Magnus looked to Edward, nodding.
"They could take you. They won't take me. I know locals, too well- they're purging, join or die my friend. It'd be a fucking stupid idea if they decided to hang me dry with a machete. I didn't sell weapons to adjacent sides of the conflict. I have my ways of contacting people. Similar to what you mention Edward, but not entirely that." He said, hearing the gunfire come close, looking back to Arran and Laz, as they began to head out. He didn't know if Edward would follow- maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. But he wasn't going to die here, the same he knew couldn't perfectly be said of the rest of the people he'd made contact with.

Arran had packed his kit under the floorboards, but kept a few small things he didn't care about on the surface, to keep things aloft. Moving out the hotel, the noise of gunfire was ferocious, as he followed behind, bolting through the window, G3 raised. His bergen was on his back, and his sunglasses over his eyes, with the Boonie hat too. That always. He kept his P226 tucked into his holster, and while he knew the weapon he held was a rusted and antique piece of shit, they had to move. He watched Laz simply slice the militant, and grab his weapon.
"Fuck, let's hustle mate, not much time left!" He said, looking to the anarchy that was going on, no soldiers directly near them but the craziness enveloping.
"Down here!" He said, pointing to another track, moving through a part of the slum in the town, a quick route to perhaps get through. Moving quickly, with a jog, Arran raised his weapon, pointing at any locals in the way to get down, as he moved past, tackling one or two as he pushed past. Transport was priority. And he was a wheelman when needed- they needed to get the fuck out of here, and he knew how to at least put his nerve to the test when there were insane conditions.

Moving through the shanty town, the sight of a couple of contacts by a small pickup truck, UFE soldiers, was a sight to see. Stopping, he raised the weapon, pulling the trigger as he knew that they had to take them down. Arran grabbed the man on the right, firing two bullets as the gun jammed, hoping Laz had the other man. And he did, as he was pretty much ripped to shreds by the 7.62 big brother of Arran's weapon, as he nodded, moving forward, scanning the area across the street, moving across the muddy track as he looked to the body. Even worse weapons than what they had, but he grabbed a small set of keys from one of the bodies, and Arran was moving fast again. 
"Cheers for that. Now I'll return the favour and get us out. Evasive training is a little rusty in my mind, but I'll try not to get us murdered. We're more likely to die by bullets than a car crash, right?" He said, cynically and comedically, as he looked to Laz, a little grateful for the save, which allowed them to pick off the two men by the Hilux quickly, before anyone else found out about them. Bullets then began to pour down the street, inaccurately but decisively enough to make Arran haul his ass.

Opening the driver's door, he dumped himself into the pickup, looking to Lazarus, 
"Get in the back, shoot from there! We're going to have fucking company!" He simply noted, before he opened the passenger door, the Hilux barely kicking into life as Arran put pedal to floor, the diesel engine spluttering as it chugged forward, out of it's rut, and for the village exit. Arran steered hard through an alley, a few men ahead shooting as Arran simply sped up, hitting one and throwing him onto the bonnet, before a sharp turn rolled his unconscious and hit-and-run rendered body onto the floor. The sight of militants firing AKs and various weapons in the distance could be heard echoing, traces being from them. He didn't even recognize the logos anymore. UPL or PUF? Probably both, he asked himself, as a bullet shattered the front windscreen, leaving a crack in the right corner, as he turned left, into a dip, headed for a shallow stream flanked by a small bridge. This was going to be fordable, or it had to be, he said to himself..
"It's going to get a little wet!" He yelled, as he hit the water, the first drop deeper than expected, as the central silt of the river was shallower, and gave the wheels traction, as they rapidly span. Throwing it into first gear, the Hilux pulled out, scarpering up an adjacent slope as he rejoined the road, taking his P226 to hand from his holster. He winded down the window, already peeking out as he looked ahead, at the small two man patrol on the road. This was total anarchy- the events had only happened within a minute of time, and yet, it felt like an hour. He was good at thinking, and calculating. Arran could guess that Laz was roughly the same.

The two men realized this wasn't a friendly pickup quickly, as Arran was half out the window, P226 in hand. Silenced still, but no less comfortable. The shots rang out, as he shot one of the men cleanly in the chest twice, and the other in the abdomen once, hailing off a fully automatic burst as he came down to the ground in pain, aware that Laz could finish him if he wanted. He put his foot down, the bumpy and dusty trail through the jungle a brutal one, as he exhaled, getting his breath back. He drove on, as fast as he could, quite literally driving as if he had stolen the Hilux. He didn't know how exactly Edward, or Magnus, or even any white mercenary would survive that. Magnus was wise, had his ways, but he didn't know specifically how Edward would work he way out of this pickle. It was civil war, kill or be killed, and the former had it in spades to be doing. All that Arran wanted, was to be somewhere in which he could begin to unravel the strings, and get involved in one of the factions. As much as the white men were hated, they were needed.

A small waterfall by the roadside, in a small siding was where Arran and Laz ended up, Arran sitting on the bonnet, wiping the sweat from his brow as he looked over the bullet marks in the bonnet, and the smashed mirror, shaking his head, as he got off.
"That was an interesting way to enter a country, I expected customs. But hey, at least you are armed, and we are alive. Bekalo is broken now. This other town better have a fucking armory. We need to fix this." He said, spitting on the river, as he took his water canister from his bergen, quickly dunking it under the stream's fall, before bunging a chlorine dioxide tablet in- a very powerful water disinfectant, that would probably remove the diseases virluent in even a fresh stream like this. It needed time however, and it would take as long as it needed- an hour before a drink, he said to himself.
"You handle a weapon well. SF too, I assume. No need to ask which one you're from. All you need know is that I'm Royal Navy Special Forces, guess the branch." He said, chuckling in his Scottish manner, looking up.
"And no, it doesn't involve James Bond." He said, referring to what he knew specifically he had said, about Naval Intelligence. That wasn't his department, after all, unlike a certain spy's previous ascent. He took out his GPS, quickly scanning it through, as he found his location.
"In terms of rivers, there's a lot of ways about this country. I've got a boat stashed in the wilderness somewhere. If things go to shit, which I hope they don't, we have that. But it's a chance to keep in mind too. No doubt that roads are locked down, but riverways, I feel not so much." He added, wiping his face as he took his sunglasses off, checking through a reference point for the next town- Mokuba.
"We've got a couple of hours to the next town. We can take a smaller road to get there to avoid the major checkpoints, that they could have. Then, we begin this properly." He added, nodding in the direction of the car, as he clambered in, waiting for Laz before he turned on the engine. Doing a U-Turn, he skidded up the embankment, and headed back onto the dirt path, the jungle route a major thoroughfare, though major rains hadn't hit it recently, and it seemed almost fairly well kept, being hole ridden yet not in massive gullies and at least somewhat wider, to cater for lorries. It would be a journey, but they needed to get to this place, before they were the targets of a manhunt.
"Makes you think. We're fucking expendable according to our governments, perhaps they don't want us to live. The people that sent us can think that. It's a win win for them. Get rid of a scum of society like me or kill the primary dealer of small arms in this part of Africa to bring back some stability for their damn companies. Even if the latter doesn't come to light, no doubt there is someone in an office right now that tracks Scorpion's moves, but never acts you know. A man doesn't live that long without forming enemies. Or very good friends in powerful positions. Something puts me off. If this guy is like a ghost, then no doubt, he's got people that will give him serious fucking military grade equipment, not just from the old Soviet states, but from the West. The UK, US, you name it. We haven't ever been told of this scale. I mean, where the fuck is the UN or even the former colonial forces when you need them? It doesn't add up. I feel it, mate. We're getting fucked over here, and that whatever this lifestyle that mercenaries chose is, it must have a reason." He said, as they hit a huge bump, somehow adjusting the Hilux's path as he looked out the back window.
"Fuck, that hurt. But it's Diamonds, bullion, fucking tribal shit that makes you the almighty round these parts. You walk in penniless and walk away with suitcases packed with diamonds if you're good. But the Heart of Darkness, aye, it is a cruel mistress. Perhaps why it's so fucked up here. The greed of human beings manifests itself in such a cruel way. And frankly, I fucking enjoy it." He said, chuckling, shaking his head, as he looked to his P226 in his hip, and the G3 on the dashboard.
"After four years in a cell, I come out to this. Whatever you came here for, sure, you get paid well and claps a-plenty. I get to leave my cell, get my money back and fucking deal the product that flies off the shelves again, and in kilogram quantities. The white crystals. Beautiful shit, but I don't touch it. See, all this shite was going to hell when we got here. It's a natural product. People here have only discovered how efficient you can murder villages when you've got a AK and they don't. For all I know, I might as well be marked up to take it all and win rather than fucking rot my life away and walk a broken man another day in a cage. Maybe Laz, you got a higher moral than me. But so long as I'm here at least, I'll make the best of it. Make my fucking money, and if that isn't worth toilet paper, diamonds, my boy. Shite that looks like it's able to cut steel on a blade, and that crap. There is no other way you can walk in and just expect these people to be accommodating, they can barely fucking contain themselves in a neutral town. So I say we go to work and get our asses employed. And then, me and you part ways, and I get to leave with more than I came with. Scars, broken bones. Balls, it's all worthwhile, when you have the big picture to mind." Arran said, occasionally looking to Laz, as they continued down the road, ranting as he wanted to get his own views out, and to kinda secure himself almost in it, what he was here for and what he wanted to believe was the way to do things here. And it was, after all. Maybe not to some. But to him, but was what he was going to complete, and perhaps, a disagreement could be there. But it was do-able.