Letter contained within a package given to all operatives taking part in the operation

Good morning/evening Operative,

Let me be the first to express your countries deepest thanks for taking on this mission. Alot of people are dying and alot of people starving because of the instabilities in Africa. This little country in the center of the continent is like that little bit of tinder you put in a fire. It looks innocent enough, but with how Africa always has some little war going on somewhere, that little bit of tinder could cause the whole thing to go up in flames.

Several differant countries, some members of NATO, some not so, have all agreed that something needs to be done. But while the country is embroiled in it's little internal conflict, we can't justify sending in a large force to calm it all down. We do that the NATO council gets on our asses like herpes. So the idea is to send in several solo operatives. Men and women who have been out of the military for awhile, but who still retain the skills they learned there.

There will be several operatives in the country. You are not required to search them out and work with them, but many hands make short work.

You are being given your choice of melee weapon and pistol to take in with you. As this operation is not funded officially by the government of your country we cannot send you in with a full kit. Don't worry, your primary target is a gun runner and black marketeer. He's flooded the country with old and new weapons. If nothing else, you can pick a weapon up off a dead body somewhere. Some of them are going to be pieces of crap, but who knows there might be a gem or ten somewhere in there. The pistol, your melee weapon and your infiltration method are the only things we can spring for.

We want to be clear, if you should die during this operation, we don't know you, we can't afford to let it out that the governments in on this sent a wetwork team into the country. So be careful.

Once your primary missions are complete, we can provide extraction. But only once that occurs. Be careful soldier. We're counting on you. Good luck.

---

Lazarus read the letter over once more then folded it up and slipped it into the front pocket of the jacket he wore. He looked over at the jump master of the plane he sat in. The man nodded, holding up three fingers. Lazarus got to his feet carefully, checking his parachute harness carefully. One of the other Canadian soldiers in the plane coming over to get a second eye on him. The second soldier gave him a thumbs up. Laz nodded. He carefully strapped on his kit. The trench knife went to the small of his back, where he could reach back safely and grab it. The pistol strapped to his right thigh in a quick draw holster. He rolled his shoulders. Preparing for the jump to come. He had chosen to go in by HALO jump. It'd be quiet, quick and easy, something he had learned back with The Pats. And something he did quite often with JTF2.

The seconds ticked by. The Jumpmaster paced by him heading to the back ramp of the C-17 Globemaster. The massive plane had been picked because of it's long distance staying power. They needed it to get him in. It was a long way from any friendly landing strip. So it was strange that just 10 soldiers, a jump master, and Lazarus had been there, along with the flight crew. But the Canadian Government had though it best.

The jumpmaster pulled the lever to open the back ramp. He pointed at Lazarus then gestured to a position close to the inner edge of the ramp. Laz stepped forward, and got into a runner's starting stance. He waited. Watching the red ligth out of the corner of his eye. The jumpmaster had a hand in the air, two finger showing. He lowered one finger and Lazarus tensed. The Jumpmaster dropped his next finger. Less then a minute left. The light turned green. The Jumpmaster gestured to the back of the plane. Lazarus pushed off, ran the last 10 steps then threw himself into the sky. He didn't see as the back ramp of the plane raised up almost as soon as he was clear. He didn't see the big jet turn out and head back to friendly territory.

What he did see was the early morning clouds around him and the still slightly dark of dawn approaching. He sailed down through the clouds. Only his breathing his companion. He listened to the altimeter beep. As it hit 2000 feet after almost a minute of free fall he pulled his chute and began to drift down towards what looked like jungle.

Lazarus hit ground, drawing his knife and cutting himself free from his harness. He looked around to make sure no one had seen him come down. He smiled, "Hello Africa...I'm back." He needed to find a safehouse so he could sit out the rest of the night. The rest of the operatives would be infiltrating this same night. All by similar or different means. He might have to try and track them down. The best place to do that, would be the central town, Bekalo. But that'd be something for later. For now, he needed to find a cave or a hut to deck down for abit.

Lazarus crept into the jungle, as silent as he could. The hunt would begin soon enough.

Arran looked over his shoulder, the Zodiac crawling along the dirty river, as he came in quietly and silently. The engine control in his left hand and his P226 in his right, as the Zodiac crawled through the muddy stream, coming to an end. It had been six hours of quietly using swamp paths and occasionally even dragging this thing, to avoid the now derelcit border that stood. Getting in was easy. Finding Scorpion was not. Arran wore his regular attire, a Bergen on his back, containing a few personal things, as well as a GPS at his side. He had no idea where everything was precisely, but he had done his homework, as best as he could. His boat's landing site was about five kilometers away from the town of Bekalo- this place he'd landed in being the middle of a humid and desolate swamp. No Crocodiles, but he made sure to watch his step, as he dragged it onto the solid rock, finding a shrub to hid the Zodiac as best as he could in. Wiping his brow below his Boonie, he kept his P226 held lower, as he then checked the GPS signal. Weak, but it was distinctive- if he had to get moving quickly, this was his RV. He was not a psychopath, but he had elements of one. And somehow going bloodthirsty over Scorpion was not a matter. This was like an operation, albeit he was on his own. No backup. Him, a pistol, and a target. And while he knew that like this, he'd be as likely to find Scorpion as he would Herpes on the far side of the Moon. What he needed was to make inroads locally. Survival would be simple, but living in the jungle would be boring, going out into that human world was where it was at.

Leaving the boat, the Scot moved through, trawling a path as best as he could, to at least find a road. The GPS was a simple Garmin- navigationally, great for plotting previous routes, and the boat, but nothing much more. It was pretty much the best kit he had- no local currency, or what was left of it being basically worthless. There was no point carrying paper money- in a place like this, you needed minerals. Diamonds, or Gold, or something valuable to barter. US Dollars could only go so far- in a place like this, you wouldn't find a currency converter, that was for sure. Arran was never great with customs, but he understood that much. And it would leave him between a rock and a hard place at times, though keeping aloof was going to be the way he did things. Get a supply running. Find intel or information. Learn, watch, adapt, evolve, do. Then Scorpion would be gone. Other mercenaries were in area, that was for sure. Arran knew working with them was an inevitability- it was just going to have to happen, no matter what. But this was a place for making some money, and getting his own vindication.

Eventually, Arran made it to a dirt path, and began following it north, holstering his P226, walking in the early morning sun, the crickets chirping as the jungle felt alive, one organism in it's composition, the sets of clouds that had kept the heat in dispersing and reforming, just sitting calmly. The road had a vague sign. For some small settlement, and another for Bekalo. Either way, that settlement could be a lodge, and perhaps getting his own shit together and thinking through what next would be his best course of action. He was not ready to go out and face the wide world- he knew this well enough, that even as one lone ex-SBS operator, he had no chance. Time would create opportunities, he reminded himself.

Edward had entered into the country adjacent to the one he was suppose to be infilling in. When he said he wanted in the other country the airmen who dropped him in laughed at him like he was crazy. But it worked out as he found a bumpkin who would take him in stashed among his goods in his cart as long as he paid him when he got to where he wanted to go. He had no intention of paying the man, he also had no intention of going to the mans destination.

So here he was stashed among a traders goods. He heard talking outside the guards had stopped the cart man but the guy had saved up for this trip and thought he was going to get enough to cover that bribe and more from Edward. So the guards did not check his goods instead they waved him in. When they made it a good distance away from the checkpoint Edward stood up in the back of the cart and shot the cart master in the back of the head. No since in letting the guy reveal he was here.

Slipping up to the drivers bench he took the reigns of the donkey and brought it to the side of the road. He unhitched and unbridled the donkey and let it roam free. Then he checked the traders goods, nothing of use cheap knock off gold watches and jewelry. So he covered it in jungle brush and made a mental note to come back later and burn the cart just in case. He hid the body in the jungle next and slipped away like a shadow into the brush looking for these other agents the letter mentioned.

Sheppard took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it out of the door of the Blackhawk helicopter. The African landscape raced passed, the helicopter flying low and fast. It was a heavily modified craft, designed for stealth it was similar to the vehicles used in the operation resulting in Osama bin Laden's death. Perhaps this actually was one of the birds used, Sheppard couldn't help but muse. The pilot's voice crackled in his headset, they were approaching the infiltration site. On board there was just Sheppard, the pilot and the copilot. Sheppard guessed it was for deniability. Sheppard stood up, checking his gear. A tactical vest contained most of what he had, some rations, a canteen, binoculars, a GPS device, extra magazines, his knife sheathed on his left shoulder and the letter. His M9 was strapped to his right leg in its holster. He had a small backpack although the limited assistance he'd received from the Airforce meant he didn't actually have a need for the space just yet.

The Blackhawk began to slow and Sheppard removed his headset, stepping over to the door. It touched down with a thud and Sheppard jumped, he'd barely hit the floor before the helicopter took off again. Crouching down Sheppard took out his GPS, the pilot was good, he'd hit the infiltration point exactly, all that remained now was a short 2 mile journey to the nearest town, Bekalo. Sheppard checked his GPS once more before setting off into the jungle, heading for civilisation. There were plenty of mercenaries in the country, fighting on both sides, he figured Bekalo would be swarming with them. The perfect place for a Westerner to blend in.

Lazarus hadn't found himself a place to bunker down for abit. But what he had found was a road, and a road sign. Bekalo was less then two miles away. He didn't want to break out his map just yet. But he remembered from his briefing that Bekalo was one of 3 major cities in the country, and the capitol of the northern half of the country. It's the best place to start. There are so many mercs, and hard cases coming into the country looking for a quick buck that he could blend right in in the city. And it's as good a place as any to start his search. The fighting started up in the north part of the country anyway.

He remembered the briefing.

How about 3 years ago the UPL, the United Peoples League and the PUFfE, the People's United Front for Equality, sprang up during a time of relative poverty and trouble among the work and labour unions. The diamond, gold and silver mines in the country were laying workers off, and bringing workers in from out of country. The two groups wanted equality and equal rights among work and civil activities. What started as quiet and reasonable demonstrations, soon had armed escorts and men opening fire on their neighbors. Forgotten was the original reason for what they stood for and in just three years started the bitter civil war that now stood.

And according to many people, at it's heart was the Scorpion and his never ending flow of weapons and ammo into the country. The soldiers both adult and child, no one wanted to admit that some of the warlords were starting to indoctrinate children, their parents were even members of this or that faction and even urged their children to wield those AKs and shotguns. But the briefing seemed legit. Lazarus just figured it was part of how things went.

He hiked his way down the road, it'd take him maybe another hour or two, about by dawn to reach Bekalo. Things would just be getting up by the time he got there. If nothing went wrong between then and now of course. Of course as he thought that he heard something from behind him, turning around to see a trio of technicals driving towards him. He wouldn't have time to dart off into cover. As they approached, guns were pointed his way. Lazarus raised his arms, things were going south. Atleast when he was tossed into the back of one of the technicals with a rifle pointed at him, he was being taken towards Bekalo and where he wanted to go.

"Put me in a dress and call me Suzi, Sarah Verwoerd! I thought you were living in France now!" The man with grey hairs and a 3 days beard gave a hand to Sarah which she gave a vigorous shake. "Mister Van Ryneveld, glad to see you're alive. How's it going Allan?" Ryneveld smiled and shrugged. "Still the same old business I guess. Got my own company now! Well, more or less. We're independent, 20 guys and all that. What are you doing here by the way?" He began to walk toward one of the two pickups on the road next to the village, some armed mercs loading stuff in them. Sarah followed him and sighed. "Retired from the legion and the retirement plan's shit. So I'm here for... 5, maybe 10 more years." The merc commander had a small laugh but lowered his shoulder, an air of resignation on his face. "Isn't that what we all say? In our line of work it's always a surprise when we reach an age where we could... retire. I'd ask why you came to me but I've been keeping contact with most of the others. Dead. Well, except for Schatental, can't believe the guy is actually a banker in Switzerland now. Look Sarah, I run a tight ship, budget wise. I'd hire you but I can't really afford to divide the cash even more than we're doing now, these pricks will mutiny before that happens, maybe when some of them die I can make you a spot but..." Sarah shrugged and crossed her arms. "I had my doubt this would happen. Eh, I hate this place. Fucking UN and their mercenary bill. I'd have given my name to Blackwater but I'm too old now. I'm seriously just glad you can help me cross the border, I'll find my work on the other side. How's the bribery rate here?"

Ryneveld walked to the cabin of the pickup and made a movement of the head backward to indicate to get in the box to the 2 guys inside. He got on the driver position while Sarah got in shotgun. "I'd say cheap, but half of the times the mother fuckers will take your diamonds and shot you in the back to take the rest anyways. This place is a piece of shit worst than the others. 'Heart of Darkness' and all that jazz. Still, old mister van Ryneveld has a few tricks up his sleeves, hehe." He opened the armchair in the middle of them both and there was a little pile of gems in it. Sarah took one and looked at it more closely. "Quartz. Totally worthless, it's the big trick at the moment since none of the niggers can make the difference between that and the real thing." He pressed the accelerator and went on the move, another pickup following his own. Most of the Mercs were white, maybe some of them worked for Ex-O like she and Ryneveld, but Sarah actually knew him from her time in the SADF, he was one of the rare 'Correct' person she knew on this continent. It didn't take that long to reach the checkpoint and even less to get in, a handful of quartz and they were in, although there was some arguing when they wanted to make the second pickup pay as well but ultimately they just payed with another scope of worthless minerals to get in.

___________________________

Less than an hour later they were in Bekalo. Bumpy roads and old buildings that lets face it hadn't been repaired since the old colonial masters left. What a dump. Sarah gave one last handshake to his old comrade before leaving the truck. Some people looked at the lady with a greying pony tail that had just been dropped off and she noticed that she was one of the rare female here and the only white one in probably a 100 mile radius. So much for subtlety. Still they kept their distance, her machete and pistol being visible to anyone. She thought of her birth place. Rhodesia that was now Zimbabwe. People may call her racist but she didn't hesitate to laugh in the face of anyone that said that colonialism wasn't the best thing to have ever happened to this shithole of a continent.

Sarah walked to a bar that seemed to have mostly white clients. All armed mercs of course. She sat down at the counter and took a 10 euro bill. The barman raised an eyebrow but still went to her. "What will it be miss?" She looked around at what people had. "Something in a bottle, one that's not open. You wouldn't know how to get guns and a job here would you?" The man shrugged as he brought her some Budweiser. "You just need to walk around for 5 minutes to find someone who's willing to sell, but no one will that of that European currency here, well, maybe the mercenaries but they're generally the ones buying guns, not selling. You need hard gold or diamonds here. And if you need work I don't know who'll hire some old lady here." Sarah sighed. Of course no one would, she didn't exactly had the profile of the people you'd find here. Still, as she thought of this over her drink she began to formulate an idea around that. She remembered what the paper said: She wasn't alone. Most likely all the others would be like her, a pistol and a blade. If they weren't stupid they'd come here to look for information and this wasn't exactly a big town either.

She took her beer and paid for a few bottles of water before going out and walking a little, finding what was obviously the town square. There was a dry fountain at the center of it and Sarah sat down on it, placing her machete on her left and her pistol on her right. She was cleaner than any of the people here and she had olive cargo pants and shirt, the things military on her being a black harness for ammunition and grenades, that was now mostly empty, along with french combat boots. She got herself a cigarette and began to finish her beer before switching to water. Waiting. Listening.

(The two mercs can either be real player characters, or not in the hotel. I am leaving this to the digression of PCs in this- I'd rather that they were generic mercenaries, but if you want your char to be one, go on ahead.)
(Also, this was a post partly written with Big's advice- it may explain why certain details could make sense.)

Arran had walked on, carried on. Nothing. A jeep went past, a few militants within. He looked at them, and they looked at him. They drove past. He knew they knew what he was. A mercenary. A white man, in a world where everyday people wanted freedom. And they did this in horrifying means. Means to an end. And for Arran...means to make money. He didn't care for it, it wasn't his worry what they were up to, but what he was going to do next.

After another half hour, at the break of dawn, he was in town. Shit was fucked here. Like the documentaries at home had showed, this was why poverty killed. The water was as safe as drinking his own piss, and he'd die from about two dozen tropical diseases, and countless STDs if he decided a local whore was his way of having fun. Not here. There were kids, six years old, checking and assembling Kalashnikov rifles. It sicked a part of his soul, as he walked through, aware he wasn't going to find something that would perhaps vindicate it all. He had to find a place to stay. He saw a small sign. Hotel. It had a bullet hole in it. Walking over towards it, the shacks and poor housing, the mud, shit and general excesses that didn't go into a sewage pipe from the slum leaking from filled ditches by his side, he saw something of a vague structure that looked like it had stood. It wasn't too close to the slum to be alien, but it was isolated enough not to be out of the ordinary. A good place to set up.

Walking in, Arran looked around the reception of the lodge, before pinging the bell. A recepionist ran in from the back room. This place looked shitty, but it would do, Arran thought to himself. It was a lodge of some sort, perhaps for backpackers. A young woman, no older than 20, walked up, smiling.
"Hi...I'm looking for a room, paying in American Currency. You good with that?" Arran said, rather a little sternly in his deep highlander Scots accent that sounded like it had sunk Longboats already.
"Yes of course, Sir." She simply said, writing something down, before taking out a key. Her accent was a strong African one, and she seemed a little tired, though formal and polite.
"There $10 deposit, it is $4 a night, Sir. This is a key for room 12, upstairs. Single Bed, there is a stove and any basic amenities. We prefer minerals, on manager's request." She added, noting something down, as he drew the note. He didn't have much- he didn't want a lot. The P226 would achieve a lot more- and cash wasn't going to be accepted everywhere. Places like this, maybe so. And he had enough to sustain. But guns, ammunition, supplies, he'd need minerals. Diamonds, Gold, Silver, Copper Wire would even fucking do if he bartered hard enough. For now, he wanted a roof over his head.
"No problem...minerals you say. How the fuck you are still open in this chaos?" He asked rather coldly, as she was taken aback a little.
"Sir, there are other mercenaries here. You are not alone; two checked in late last night.."
"Shite. Well, alright. Thank you." He replied, getting his answer, walking on, bergen still on back as he headed to his room.

---

It wasn't anything special, but what it was, was a place to at least lie his head. Think. This was freedom. Getting out the joint was great. It meant he had time to think, to enjoy this. And while it was in a humid shithole, the fact was that for the moment, things were calm here. Just. He checked the P226, his axe close by, and his stuff unpacked, but not entirely so in the case he had to move. He wanted to keep an eye open. Sleeping with one eye open may be a good idea. Now what, he thought to himself, trying to just think. Other mercenaries? There were two here, but he couldn't tell which rooms or where they were. Would they rob him? Probably not, because they didn't know he was here. He took his shirt off, and leaned back, aware the lock was on his door and the windows shut locked, just wanting to get a nap and think on it. Enjoy sleeping without yelling dickheads in a prison cell. It was too good.

Arran opened his eyes. the realization someone was here.
"The locks are shitty, my friend. Stay back." Arran jerked, realizing there was a handcuff to the bed frame, with one hand free as he tried to reach for his P226. The click of a Makarov could be heard, as Arran stopped, realizing what was going on. The shaven man walked over, crouching, pistol ready. He was out of reach, and besides, even with what Magnus knew, Arran was good at fucking people up, but not great. He knew a vague amount of him- not everything, but ex-SBS held out. The Swede spoke with a certain manner, like he wasn't going to be overtaken in tone.
"My name is Magnus. Now, I understand what predicament you are in. In fact, that document told me everything. I always keep an eye out. You just stumble into the one place where you are not pulled off the street and forced to work for your life. In fact, you played it good. It's just that document." He said, as Arran looked.
"And the fuck does that mean!?" Arran said, not shouting but avidly pissed, his Scots accent amusing Magnus, his own Swedish one being a deep and bellowing one that held steadfast in command of English.

"I draw dots that you and another mercenary were in on this. Because it so happens that about two mercenaries wonder into this country, two different methods, with that paper confirming all. You came for Scorpion."
"Who the fuck are you talking about? What mercenary?" Arran said, stopping his resistance, as he looked up, aware that as good as Magnus was, he wasn't going to kill him. He had something about him- he was talking too calmly, like he was going to get him involved in something.
"I don't know either. All I do know, is where he is held. He was dragged off a path and put into the back of a technical, and now he is in a militia's wing, as a white guy with a pistol against half a dozen militants with clubs, machetes and knives. The reason I am still here rather than knowing what and why you are here is because it interests me personally. Because I also think there's more. You don't, and I don't for certain about it all. But I have a hunch. You see, you can go free this friend of yours. But what does it get you? Simple. A friend in a place like this is an invaluable resource. You will die on your own, Scorpion is untouchable and you are not. The mosquitos, the two factions out there, the civilians and even your own fucking government will take you and make your life hell, if you understand me." Magnus said, standing up, tossing the key at Arran, as he uncliped himself.
"And why shouldn't I shoot you then?" Arran said, taking his P226 to hand, holding it low, as he was aware that Magnus was really playing with fire here, but he was holding it aloft.
"Because you have literally nothing to gain and everything to lose. I am not your friend, Mr Mackenzie. But I am a person who understands how problems work here. And I know that you are good at what you do, perhaps the right person to start solving your share of problems isn't yourself. Like the fact you have no leads and are on a timer till a militia eventually will find you and do terrible things to you at this rate. You know how you will do this, but I feel you need a little push before you slip up. You question too much; so go get some answers, find this man, and I'll contact you when the time is right. For now, you are on your own. Good luck." Magnus said, nodding, as he walked away, Arran speechless as he got off the bed, realizing there was a note that Magnus had left. An instruction of sorts. The Police Station, a vague drawing of it's outline. Now that was new. Getting up, he took his kit, leaving his bergen, his Oakleys over his eyes as he looked at a hole in the floorboard.

Gathering his most important kit, he buried it underneath the floorboard, his GPS and identity papers. It had made him think. He was rusty, he needed to fucking think before he died, Arran said to himself. No more fucking about. Remember your training, he said to himself. Stop being a bitch. He pulled the clip out of the Swiss pistol, checking the magazine, before slotting it back in. He tucked it away into his hidden holster, grabbing his Boonie and kit.
"Fuck me...he better be right, or else I'm going to have a shit run." Arran said to himself, looking at his room, before thinking things through about what next, exhaling as he took his key and he left the room. Before he completely walked out, he attached a piece of string with a piece of old gum to the outside of the door and to the hinge, in a hidden crafted way that would tell him if anyone got in- not that it entirely mattered. His valuables were hidden, and anything he didn't mind getting stolen, or at least would keep in the open to not compromise himself, was left, as he headed out, onto the street and out of the hotel. It was a matter of time till he'd wondered past shacks and made it to a corner behind a set of dilapidated slum houses, where he saw the derelict building. The abandoned police station, just as described in the picture. Same shape, it was small but it was a place that the could easily get to. He had work to do, Arran thought to himself.

Sheppard emerged from the jungle and on to a road about ten minutes from Bekalo. The sun was starting to rise in the sky now and he put on a pair of aviator style sunglasses to lessen the morning glare. The walk went quickly and he soon found himself amongst the bustling crowd of people going about their morning business. Guns were everywhere, he could see that much already. Men armed with AKs stood by doors and on rooftops everywhere, technicals with machine guns would part the crowd with their horn on a regular basis and dotted here and there were the white mercenaries; some armed to the teeth with kevlar and modern assault rifles, others clearly a bit more down on their luck. Being tasked with a mission of such gravitas, Sheppard wished he didn't fall fall into the second category. Looking for information, he decided to head for the town's market, the sound of gunfire would be his guide. Arms dealers tended to fire off weapons as demonstrations or to attract attention and no one else seemed to react to the bursts of AK fire so Sheppard assumed it wasn't a battle. From his briefing the situation didn't seem to be quite that bad just yet, at least not in the cities.

After a few minutes of pushing his way through the crowd, he found himself in the market. The narrow alleys between stalls were packed with people, but at least the canopies of the stalls blocked the sun, making it a lot cooler. Evidence of the Scorpion was even more prevalent here than in the streets. Packed between stalls selling fruit there were tables covered with ammunition belts, AK-47s, AK-74s, RPKs, RPGs, pretty much every soviet weapon under the sun seemed to have found its way to Africa and Asia after the fall of communism. Sheppard noticed the occasional suspicious glance being thrown his way, but he didn't seem too out of place, mercenaries were still dotted around resupplying at various stalls.
"Hey," he said, stopping at a food stall with a mini-fridge. "I'll take some Coke if US dollars are okay?" The stall owner nodded and held up a finger. Sheppard handed over $5 and got 5 bottles back, stuffing them into his backpack. Coke tended to be cheaper than water in a lot of African countries, or at least safer. Sheppard remembered reading somewhere that there were only two countries in the world where it wasn't sold officially, Cuba and North Korea. "Good old American Capitalism," he said smiling to himself as he made his way over to an arms dealer. These guys probably wouldn't take anything other than diamonds or gold but at the very least he might learn something.

The dealer saw him coming and picked up an AKS-74u, showing it to Sheppard for a second before firing off a short burst into the sky. "You like? Very cheap, good weapon," the man said, his grasp of English clearly not completely perfect.
"I'm good thanks," Sheppard said, he had less than $100 on him which wouldn't be enough even if the man accepted them. "I only just got here, what's the current situation with the UPL and the PUFfE?" He asked. "I couldn't get CNN the past few months," he added thinking back to his prison cell in South East Asia. This country was in the process of fucking itself up but he couldn't help but be glad to be here.
"War very soon," the Arms Dealer replied. "You need weapon, mine very cheap," he added clearly going for the sell.
"Right, thanks," Sheppard said waving a quick goodbye and heading off back into the crowd.

With his information gathering going nowhere, Sheppard decided to find a bar. It may be early but he'd been up for almost 24 hours straight now so he figured it was practically evening for him, plus other mercenaries might be there. They'd probably be more helpful than the locals when it came to information on the Scorpion and he might even find some of the others that the letter had mentioned. Sheppard wandered for a while before coming across what seemed to be a town square. Centred around a fountain, the square was rather small, however Sheppard's gaze was drawn to a woman sitting on the fountain. She was older than most and white, she stuck out even with all the foreign mercenaries in the country. Like Sheppard she was relatively clean, she couldn't hadn't been here long. They were dressed similarly too. Sheppard was wearing tan cargo pants, a black t-shirt and his black tactical vest, also identical to the woman accept for colour. Her weapons stuck out the most to Sheppard though, a pistol and a machete.

Maybe... he thought to himself, turning his eyes to a bar sign a little way down a road leading from the square. He headed inside and took a seat at the bar. The bar was filled with armed mercenaries, he ordered a Busweiser and lit up a cigarette. He sat at the bar, sipping his beer, trying to listen in on any of the mercs' conversations.

Edward kept off the main road and went slowly through the jungle. Careful not to alert any of the native fauna that might want him as a snack, and careful of even snapping a twig in fear it would alert somebody out here. When the jungle cleared up he stopped for a little while and took a few bites from one of the MRE's he brought with him and looked at his map. North east of his position was the town of Bekalo. If he kept up his current pace he would reach the town by midday, so he rolled up his map and left the clearing.

As he made his way through the jungle he hit a thick part that pushed him more towards the road. Also at this same time three technicals were rolling up and they stopped not far from his position. Edward was not sure if he was spotted or not so he froze and got as low as possible to watch. Luckily they weren't after him they had stopped somebody in the main road and took him prisoner. The convoy then rolled up the main road heading towards Bekalo. When Edward was sure it was clear he got moving again.

Besides stopping for the convoy Edward made it to the town in time. His green fatigues were covered in sweat and dirt from his trek through the jungle so he looked like a dirt poor soldier. He tucked his pistol in his belt line and covered it up with his shirt so nobody could see that he was armed. The first thought that came to mind when he saw Bekalo was the fact it looked like another shit hole town in the middle of fucking nowhere, the second thought was there was enough white skinned people to blend in so he did.

As he walked the streets hawkers cried out there wares gun sellers occasionally fired off their merchandise, people came up to him offering to sell him things like shampoos and other luxuries. He had no money so he turned them down. "First things first get money to buy a hotel room and some gear, then look for these other agents." He thought, his opportunity came as a lone merc walked out of the bar staggering drunk, Edward walked up to him and slung his arm around the merc "Hey buddy, there you are. Thought i lost you." He said the merc shrugged him off and said "Get the fuck off me i don't even know you."

"Are you too drunk to see man, it's me your friend."

"Fuck you!" The merc shouted and threw a clumsy punch, Edward easily caught it and threw the mercs arm around him once again, he got the merc moving this time when he started gripping a pressure point on back of the shoulder "Ow, okay man we'll move." The merc said and came along quietly. Edward took him around town until he found a quiet place to dispatch him, he slit the mercs throat in an alleyway and looted him. No gun which means that whoever he worked for kept a tight track on their guns, but he did have a crumpled 10 dollar bill and a fresh twenty. "American, that will get me noticed around here but i need somewhere to stay." Edward thought, before he left he hid the body amongst some trash. If he was found Edward would already be long gone.

So Edward settled for walking around town, when he found the hotel he walked inside and paid the going rate for a room. It was cheap he could afford to stay two nights if he didn't buy anything, and he didn't plan on staying long anyways. Just long enough to find some help from these other agents and get some intel on Scorpion.

"So we picked you up on the road American. What are you doing here?" A tall, thin African man with an odd east indian accent sat across the table from Lazarus. Laz looked at him with a brand of annoyance. He called him American, what the heck, why does everyone think that every white person is american? What in the actual fuck?

The man spoke again, "I thought you American's like to talk? Tell us what you're doing here American." Laz sighs, "Canadian..." The man blinked, "You talking crazy American? What the hell are you doing here?" Laz shook his head, "Canadian. I'm Canadian. I'm not from Americ-" He rocked as the man slammed his fist into his face. Lazarus let out a soft growl. But didn't say anything, and couldn't retaliate either what with his hands being cuffed behind the chair. The man grinned, "You want to talk stupid talk again American? I can beat you until you die American. Now tell me why you are here!" Lazarus hrmed, smiling, "Canadian...you ignorant fuck! I'm Canadian." The man hit him again.

Lazarus woke some time later, face down in a cell, the same cell he had spent a few hours last night. He coughed a few times to loosen his throat then rolled onto his back. He sighed then let out a groan of pain. Bastard had really done a number on him. Laz sat up carefully, groaning softly as he stretched to work out the kinks. A chuckle coming from the next cell over, "The guards didn't like your answer to something did they pal? Kept calling you a stupid lying American. You're obviously not American though. YEah the people out here can be pretty stupid." Lazarus just chuckled, letting the man know he heard him.

---

An almost pristine Jeep Wrangler pulled up into a parking a man in a business suit popping out of the driver side, a business case in either hand. And making a street beeline for Merc. Alley, the site of alot of weapon vendors, and equipment stores. He walks up to one of the vendors. The man behind the stall looking at him oddly then starting. Mumbling something about the Lord of Guns. The man smiles, opening his cases, revealing a quadruplet of brand spanking new integrated silenced MP5s. The stall owner looks at the guns then down at the crappy AK74Us on his stall. The man in the suit smiles, "No charge for it, just ship something my way later when you have a moment." He looks around at the other weapon vendors nearby. He raises a finger to his lips, "I'll do the same for the rest of you. Just kick up 10% to me. Do that and I'll replace all your inventory by the end of the month."

One by one the vendors all agreed. Who could say not to an offer like that from the famous Scorpion. Just as quick as he came. He was into his Jeep, started it and in front of everyone the man no one would instantly know as the Scorpion was off, having brokered yet another business operation. Bekalo

---

Lazarus sighed softly, and tried to think of a way out of here. He couldn't stay here for too long. He'd have to get out. There was someway to get out. No one knew he is here as far as he knew. And it didn't sound like these guys were about to let him go either. They seemed to think he was either someone else entirely, or under some kind of orders from the U.S. for what ever purpose that was.

He groaned, then pulled himself up onto the bed in the corner of the cell. Nothing he could do now.

Turning the corner, Arran moved quickly, watching the entrance enough to understand what was going on. He saw one of the men at the front look over, sharpening his Machete.
"Hey! Get the fuck away from here!" He yelled loudly, as Arran chuckled, lowering his pistol.
"You seem really....fucking positive." Arran said, taking the Tomahawk out, as the man walked over, the Machete in hand. Bad move. Arran had planned, was a few steps ahead, and already swung out, faster and quicker than the man could respond, throwing him on the ground before he managed to get the Machete close. A swipe of the front of his neck put him on the ground, as he spat on him, Arran aware he had picked his moment well. Nobody in the street. Nobody would care. Putting the bloody tomhawk in it's clip on his side, he took his P226 back to hand, and walked in, past the empty reception. Another militant moved around, and recieved a point blank shot to the head, as another froze on the spot, Arran smirking in a twisted and crazed way.
"You have people captive, a bird tells me. Drop your club, show me the keys, slide them on the floor, and turn around. DO IT!" He yelled, his voice booming, as the noise of a distant click of an weapon being cocked could be heard. The man dropped his club, and looked not at Arran, but into the distance. He knew what it meant, and as did Arran., A man running could be heard, Arran half turning as he did what he did. He fired two shots into the man's abdomen, as he almost made contact with the Shiv, and brought him down, before Arran put another 9mm round into the man's foot.
"STOP FUCKING PLAYING GAMES, YOU HEAR? NOW!" He said, walking up closer, grabbing the man by the throat as the keys dropped, and another bullet entered the militant. Three down. He didn't care. He was sufficiently moving, no point taking prisoners in this place. It was lawless enough as it was- these bastards weren't helping. He kept himself to the wall, as yelling could be heard, in native language. It sounded questioning. He stuck to the corridor, moving skillfully and tactically, aware he had two clips in reserve. He wanted to keep them as long as possible- bullets meant lives, and in short, if he wanted to take Scorpion's, he knew it would take more than 36 from his two spare magazines. Any spare would do. He heard the voice get closer, barely peeking the corner as the shots rang out. Automatic. Bugger. He let the man fire uncontrollably, clearly untrained. These were some poorly trained militants, barely allowed guns and yet this one did and fired it like a lunatic. Turning the corner, Arran shot a clean pair to the man's temple, throwing him down, as he moved forwards, the P226 that he clutched conflident in his hands, as he saw the cells. Four men wasn't enough, but he could tell that this was it. Two men in particular, in the two holding cells. He unlocked both before picking up the weapon on the floor, and a spare magazine. It wasn't a lot, but it would do- the G3A2 being poorly maintained, but it's sighting and solid stock holding stern. It would be a good weapon, if more fire was needed. A Colt Revolver sat on the men's buckle, with some equipment in a small bag, as well as a $50 dollar bill and a small golden wedding ring.
"So, who's King Cobra is this?" Arran asked, looking at the two men, the short shaven man who didn't look very tanned being what the Scot expected to find. The other one looked far too tanned, just somewhat not suiting.
"I assume yours, mercenary. Name is Arran Mackenzie. The name Scorpion I believe rings a bell. Let's get the fuck out of here." He simply said, pointing the King Cobra to the unknown Canadian man before flipping the whole pistol and holding it by the barrel, offering the handle to the Canadian, and nodding to the body.
"He has the rest of your shit. I'll check outside." Arran simply added, aiming the G3, as he pushed out from the cells, keeping a head back as a pistol rang out. Blindfiring the weapon, he heard a groan, as the man came down with a shot to the leg, before Arran popped him with a 7.62 mm round to the chest, pinning him as he led the way out of the lobby, and out the building, aware that noise had been made. Arran may have been rusty, but he was decisive. He knew what he did best, and the memories from his SBS days had stayed in his mind, flowing as the liquid adrenaline had kicked off from the first Tomahawk swing to the last bullet he had fired,

---

Magnus watched onward. He decided to take a different approach. He had sat quietly in the lobby. His hunch that there were more had paid off. Watching the bar momentarily had been good- this guy didn't know about tailing and blending in. A white person like him should have been spotted from a mile out. But the way that Magnus acted, and almost blended with the local population like a native of sorts, suggested otherwise. He had seen this mercenary kill a drunk, and he was coming to the same hotel. Classic. He heard the room number, and followed, waiting about twenty minutes, before making his move.

He knocked on the door. He didn't search every room, of course not. But he spotted something off about this whole batch. He remembered faces. These all were so soon and so quick, and Arran's file had told him everything. The kidnap of what looked like either a Canadian or an American mercenary, and the Scot who looked like he had been rusty was connected. This was another. And he wanted to find out what he wanted. If they were here for Scorpion...well, he had to figure out a way of fixing something that would make sure that this time, it wouldn't be a wasted effort to fuel the war. As much as he liked money, he liked the locals. He cared for some, understood poverty and why he was a direct contradiction. In the short term, the factions were money, resources and a means to an end. In the long term, chances like these mercenaries turning up on his door would be a bad call if he refused to act. He knew the intentions, and in the end, he knew that to make sure that they at least had a hope in hell of perhaps finding leads, he'd need to put them through.
"You seem to be pretty good at murdering people. And fairly new around here, like about two other individuals I saw today, who happen to come out of the blue- not something you see often, you understand...especially when the Scorpion is involved. Name's Magnus. Can we talk?" He simply asked, looking into Edward in a particular way, aware that while he was a total stranger, he wanted to at least figure something out here, watching Edward's moves. He wouldn't try anything, worst that could happen, he'd shut the door. But he knew what action to take in what context, and right now, perhaps getting a better understanding of the scale from someone who wasn't Arran would be better. Getting things moving, perhaps explaining what he did.

As Sarah watched over the crowd she finally found what she was looking for. Her critters were mainly someone alone, who would take some interest to her sight (Not the perverted kind) and above all, seem rather under equipped. One man. Beretta and knife, answered to that description. She followed him with her eyes as he entered the same bar she did earlier. Sarah got up and gave one last draft of her cigarette, her second since she had been sitting, before throwing it on the ground and stepping on it. As she took her gun and machete, she briefly considered to take her empty beer and bottle of water to a trash can but who was she kidding, only civilized people placed trash cans in public location. She just left them behind her as she walked toward the bar.

It didn't take long to spot the brown haired man, which she somehow could guess was an American. Obviously most mercs here had been in the army but you could guess their nationalities from that, it's something she learned by watching the french and thinking back on her experiences. European soldiers have this dignity to them, because they belong to thousand year old organizations dating back from the knights of old. Americans however were either less sophisticated or more efficient in their looks and movement.

Sarah decided to go in bluntly, she was no spy and he obviously wasn't either. She walked up next to him and sat down, taking the little scrap of paper her sponsors had given her as a final farewell. "A pistol and a blade to make fortune in the heart of Africa, doing someone else's dirty business, either we're insane or the guys hiring us are desperate." She slid the paper across the bar next to him but didn't remove her hand from it. "You wouldn't happen to have a guess to what's written on that paper... would you?" She stared at him for a reaction. She couldn't really blow her cover from this, if cover there was to blow by talking to some merc in a bar. Either the man would get the message, wouldn't know what she was talking about or be so dumb, paranoid or unwilling to cooperate on this that she herself wanted nothing to do with him.

Edward was about to enter his room when the lock got stuck "Cheap African construction. Would it Kill yah to buy some better doors." He shouted down the hall doing his best interpretation of a loud ass merc in a hotel. That's when some guy came around the corner and fucking blabbed the the whole hallway about how good of a killer he was "Thank you I try." He said still pretending to be a merc, if he kept up the act of a dumb ass merc for a little while maybe the guy would see he wasn't worth it and move on no sense on blowing his cover full out, but when he named dropped Scorpion it was hard not to knock this ass hole out and torture him but something told him he wouldn't have to, but that name drop caused him to go serious the cocky smile disappeared replaced with a stern frown. "In you go." He said his voice was serious, he nudged open the door with his shoulder and closed it when this guy was in.

"Well Mr Magnus start talking." He said grabbing a chair and plopping down in it. It was hard not to let out a sigh of relief as he sat down as he'd been walking all day but he kept his calm "I want everything you know on Scorpion. You tell me i won't kill you like your a loose end sound fair?" He asked pulling his USP from his belt and flashing it at him, he wasn't trying to intimidate Magnus his intentions were serious he would murder him if he didn't talk or he gave him shitty intel.

Eyebrows raised, as Magnus walked in, looking at the USP, aware that he truly was holding it in a way that he'd shoot. And somehow, deep inside, Magnus knew that he had no reason. He was a little mad, sure, he had it in him. But somehow...he just knew it was going to be worth his while.
"Everything I know..is a big set of words for someone who is chasing a big some of money. I assume. The man is almost untouchable. He surrounds himself in a cloud that means you'll need to go through the highest levels of factions if you want to be lucky to catch a glimpse of him. He hangs like a Spectre. He walks into gun markets, presents, walks away. You cannot drag him out or predict it. It's as random, as can be- he takes on a form one day that would look like any other white man here, and there are many mercenaries in this country right now. He provides both expensive western weaponry and cheap, post-Soviet eastern equipment, a source for warlords to obtain everything and anything their sick pleasures demand. You want a Golden Desert Eagle? He will get you one, for a price. An AKM, with diamonds and an inscription of your lover's name on the pistol grip? He can do that. 30,000 Zestava rifles? That too, and hell, he'll do a two for one with RPG-32 rocket launchers, fresh off the plane from Jordan. Oh, and lastly, I should say. He can happily vanish, poof, reappear and disappear. He smells one ounce of bullshit, it is as if he teleports, like you would not believe, because he has a web that is intra-factional, international and most of all, already one step ahead of people who want to murder him. That good enough?" Magnus said, chuckling, his accent putting it across, though he didn't speak loudly.
"I work as a fixer. And this here...is a mercenary hotel. Has been for years. It's easy to find people like you. So when there's another pair out there...it raises eyebrows, when you mention such a name here, and coincidentally, they appear from the blue, not going straight to a faction but rather, waiting around for a sign of something. Good you kept it quiet, but I can tell something is not right, and it's why I know you are the prodigical sons..actually, what's your name? Just to clear the air." He simply said, as he leaned against the door.
"Point is, I knew, not know the man. And I think that you want him dead as badly as I do. Let us leave it at that- I couldn't tell you where he is right now, or what I could do to help you get him, or give you SWAT gear so you can walk around and when you do find him, be fully armored. I may be a fixer here, but I can't pull light out of my asshole. I can however, explain what you are in on. So I'll get you started. I do not recommend hunting him outright. The factions here, in the short term, will do you good. In the long, not much. They murder people, on a massive scale. This is worse than you saw on TV, they make mass graves and systematically kill anyone who disagrees with them. Here, there is peace, but I am even watching my chronometer. US Dollars will become toilet paper, once that peace breaks, and since the rolls will be also in short supply, you could really be in the shit." Magnus added, aware of what was going on, going back to topic, a chuckle on his face.

"So if you can't go out with a bow and arrow and hope you find him, you'll need to take alternative action. Get friendly with the right people, and maybe, just maybe, you'll find an opportunity, these factions being a way to get yourself equipped and stay alive in the jungle. Alone, you will never do it. Money wise, you look like in a week's time, you will be as poor as those people in Sahrwi Slum about 200m that way, but you end up working for them, you find revenue. And power, of sorts to at least go up the chain of command and understand where you stand. And a weapon, a rifle. You don't look unintelligent, but you have nine rounds, plus one in the chamber, and a couple of spare magazines." He added, pointing to the USP.

"That will not last ten minutes if you go out into the warzone there. You can tell me that right now, you would like to put that bullet, right in my head. But right now, there is a mutual reason why I knocked on your door. One that I guess I trust you with. You get Scorpion, you get paid, you get out of whatever predicament you were in. Just like your neighbor. And justice of a type is done, not just for these people. What you care for it is not my concern." He said, pointing to a piece of paper on a cabinet, and then nodding to him.
"I won't need to read this, I assume. Your government sent you, am I right. So hey, at least we have that between us established. A rock and a hard place. Out there, certain death, back home, prison, or problems of a different kind. Down here...the more people you can leave dead that happen to oppose your paymasters, the better things work, no collaterals or worries. You will find what you need to succeed, and make worthwhile this trip to wipe him from the face of the earth. I will be in touch, in time. I have nothing more to say. You can shoot me here and now, if you think I am holding back. But believe me. It achieves nothing. You have nothing to gain from it, and perhaps now, nothing to lose. I know what works and what does not here. And if the mosquitoes, either of the two factions or a fellow mercenary haven't killed me yet, then I'm sure that you'll at least understand that if it is Scorpion you want, you will need more than just that gun and what you know right now. Gold, contacts, and a steady arsenal will keep you alive. Do not forget it." Magnus added, looking around, as he then opened the door, just not caring if there was a gun at his head. It was a thing he was used to.
"For now, you're on your own. I trust you not to get malaria, so I hope to see you again, one way or another, Edward." Magnus simply said, nodding, as he left the room, aware that he had done what he needed to.

The third man. The rest would fall to place, he thought to himself. He really did have nothing more to say, he couldn't lie and tell him a fairy tale that somehow guns would be magically found at the local market with a price of one dollar for an AK. That wasn't truth. But the facts were, in a world like this, Magnus knew what it took to stay alive, and he had done it well for four years. At first, he'd almost died, on a few occasions. A few scars were left. But now, he knew how to approach situations, and how to get what he wanted, to get the outcome he needed. Things went pear shaped, of course. But he could adapt, and make sure his own skin wasn't going to get burned. Most of all, he knew how to get the specialized kit that some people needed to hand, and how to perhaps better do the internal movement within this country. But that wasn't relevant- he never asked for that. Everything that would help him with Scorpion he now knew- Arran would know it in time, and soon enough, those three would be melded. The man in that prison, taken from the road, the bald, bearded Scot and the American with the USP. It wasn't matchmaking in a normal way, but if three people could at least make sense of their situaion, perhaps they'd last a little longer. And Magnus knew what next when they were at the next stage. Understood with the conditions in the country. And then, ready to at last to do something useful for once.

Sheppard sipped his beer once more and smiled as the woman from the square slid over a piece of paper. She was French or Italian he guessed from her accent, definitely European. "I'd say they're desperate and I'd take a guess and say its the same as this one," he said taking his letter out from his vest, holding it up between two of his fingers. "If that alone isn't enough then killing the scorpion would be my first guess," he added just in case this woman had mistaken him for someone else. Clearly asking what was on the paper was a test. Taking one more sip he turned on his bar stool to face the woman. "Michael Sheppard," he said, offering her a hand after placing his beer down on the bar. He was silently pleased his assumption had been correct, although at the same time he couldn't help but feel it would be easier to blend in alone. Looking the woman up and down he decided there were probably worse allies to have in this country. Her age could only suggest experience if she was selected for a mission such as this. "I don't suppose you have a plan yet?" Michael asked. "I tried the market but there were a few too many locals to be of any use."

Sarah shook Sheppard's hand firmly. "Sarah Verwoerd." She then took her last water bottled to crack it open and nodding before taking a sip. Of course their target would be illusive, else they wouldn't have sent an international commando to take him down. "Actually yes. I've thought about it while I was sitting outside and I don't think our approach should be to go after our little insect friend right away, we don't know any local and I'm guessing that he hasn't survived so long in here by being stupid either. No, we should go about it in reverse." She turned around and drew an invisible line. "These people want war, obviously, and each faction is supplied by the same man. Monopoly, basic economics. I've worked here before and I know the likes of these warlords. Vicious and with absolutely not an ounce of honor or loyalty. So I what I say is we give them this war they want and put one of the cockroaches seeking to rule this colony in our debt. Any African would keep their money if they could betray a friend for it, especially if they have no use of him afterward. And why would they? When they've won they can all create their little utopia and who cares, the point is that they won't need more guns anymore so the Scorpion becomes expendable."

She took another sip of water and shrugged. "Plus we can account on the others and my guess is that ultimately they will also realize that you need to have someone guide you to our target and that this can either be achieved by bribing, which not one of us can do at the moment since civilized currencies have no real values, or calling in debts. Anyways it's a matter of barter. I'm sure we'll be able to run into them. These mercs are amateurs for the most part, at least nowhere in our league. I'm guessing we'll just have to listen about any exceptional deeds and voila, we will be able to track them and make contact."

Sarah took a long look at Michael without any expression on her face, trying to somehow see his background from his looks. "I genuinely think that this is the best course of action. So I do hope that you have no problem with doing morally ambiguous things. This is Africa, I'll take a guess and say that most of the people we will have to kill will be wearing a T-shirt and using an AK and that we will have to kill women and children, perhaps even take part in ethnic cleansing. If you aren't a racist right now I assure you you will be when you leave. If you do actually leave."

Sheppard paused for a moment, mulling over what Sarah had said. "If we plan to light this fire, we'll have to be careful to keep it small. If the UN decides there is a need for international intervention and sends in Peacekeepers then the Scorpion will probably go to ground and we'll miss our chance to kill him. But I agree, it's probably going to be the best way to find him." He took another swig of his beer, before removing his sunglasses and turning to properly face Sarah. "I doubt the moral ambiguity will be an issue. Everyone has a price for doing anything. I imagine we'll find out that our's and the others' prices are lower than the payout for getting the Scorpion." It was a fair assumption, Sheppard doubted there would be much difference in what had been offered by the different governments, they were probably even collaborating on this, and he knew what he stood to gain was enough for him to do pretty much anything.

"So we start off small then. Find some work, get paid in something useful, get tooled up and make contacts. Hopefully finding the others in the process," he said before finishing off his beer and putting the bottle back down on the bar. "We might as well get right to it," he added, standing up from his seat at the bar. "We just need to find someone who needs some dirty work doing."

Edward listened to everything Magnus had to say and committed it to memory "Wait!" He said as Magnus was walking out he stuck his gun away a universal sign of I'm not gonna shoot you in the face, "Names Edward Brewer, but i have two more questions to ask you. Who are these right guys and how can i infiltrate scorpions inner circle. Are there other people here that have just come out of the blue, where can i find them?" He asked standing up, he walked over to Magnus and offered a hand shake it was a simple gesture but Edward could see now that he was going to need this mans intel and help if he wanted to make it out of here alive so best get chummy with the guy so he doesn't die by some lucky skinny with an AK.

God damn he hoped he could get this guys help he seemed to be more of a local than even the locals themselves. He needed a friend in this shit hole might as well be this guy, he seemed to know what he was doing and going in armed with his intel was his best bet he was a local asset and if he lived up to the hype then this mission would be done most riki tick.

Lazarus rolled his shoulder. The bastards had visited him one more time in his cell. And had come really close to ripping his shoulder loose from it's socket. He quietly groaned as bones popped and snapped, his muscled ached. He'd been tortured before. But he usually had an out. His platoon were working to get him out somehow. This though was differant. He didn't have JTF2-Squad B3 to come and back him up. Holly wasn't around, and neither was Jeff or Simon. He couldn't trust for Alita to slip in during the night to hand him a knife for when the breakout occured. He had only himself.

So he was really surprised when he heard shooting and shouting. He got up from the floor and leaned against the wall, just in case. When doors opened, it paid to not be directly in the line of fire. More shots, he heard death rattles. The door opened and he looked down the barrel of his own King Cobra. He hrmed, taking it as it's offered to him. He checked the chambers, then got up and grabbed the rest of his stuff. ammo cylinders, trench knife and the money he had been sent in with. Including the gold coins he thought he was going to lose for sure. He hadn't been sure why the Canadian Government had issued him some freshly pressed gold coins. But he wasn't going to complain, it might prove useful. He gathered his things, and also briefly thought about grabbing a really really grubby looking MAC10 he spotted. But the thing looked like it'd blow up in his hand. Last thing he wanted was to lose his hand to a badly maintained weapon.

He sooned joined Arran outside. He looked at the man, then grunted out, "Lazarus Stamp, looks like I owe you a few here." He extended his hand to the other man, "You said the Scorpion, I know the name...who sent you? Better yet tell me when we get out of here."

As if to prove his point a shot from a long rifle, badly aimed likely without a scope on it whizzed by. The Canadian merc turned, heavy revolver in hand. He looked about, spotted the man with the ancient looking Mosin rifle trying to draw another bead on them. He gripped the big handcannon with on hand, aimmed and squeezed the trigger. The big gun roared. The .357 round rocketing down range, and punching the man off his feet. Sending him down hard to the ground, "Let's get the heck out of here. There will be more coming." Despite still hurting from the beating he had taken earlier. Lazarus lead the way to Merc Hotel. The best place to bunker down after this bullshit. They'd both have to leave Bekalo after this though.

---

It took them a few minutes to reach Merc Alley. Lazarus having holstered his revolver in the back of his pants for now. Stepping in he looked about, making sure there wasn't anyone pointing a gun his way already. His eyes travelled over the many people in the bar. HE then moved aside and headed for a table, hoping against hope that Arran would follow. Right now, Arran was the only guy he could call a friend in this shit hole. And he desperately needed a friend. He kept casting glances about the bar, trying to figure that if he and Arran were here for the same reason it seemed. Was there anyone else in this room who was too?

As he sat down he felt the twinge of where one of his arms had been badly bruised. Creator damn his soul but he felt like he stood out because of the beating he had taken. He then got to thinking, that this also might make him look like a good target for anyone who might want to make a name for themselves. Shit if things weren't worse.

Laz looked about and instead of staying seated he got up. Catching Arran as he passed, whispering as he passes, "Not the best place. The hotel might be safer." Lazarus limped down the street a few feet, pulled open the door and slipped inside.

Once inside Laz slumped into a chair. Looking about again, making sure of the safety of the area. He shifted his gun into his lap, hiding it against the inside of his left thigh. He looked up at Arran when he entered, "Now...pal...let's talk. I want to know what ever you might know. I parachuted into the country, walked 8 miles, and got picked up by a convoy in the jungle." Lazarus shifted abit, spotting a man walking by, getting stopped by another man. Lazarus was about to put them out of mind when he heard something about the Scorpion. The Canadian was on his feet, "What's this about the Scorpion?" He had his handcannon in hand, pointed towards the ground to try and look as non-confrontational as he could, "How do you know that name? Who sent you? I need to know." He limped abit as he approached the two, "This country is a shithole, but it seems quite a few people know that pseudonym." He caught himself on a wall, holding his side where that bastard jailor had done a number on his ribs, "What do you know? What you know I need to know, and I'm even willing to pay to know it."

(Worked with Big on this one again on Magnus's part- though I don't want him to have a significant impact from here on out till a later date, as I've simply used him to propel this group of three forwards (but not Sarah/Sheppard).

Magnus looked back, raising his eyebrows again as he realized Edward had somewhat come around, shaking his hand.
"One is next door. If he comes back, we'll have another. Then you have numbers. Friends are important here. Without them, you will not last long. There is no fast way...I hate to tell you this, but here, things are so inefficient, the wheels of justice turn very slowly." He added, Magnus then looked right into Edward, as he then looked down the corridor.
"These people, Edward, are very talented. They want what you want, and it so happens that you are in a good position to work with them before the bus leaves you here in a dead end. Now I can't give you an extra gun. But I will help your group, in the way that men like me do. You will need to think long-term before you consider his inner circle. The locals are your best way in- find the people killing each other and then get to the people who buy the kit direct, or at least through the tethers." He said, as he was about to say something, and the sight of two individuals came to sight. They were familiar. Arran and the unknown man.

---

Arran looked to the Canuck as they walked onwards within the hotel corridor, as Lazarus was limping as Magnus laughed, in a typical Swedish way. Arran hadn't said anything, just remained quiet for now until they got to his room. The corridor was empty, apart from the three mercenaries and the fixer. Things had been hectic- they had needed to move fast, and Arran, while he had mentioned simply to Lazarus that not there was the place.
"Holy shit, in just a few hours, that wasn't bad what damage they did to you. You don't need to pay. We should go into Arran's, before we talk. I would rather hush about it." Magnus simply said, nodding to him, as Arran took his key out and headed for his door. Nobody had entered. Good. Opening it up, he led the way in, for the whole party of mercanaries. Whoever the hell that other man was with Edward, it seemed off.

Entering his room, it became rather busy, as Arran took a seat on his bed, looking over. It didn't seem weird even when he went into the hotel that he had a G3 lowly held, and he guessed that with a rifle like this, keeping a low profile was a better idea than not.
"Simple introductions. This is Arran Mackenzie, you're Edward Brewer, and this is..?" Magnus spoke and then asked, as Arran quickly butted in.
"Lazarus Stamp. Man in the joint. Canadian." Arran coldly said, looking over to him.
"My name is Magnus Gunnarson. I work as a fixer, as the two of you would know, and our Canadian friend here will know now. Don't mention money here, friend. It is the easiest way of getting mugged, and most likely, shot, and I know full well that you owe this man, not me. Scorpion's name should be kept as quiet as possible. You went into the wrong people, and you are lucky to live- seems like your new Scottish friend decided you were worthwhile. Point being, you all came based on one letter. We cannot remain here for long- so I will make it quick. You need to join the UPL or PUFE forces in the next town of Mokuba, south of here. There's too much equipment and weaponry in this place. That town is currently in dire need of people. Where we stand now, like they already did to Lazarus, they'll purge anyone who isn't on side, massacre even. They leave behind a few people, people like myself and others such as the general populace who they do actively hunt out- but they'll take a few to be examples, and murder them in the street, or force them into slavery. You are better putting a bullet in your mouth than being taken, is all I will tell you. Point being, from here you are unlikely to find the Scorpion. He wades in the conflict, where murder and war happens. There is a bus leaving in thirty minutes. Get on the move. I will stay here, but I will contact you indirectly, in time. Just make sure that you have all you need to know." Magnus said, as Arran protested.
"And what about our shit here? You expect us to just run?" He asked, rather brutally.
"You can stash it. They're not very clever, they don't search floorboards. Take your valuables and simply go. You will find work, and revenue. Then, you can actually get good guns...that G3 looks like it's going to fucking explode in your hands. The people in this hotel will be reasonable with you, so cut it behind. I do not know when this war comes here, but I know that it would be better to leave now than later, when they're hunting people like you with whole squads." Magnus added, as he looked at all the mercenaries, nodding.
"And from there, I'll see what I can do. Because then you won't be at risk, and you'll have what you want. Be ready to adapt, gentlemen." Magnus simply said, as Arran threw the G3 on the bed, looking outside, before Arran left.
"If you insist. So we're going to join one of these factions? And who says they won't put us all into captivity?" He added, as Magnus chuckled.
"Firstly, that was a local UFL militia, a bunch of bored locals who aren't lucky enough to be skilled enough to kill their own countrymen, where people like you take their jobs. They have a right to be pissed. And look around! This is a neutral town, right now at least. It won't be for long, but out there? You have those bastards killing each other, and you just need to be in the right time with a gun to be thrown a wage and told to kill any Opposition force you see. That, is how you live. I will contact you indirectly, when the time comes- right now, focus on getting yourselves established." He said in response halfway out the door, as he left the room, walking down and out of the hotel. Arran had animocity with him, but so far, he was alive. He knew shit- the locals, the conditions at the moment. And most of all, he had stern enough a watch. Nothing would be earned by killing him. It would be like killing a Elephant, just a pointless act that would just not change the flow of the organic world around him, but just be the death of one more wise person amongst anarchy. And even Arran, who knew that he lived on that rush of just fucking shit up and dealing with the dirt, knew it was better to leave it.

"Well....I trust that man, and I've known him for five fucking minutes. He isn't bluffing. He had a tattoo on that shoulder of his, I could see it through his thermal shirt. Kustjagarna. Swedish Marines...fucking nutcases." He said, looking to the assault rifle on the bed, truly a piece of shit.
"Magnus is right, nobody here knows of Scorpion unless they are higher up in the militias. He could be any white man, able to come and go like nothing else. So say we don't follow his route into the militia. We try and search the forests systematically over the next few weeks, from here, and figure out what to do." He added, looking out on the powerful sun that arose, the mid-day in full swing.
"That sounds like a bad idea if you ask me- this is a big country, and the locals have already tried to kill one of us. We need to stick together, and figure out a plan to at least know what we do once we're in these militias. Aye, you'd fucking get gibbed if those bastards with tae fucking machetes get a hold of you, and that crap. When you can't beat them, join them, you know. And who knows. One day, he walks in to inspect and sell...we go to the sale, BAM. One arsehole of a human being dead, and we all walk away with freedom, money, and that shit sounds like it's better." Arran mulled, checking the weapon, pulling the old magazine out as he put a new one in, barely getting the rifle cocked as the rusty and shitty mechanism was almost tattered to total bits. No oil or WD40 would fix this. It was fucked, sooner or later. These people he didn't also know how far he'd go with. He wanted his own cut, he wanted to just go and get what needed to be done, done. Yet somehow, beyond his nature, he felt that he was going to need. To just stay with them, and leave them- not betray them, when needed. He'd go his own way when he knew he had what he wanted to know, and while that was subjective to change, he felt that in this world, the man he could have just saved would simply pull his revolver to his head and pull the trigger. Or the other man, Edward. He seemed itchy, for intel and stuff to know.
"We need to be careful, but so long as we're capable of killing people and staying at the top of the food chain, we're good. The most ironic thing is, I feel we're going to have to buy weapons indirectly through the network of the man we're gonnie kill." He added, his Scots just jumping in dramatically, to absolutely ruin his pronunciation of the English language, more prominent on his pronunciation of some words than others. He took the G3 to hand, and looked out the window.
"It's a good thing I brought fucking 100 percent deet for insect repellent." Arran said, chuckling, trying to take his mind off the fact that in a few minutes, things would get quite serious. He had shit to hide under the floor, and while he knew he'd be back to this room, and in a way, he'd be in this exact room, he knew that otherwise taking the rest of his repetoire would be important. The GPS, his weaponry, and the empty Bergen, mainly to hide the G3 from plain view.