Somewhere in New Realna's Old Quarter
2200 Hours

The city had died down, and while the nightlife was running wild, on an ecstasy and coke fueled binge combined with alcohol down below in the cosmopolitan old city, a place of bars, cafes and predominantly drunks. The latter was the most frequent sight down below. Because Lucas wasn't amongst the chaos that was a night out on Realna's Old Quarter. No, he was doing buisness. Things that needed to be taken care of. He'd done some simple reconaissance the night before, and was now moving, quickly and with a purpose, across the roof of the terraces, leaping up onto a slightly higher level, clambering over with the precision of a Gazelle leaping a hedge. He wore a black set of infiltrator's gear, with a simple harness attached at his hip, and a small MP7A1, with an attached silencer and optical sight lingering on his back, alongside a carbon-fibre Crossbow and rope system. His Kimber M1911 at his waist, and in his small rucksack, a few mixed explosives. Two 2kg Thermite charges, and two 2kg PE7 charges, the latest and greatest in blowing shit up. His black beanie on, and his distinctive Black, Blue and Grey bandit that he wore meant that only a trained eye, with the correct knowlege of who it was, would know that Trident was running. His face concealed, but he saw fine, the matt black infiltration equipment he wore bringing him to darkness. Sliding across a rooftop ventilation system, he moved forward, crouching by an old stone wall, looking over at the scene in front. He had to have a reason to be like this, right? Fully kitted up with more than enough equipment to be arrested almost several times over for weapons breaches, explosives possession, and worst of all, trespassing. So why?

Because across the other side of the terraces, at a slightly lower level, lay a very, very serious Methamphetamine and Weed operation. The weed was the primary produce here- it wasn't grown, it was refined. They were making Skunk, a highly catching version of Weed that would blow most stoners out of the water. Literally. It was an aggressive, hard form of the drug that practically zombified people in an appropriate dosage, or at least rendered them pretty fucking inanimate, from what Lucas had seen in high enough use. The Russian Mafiya was making a good buck out of it, and it was a continuous process, running out of the second floor of the four storey building opposite, right in plain sight. That said, all the windows were barricaded, nobody could even see in if they were sober on the street below, where the bars ran open on this fine weekend. But on Trident's fifth floor, he had a way in. Taking the Crossbow off his back, he loaded the bolt in clean and steady, the steel cord attached to the bolt more than strong enough. He had a target. A nice metal ventilation system on the roof of the target terrace, where he'd move to.

Pulling the trigger, the bolt silently buried itself into the metal casing, embedding itself strong enough for Lucas to get a firm control of the steel line. Moving back, he tied it tightly to a well positioned telephone wire clamp, tying in neatly and quickly, as he took his karabiner from his harness. Clicking in, he adjusted the mechanism, doing up the screwgate, as he breathed hard.
"Think." He simply muttered to himself, Lucas just calm. Putting the Crossbow back on his back, he looked over the gap, almost five storeys up. This opposite building would be mostly empty, but a body count could come. The plan was simple. And simple was good.

Moving forward, he lept up, leaning back as he whisked himself far across the road, the silent noise of metal against a metal cord being not something exceptionally loud, but drowned out mostly by the noise below as the zip got him to where he had to go. Nobody even saw him. Feet up, he braced himself, as he hit the other end, looking around before he dropped off. Lucas ditched the karabiner that he had used to get across, moving across the rooftop. He'd leave the line- if it dropped, people would know something was amiss. Right now, it looked like a power cable, or something like that. Vaulting over a small wall, he slid into cover, as he heard two men, with cigarettes, talking up ahead. Ducking down, he slid behind a pair of oil barrels on the roof, smelling methlamine. The basic ingredient for methamphetamine, formed from a variety of Amines, and Methanol. A simple product, but one that made Crystal Meth. Which fuelled the frenzied rage of this city, when shit got real. The two men were talking, about the clap, and then about the operation below. One held a beer of sorts, while the other smoked, perhaps out of the labs to avoid contamination. Moving across, as they looked out down below, Lucas was fast, as they looked off the roof of the old building. The Tomahawk was a fine weapon in Lucas's hands, and today, more than ever, it was perfect in his black kevlar gloved hands. The Native American weapon flew into the neck of Smoking man, whilst Beer-holding man was too slow to even comprehend what had happened to his friend's fate. Lucas had iced one- but he wanted the other alive. For a few seconds longer.

Moving forwards, the man dropped his glass on the tarred floor, as Lucas was able to use his slow reaction, the SEAL-issued dive knife already out. The short, sharp blade was like a shiv, but faster, and more comfortable. Beer man threw out a slow punch as he came close, his friend well and truly dead, blood spluttering from his neck. Lucas was quicker, and dodged it, with a swift shank to the abdomen putting the man completely out. He was about to scream, had it not have been for Lucas's gloved hand covering his mouth. Slamming him to the ground, he knelt, looking down.
"How many people, are inside? You lie, you deceive me, I'll know. I can tell liars, and right now, you best not be. I'll pull this out as slow as I can from the moment you start. That's going to rip your whole intestines out, you hear? I think whatever you just had for dinner will be on my knife." He said, the man screaming in muffled tone, as Lucas shook his head. Lucas's voice was hard to distinguish, beneath his thermal bandit.
"Scream, you die, slowly. So you're going to be a good boy, and you might just live. Understood?" Lucas added, as the man blinked twice, Lucas slowly easing off.
".....ten, there's ten!" He said, almost howling in pain, as Lucas put his hand back on. The man was completely incapacitated, just in total agony. The knife hadn't been random, it had been co-ordinated to go just there. Not death, but a slow one.
"Nicely done. But you make Crystal Meth, and I've seen it's affects. Lying is a smaller sin than ruining a hooker's life. I think I can have one white lie." Lucas said, as he pressed harder, the man's muffled scream increasing, as Lucas twisted the knife out of his abdomen, before slitting the man's throat open. The blood spluttered, as he fell dead, Lucas not even caring. He was bad, sure, but not as bad as these people.

Moving up, he headed to the door they'd gone in through, swinging the MP7A1 off his back, checking the EOTech 552 Holographic that sat on the weapon. Moving down, he moved around each and every corner, sweeping carefully. This place ran continuously, and it had to. Now, would be a time for the charges. Moving down the stairs, and around the corner, target number one was found. The Meth Cookhouse. The cooks inside were too down to work, before they heard the black-clad figure make his way in through the plastic sheeting. The spluttering of 4.6mm rounds across the room left a bloody work, and downstairs, the Skunk operation had already ground to a halt as a result of that. The two cooks were gone, completely dead and riddled with rounds. Lucas smirked, as he took out the Thermite Charges, lobbing it over to the far side of the room, a clacker hooked up. This serious military grade equipment was perhaps what most sane people would call excess force. Lucas called it his equalizer. He lobbed it close to a few barrels, right by one of the bodies that had become lifeless and limp, completely devoid. Not that Lucas had a single concern. Moving back out, past the complicated equipment and two vats. The noise of men changed that. Lucas scrambled below a workbench, reloading quietly but surely. They were some guards of some sort, armed with pistols, nine mils. They were searching around, and didn't pick out the black figure of Lucas in and amongst the carnage that was here. Smashed bottles, leaking sets, dead bodies, and nobody to find to blame it. Lucas moved around the left, taking out the pair with a burst of co-ordinated shots, completely switched on in operator mode. Moving out the door, he headed to the staircase, hearing people move up. They had scaled up, UZIs in their hands. No problem. Moving down, he kicked the first man that was moving up the stairs, moving from a hidden position around the corner, kicking him down onto his friend, before emptying the mag between the two. The overpressured AP round in the MP7 was designed to eat body armor, but it was able to punch through one man into the next, whilst not being the most damaging round. And that was why the next two, six out of ten now, were dead. Four goons, two scientists, and that was discounting the rooftop pair. The stairs were concrete, and the inside of this older building hadn't seen much conversion, bar the rooms inside that had served as the laboratories and production facilities.

The skunk room wasn't anything complicated, but the people inside were resilient. Moving up, Lucas felt bullets whizz by, as he dived behind a wall, feeling rounds punch through the wood and stone, chipping parts of the door and surrounding pieces apart. They knew he was there. Bringing up the clacker, he let his instinct keep running. The operator's mind, the mind that thought both logically and unorthodoxly, at the same time. Lucas knew that at this point in his raid, getting into the Skunk lab would be hard. But he had thermite set up in the Methamphetamine lab, on a mainly wooden floor. Right by the store of Hydrochloric Acid, too. Used to purify the product, filter off wastages in reaction. It was complicated Chemistry, but understanding the basics had been why Lucas had targeted it in the first place, and knocked this part of the chain out. Shooting unarmed men wasn't a written code of honor, but in this circumstance, what he'd do next would be worse to the men in the Skunk room. He didn't want to think how gruesome it would be, but clicking the charge, the noise of intense burning upstairs, followed by a loud bang, was enough to say the least.

The loud bang blew off part of the plywood covers on the side of the building, down into the street below, as the floor burned, hot acid and thermite eroding through, as parts of the lab above began to subside down. A huge vat slammed down into the Skunk room, as the four kilos of thermite, alongside the masses of acid that had been spilt onto plain floor, now burned a hole like hell. Moving through, Lucas took out the distracted men, the last of what the man that he'd interrogated upstairs had mentioned. The place was hellish, and the acid had mainly burnt out, though almost a quarter of the meth lab's equipment was now inside this Skunk Lab, where huge crates of Weed sat, alongside a couple of processors. This was the last bit. Taking the last two PE7 charges, Lucas rigged up the shipments, knowing full well this whole room would be blown to pieces, and probably the rest of the floor if he set this off. Setting it to the same clacker, he moved over the dead bodies, with a certain movement, a certain speed that a remorseless man had.

The cargo lift was at the bottom, and Lucas was able to use that to his advantage, choosing to take a different route down. Moving to the lift door, with a sharp pull, he opened the metal doors, leaping out onto the cable as he slid down, like he was fast roping back down to ground level. Hitting the roof of the lift, he moved through the hatch, dropping down, hiding behind the side of the lift's doors. The noise of movement could be heard. There was a lot of men coming through the door, the scene was hellish from where Lucas was. They weren't going for the lift, they were going straight up the stairs. They had some sense, they would have guessed taking the lift was going to be dangerous, if someone was waiting upstairs. So they were going systematically, floor by floor. And that played right into Lucas's hands. He was actually surprised, more than anything, that he didn't need to expend more ammunition that needs be. They were going straight to the Skunk Lab, and they would find what they were looking for. The garbled Russian through the wooden floors was enough to give Lucas his prompt, as it became an exclaiming tone. Click.

The side of the building visibly shook, as almost four kilos of highly explosive plastic charges sounded off, blowing the side of the plasterboard and stone out, as well as almost blowing apart all that was left of the Skunk Lab, and the men that had moved in. Glass and plywood rained, and a huge mess was left, everything and anyone poor enough in the blast radius of that floor well and truly dealt with. Both labs had been completely levelled, utterly destroyed, with no parts salvageable, utterly ruined. The building wasn't leveled, but those two rooms had basically become a singular cavern of dead bodies and destruction. Lucas didn't know how much he had destroyed, but with guards on this level at this time of night, he could guess this was at least $1 million. Yelling turned to screaming, as Lucas moved, not thinking. Heading round to the left, he moved to the back, kicking in an emergency door, and moving down, into the parking lot. Throwing the MP7 onto his back, he ran, moving with a pace and agility that many would struggle to keep up with, unless they were parkour artists or athletes. He didn't want to be here any longer than need be.

A couple of blocks later, running through alleys and out of sight, in the multi-storey, Lucas found his escape. The RS7 was parked neatly where he had left it last, and he knew precisely what the German-engineered machine would do. The 4.0 litre V8 roared, as the Quattro system gave a quick getaway, Lucas pulling out of the multistorey and quickly getting on the road, into the darkness. The anarchy that was left behind in his rear mirror was a world away. No tails, no witnesses, nobody that had seen him. Even if they had, they'd be describing a figure with a black beanie, and a thermal bandit of sorts, with infiltration gear and a compact SMG. They wouldn't know height, precisely at least, or even a name, physical appearance or anything. He was hidden. For now at least.

-----

The Next Day
0900 Hours

Lucas leaned back, looking out across the desk, a few case files to deal with. His office was located above a small conveinence store, the entrance being on the opposite side, in a quieter area of the Central of town. A car park out front, it was a small joint, but a simple place to be. He wore a navy blue shirt and simple pair of black suit trousers, looking over this one particular case. A suspicious husband wanted his wife monitored, from the moment she left for work at the Courts to the moment she left that to go home. He had dug up some interesting things, with a few other contacts he had in this business, as well as his own talent in following incognito. That world was completely different to what Trident did. Oh, it was different. He looked over the photos, seeing the few that he'd taken. Oh, they were golden. Caught this woman right in the act of good old fashioned drug abuse, because she drove over towards Jamaican Turf, a gang that was at least semi-in-line with the Mafia's workings in Realna. And she bought an ounce of weed every time, then proceeding to smoke it, spending at least an hour in her car, lighting up the most cracking spliff that he'd seen a solicitor take. It made no sense, but in this city of madness, nothing did. Perhaps her supply would be affected by what he did the day before. Lucas didn't care. He would just give it back to the husband, and let him do what he wanted. Get his pay. That was all he wanted.

Exhaling, he sat up, looking out the window, as this city, the city of crime and grime. And here he was, cleaning it up. Many things fuelled him. The main one, was just knowing he was giving people confidence. The Mafia was no longer untouchable, and they didn't know what to do. They were scared, and they had to be. Perhaps they would hunt him. But Lucas knew that it would take an awful lot to stop him. Perhaps things would change. Perhaps more people like him would come, but he doubted it. He was alone, and the term, "Lonely are the Brave", never fitted him better. No kids, no family he could really talk to, and only a few loose ends from his past life were left. All that mattered, was that he got his rush out of fucking up the Mafiya, and making those Ruskies pay, for every evil they brought here.

Very few people take the while to sit down and watch: simply rest and watch the world pass before them. If you do this however, you’ll notice many new things; details and subtle treaties between each and every human being. If you pass someone you’ll be forever engraved in their memory; although they probably won’t remember you the next time you cross their path.

They do not desire to remember you.

You do not desire to remember them.

This is our covenant. You merely pass by and carry on your merry way, oblivious to the fact you’ve transformed them into an entirely different person.

New Realna, it was the city of ruined dreams. The real life Sin City – years back it was run by gangs who spilt more blood than Hitler in turf wars. But then one Alexei Anosov rolled in – taking control of the city under a new wing of the Russian Mafia. In just a few years, he held the respect of even the most notorious gangs on the street.

Realna’s underworld, or more commonly known, the inner city, was a dangerous place at night; hell, New Realna was dangerous, period. There was always a prostitute on a corner and if not, it was a drug dealer or some other dodgy person. It was normally the time when the world came to life; the gangs came out to play and business was done during the cover of darkness.

This is why the Lécuyer siblings weren’t surprised to hear of the attack on one of Alexei’s bigger drug labs. They had taken the news in their stride – sure, Chris might have shot that one guy he was interrogating, but he was a dick anyway… so it didn’t matter… much.

The two stood before the building, staring up at the flames which were beginning to die down. Their heads simultaneously tilted slightly to the right and Arina opened her mouth to make a comment, but lost her words. So, she simply closed her mouth and folded her arms over her chest. It could be assumed that the siblings were thinking the same things at that particular moment, like – how did this even happen? Or, this is the third lab this month. Perhaps even, why are we always the first ones to arrive on scene? And that the word “Napkins” was pretty cool… scratch that, Arina’s train of thought had snapped elsewhere – indicating her lack of conscience.

Their heads tilted back upright as their attention was drawn to a man who was stumbling out of the rubble. He was burnt and beaten – Arina raised a perfectly curved eyebrow as he attempted to limp past the Lécuyer siblings. Christopher’s had shot out, gripping him by the remnants of his collar, his hazel eyes narrowing into the man’s dull brown ones. Arina was sure she heard a growl from the depths of her brother’s throat, but she didn’t question it as she flattened the white fabric of her thigh length dress before clasping her hands behind her back. The two looked out of place – a lady like her didn’t belong in such a grungy area, much less in front of a demolished meth lab.

“What the hell happened?” Christopher’s words were sharp and held a particular threatening demeanour to them. The beaten man stared up at him wide eyed – he was feeling weak, and the last thing he needed was an interrogation.

“I… I don’t know… there was a man… in black… and then…” he trailed off, hardly able to utter the words, but that was all Chris needed to hear as he released the man just in time for him to collapse beside him, his face making a ‘splat’ sound as it was greeted with open arms by the pavement.

A small smile played on Arina’s features as her animated irises flickered from the unconscious man to the building. There was a silence as a large piece of wood crashed to the ground from the third storey; adding to the rubble. “That wasn’t nice Chris, you could have caught him.” Her voice was stoic, however, few could pick the amusement laced in her words.

He completely ignored his sister as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, the flame glowed against his hard features as he lit it up, before taking a deep breath in – savouring the nicotine that entered his lungs. He placed the lighter back in the pocket of his jeans before speaking, the smoke exiting his mouth with every word. “A man in black… shit.” He cursed under his breath and his words were barely a whisper, but Arina heard them.

“The Trident, I assume.”

His eyes narrowed into slits as he shot his sister a sideways glare, even the name pissed him off. That asshole had cost them a lot of time and money. The sooner he was put in the ground, the sooner they could get on with their lives. He and Arina had better things to be do than run around clean up this guy’s messes.

Arina could feel her brother tense up at the mention of the vigilante, not that she would guess that his main goal was justice – simply because his methods weren’t so honourable. He’d put plenty of innocent men in the ground over the last couple of months… well, perhaps innocent was the wrong word; but she would go as far as saying they didn’t really deserve death. Her vibrant green eyes glanced down to Christopher’s hand, his knuckles were turning white, emphasizing the pressure which was put upon them. She could tell he was visibly ticked off by this guy who seemed to be gaining the upper hand on the Russian Mafia. Day by day, their influence grew weaker, not that it was noticeable… yet.

Chris noticed his sister staring at his hand, he didn’t even realise he was visibly angry – and he released his fist, opening his palm to allow the circulation to flow freely through it once more. His face was free of emotion, but he was fuming. They had no information on this Trident guy whatsoever, only that he was a man in a black getup who was targeting the Mafia for some reason. How, after so many months, could they still be pulling up jack for this guy?

He glanced at his sister for a moment, and it crossed his mind that perhaps she knew more about this guy than she had originally stated. What her motive for withholding information like what was, he’d never know. She was strange and he couldn’t decipher what went through her head. And if she was hiding such information, he imagined Alexei would be less than pleased. But that wasn’t his problem – she would deserve it anyway.

She met his gaze and a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, “Chris, if I truly had any more information on this guy, I’d share it.” She assured, and he frowned, wondering if she’d somehow developed telepathy overnight… or was he just that easy to read?

Ash fluttered off the end of his cigarette which was still in his mouth, handing slack. He ran a hand through his blonde hair before exhaling a deep sigh… this was all too much.

He turned away from the building and strode towards the Aston Martin, placing his hands in his pockets. His brow still scrunched in a troubled frown, this guy would be in the ground by the time Chris was through with him… he could count on that.

Arina’s features were care free as she spun around and gracefully glided towards the passenger door of the car. “Can we get ice cream on the way home?” she questioned, and he glanced up at her, over the car.

“No.”

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The Next Day

If you sit down, quietly, and silently, you will notice – if you take the time and watch, that you follow the same procedure every day; your customs and intentions always different, yet a structure always similar. A human is an animal of usage – our guiding star is “what’s of use”.

Christopher and Arina were waiting patiently to see Alexei; she had a new dress on today, a black strapless cocktail dress – which Chris had told her not to wear. It was too formal, but she had argued that she had to look good and if she couldn’t wear that dress she’d go naked… and he’d believed her. He wore a pair of black jeans with a white dress shirt which had been rolled at the sleeves, with a tie that wasn’t done up properly.

His hazel eyes glanced to his sister who was sitting with perfect posture in one of the arm chairs in the waiting room. She was staring down at her smartphone, a small smirk tugging at her features as she tapped away. She was probably ruining someone’s life. He noticed how she still held her head gracefully up, even when she was looking down. She was too much of a lady for a crime syndicate.

He was sprawled out in his chair, his arms resting on both arms and he was slumped down in his seat – he held a certain demeanour of class, but he didn’t care much for it. What he did care for, was explaining to Alexei that one of their biggest labs had been levelled last night. And they had no clue as to who had done it, or why.

All they had was a guess as to a name.

The Trident.

How bothersome.

Kuai Liang sat directly across the room from Arina, waiting with the other two to see the boss. He was dressed for the occasion, being a black turtleneck, a suit coat, and matching pants. His black leather smart shoes clacked the floor as he waited for Alexei. Kuai sighed, and grumbled, "Zhè shì wěidà de. Wǒmen de yīgè jiànzhú wù yǐjīng bèi yí wéi píngdì. Zhè míngxiǎn fàng huǎn cāozuò zài hùliánwǎng shàng wǒ de shēngyì. (This is great. One of our labs has been razed to the ground. This is slowing down my business over the Internet.)" Kuai adjusted his seating position to one engineered to make him comfortable, yet still retain his dignified posture. "Zhè yīqiè dōu guīgōng yú sānchā jǐ (This is all thanks to Trident)," he remarked, sighing.

Mark - Junkyard
Day X

Mark happily whistled away, tapping his feet to a tune in his mind. Smoothly slicing away at the delicacy, knife twirling around in his hand. Behind him was a nice open fire, flames brightly dancing along with him. "Here ya go, boy!" said Mark cheerfully as he tossed a treat to his Rottweiler. The dog excitedly jumped up and down as it pounced on it's awesome treat. A human eyeball.

There was a slight gurgling as the body moved. Well actually, tried to. All tendons had been severed. "Oh hush..." said Mark before he continued to whistle.

"Din din boys!" shouted Mark as he pulled the plastic sheet plus body off the table and onto the floor. A number of viscious dogs poured in and chomped away at their primate buffet, tearing away at the organs. The dogs did so love buffet night.

Turning on the TV, Mark leaned back and sighed as he watched soccer. The clothes had just about been burned away. On the table to his side was a healthy serving of bangers and mash and well as a nice and juicy meat burger (he had teriyaki breast last night). Well what? The buttocks were the best for this! Waste not want not.

---------------
Mark - Alexei's place
Next Day

Mark arrived in the lobby, having recently got news of last night's fires. Trident's name had been going around recently, but frankly, Mark wasn't that impressed. Everyone here was still human. And humans die. Of course, now there was the point of how to make the dying happen. Which he supposed was the purpose of today's meeting.

Seeing Arina, Chris and Kuai in the lobby, Mark gave a curt nod, though in his mind he was personally going through possible ways of bringing down Pitchforks. Yes. Pitchforks.

2:11PM, a normal day, at a normal general repair shop, in a normal section of the suburbs

A bearded man knelt beside a pair of mountain bikes. Two people dressed in biking gear standing near by. The bearded man, in khaki pants and a T-shirt with the logo of a Canadian hockey team on is is busily cranking on a ratchet, tightening a brand spanking new bolt, replacing the old one that had sheered off just outside the store moments ago. They'd been lucky he had been open and available to help them.

As he's working his son peeks in from the shop, "Hey Dad? There's someone here asking for you. Says he wants to set up an appointment." Austin Martin smiles at his son Everet, "Alright champ tell them to come back here. I'll be done shortly."

Just as he finished repairing the bike. A man in a trench coat and wearing a beautiful Boss of the Plains hat steps in. The two bikers handed over some money for the on the spot repair and head out. While the man nods to Austin. Austin cleans his hands then nods to the man, "Can I help you bud?" the man in the hat smiles, "Sorry for coming unannouced. But I hear tell there is someone around here who knows about some under the table deals?" Austin snorted, "Well if it's a blowjob you want. There's a brothel about ten blocks down. I'm afraid all I have here is a repair shop pal. Sorry about that." Austin offered his hand to the man to shake, a small note hidden in his palm.

Later the man would read it, learning to return to the shop later after closing time. To come alone, and with a van or pickup truck.

Later that night

A nondescript van pulled up into the alley behind the shop. Austin waiting there in a sport coat. The man still wearing the Boss of the Plains hat getting out. And showing he's unarmed. Austin nods, then opens a warehouse just behind the shop. Pushing open the doors, and turning the lights on reveal a few rows of parts and things that need to be repaired. But beyond those masking shelves. Box upon box of various types of military equipment. Austin smiles, "So tell me bud. What do you need? Just got in a shipment of M21 marksmen rifles recently. If you're looking for something pin point accurate and quick to fire. What do you say? What's your poison?"

The Next day

Austin sat at the table, reading the newspaper. Listening to his family discuss their plans for the day. Everything is domestic bliss. The news of an explosion and the leveling of a building somewhere on the otherside of the city really didn't get his attention. There was other stuff on his mind. And it all felt so distant.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xpk7E5AcLzA

Alexei stood with his back to his office, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest and gaze sweeping over the cityscape outside his window. -His- city. A calm look was cast over his features. But the set of his shoulders suggested he was anything but calm. He was furious- Absolutely fuming, beneath the calm facade he put over his face. The past night, he had watched fire sweep across his city. Consuming flames, gnawing away at those who had trusted him to protect them. How many loyal men and women had burned last night, he wondered...

And now, some of his most trusted advisers and workers awaited their turns talking to him. Nearly everybody of import was in his waiting room... Which meant he was in for a lot of explanations. He only hoped none of them were here to give him pointless excuses, to try and save their own necks- For that was a sure way to lose their heads, in Alexei's presence. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh and straightening his suit, turning about and making his way towards the door. A shove of his foot on the way rolled the heavy punching bag away from the middle of the room. It thudded against the wall, leaving a trail of sand in its wake from where he had split it the previous night taking out his frustrations- An activity made all the clearer by the bruises and split skin that covered his knuckles, roughly bound in gauze that was now crusted with dry blood, taking away from the neat look of the rest of him.

Rather than calling for his secretary to let somebody in, Alexei pushed the double doors of his office open personally, letting them swing wide as he cast his gaze from person to person, and jerked his head back into the room behind him.
"All of you come in. I expect to hear about last night's fire- In detail."
The only sign of his rage outside of the set of his shoulders was the slightest bit of accent he let slip into his usually well-measured voice. The Russian burr was normally suppressed in public, lest his mood was foul... Something his underlings would know oh so well, had they listened to him on more than one occasion.

Trusting the lot of them to follow, Alexei strode back to his desk, pushing his chair aside and standing behind it rather than sitting, spreading his hands on the wooden surface and staring down at the dozens of papers that littered it. Most were messages about last night- And none of them were remotely informative on the matter.
"Once we finish here, somebody get a hold of Zhukov. I want to see the lab for myself."

Leaning back in his chair, Lucas picked up the phone, making the call.
"Hello. Mr Bolton, it's your investigator. I have found what you were looking for." Lucas simply said, looking over at the file on the wooden desk, looking out the window as the man in his mid-40s responded. Edgar Bolton was a man that was another typical customer- a little paranoid, but with justification for that paranoia, in a way.
"Shit, Lucas. My wife, she's doing it?" He said, a little tense, as Lucas knew they all were.
"I have a comprehensive report of your spouse's activities. See for yourself. It's not my concern to judge or do anything about it, I gather facts after all. Swing by my office, and we'll square up our business." Lucas said, calmly, a little tired even, but convincing over the phone.
"Thanks man. Can I come this evening?"
"Sure. Come in at around six to my office, I don't want this to take up too much time. Thank you very much, Mr Bolton." He simply said, as the man on the other end breathed a sigh of slightly angered relief, probably at his wife.
"Thanks, Mr Green. Goodbye." The man added, as Lucas put the phone down, looking out the window a little more. Sirens. Godknows what now. Maybe police going to the lab. Or the fire department clearing up the rubble. Either way, it was a mess.

Sitting up a little, he switched on his MP3 player, hooked up to a DAB radio of sorts. Flicking it on, some simple Mumford and Sons was the next track on the playlist, something simple to ease his ears. Sitting back, he sorted out Edgar Bolton's files, everything in order for collection. To Trident, this was a bore. This was a sure fire fucking way to live a life, but not a way to just pay the bills. Lucas knew that of course, not all his income was legitimate. Against the Mafiya, he had made one or two cutbacks. Money that had so much so vanished from the system was in his hands. Stealing from thieves was brilliant, just awesome. Because they couldn't go to the cops about it, and that was a nice feeling. This wasn't regularity. And nor was it something he enjoyed. He took what he needed. To buy his car and bike, equipment, and anything specialized through Austin. The rest, this business payed, legitimately.

Lucas finished with the brown folder, all photos, paperwork and invoices in order, before switching the MP3 player off. Walking back to the phone, the thought of Austin was one that he needed to just get to work on. Finding his number, he dialed it in, knowing that it went to his business mobile. Lucas was a good client of Austin's. A very good client. They worked mutually, but Lucas knew it was a need to know basis. Some favors there, for a little assistance there. Austin was good as a shooter, but on other fronts, he had many, many weaknesses. A family, that was one. Taking the phone again, he dialed. No specifics on a landline or mobile, but on a payphone or an encrypted device, such as through an online channel with an encryption would usually do the trick for better remote specifics. Some were permissible, but ones that would tell a would be assassin how to shoot dead Lucas would be too much.

The phone buzzed, till Lucas heard the other end catch.
"Hello, my friend. Meet me round your place of work, wait somewhere discreet near; I'll find you. We need to talk." Lucas simply said, waiting for a simple confirming response. They had things indeed, to talk about. Austin wasn't a shop, but if returns were anything to go by, he owed the fixer something.

Mark entered the room along with everyone else and leaned on the wall in his usual spot, arms folded. A frown was on his face, not because of the recent chaos, but of what was on his mind. 'Well sheeeiiit' Mark thought to himself.

Mark had spent the majority of last night slicing and cannibalising. And also watching soccer. It was only until he saw the news and fires in the distance did he realise that Trident had struck again.

And now he had nothing to contribute to the meeting. In that case, he would let the others speak first and work off their points.

Well, he did have a idea about baiting Trident, but seems like the Boss wanted details first. Mark wondered what everyone else truly thought about Trident rather than the expected answer.

Arina stared up at Alexei as he spoke to them, she could tell he was livid about the previous night’s proceedings – but he was the kind of man who wouldn’t let his rage get the best of him. It’s why she admired him, so to speak; he held a sense of professionalism in his demeanour. His life was work, this city, his office – and when someone dared disrupt the order of his workplace… well, hell hath no fury like Alexei’s rage.

Her lips twitched upward as he mentioned seeing the place for himself… the was literally nothing left to see other than a pile of rubble, ash and burnt corpses. Arina and Christopher had spent the rest of the night, coordinating security at other labs and organising protection for the inner circle – people on Alexei’s level and the like… once The Trident got bored of the labs, he would surely target them next.

Christopher sucked some air into his lungs as he stood, swiftly moving toward his sister and extending a hand, helping her up. He knew she didn’t need the help, but he had been raised as a gentleman, and there was also the fact: she expected it of him. They both entered Alexei’s office, he took a seat in the big arm chair before the Mob Boss’ desk, while she leant against it, draping her arm over the back while resting her hip on the arm. Christopher sat forward, his elbows sat on his bent knees with the tips of his fingers stretching to lightly touch their counterparts.

“We got a call around eleven thirty telling us to get down and see what the hell was going on…” he spoke up, his hazel eyes glancing up at Alexei’s, “by the time we got there… well, there was literally nothing left. The place was ablaze and the smell of rotting flesh was the only thing to remind us that life was in there.”

Arina continued for her brother, “Our body count is fifty…” she piped up, the words rolling off her tongue with ease, as if the number didn’t bother her in the slightest, “But that’s so far. We’re estimating around that number simply due to who was rostered on last night… but who knows who else was in there for whatever reason. We won’t have a definite number until the police reports come back.”

“There was one survivor that we know of, his name – Ivan Checkov. He stumbled out as we got to the scene, but he wasn’t much help…” Chris proclaimed, leaning back in the chair and stretching out into a lethargic position, “he all we could make of his incoherent mumbling was that it was a guy in black…” he continued. The two siblings glanced at each other for a moment,

“It matched The Trident’s M.O.” she finished what her brother was saying.

“Ivan is in New Realna Private Hospital, suffering major third degree burns and two gun shots to the back… poor bastard might not walk again.” Chris added, “Not sure if he’s conscious yet, but it might be an idea to go on down and see what he has to say… so far, he’s our only witness.”

Arina glanced around the room, looking at her colleagues, she was honestly surprised everyone had actually shown up… it wasn’t often they were all in the same room – actually, she couldn’t remember a time when it had happened. Then again… she and Christopher were the main reason for that – getting them to show up for meetings was like trying to get a cat to take a bath. Most of the time it was Arina’s fault… but she’d never admit it. Her animated blue irises turned back to the most formidable of the group,

“So what’s your plan, Alexei?”

Austin quietly tinkered away at the front desk of his small shop. He'd found an ancient watch in a shipment of parts he had gotten in. Not parts for the back business but parts for the front business and he thought it'd be nice to have an old style pocket watch. He had the front open, the inside clock face opened and the hands beside him on a safety rag, when his work cellphone rang.

A blink later he reached for the phone checking it. Seeing on of many numbers that often call this number. He let out a hrm softly. Waited for the second ring then picked up. "'Ello? Martin General Repai....oh." He listened for a short bit. "I'm here right now. Come around back when you get here." He got up, looking around the shop then walking over to the front door when he saw no one was inside. He turned the sign over to show he's away, then locked the door. He also closed the workshop doors. Once that was done he went out back, and into a small shed, a secondary workshop if you will, filled with parts and a small desk and chair that he could use to upgrade a gun, or refit an armored vest. He sat down at the desk, and began to tinker with a Kiparis auto-pistol quietly. To pass the time.

He looked up every now and then as time passed. When he looked up he saw a vehicle pull in. He waited until someone got out. And waited a little longer before opening the door to the shed and stepping out. He smiled, his big beard waggling as he did, "Hello there sir. Welcome to Martin Repair. What can I help you with?"

Lucas grabbed his car keys, as he smirked.
"I'll be round soon." He simply said, Austin's voice rather than an assistant's a relief, as he got out of his chair, the call disconnected. He tidied his folders, and headed to the far side of the room, opening up a grate on the far side. Inside here, wasn't his whole stash of gear. But there was some simple stuff. The MP7A1, his Kimber M1911, and a handful of knives. They were packed into a duffel bag, with what looked like at least $2,000 of hard, cold cash. Bringing it out from the far side of the vent, he shut the grate, the blue and white sports duffel's strap around his right shoulder. There was much he had to discuss, and since Edgar wouldn't be over immediately, there was some planning and post-operation work to be done.

Heading out, he found his car, the Audi RS7 that he had used yesterday sitting in the lot, in it's usual prestige. It was perhaps too nice of a car for a private investigator, but was built on drug money, and had been customized well, to be a little more toughened than a normal RS7. It was faster, and felt fire-breathing, definitely a vehicle for someone like him. It fitted well for buisness, but for his other activities, that too. A false numberplate sat on the rear, technically registering it for another RS7, in another name somewhere out in Kansas. Always useful if speeding was a problem. Stepping in, Lucas switched the radio on, a bit of Gaslamp Killer coming on. He did have weird music tastes, he thought to himself. Classic rock on the one hand, but on the other, this. The engine on, he pulled away, onto the road, coming up to a set of lights. Red. He just waited, tapping the wheel, looking out on the sun and mixed clouds that sat in the sky today.

The V8 on the RS7 revved hard, as Lucas pulled away from the lights, shifting the paddle up nicely as the car surged forwards, Lucas aware he was breaking the limit. The mid-day had little to no traffic, and the cops were usually on their donut break by about now, with Lucas even knowing their usual patrol routes. This was thanks to general observation, having taken this route every time he headed to the rougher part of town, to conduct deals. Knowing the fastest way out with a cop-free area was always good homework, and when you had to beat criminals, thinking like one was a good practice, though Lucas wasn't of course up to date with it. Turning left, he was back on the gas, the Audi roaring as within minutes, Lucas was over at Martin's General Repairs.

Pulling around the back, he looked in his rear view, and then in front, seeing the all clear. Pulling into a small gap, he got out, the long-sleeved navy shirt and grey trousers he wore made him seem like a casual client. Taking the duffel, walking in through the door. Austin was as innocent as he could be, as Lucas looked around, walking in.
"Many a thing, friend. Backroom." He said, pointing, just walking that way anyway. He knew precsiely what needed to be done, and he had little time.

Walking through into Austin's backroom, Lucas tossed the duffel onto the desk, pulling the Kimber out and the knives, leaving the cash and the MP7A1.
"Those are yours, I believe. No fingerprints left, and that cash is untraced. $2,000 exact, as you asked." Lucas said, a little cold and detached, though he knew that Austin did warm his personality a little.
"Thanks for this. I appreciate it." The man with the shaved hair said, as he checked the Kimber, looking through the mechanism as he pulled the hammer back, inspecting the weapon a little, before chambering a round again, and placing it back in his hidden holster.

Austin smiled, and followed Lucas into the backroom of the shop, closing the door into the main shop, and making sure the door out back to the warehouse is closed too. He then heads over and checks the MP7. He picks it up, sliding out the magazine, and checking to make sure it's safe. He then popped the slide, catching a round as it popped out. Setting the magazine and single round back on the table. The gun had been safe, but he just wanted to make sure. He set the PDW down then reached over for the money, looking it over and checking for tracing marks, then nodding, "I trust is served well? i don't usually get returns, but I can turn it around and let another client know that it worked for it's last handler well." He made sure to carry the weapon by the rubber on the grip and not the steel where he could leave a print easier. He set the PDW back among some boxes. He then looked over at Lucas.

He came back over and produced a toothpick from a pocket. He sat down at the workbench and looked at Lucas carefully, "Can I assume you might have another order? Or was it just the return. If you do, we can head out to the warehouse out back." He chewed on the end of the toothpick quietly looking at Lucas casually.

After abit he leaned against the workbench and hrmed, "I saw in the news there was an explosion and a fire at a place on the far side of town. Was that your work my friend? Do you need anything replaced after that?" He chewed on the toothpick a little while longer, his big bushy beard waggling and bobbing as he did. It was often said that his beard entered a room long before he did. And he used it like a battering ram sometimes when he was in a serious mood. He hrmed low and soft, "You know, I don't usually get into my clients business. But whatever war you are fighting, can't be good to do it all alone. If you need equipment I'm always willing to go straight across for money, or for information. You know this. But I know you too, and I understand this...vendetta. You aren't alone in this. There are people, me included, that could help you. Now the question is, what do you want to do with that information?"

Before Lucas could answer Austin got to his feet, "Come with me. I know you have places you want to be, and things you need to do. But I want to show you something." He didn't take no for an answer. He walked out back, hoping that Lucas would follow him out back and to the warehouse. Even if he didn't, Austin soon threw open the door, trudged inside and soon was coming out with a pristine and new M4A3, with all the elements tooled down to the very bare minimum, Just the main reciever, pistol grip, with a tooled down stock to lighten up the weight, the barrel shortened by another two inches, compared to it's normal 16, an attached angled foregrip with a small 20mm grenade launcher attached just ahead of the grip. A flashlight to the left of the barrel on a rail, and a laser sight attached on the right. An ITL MARS optic with a small 2x flip scope right behind it. A small compact beast of a weapon. He waited for Lucas, in the hopes the man would join him, in the meantime he held the tooled carbine on his arm almost as casually and carefully as he would a puppy, or a month old baby. “Think of it as…a demonstration. For a potential repeat customer, and for the idea that if you ever need help. Not just in something like this, but when you might be doing something out there, you come to me. Just a thought. Take a look.”

The bearded man offered the weapon to Lucas with a warm smile on his face. A smile, so disarming, so sincere.

Alexei sighed, peering at his desk for a few moments, once Arina and Chris finished their report. After taking a moment to consider his plans, he straightened up, shifting his gaze from person to person in the room as he spoke to each of them in turn.

"Alright. Mark, I need you to start digging some new graves in that junkyard of yours, and make sure your hounds keep away from them. This Trident is beginning to leave a lot of bodies, and I want them buried properly, not eaten. But that comes later- For now I want you to come with me. Chris, you will drive the three of us to the lab- Mark is going to look for anything that might have belonged to the Trident. If there's one thing his dogs -are- good for, it's finding a scent, and I want the Trident to have nowhere to hide in my city before the end of this -week-. Arina, you will go to the hospital- Talk to Ivan if he's awake. See if you can find out anything new. When you've found out everything you can, put the poor man out of his misery. But do it quietly, he deserves a peaceful death, after what he's gone through."

He stepped out from behind his desk, idly scratching the stubble along his jaw.

"Liang, get to work on the internet. If there's anything to be found about the Trident, I want it found quickly. Have your people bury anything to do with last night's fire, as well. I don't want it affecting business, we must not let any weaknesses be seen by our enemies. The Italians have been at my heels for years, I won't give them an opportunity for take over. Work with Arina and Chris this evening- Increase sales out of smaller labs, take some heat off of our larger operations. Bring me a list of the labs you're focusing on- I want to see if the Trident will strike out at the hot points, or if he's smarter than I believe."

Kuai nodded as Alexei told him what he expected of him. He was completely capable of what he has been tasked with. "'My people'? Nǐ shuō zhè jiù xiàng wǒ zìjǐ de gōngsī... (You say this like I own a company...)," he remarked quietly, and to himself. In reality, Kuai worked pretty much on his own for most things, though, sometimes he would collaborate with others, like what he had been just tasked with, for example- working with Arina and Chris. Kuai had nothing against working alongside the two. They did control the drug sales on the streets. However, this was over the Internet, and was the territory of U.N. Owen, one of his monikers.

Kuai, with that, stood, adjusting his turtleneck sweater and sports coat. He looked over to Arina, and then to Chris. He personally preferred Arina to Chris. Chris, to Kuai, is very arrogant, eccentric to put it kindly. Arina was playful, definitely a tease, but she was intelligent. More than her meathead brother, at least. Kuai made her laziness as opportunism, a valuable skill to have.

"You two, come to my cāozuò jīdì (base of operations) later in the day. Give me time to perform what Alexei has requested. We will then work on which laboratories we will operate out of for the sales," Kuai said.

Lucas smirked, taking the M4A3, inspecting the rifle, as he adjusted the stock, pulling it out a little, as he chuckled, taking aim.
"It's a fucking beauty. I'm not going to ask how you got this, but I'll assume you have good friends to get you this. It's a tool alright." The Vigilante said, as he adjusted the RDS, the MARS optic a nice sighting picture for quickly picking up targets. Slinging the weapon over his shoulder, he looked about, at the ammunition, and the other pieces of kit.
"You know, Austin, maybe you are smarter than I imagined. You figured it out well. Connected the dots. But keep that on the down low. You have no idea of how dangerous it makes you to supply me. I mean, you can walk away with your hands clean now, or stay and rough this shitstorm out. It isn't going to be easy. There are men in this fucker's organization who eat people, and can expose everything and anything about your life. You have a family, Austin. I'm telling you now. Don't do something you will regret later, even if the money talks and the bullshit suddenly walks." Lucas simply said, as he sighed.
"You're one of the most talented gunsmiths and fixers I know. You pull shit from thin air sometimes. In this climate, that works well. I need information on another target, something a little more varied. Walk with me." Lucas added, as he slung the weapon down, heading back to where the duffel was, and placing the weapon inside, along with at least half a dozen PMAG polymer magazines. This was military grade stuff- definitely hard to obtain by any other means. Zipping it up, he headed outside, out to the back.
"We need to drive somewhere." Lucas simply said, as he headed to his RS7, unlocking it with his keys, before slipping in.

Letting Austin get shotgun, he shut his own door, engine on. No music at the moment, but he thought about putting his MP3 on again, just to kill the time. The duffel on the backseat, he pulled out of the alley, keeping an eye about him.
"If you want in on this, then you're going to need to be ready to do a few things for me. Small pieces of work. But you're going to need to be more careful than the world. Right now, I think I have us a ploy on getting some cash. I call it accounting for the Mafiya. One of their drug dens went up last night, so indirectly, I struck at one of their key earners. But tell me, who sells Crystal Meth in New Realna these days, APART from the Mafiya?" Lucas said, as he let Austin give a response, before then giving his own statement.
"There are some, yes. One percenter biker gangs mainly, but they're mobile, mostly at least. No, there's pretty much just them. Indirectly, supply is down, demand is just the same. Drug Dealer 101. They can sell their shit for more profit. What I'm thinking, is we redistribute the wealth from their increased buisness accumen. In the short term, they can make a buck, but in the long term, their supply of Crystal will wean off. And other fill in drugs, or imports from the Motherland will mean that this little gold rush ends." Lucas said, driving through an orange light, aware he was indeed a amber gambler of sorts. The black RS7 was comfortable, but twitchy enough to turn a corner clean and at a high speed, with the V8 purring gently right now.

It was an almost twenty minute drive, out to the outskirts of the city, over a couple of bridges and near a more industrial set of facilities. Pulling up on the kerb, he switched the engine off, looking around, before peering back to Austin.
"This is the spot." Lucas said, as he pointed it out, aware the blacked out windows kept him covered for now, from a side on angle at least.
"Over there, is the old bottling factory. Now, I've been here over the last few days. I was going to pop yesterday, before a certain meth and skunk lab decided to combust. Now, it seems fairly busy. At least a dozen more guards, as you can see." Lucas simply said, pointing out the four-storeyed brick structure, which stood amongst a few of the other buildings, in this rough area. It was almost noon, but this place was still pretty gritty, and a darker side.
"Why the guards? I watched it because I got a tail from one of the men that was working at the meth lab. They cover well, but I assume that was the money man. So this isn't a store of all their cash, but the revenue is going to be good, definitely, if some of it is stored here. They probably have it here so that the authorities don't chase it down, and when they need to, they send it straight off to be laundered through various shops and services that the Mafiya has...well, stakes in." Lucas simply added, as he sat up in the car, looking around, for anyone else.
"Do you know what's so good about robbing criminals? They can't go to the police when their money is stolen. So they have enforcers go get it back for them. This would be a huge job. I estimate minimum, $1 million in hard cash. Partly to fund my work, partly to screw them out of their drug money, and partly because I want some of that cash back in the coffers of the good old police department and other public institutions. Corrupt, yes, but it's better than in the hands of a bunch of violent Russian criminals. Doing it alone is hard enough, so I've just waited till if something happens, I act on opportunity. I might as well try different now, Austin."

"So here's what I need. I'll need you to figure a way out for me to get a look inside. I was thinking a variety of methods would work. A drone, perhaps, or a mole. I can do the second well if I find me the right person and enough reason to believe he'll walk in and tell me everything I need to know when he comes out. I'll need a grappling hook, and two pairs of Night Vision Goggles. Hard to get, I know, but trust me- it's a wider part of the plan. A cut in the power, so a small explosive or at least tools for the pylon, followed by some more. If you're interested, I could use a second eye across the road. That warehouse is completely derelict, and from that second storey, you can set up a shot. If I remember correctly, you said you were a Force Recon Marksman. So you'll be fine. If help is what you want to do, then we do that." Lucas simply said, breathing, as he chuckled.
"Demanding, yes, unorthodox, definitely. But with that many guards, I need to tear through them. I'd need to find the cash, and get out, in three minutes. The M4A3 will do well, but if things go to shit, running is a better option in this one, no matter what. A bike will do for extraction, while you drive down the road innocently, stripped of anything incriminating whatsoever. I need you to be with me on this one, Austin. You'll have a cut too, but remember why we do this. I want to fuck these people over. They ruin the lives of enough people. When they know one of their money sites isn't safe, they'll start thinking about the nature of their operation." Lucas added, as he shook his head, somehow in disbelief himself almost.
"I need you to work your wires. It's up to you. But remember, I need to figure out what the inside looks like, without getting shot; from the money to guards, vantage points to areas of entry and weakness. I need a grappling hook, so a titanium cable and thrown quadruple-fishhook arrangement will be fine. I need a couple of charges, something better than the Semtex I can make, and apart from that, I need general intel on this site. It's big, but I think you might as well. It's on the back burner for now, so take your time. I give it about a few days, then we deal a blow to this place." He said repeating his last list, as he started the engine again.
"For now though, I reckon some smaller stuff is in order. How's your schedule looking for this evening?" He asked, as he turned the car around, skidding as he put the throttle on, the V8 surging as the car's 600BHP engine blew the RS7 very quickly out of that block.

Mark listened to the meeting and although he didn't have anything to say, he still had his own thoughts about what had happened. "Yeah, I'll do that Alexei" replied Mark when the boss said there had to be a proper burial. "My dogs have been trained to keep away from area with certain markers. Our men will undisturbed". Those special markers were also a reason Mark wouldn't wake up to dog pee all over his motorbike.

When the meeting finished, Mark left the room and headed outside. Putting his fingers to his lips, Mark gave a low whistle and padded his lap twice. Muttons, his American Pit Bull Terrier, bounded out from the alleyway where he was previously told to stay. The names of his other dogs were Rump, Tbone and Sirloin, the list went on. But for today, it was Mutton's turn for a fun roadtrip. The others were just allowed to explore everywhere around the junkyard though they each had their preferred areas.

Muttons happily circled Mark twice before giving everyone else around him a little sniff (making sure not to get his nose on their nice garments). He recognised their scents as friendly ones from before and happily wagged his tail. Not only that, the dog knew that if Mark was around other people and he had a neutral or happy tone, then they were friends. If there was no patting of the lap, then they were enemies. Each dog had it's own whistle-tone, as well as an 'all dogs on deck' one. Secret to such an elaborate communication system? Guarding a junkyard meant that you had a lot of time, as dog or human.

"This is Muttons, the youngest of the pack" said Mark to those around him. "And don't worry, he's currently not shedding" he added, more for Chris than anyone.

Last night, in one of New Realna's night clubs
23:41 PM

James was at a table all by himself, drinking a Cola while carefully eyeballing Maria. He was on duty tonight as he drove her to a night club. She was dancing with Jennifer, one of her friends, and she was a bit drunk too. "Hey there ladies! Mind if I cut in?" Said some guy with a stupid smile on his face. "Get lost!" Said Maria as she pushed him away visibly upset. "Hey come on honey, just give me a chance. You won't regret it." Said the guy as he grabbed Maria by the arm. James took one more sip of his Cola and put it on the table as he got up and headed to the guy. "I told you leave me alone." Said Maria insisting that she is not interested in the guy. "Aww come on..." The guy didn't had the chance to finish his sentence as James grabed him by his shoulder and turned him around towards him. "I think she's been very clear that she wants nothing to do with you. Get lost." Said James calm and collected, not wanting to start a fight. the guy however was visibly upset that he was interrupted. "And what do you care punk? Get your own bitch? This one's mine."

Now James was really angry although the look on his face wasn't showing it. He looked towards his right, He wiped his mouth with his right hand, then he balled it into a fist and delivered a serious punch straight in the guy's face as he fell on the floor. The scene scared some of those that were on the dance floor as they stepped away from the scene. "Jesus Christ man you broke my fuckin's nose." Said the guy while still on the floor with his left hand covering his bleeding nose. "Come on. Were going home now." Said James as he furiously grabbed Maria by her left arm and headed towards the club's exit with her. James got outside of the club and headed to the parking lot where his car was parked. "But I don't wanna go home. It's not even the middle of the night yet. Let go of me!" James got to his red CLA 45 AMG as he opened one of the doors and watched as Maria got inside. Afterwards James got in the car himself, started it and drove away home. After a couple of minutes of driving James saw in the rear view mirror that Maria wasn't feeling too well.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Asked James. "Stop the car. Please!" Said Maria while grabbing her mouth. James stopped the car at the side of the street as Maria ran outside of it, headed towards the nearest trash can and started puking in it. "Jesus Christ! You really should stop drinking so much." Said James as he covered his face with his right hand.

A few minutes later...00:10 AM

James finally arrived at Michael's Diaz's mansion as his car went through the gates who started closing behind him. He parked his car in the garage as he got out, helped Maria get out and helped her to her bedroom. After leaving her in her bedroom, James took a deep breath. Nodded his head in dissaproval and headed to his room to get some well deserved rest. After getting his room, James took his suit off, throwing it on a chair and unbuttoned his shirt as he sat on the bed and started yawning. Then Linda got inside his room, closing the door behind her. Linda was Michael Diaz's older daughter. She was older even then James by 3 years. Linda was also James's girlfriend. However nobody knew of their relationship except for one of the maids who caught them together but she sworn to keep the secret, in exchange for some serious cash that Linda gave her. She was also the only person who knew James was in the russian mafia, but she didn't care. She loved him too much. "You look tired." She said sitting besides James.

"Well you can thank your sister for that." Said James. "What did she do now?" Asked Linda as she got on the bed behind James and started massaging him on his shoulders and back. "You really wanna know? I mean...isn't it obvious? She got drunk...again. She puked in a damn garbage can while I was driving her home." Responded James. "I really need to talk about this with Diaz. This can't go on any further." He continued. "Well you're free to try but believe me...dad knows about her drinking problems. But enough of that. Time for you tp get some deserved rest mister." She said as they both started to kiss.

The next morning...09:20 AM

James was in the kitchen drinking his usual morning coffee. Then Linda comes in with James's cellphone in her hand. "It's for you tiger." She said as she gave the cellphone, winked at him and left the kitchen. "Hello?! Yes! Okay. I'll be there ASAP." Said James as he quickly drank the rest of his coffee, then ran to his room, dressed up, took his car keys and went to the garage taking his car and driving away without saying anything to anyone.

About 15 minutes later...

James arrived at his boss's offices as he parked the car and went inside the building, taking the elevator. Alexei was waiting for him, and he usually wasn't the type of man to be kept waiting. Once he arrived at the floor where Alexei's office was he gets out of the elevator and heads over there. Once in front of the office he knocks 3 times and opens the door. "You wanted to see me boss?" He asked Alexei as he stepped inside.

Austin smiled, his beard dropping a few centimeters as he watched Lucas admire the weapon. It's one of a few he had gotten in a shipment, already tooled down for a special operation that hadn't come about, or so his friend overseas had told him. The whole kit of 21 weapons had been moth-balled, but Austin's friend had sent six such weapons out for "repairs" and they had never come back, the mistake being put down as a clerical error. And the guns had made it to him, with ammo to spare. He smiled when the gesture is taken and he nods, accepting the compliments, "I do the best I can with what I have is all. Thank you." He grabbed a pistol off a rack, and a pair of clips, slipping it into the inside of his jacket. Loading a clip as he followed along behind Lucas.

They jumped into the car. "Drugs...drugs everywhere yeah I know. I've made sure to keep it out of my neighbourhood." He settled himself into the front passenger seat, and buckled in. They began to roll and he watched the scenery go by. He hrmed, "So I reasoned out you were out on a vendetta against someone. "Someone" not something. I didn't know that building that went up was a mafiya front. Fuck...you're going after the Russian god damn mafia...I like your style. See I thought you were after the little guys. Those One Precenters and the small producers. I didn't think it was the Mafia." He smiled brightly.

As they passed into the industrial area of this section of the city he looked around. Manufacturing builds, tall overlooks, balconies, shady spots. His old Marksman days kicking in as he looked for hidey holes, and top shots. He spotted a few really good ones. And then looked over as they parked across from the bottle plant. He looked out the window. And started counting guard posts and patrols, as well as lookouts. He nodded, "Place is well guarded..." He hrmed, "You were waiting for the right oppurtunity...the right help." His face split in an almost feral grin, "You have it."

He looked about listening to Lucas, "A way in, I wouldn't trust a rat even if you found one Lucas. I did a tour in Helmand once. Recon found a rat, we plugged him, then caged him, he wanted to talk to some friends. And the MP foolishly let it happen. When we moved on the target we found he had peached to those friends. And the targets had tooled up their defenses. Lost four good men in that raid. Can't trust Rats, at all Lucas. Tell you what though. I might have an idea." He reached into a pocket, "I'm getting a shipment in. Tomorrow of the day after. He pulled out a small tech paper, which outlined small wheeled remote drones, "These guys are about 3 inches long, an inch wide, made of plastic for the most part, high def. fish eye cameras. Easy to pilot, you can slave several into one remote. They are silent as a ghost, and strong enough to throw them down some stairs and they still work." He showed the schematic to Lucas, "The shipment has about fifty in them. Another Client of mine wanted thirty, and he won't miss it if another ten or twenty of these little buggers goes missing and are used for something else." He nodded towards the building, "Big building like that, ten would do you, sweep through the building with them, toss a few in through a second floor window, let them scoot along, recording everything, and you view the intake from a safe area." Austin nodded slowly, as if it all played out perfectly.

He then pointed out the window, "And yeah I have family, but they know what I do, hell my son helps me at the shop when one of my clients shows up. But I do it anyway." He pointed to a building outside the fence of the bottling plant, "See there, perfect position, I can cover the whole front of the building there. Dead line of sight on almost all the guards. And part of the roof too. I'm a Marksman Lucas. Put me up there, with a Battle rifle or Marksmens rifle and I can keep the entire guard contingent down and suppressed for at least three quarters of an hour." Austin looked to Lucas, "You may want to drive before they start wondering why a wonder machine like this is parked near by." He nodded, "How does the drone idea sound to you?"

"It sounds good, Austin. A piece of tech like that wasn't available to me in my service. The less you know about what I did, the better, but I won't stop you digging." Lucas said, knowing full well as a former SEAL, Austin could maybe make two and two connect. He did have an awfully good reason for being called Trident, after all. Blasting through a four way junction, he kept an eye out, watching out.
"You would be surprised about rats, you can turn people really easy if you hold something very dear. Coercion isn't too bad. I had this one guy, Ivan. Low level dealer, pimp. I applied enough voltage to him, and took his girlfriend hostage. Bad, I know. But I know he cared for her. So he fed me the intel for these labs, pointed on a map. He never knew me, of course. Voice changer and balaclava as a combo do work wonders. But he knows he gave the game away, and his girlfriend came back as clean as I promised. The guy is alive, but I did some really, really bad shit to remind him. I am watching, or so he'd like to think." Lucas said, looking out, then back at Austin, before turning a corner.
"It's tricky. But it's knowing what they have to lose. Social Engineering. It's easier to manipulate people by taking something they thought safe, and making them do all the work for you, rather than trying to force yourself in. And here...well, let's say that even Russians aren't like the Taliban. They betray you, you're like a ghost, not them." He added, as he adjusted the sun visor, the sun still rising a little over the east, as they headed back to Austin's repair shop.

Pulling round the back, Lucas sat back, looking to the bearded repairman come fixer.
"I'll call you when you're needed. Tonight, I might need you for a quick favor, but keep those components in mind. Once it's set, we'll act on it, immediately. If I don't call you in the next four days, or vice versa, I'm going to assume that one of us is dead. Start asking too many questions over the phone, and I'll know that we're finished- because it will be because someone has a shiv to your throat. Watch your back, Austin." Lucas simply said, as he shut the passenger door, nodding to him as he drove away, heading back to his office.