Mandeep sat quietly at the meeting point. He was cleaning his desert eagle, checking his ammunition. He'd arrived in advance, as he usually did to anything.

When he had heard the promise of seventy thousand rupees, he'd immediately accepted. It was quite an easy task: in about ten to fifteen minutes, two gangs would meet up and do a drug deal. He and some other hired hands would have to stop the deal. Simple. He had never heard of either of the two men organizing the deal, but apparently one should be left untouched if Mandeep wanted to stay alive: the leader of the Indian Mafia. The lack of police sirens or constantly honking cars was pleasant, and he basked in the sun. A few birds twittered, and a cool breeze swayed his air and shirt.

Now he began to wonder who his companions would be in this operation. Would they be very skilled in this kind of thing, or relatively new like him?

Dajil fidgeted in the back of the taxi, the heat today making him as uncomfortable as it always did. The taxi of course had no air conditioning and the old driver was blaring out some old world music, some Hindustani classical that only served to sour his mood as they approached the train station where he would meet his accomplices. As the old man pulled up Dajil gazed out into the crowds of people that were pouring in and out of the old building and sighed again. Heat and crowds, two things you could be sure of in Mumbai. He slipped on a pair of dark aviator sunglasses, adding to his ensemble as he was dressed in stylish clothes and if it weren't for his dark complexion and features he could have even been mistaken for a tourist.

He handed the old man 80 rupees and ignored him as he mumbled something, stepping out into the heat of the day and immediately making his way into the crowded station. He headed directly towards the back room that had been selected for their rendezvous with a quick glance around, always on the lookout for loitering goons. Seeing nothing but the usual crowds of people going about their day to day business he slipped into the room and prepared to meet his partners.

The room itself was relatively bare and run down, but he was much more interested in the man who was already sat there polishing a large handgun and counting through his magazines. Closing the door behind him Dajil took a brief moment to take in his appearance, he was older and wearing some burgundy polo shirt. He had the look about him of someone who had been given a rough deal, or so Dajil thought, and he looked almost stereotypically Indian.

"Dajil" he said flatly, introducing himself to this stranger. He moved across the room quickly and took a seat opposite the man, but not before reaching into his waist and pulling out his own weapon. "Desert Eagle?" he asked with a smirk admiring the weapon before gesturing to his own. " Glock 17" he began "obviously not as powerful as yours, but much easier to obtain the ammunition and has an automatic fire feature that is quite impressive".

Dajil was half bragging, showing his knowledge of firearms and half trying to get to know if this man was going to be an asset or not. He had been warned that some of the others may be a little wetter behind the ears than he was, and with them going up against the Indian mafia and Mister Dhananjay, a wealthy druglord who ran a Pathan gang, membererd by pashtuns that had immigrated from the Kunar in Afganistan. Both had fairly brutal reputations and were not to be messed with lightly.

The day was hot just as it always was. The air itself seemed to sweat as Raheem Khan parked his cab in the lot of the station. His hot, cramped car barely fit the 6 foot man and he was relieved to get out of the cab to stretch his legs. It was only morning and yet Raheem's body was covered with sweat. He had taken the pistol with silencer, knife and brass knuckles that he usually kept in the glove compartment of his cab and put them on his person. With his job, there were all sorts of situations where he would need weapons; unhappy customers that turn violent, customers that intend to rob him, or just for the sake of knowing that if things ever went wrong, Raheem would have a means to defend himself. He was usually on the defence. Today, he was on the offence.

Raheem made his way to the meeting spot once he entered the station. He barely had any room as he weaved through the sea of people. He spotted the room described to him when he was offered this job. He remembered that day clearly. On his routes, he stopped by one of his contacts place and they told him about the offer. Of course, his contact was living life on top and didn't need to babysit a drug deal for 70 000 rupees. Raheem, however, snatched the opportunity up like a starving dog.

Silently, the man entered the room, to find two men already in the room...comparing their weapons. Unlike them, Raheem had his weapons concealed on him. Despite the scortching heat, he forced himself to wear a light sweatshirt that hid his weapons. He didn't want to make things ridiculously obvious.

"Good morning, men. Such a nice day, isn't it?" Raheem greeted the two men in his usual chipper tone. While he was often outgoing and spoke with kind words, his kindness was rarely genuine.

"Mandeep," he replied to Dajil. "That piece is... 800 shots per minute, right? Not bad. Mine does a modest 267. I just happened to win this in a bet I had with an... acquaintance."

He looked the boy over. He looked almost like someone from the Western world, stylishly dressed. He could barely see his eyes through the sunglasses, but in his gambling and poker days he'd usually been with people wearing sunglasses. Mandeep scratched his chin. "This the first time you do this sort of thing?" he asked Dajil.

As he asked this, another man appeared through the entrance. He seemed about Mandeep's age, and was wearing a shirt and sweater (in this heat? ,thought Mandeep). He seemed overly kind for what they were about to do, but Mandeep, for once, pretended it might just be genuine. Mandeep raised an eyebrow to the man's question. "For sure. A bit hot though, to be wearing a sweater, isn't it?"

Another accomplice slipped into the room, Djil glancing away from Mandeep as introduced himself. Another older guy, at least this Mandeep seemed to know his stuff so hopefully this newcomer would too.

"This the first time you do this sort of thing?" Mandeep asked.

Dajil shot him a roughish grin and shook his head "No, this is what I do" he explained as he pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes "and you two, whats your experiance?"

As he asked the question Dajil took a cigerette and placed it in his mouth before offering the pack to the other two.

"Think it's just us three or there are more on the way?" he asked as he checked his phone for the time. "It's almost time to make moves unless we want to arrive late to the party" he said eager to get things in motion and get his hands on that 70,000 rupees.

"If there are more, they'll be late," replied Mandeep. He holstered his gun and got up. "I've done this and that. There's money to be made here, and I need the money," he said, answering Dajil's question. He vaguely heard a car in the distance. "Could be one of our men. Let's go see."

He started to walk out of the room and leaned on the wall to the side of the door, waiting for the others. He took out his own cheap brand cigarettes and started puffing one as he waited for the other two to follow him. 70,000 rupees... Enough to help his sister for some time. He'd need more though, eventually. The 50,000 rupees he'd won on his last job had nearly ran out. He fiddled with his gun, thinking about what to do if things went wrong. Just shoot them both dead, he supposed. That would be trouble though, and could lead to some conflict with the Indian mafia, never a good thing.

Raheem only laughed at Mandeep's remark about his sweater. A laugh that would get him out of answering and that would make him appear as if more trustworthy. No one was suspicious of a man with a warm laugh and a friendly face. That was the look Raheem strived to maintain. Appearance and perceptions were important things in this business.

He was more than happy to accept the cigarette from Dajil, fishing into his pocket for a lighter. "Don't worry about my experience," Raheem said assuringly to him, his usual grin pasted onto his lips. "I've got many years under my belt. We look to be a good group." Flattery was always key.

Raheem followed in step behind Mandeep, also having faintly heard the car. He was under the assumption that there would at least be three more accomplices to help out. However, it began to look as if it might only be the three of them. This thought made Raheem slightly less confident that the 70,000 rupees would come without hastle. Regardless, he followed Mandeep out to inspect the noise.