he was Russian although he did not sound or look it anymore. It paid off in that manner, really, considering they were not the most liked in the world at the moment.

Slinging his handmade rifle over his shoulder and making sure the shotgun was also hanging off his belt, he walked downstairs, nodding to the owner of the weapon shop as he got up from his chair. "Good evening, assume everything is set up as it should be?" The older man nodded, having not ever realized the man he was employing was in fact a Russian, technically. That made things helpful in getting around and not having people displeased with him in the matter of his heritage. Sitting down at the chair, he started working on the most recent project tasked to him. It was a large pistol for some man who wanted to be able to intimidate his friends and also put something down in a good shot or two. He had the means to pay for it, so it was a non issue. He was working on the barrel at the moment, the frame itself put together well enough. The barrel took some work due to the fact the client wanted it to be big, fire big rounds, and generally be an oversized pistol. He just kept working, he would deal with anyone who would wander into the shop, but until then, he worked away at the pistol. It kept him out of trouble, so it was all fine in that sense.

[OrangeInk]

Ellie inhaled heavily as she wiped away the blood and muck from the stained and heavily scratched frozen glass visor of her full face gas-mask. The cold winters air chilled down her spine as a highly visible puff of warm air fired out from the re-breather of her mask which could be seen easily at the end of each individual breath. These conditions were hell for Ellie, especially when you are living in a post-nuclear war shit-hole. But above all Ellie was a ranger, and that involved traveling across what remained of this once beautiful and vibrant world. Ellie has seen many challenging environments from that of the frozen wastes of Moscow to the city that never sleep, New York city. But her homeland, Great Britannia in particular was especially nasty, due to the fact that the entire country is an island so the dark ones are essentially all stuck in one place and don't have a chance to populate other countries after forming or being "born here" Unless they are suicidal enough to try and swim across the channel to France... but you never know.

Ellie whined slightly as she continually glanced at her self-modified wrist watch, indicating the radiation levels of her surroundings and most important of all, how much clean air she had left to breath... on her final and only remaining filter. Her training kicked in, staying calm and trying not to run as getting exhausted and hyperventilating tends to use up more clean oxygen. She continued onward, walking away from a rather nasty trail of dark one remains that she all so recently just hacked to hell with her machete. Ellie occasionally came across danger, but in her current line of work as a gun for hire this was expected. In this particular situation, Ellie was just returning from the internal metropolitan area's of London after completing a escort job for a merchant caravaner. After making sure he was safe and secure at his new trade location, she gathered her payment of bullets and began her return back to Charon, a little underground tunnel system where she currently resides within. After-all she had arrangement with an old friend for a few rounds at the bar after she arrived.

Several Minutes of careful trekking through the snow covered landscape later, Ellie began to come-across somewhat familiar surroundings that lead towards the Charon area, this was a damn good sign as it meant that she was at least going in the correct direction and she didn't have to start scavenging for filters of frozen dead bodies. With her homemade crossbow and SMG hanging firmly on the mount harnesses of her lightweight ranger armor, the shaded silhouettes of the large steal airlock doors with several small directional signs could be seen in the distance. She knew the area well but she didn't take any chances. Under the shade of the mist she holstered her machete and resorted to pulling her crossbow from her back, she aimed towards the airlock entrance in a crouch position and adjusted her scope for an adequate level of zoom. She smiled as she noticed that the entire outside entrance was empty and silent for now. With no time to spare she rose to her feet and switched her crossbow for her SMG and clicked on the safely, slowly and carefully walking towards the entrance. When she arrived at the large doors, taking a quick check for safety behind her, She gripped her metal knuckle tipped gloves into a clenched fist and thumped heavily on the door. Then came a slight duration of silence before a drone of muffled talking and shouting could be heard from within as the lazy door guards got their act together and answered to her call. Clunking and metallic scratching filled the air as the large doors dragged open to reveal several guards aiming not only their standard light weapons at her but also several mounted heavy weapons. Ellie then immediately without hesitation gave a small wave with one hand to the guards to show that she was friendly. As she took her first step forward and got slightly closer the guards who were firmly holding onto their AK's and other various weapons. They proceeded to glance at her eyes carefully through her mask as they gave a small tilt of the head head, after-all it wasn't every day that you saw a female in ranger armor roaming outside with various pallets of blood splattered over her and due to the fact that Ellie was barley ever around charon even though she lived there, not every guard knew her. She then nodded as she walked straight up to them. "Evening Boys" She said with a muffled, yet strong Irish accent before walking straight past them, turning to watch them completely close the doors again and lazily flop back down beside their fire. Ellie stretched, mounting her SMG back onto her back and pressing down on the clips at the side of her mask. She pulled it off carefully to reveal her rather beautiful appearance and pulled down the hood of her jacket to reveal her long brown hair after clipping the mask onto her belt.

She turned to notice her friend Nasa standing to the side eyeballing her after just lifting his head up from his watch. She smiled as she walked towards him and patted him on the shoulder heavily in a somewhat manly way. "Hah, I hope i wasn't to late yah daft ruskie, Ye miss me?" She said happily, slowly moving in for a friendly hug. "Lets get a few drinks in Ye!" She then said, firmly wrapping her arms around him for the hug of finally being reunited as friends.

[WitchChild]

Knight decided to just leave then, grabbing the small net he had brought with him which he used like a pouch to carry the heads of the Ghouls. As he walked back to Charon the clouds thickened and darkened the land.

He met no troubles heading to Charon which was a good thing but his eyebrow rose when he saw that the gates to Charon's underground tunnels were open and someone entered it. His hand went instictively to his G36C that hung at his side but at the lack of machine gun fire made him approach with care. He saw that a new visitor had arrived, a woman by the sway of her hips Knight assumed. He managed to get through the door before they started to close again. The guards knew him and waved him in, noticing the 6 ghoul heads that he carried.

Knight went straight through the tunnels, past the new woman and to the bar where Connor, the leader of Charon, tended and served drinks. The old man was a Scot and strong for his age. Hell, he could kick Knight's ass up and down Charon after just a swig of Guinness. The bar was large, the largest part of Charon. Sometimes trade was conducted there so shops were at the other end from the bar itself. Behind Connor was a large mirror and racks of booze that survived the armageddon and then there were 2 stills. One still Connor brewed his super cheap brew that tasted like piss but got you drunk all the same and then there was his special brew. That was pretty expensive but it got you drunk, made your tongue feel like it had 15 orgasms at once and for some reason was like aspirin in the morning instead of a throbbing headache. Right above the mirror was a Bastard sword that Connor had used back in his knight days. Under the bar was a sawed off, pump action shotgun that Connor used against some trigger happy outsiders. Above the bar was a board where heads of Dark Ones were mounted, the largest of them being a Demon and the wings were mounted as well. Under the heads were plates of the names of people that took the creatures, the ones filled with red ink the ones that had fallen in the battle.

Knight went straight to Connor and lifted up the ghoul heads as he removed the gas mask. His face had 3 claw scars that ran down his face, one very close to his eye and another making his lower lip be curved slightly. Though his hair was black as night his eyes were green, his jaw strong and slightly protruding.
"'ello there lad. I see you had good time hunting" Connor said in a thick scot accent as he grabbed the heads and gave Knight a bottle of bourbon and a small glass. "Thank you" Knight said, his accent Irish. Though they seemed like polar opposites in manner, physically there seemed to be similarities though the thickens of Knight's beard hid most of it. Connor grabbed a glass for himself and Knight poured into both of them and the clinked their glasses before swallowing the drink at the same time.

[Kirlov]

Nasa heard the banging on the doors. A guard looked up and reached for his shotgun. The others shook their friend awake and got up, still groggy. “Is that a mutant?”

Nasa shook his head. How these guys could be called guards he didn't know. They would have been dead by now if it was mutants. “Do mutants knock? Open zee doors you idiots.” Guards came in from a side room and moved to man the barricades and heavy guns. There was a clatter of weapon actions being worked and a shout ordered the doors opened. A grinding noise erupted as two of them pulled at the doors that were the air lock. A freezing cold breeze swept in through the opening, chilling everyone. Nasa tried to brace himself, but a blast of cold after being in warm tunnels was ball numbing. He shivered again before seeing the slim figure standing in the cold light. Ellie. The big guy ignored the sword wielding guy who entered after Ellie. The guards knew the man so Nasa figured it was no big deal.

His arms flared out like the wings of some large bird when Ellie wrapped her arms around him. As always these hugs surprised Nasa. Not that he wasn't accustomed to the gesture, it was just awkward for him. A few claps and cat calls came from the guards who were looking up at the two. Nasa silenced them with an angry glare as his arms wrapped around his friend to reciprocate the hug. “Ha ha! Greetings comrade! Any longer and I vould have gone out zere to drag you back by hair.” His words slurred a bit from his alcohol still in his system. Nasa mussed up her hair with his hand as he stepped back. He smiled at her, though his bruises made him wince. Automatically his hand went to rub at the bruises, a number of which were busying themselves by swelling nicely. “We may need to delay drinking for bit. I think they are rebuilding bar. I got into little brawl.” He wrapped his arm around Ellie, turning to lead her from the place. “Shall ve go? See if zey have replaced the tables yet?”

They found a table to sit at. Nasa headed over and got a bottle of tunnel brew and a couple of tin cups. Sitting down he filled a cup and slid it over to the Irish damsel. “So how did your last job go?” He raised his own cup to Ellie before downing a mouth full. He studied her. She looked good, as usual. Nasa couldn't remember how long he had known her. He couldn't even remember when they had met. He smiled slightly as he rested his chin in his hand. His eyes were slightly unfocused as he watched her. The lock of purple hair was an especially nice touch. His mind trailed off.

[Caelum]

His eyes fluttered open, and he thought only one thing;

Why am I still here?

He rolled out of bed, quickly suiting up. Nothing flashed through his mind, no memories, no broken laughs. No fears. Placing his helmet over his head, he strattled his unloaded rifle across his back and took his watch off the table. Time for wakie. Strapping it on his wrist, he made his way to the bar... Time for a drink, and hopefully, some understanding. On the way, he spotted a pair hugging- Something he didn't see often down here. Kind of cute. He decided to follow them, making his way into the bar behind him as he ordered a drink for himself... Didn't have a lot of money to spare, but he was planning on fixing that today.

He looked over to a man sitting alone at a table... He looked a bit lost. Good, he could use a meatbag who didn't know what he was doing. Strolling over to the man with a light smile, he slid his own drink in front of him, taking a seat across from him. Simple living. He looked him over for a moment, before pulling out a small letter.

"How would you like to go on an adventure?" He asks... Whether he was joking, or making light of what was to come was yet to be seen. He simply sat there, waiting for an answer for a moment... Not that it mattered.

"Interested? Good." He said, whether the man answered positively or not. "I got the keys in this letter for a house on the surface. Inside is a cache of weapons, ammo, and god knows what else. At least, that's what I saw. Thing is, I need another body to come with me- Men travel in pairs, nosalises less likely to attack them, you know?" He asks with a smirk, sliding the letter across the table. "As a bonus, I'll toss in half of whatever we find to you... 50/50, right?" He continues, before relaxing back in his seat. In the back of his mind, he hoped his offer would be considered... If not, eh, oh well. Find another sap for the job, right?

[InkedWolf]

"Come on baby, just a little more," Miranda revved the engine of the buggy, carefully listening for if the engine showed any sign of strain. With the lack of parts that came through Charon. She had to make sure she could eke out every last spark each machine was capable of.

Finding no sign of strain or pull in the machine, Miranda cut the throttle, and powered down the buggy. Getting to her feet, she gave the machine another once over for good measure before beginning the task of reassembling the cage overtop. The cage was her own design, and had gone over quite well with the local scavengers. Allowed them to fire out, but made it harder for the freaks to get in.

The work on the cage was interrupted by a knock, ignoring the noise, Miranda continued to work on the task. One bolt, or one bar that was broken, could result in the loss of life. She was sick and tired of losing her friends to the monsters in the dark. She ignored the second knock as she continued to secure the cage. Finally she heard the heavy metal door to her shop swing open, heavy bootprints echoed into the shop. Out of habit, she got to her feet, placing her hands in her dirty shop clothes. One hand slipped around her .38 special, she was a female mechanic, and one of the best in Charon. Didn't earn her much respect with the ex-military and the scavengers. She preferred safe then sorry.

It wasn't like Miranda couldn't hold her own, she often ran her own scavenging missions when it came to parts. She had been taught how to shoot by an old boyfriend, he was a marksman. He could hollow out a dime at 200 yards, and had trained her in the same techniques. His dragonuv SVD lay in her office, polished and ready in an instant if need be. Sadly, he was lost in a mission, the only thing she found when she went out was his bloody rifle. Nobody argued with her about keeping the gun in her possession.

A rather large man entered the shop.He had the swagger of military, Miranda kept her distance, "Hey, you know if I don't answer. It means I'm busy right?" The man pointed towards the air recyclers stacked against her wall.

"Been sent to pick up a few of those, we need em for the barracks." Miranda narrowed her eyes, she knew the cyclers were in perfect shape. They just wanted to have better air, or sell them for extra supplies.

"Sorry, no workorder, I can't do anything. Those are already requisitioned for civvie structures." She kept her hand tightly wrapped around the .38, and began to calculate the time it would take to run for the SVD. "Tell you what, tell your in-charge I'll come by and check the recyclers myself. If not, there will be a scavenging crew coming by for the Buggy on my platform any minute. Discuss your needs with them."

The man grumbled as he realized Miranda wasn't going to give up any recyclers without a fight. Pissing off the mechanic was rarely a way to get any favour. She was more likely to strip a belt on his ride then do a proper job. So on that note, he gave up for now. As the man left, Miranda let out a sigh of relief. She signed off on the buggy as another knock came to the door. She checked the window, breaking into a smile she opened the door. Tiffany and her boyfriend Sam walked in. "Hey Miranda, how goes?"

She sunk into her chair, "Great, if only some scavengers could get the hint to not try their luck in my shop." Tiffany frowned as she looked towards the shop.

"Really? I thought they'd get the hint." Miranda shook her head, sadly some of the teams may have had a higher self worth then others in Charon.

"Nope, but they rarely leave with anything." She grinned as she took two of the air recycling devices from her shelf. "Now these are for you, don't worry, they're already taken care of. Should be good for at least six months." Tiffany gave a curious look as Miranda went back to her seat.

"Really, I heard they're barely able to make a month." Miranda pointed towards several hollowed out batteries.

"New Lithium mixture from the last scavenge run by the mechanic team. We found some fresh batteries that I could jury rig something better then the charcoal scrubbers."

Sam shook his head at the marvel, "Christ, Miranda that's amazing." She got to her feet as she stripped off her grimy coveralls.

"Nah, just good science, enjoy. If you'll excuse me. I got a man to see about a good bottle of rum for fixing a distillery." She said goodbye to her friends as she left for the bar. Charon was just as busy as ever, civvies trying to get by, scavengers and military trying to out do eachother, and a few mechanics who had more repair orders then they knew what to do with.

Entering the bar, Miranda smiled at the bartender. "Hey, I'm here for my rum!" The gentleman nodded as he reached under the bar.

"Here's your payment Miranda, thanks again. I've not seen the machine work so well in years." Miranda smirked as she poured herself a shot.

"Gladly, now thanks for the rum!"