He ran.

He kept going past the apartments, shops and clubs that were this district’s main attraction. His feet struck the puddles underneath, adding to the noise around him with the pouring rain and the various groups of people that were generally up this late. He pushed past them, ignoring their angry yells and various unpleasant names he was called. Partly due to being pushed, partially because he was very clearly a higher-class boy in a very lower-class part of town.

He ran into an alleyway, gasping for breath, and hacking something disgusting up against the wall. He had never needed to run like this before…his job hadn’t demanded it…god, why had this needed to happen to someone who wasn’t prepared for it?!?!
Calming down, he reached into both pockets of his jacket. His left hand took out a small mobile phone, which he tapped a number into with his thumb without thinking about it. His right hand stayed in his pocket.
“He raised the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“David? What the hell do you want?”

And with that moment, unbeknownst to him, he was finished.

_____________________________

“Sir!”
A young man, In his early twenties in a white uniform got up from his seat, alarm on his face. Another man, older, mid forties walked up to him, wearing the same uniform, but having curiosity instead of alarm etched into the harsh lines that made up his face.
“What is it?”

The younger man was nervous. He stuttered something unpronounceable, then spoke again.
“I…got a signal. Its his phone. POI 7’s pho…”

The young man didn’t finish, as the older one shoved him out of the way to look at the screen. His jaw went slack, before turning back, shoving several other white uniformed men out of the way when they didn’t move fast enough. He was a big man, with a personality that scared even the most experienced of his subordinates.

“Get a line to the third reconnaissance company! Have them send a squad of their best men! I want that bastards head on a spike!
“Erm…sir?”

He whirled around, ready to yell at the man who had interrupted him. “This better be…”
The young man at the computer went completely pale.

“Erm…the call is being bounced, so we cant trace who hes talking to, but…well…the voice…” the man coughed, and composed himself, quite impressively.

“Sir. I Really think you should listen to who hes talking to…”

_________________________________

“They haven’t found you yet?”

David moved the phone under his jacket, to keep the rain off it. “No. I gave them the slip at the station. They didn’t think I would run down the tracks…” He smiled, remembering the sense of satisfaction he got when he saw the puzzled faces of several militiamen who had been sent to bring him in.

“Good. Get to the nexus, give them the codes, and they can get into that file. Then everything will begin again!”

“Goddamnit!” David swore angrily. “You know what’s on that fucking file, why can’t you just tell all your little groups members and leave me out of this?”

There was a deep breath on the other side of the phone.
“Because we need proof you fool. The cabal’s name is mud amongst the common populace these days. If we start throwing this accusation around, it will just irritate people more. Beside, we are terrorists. You want us to start handing out fucking flyers? Hang up a few posters maybe?”

“Alright, alright! Jeez…” David said, shivering as the rainwater went down the back of his neck. “So I get this to the nexus, they make me disappear?”

“…with seven million units, courtesy of the cabal. Don’t blow it all on white powder and whores. They aren’t as good as those adverts by the Lost say.”

Despite everything, David chuckled for the first time in over a week.
“I guess I might feel good about myself as we…” His voice trailed off as he heard something disturb a bin nearby, but ignored it. “Anyway, send me the route. You will have your revolution by dawn tomorrow.” He smiled.
“Good luck.” The phone went dead.

David took the phone, slipped the card inside out and crushed it underneath his shoe, before tossing the rest aside and breaking into a run again.

He ran calmer, easier this time. The light at the end of the tunnel was near, he could start a new life, away from all that he had seen. And everything would change.

_____________________________

He could do this! He was almost there! He could almost see his new life getting closer, a hero of a new regime, the man that persuaded the people to rise up!

Almost there now! He thought, as he turned out of another alleyway and into another street. The nexus nightclub was just round the…

His train of thought was obliterated along with most of his back as a trio of bullets tore through it, sending him crashing to the ground. It was sudden and efficient, with David barely knowing what was happening as he fell to the floor. Oddly enough, there wasn’t much pain. His spine had probably been severed. He was almost certainly completely paralyzed.

Everything he had strived for, gone with just a few bullets and a skilled opponent. It wasn’t fair! He had worked so hard, all that work couldn’t be stopped by just some pieces of metal, it couldn’t!

The assailant walked closer, her pistol in her hand. She wore a long coat with body Armor visible underneath. A hood was drawn over her head, which was also covered by a grey rebreather. In her right hand, a handgun, with a silencer built in. David attempted to reach for his own gun, in his pocket, but he couldn’t.

His mind knew what it wanted. It screamed and shook. His body refused to obey. The assassin lowered her gun to point at his face.

Then her head exploded. It was so violent and sudden, David was sure at first that he was hallucinating his own death, his mind so horrified by what was happening that it had given him the sweet embrace of insanity for his last few seconds.

“Fucking new order…” He heard a voice whisper. “Why the fuck would they send a man this close?”

Then he realised, he was wrong. He was near the nexus base. They would have guards, they must have seen him! And others too! This street might have been deserted, but people would have heard…they could…

“Hel…”

No. He realised, as his thoughts began to race. He was finished. Too much blood had been lost. There was only one thing he could do now. Something to get back at the bastards who had cost him everything. So the resistance could send them to hell with him. Whoever shot the assassin? They could relay his last message…

“Look…closer…at…it…all…” His delirious mind began to drawl as it edged towards oblivion. “Its…”
He never said anything else, as his brain and heart gave out, and he was dead on the floor.

Oddly enough, his last thoughts were of the city that he had promised to protect with his life a long time ago.

“Fuck! Hes dead!” yelled one of the nexus soldiers, unslinging his rifle over his back as he removed his fingers from the dead man’s neck. He walked over to the second corpse, but it didn’t take a doctor to tell that she was very dead. A .308 round to the face generally did that. He looked around at his friends, who were standing there, looking dumbly at the bodies.
…idiots.

“Come on!” he moaned, as he grabbed the legs of the nearest corpse. “We need to get these two inside before any militia see them!” The nearby fighters nodded dumbly and walked over to help. Between the six of them, they were able to get the two corpses behind the nightclub. It was dark. The few people who attended the nightclub would simply think they were drunk. The music in there was so loud that it would be a miracle if they even heard the gunshots.

Several other nexus members were round the back. They had heard what was going on. A young straw haired woman was in the corner, attempting to avoid everyone’s eye. The leader of the squad noticed her and couldn’t remember seeing her before.

Another man stepped out of the back door, wearing a black suit and tie. This was Alexei Kerrat, the founder of the nexus, utopia soldier and, it was rumoured, former go-between for the utopia commanders and the cabal themselves. None of that anymore though. Just waiting in a nightclub recording the people that they hid from the new order. How the mighty had fallen.

“A man runs into our territory, and, and I quote, was like “a man possessed”. Then, when he gets close, he is gunned down merely a few metres from our HQ. Then, the assassin is shot dead by you lot, in plain sight, before we can get any reasons for the killing?” Alexei was clearly irritated and gave the group a piercing stare to accompany it.

“Er...yeah.”
“Well, at least you had the decency to move the bodies. You didn’t completely cock this all up…”
“Er, sir?” said one of the squad. “He said something before he…well….” The soldier shuffled nervously. “…expired. He said, “Look closer at it all. Erm…” He shuffled again.
Alexei looked at him as if he had suggested that the new order had weaponised trees.
“And that tells us….what? Hm? That we should look closer at what? Don’t waste my time with the delirious words of a dying man. Now we just need to decide what to do with…”

The woman took a nervous step forward. The leader of the squad was surprised to see that now, that they were not hiding their face from the rest of the group, that she was actually a man, although quite a pretty one. His eyes widened, and the man noticed.

“Erm…please don’t stare at me. I was…er…” He cleared his throat, before pointing at the corpses. “Did you…check their pockets?” He said, kneeling down and going through the pockets of one of them, while a nearby soldier went through the second.

After a few moments, they had a pen, a small piece of string, a mobile phone, a wallet, a 1911 handgun and a silenced machine pistol, a small computer disk and a half finished packet of fruit chews.

The straw-haired man picked up the machine pistol, which had been used to end the runner’s life, and checked the outside of it, before ejecting the magazine and looking inside the weapon.

“Anything interesting about it, Andrew?”

Andrew looked up, holding the weapon up. “It’s rough and worn, something the lost would sell to you. But if you look carefully…” he said as he angled the weapon so the others could see into the gap where the magazine would usually go.
“On the inside, its hardly worn or used at all. This isn’t a lost weapon, far from it. Someone has taken a lot of effort to rough up the outside of this weapon, but to keep the inside pristine, so it looks like your standard street gun, but doesn’t explode in your hand when you pull the trigger.”

Andrew gulped a little as he realised that everyone was looking at him, but to his credit, he was able to continue.
“This assassin must be New Order. But this is pretty hard to create stuff. Why would they put something like this in the hands of a simple assassin? They want us to think this man died in a mugging gone wrong or something, but why?”

______________________________

He sat at his desk, his head in his hands.
The fucker had got away. His unit had lost contact with their operative, and the kill had not been confirmed.
“Oh god…hes with them…” he whispered to himself. This couldn’t happen. He would not let a single traitor ruin everything. He had to act fast, but god….what could he do?
He knew where he was. But…the orders…they could not touch that place…it could spark…
God! Everything he could do, the downsides outnumbered the upsides! He couldn’t do anything…nothing at all…

“…no.” he said quietly to himself. He was not powerless. He knew what he had to do. His superiors would be angry, but this was for the new order…
“I have to do this….i have to do this…I have to do this…” he whispered, as he picked up the nearest phone and dialled a number he knew by heart.
“Sir?”
“I have to do this…”
“Priority alert level five. Mobilise the unit, strike the main base of the resistance cell known as “Nexus”.
“I have to do this…”
“Sir…is that wise, usually we need to…”
“I am giving you an override! You have your orders! Set that entire street on fire! Do you understand me? My men will send the relevant files you will need.”
“I have to do this…”
“…yes sir. We will move out immediately.”

He put the phone down. He knew the magnitude of what he had just done, so he bowed his head and said a few words that he had devoted everything to.

“For the New Order.”

Marcus quickly swiped his mug as everyone poured their beverages. It wasn't the greatest quality of tea that was available in the World, but it provided the sweet taste that everyone wished to have during some Down-time. All 14 of the Freedom Fighters would all drink together, talking to one another and radioing in to other Nests in Civilian tones to keep the casual theme. The New-Order hadn't to worry about anything, as telecommunications in this area was mainly subjected to a single channel for those with Radios. It could be quite chaotic, which is why smaller Sub-channels were made for certain areas. These made communications less hectic and more clearer to understand who was exactly trying to get your attention. It was mainly for casual groups of adults who'd share tongues and laughter over the transmitter. Marcus would sit quietly and listen, occasionally laughing as well. There was a lot of tension within his chambered mind. A new announcement that would keep himself worried and uncomfortable for a long time. Marcus would go back and replay the audio-message as he finished preparing his tea...

"As far as we are concerned, there has been a large increase of New-Order contact since the 'Order: 51.B'. For those not up to date with recent New-Order movement, 'Order: 51.B' was the mass-breach on Nest 7, which resulted in only 2 surviving personnel. One of which is within Nest 3 and the other has been collected by the New-Order forces. We can only say that is is fair to understand that perhaps the fighter, identified as 'Finch', had been portrayed as a Lost cause within the action, claimed to be, by-far, dead amongst the rest. We are unsure on whether he has been able to identify any of the other Nests, as those within that Nest weren't informed of Nest locations. However, we can confirm that a few personnel details have been identified, and though your locations may be safe, certain codenames and civilians are now on a List. We have already received news that two of those identified were already killed upon an Operation, which had been compromised, though we can also confirm that there are at least another 9 who's identities aren't in just the Flock's hands.

For your safety, when within a highly populated area, it is safe to keep some sort of weapon or defence mechanism upon personnel kit at all times. We cannot lose anyone, even if only 9 are identified. We need to ensure everyone's safety, as the Flock can only work when we are collected as a large group. I wish the best and hope this warning has an effect...End Call."

The voice was a low and croaky voice, obviously transformed into some Robotic-style noise to cover and identification. That is what Earton did. Whether it was a He or a she was only but a puzzle to the world, and he/she wanted it to stay that way. His own flesh and blood were not allowed to ever meet such a person, and those who followed its outrageous actions never receive any information about this being, apart from the Nickname Earton. Marcus understood why these precautions were always taken, and so he had to understand what the real danger ahead was. Outside was a horrible-metallic place, and even inside the safety of their own Nest there was never no-threat. This always terrified Marcus.

To his left, Shikra, Goshawk and Besra would look at him as he took the simplest of small sips. Very minute gulps usually meant something was troubling the ever-worried man, and that usually worried everyone else. Marcus was known to have feared things that came true momentarily after. It was a cautionary superstition, but no one ever really wanted to take any chances when they knew an ever-strong force was waiting to come knocking on their door. Harrier was already rambling on a small briefing with his usual humorous tone to the rest not focusing on Marcus. He was a larger man, Harrier. No one really was like him. He wore much larger armour variants that to those his comrades wore, he focused on ground based movement and protection from enemy shrapnel and bullet-storms. He was a man of many tactical emplacements, movement and fighting strategies that had lead such a Nest to become the legendary Elite Hawks. He says 'Legendary' as if it were true, though in theory they were just a little bit infamous among their own ranks. Harrier was a true idol for the morale of the Resistance Cell, and has sometimes been the topic of auctioning among other Cells, only to be declined. Determination was a single word that could describe such a bloodthirsty soul. Typical for someone fighting for what they thought was right...

"I'm...gonna go drink outside." Marcus would mutter. The trio to his left would listen to his quiet words.

"If you are doing that, some of us will come with you...to, y'know, make sure you don't die or drink too close to the Nest." Besra would say. Besra was the callsign of Luther Martindale, one of the opposite personalities to the awkwardness of Marcus. He was much shorter, much more chatty and confident with life. He believed that what they were really fighting for was the chance to give the world a second chance, saying that 'To make peace come true, eliminate everyone so there is no one left to fight'. It was nerving to hear a man think that way, but he wasn't exactly wrong. Marcus nodded, letting him be followed. He walked to the large, metallic Cog door, twisting the valve to open it up. The clanging sound echoed through the entire Nest, and irritated some of the tired Fighters. Marcus was half-way through opening the door when he noticed how Goshawk and Shikra were also in pursuit of his Tea-drinking spot. He was about to question their actions, when only a sigh of a large lack of attempt came out. He didn't want to complain enough, as it would just lead to them questioning why he was so down all the time, as it always ended as. Eventually, the four pushed open the door and leapt into the world.

---

He sat there, sipping from his drink. He had moved it into a flask to ensure he wouldn't spill any when climbing a higher building. It was still warm, and he was lucky to have managed to buy a Vacuum Flask from a tradesman claiming to have retrieved it from Beyond the City. Marcus knew about the Scouts, and didn't understand their reasoning. Going out into a destroyed world to look for equipment, when he had already noticed how much Technology the world had and was creating. Out there would probably be nothing, just nothing. It wouldn't surprise him at all, or anyone, if a lot of them died from both bordem and stupidity once they were out there. Who could tell, apart from surviving bands, of what laid beyond it. Whether it was a blank wasteland, or another civilisation of rampant rabbits or something, it was completely his guess. Marcus' feet was right on the edge of the tower. It was a medium sized office-complex, standing around 14 stories tall. It was quite tall, and a challenge to peak, but it was worth it to ensure that their Nest was in safe hands. The three behind him were silent, two walking around with larger firearms. They were listening to what Earton's message said, and they were prepared. Marcus wasn't wearing his helmet or head-gear, only his body armour and boots.

"So...Sparrow-eh?" Shikra spoke up. Shikra was a quiet type, just like Marcus was. She was slightly less able than the man himself, and was a lot less combat efficient in the real world. What a joy that would be. "You...alrig-" She was silenced when a hand covered her mouth. Goshawk was holding it as she listened. It made Marcus paranoid as he turned, trying to figure out why she was doing so. She was focusing in on the distant world. There was another Office Complex, probably higher and at least 200m away from where they were. She had her eyes narrowed through thick and misty goggles. Everyone else followed her eyes as they looked to the building...Everyone waited in silence, anticipated to find out what exactly she was staring at. They looked deeper and deeper, everyone narrowing their eyes to Zero in on the spacing building. Marcus slowly moved, placing his flask onto the ground. As soon as it tapped onto the rock-solid rooftop, a small glisten appeared from the building. It looked like someone was shining a mirror towards them, sending them a signal or a message. That was when they all realised. It was someone sending a message, and that message was going to be a .50 BMG round filled to the brim with speed and anger...Marcus' eyes widened. "SH-SHIT! LOOK OU-" A zip in the air, followed by a thin vapour trail silenced the woman, as Marcus turned, seeing her drop to the ground with ease. Her chest flickered blood and gore as her armour and under-clothing became stained with the organs inside of her. The projectile passed straight through her, pinging off of the ground behind her. The angle was from a slightly higher up height, meaning that the glisten was the cause. Everyone dived down behind anything they could find, Marcus running for the rooftop doorway. He quickly grabbed the door handle, hearing the other two begin to exchange rounds with whoever was firing at them. A loud noise was being projected from the rooftop, clearly capable to the audible hearing of citizens below. He thrusted his arm into a contracted position, ripping the door from the closed state to open. However, the only result he managed to bring was fear, as he saw the dressed figure. Large armour, helmet concealing their face, was a soldier. And not just any soldier, this attacker was, but a member of the New-Order. Marcus felt like time was slowing down as he watched the man pull the trigger, sending a single round straight into the right shoulder of the man. Pain shot straight through him as he let out a cry in pain, the other two turning to see him fall backwards to the ground. The personnel responsible for his injury walked out, standing in front of his fallen body and raising their weapon to fire and end their comrade, was sighted by the other two. Running around one side, Goshawk rushed around, evading incoming rounds from the attacking crackshot, whilst Besra quickly turned, ejecting shells from the side slot as he unloaded projectiles into the body of the CQC assaulter. A faint shot was heard, as Marcus turned with less-than-no energy in his body. He was in shock from everything. The experience was happening so fast that it was like everything was prepared for their arrival. He looked directly as his saviour, before seeing how the faint shot's bullet crammed itself into the skull of Besra, shattering his head. The body quickly fell down as the cracked skull and inner Mental Organs spewed out both liquid and blood. The shooting stopped as Marcus witnessed the horror of the man's death. From the doorway, several more armed operators emerged, seeing Marcus struggle against the floor. They gave little concern for their fallen comrade, bleeding to his heart's content on the solid floor. They simply kicked the body out of their feet's pathway, looking down upon the bleeding Resistance Fighter. A formally dressed man also emerged from the doorway, bearing a cap and dressing of high standard. He walked onto the rooftop with a great grin on his face as he looked around to see the destruction of the other two. His grin was barely cut short as an arm wrapped around his neck, a gun to his back as the woman backed away. Goshawk retreated backwards with him in her arms.

"STEP BACK, OR I PUT A BULLET INTO HIS BACK!" She yelled, feeling that herself had the upper hand. Marcus should've started his escape, crawling along the ground, but he only laid down weakly with shock and horror gleaming in his eyes. He spectated the quick-paced action. The soldiers turned looking at the Hostage-situation happening right behind their backs. A grin slowly crawled back up onto the higher-up's face as he gleamed into the distance, not looking directly at his Squad. Lucinda's head was exposed...'Move...Lucinda Move! MOVE!' The thoughts flashed through his mind as he tried to speak, only then realising it was too late. Another shot from the crack-marksman left nothing but a limp body and a large pool of blood. Marcus' eyes widened largely. He slowly reached for his sidearm, being the only weapon he brought along with himself. He drew it, aiming it at whoever came first into his sights. He managed to fire a single shot, before a foot pressed down onto his arm. He moaned in great pain, looking back to see he had successfully managed to knee-cap an Operative. A few more soldiers surrounded both the injured soldier and the defeated fighter. They looked as if they were about to pull the trigger onto him, when a voice silenced them.

"Mmhmm...that's right...we got those one's. Origin? Not entirely sure but I can imagine they are pretty dangerous.....No...no of course not Ma'am...report? Three dead...we got one incapacitated in front of us...yes...yes he is disarmed...Ye-...well...we were about to shoot hi-...Yes Ma'am...y-yes...I understand..." The sound of a radio-link cutting off lead by a sigh carried on. "Stand down...apparently we need to take this one?" A groan of confusion as the drones all stood around, staring directly at the Officer as if he were speaking a foreign language. "WELL COME ON! FUCKING HELL! MOVE! We'd want to get him back before his corrupted blood bleeds out anyway..." His eyes ringed with fear as Marcus felt himself be dragged away; his handgun slipped from his hands as he began to feel more pain from the gun-wound. He wriggled, struggling to break free from the grasp of the soldiers. They were just about to bring him to the door when they stopped, dragging him upwards onto his weak feet. A masked warrior stared deeply into his soul, bellowing into his ears...

"Stop fucking wriggling!" Within the next second, Marcus felt like he was flying in the air, weightless...that was until he saw the downward descent of the stairway flying towards his eyes...

"Please wait, NO!" the pleading of a dying man was cut short after another bullet went through his skull. Anita lowered her weapon and surveyed the area. The bodies of half a dozen thugs lay around her soaking the pavement with blood in a dark alley. Behind her a member of The Lost simply applauded as he watched the spectacle. He grinned with an almost sadistic glee.

"Wow you really are cold aren't you? No smile no nothing. Sometimes you gotta enjoy the little things girl." He went through the bodies searching their clothes for anything valuable. Anita tried not to grin watching the man go through these corpses like a vulture. It was almost too hilarious not too comment on.

"This is business Darrel, but don't worry I had my fun. You find what you're missing or are we just getting their scraps?"

Darrel went on ignoring her while proudly stuffing his pockets with any money he could find. Eventually he found something in the underwear of one of the corpses. A large bag of blue pills was stuffed in some poor guys trousers. "Oh would you look at that 50,000 units in Fatal X. I think we definitely found our thief. Who was this asshole again?"

"Ugh Johnny you idiot. Not surprised you forgot this dealer. He was barely noticeable, but an ok guy. Well that sucks." Anita holstered her weapon and walked off. Another pointless death that started to leave a bad taste in her mouth just for a moment. "You can pay me tomorrow. I need another drink." she could hear Darrel shout something, but barely payed any attention and let him continue earning money his way. For her killing and or hurting a lot of people were ways she earned a living, so looking down on him while fun wasn't exactly fair.

She could hear the boom of thunder and looked up. The clouds were dark and the brief flash of lightning appeared. "Guess it might start raining again. Shit." she raised the hood underneath her jacket and simply walked towards the nearest place to get a drink. The fact it was a Nexus run Nightclub didn't bother Anita. It was either that or wait for Darrel to get done. The fact he might get high off his own product made that nightclub a much more palatable option.

The club was fairly well packed tonight - at least four deep at the neon blue lit bar and the lower dance floor swayed and moved with a sea of bodies to the bass heavy beats being mixed by the DJ. This establishment is not somewhere where Dusk usually would have chosen for a business meeting but it was close, busy and easy to blend in so she ran with it.

Feeling annoyed Dusk checked her watch for the third time in as many minutes 20 minutes late she grumbled to herself and began to toy with her nearly empty bourbon glass. Lateness was something that always put her into a bad mood Give it a break D, you don't know how valuable they are yet. Tonight she was meeting a relatively new client, one of her regular buyers came to her a few days back expressing that there was a new prospect looking for some particular information and Dusk of course is always looking for new options so she went through her relevant contacts and relayed that information on - of course at a price, nothing in this world is free.

The meeting was set. There was no doubt that her information was accurate but now it was a matter of waiting to see if it payed off. Dusk settled into the corner of her booth, raising her glass to the handsome barman to whom she began flirting with when she first arrived, he acknowledged her with a nod and grabbed a dark liquor bottle from the top shelf. The dark haired barman moved though the crowd to her booth with a sly smile and opened the bottle "Single-barrel.... Neat" He questioned with an Irish accent.
"Sure thing honey" Dusk smirked.
He winked at her before pouring a refill and returning back to the bar.
Maybe this night just got a little better...

The wind pinched her cheeks, turning her pale flesh pink and raw, forcing her to shove her numb fingertips deep into the pockets of her oversized hoodie. She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to work some circulation back into the stiff digits, but it was no good, and it seemed her fingers were destined to remain tightly curled up and unmovable for the duration of the time she was outdoors, and probably when she got home, too.

Her lip curled in irritation as she recalled the previous night’s dismal events- somewhere around midnight, the small portable heater in the corner had clonked out, and left her shivering beneath thin sheets. She’d given up on sleep after that, and had spent the rest of the night angrily chomping on her favourite chocolate covered cereal bars whilst sharpening her small collection of knives, watching clouds of mist form with every exhalation.

At least she now knew what she was going to be using her share of the money from this job on, assuming she could find somewhere selling mini heaters at this time of night. If not, she could always get a cricket bat to beat her useless landlord over the head with.

Of course, she knew it could be worse. All around her, concrete flats towered, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many of them contained people who were starving, people huddled in the dark under a single blanket because they couldn’t afford to pay the electricity bill, people whose kids couldn’t go to school because they had to work in order to just live. This lifestyle was toxic, it breathed in hope and coughed out hatred and despair, and Liv knew for a fact that she’d rather die than go back to that.

She clenched her fists again, this time for reasons other than the cold. Everyone in this city was just as bad as each other; The New Order didn’t care about anyone who wasn’t rolling in it, and the various resistance cells could wax philosophical about oppression as much as they pleased, but she knew for a fact that the average bystander was more likely to end up on the wrong side of a resistance gun than one belonging to the government. Of course, the various third parties, such as The Lost and freelancers like her and Lanius probably didn’t help matters, but if it was between this, and being in one of those flats, the choice was easy.

She paused, having spotted the place they’d agreed to meet up in; a disused shop with the windows smashed in, graffiti covering the walls, and likely a couple hundred needles littering the floor. Carefully, she squeezed past one of the previous owners’ attempts at boarding up the windows, making sure not to accidentally scrape one of the many rusty nails jutting out of the rotting planks. Glass crunched underfoot like snow as she picked her way across the room towards a corner that seemed relatively debris free, her nose wrinkled against the pervasive smell of vomit, cat piss, and something that might have been rose-scented air freshener.

This place was probably on the grungier side of their many meetup spots, and she hoped Lanius didn’t mind, but wouldn’t be too fussed if he did. The fact of the matter was that this particular building, in all its urine soaked glory, was much safer than a lot of places. It was out of The New Order’s jurisdiction (not that you’d find anyone on their diamond studded payroll hanging round in area like this anyway), and it was pretty much right round the corner from the Nexus, so it was unlikely any of the various resistance cells would be causing any trouble. It was as good a place as any to meet, as long as you didn’t mind the grunge.

Hopefully they wouldn’t be staying there long, just enough time to figure out how they were going to deal with their next hit; a dealer who’d gotten too big for his boots, capture or kill. He was just the right kind of scummy to not draw too much attention when he ‘disappeared’, but still grant an odd sense of satisfaction when they took him out. More importantly, the pay was pretty good, so even if she couldn’t find a heater to buy, she’d at least be able to afford one. She leaned against a wall, ignoring the fact that it was disconcertingly sticky, and allowed her eyes to close briefly. With any luck, the job wouldn’t take too long, she was tired, and the air had that strange still quality to it that meant shit was about to go down. Whatever it was that was about to happen, she wanted no part in it, it was just common sense that city-scale riots weren’t good for business, regardless of who the participants were.

With that thought, she pulled a chocolate cereal bar out of her pocket, and tore of the wrapper. She watched disinterestedly as the foil wrapper fluttered to the floor, joining the rest of the junk. She took a bite, relishing the crispy chocolatey heaven, a rare smile gracing her lips as she chewed. It was hard to believe that these things had been in pretty much every shop in the olden days, they were pretty hard to come by now, but luckily she’d stockpiled a few boxes full a while ago, and whatever happened, they’d still be there. She knew that some people wouldn’t be happy until they got revolution, but for Liv, survival was enough. She took another bite of the cereal bar, and amended her previous thought; she’d be perfectly happy as long as she was alive, and had a lifetime’s supply of chocolate cereal bars at her side.

Anita finally arrived at the club. There weren't too many people waiting outside and the large imposing bouncer simply adjusted his tie in boredom. She rarely frequented the place, but the bouncer recognized her immediately. He nodded to her and she smiled right back. Before Anita could enter "Ahem" he cleared his throat loudly. Anita looked at him curious and noticed he just pointed towards her jacket.

"Dammit!" she knew exactly what he meant by that. Every few times she went there he always pointed out a red stain on her clothes. She immediately took off her jacket and headed in. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

As the door opened the muffled noises from the music nearly overwhelmed her. Quickly she focused on her two objectives here. Pay her contact and get a drink. She was really itching to get drunk, but it was only polite to do the former first. Eventually Anita made her way over to Dusk's booth. She seemed in a decent mood, but Anita couldn't but nervously smile. "Hey um...I'm so sorry for being late. Turns out your information was good."

Anita wasn't even surprised by that. Dusk had a reputation for her accurate information. Nothing was precise, but she was good enough that it didn't need to be.

Lanius was making his way to the spot where they were to meet up. Pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He knew they were bad for your health but dammit sometimes you just gotta have something that puts your mind to ease. Lighting the deathstick, he took a long drag and slowly exhaled, enjoying the toxic smoke. The area that he was in was a pretty bad area but it was one of the few areas that wasn't under control by the New Order. Thus making it a perfect candidate for their meetup. As he walked toward the spot the current atmosphere of the area was really stressed. Like it felt really ominous, like something bad was going to happen. 'Well whatever happens we should be fine. I am carrying a sidearm that can help improve our odds.' He thought. During his walk he looked down an alley he passed and saw somebody getting mugged. On any other day he would stop and help but today he was on a job and couldn't risk wasting time. A few more minutes passed and he arrived at the building. Listening in he could hear someone faintly eating. "yup she's already here." He said.

As he squeezed through the boarded up window. Inside he saw the remains of some type of store that was now a drug trash. He followed the sounds of eating. "when are you not eating?" He asked. "Anyway how are you doing?"

Dusk drew her glass to her lips, the dark honey coloured liquor tingled her lip as she sipped. A warm rush filled her cheeks obviously from the strength of the alcohol. Clearly she had be paying too much focus on the barman as she barley noticed a dark haired woman approach her booth. Her attention flicked to her as she only caught an accented voice ".....for being late, turns out your information was good" D assumed this was her client and she was apologising for her tardiness.

She raised an eyebrow and left her new prospect hanging there for a moment or two as she looked her up and down. Practical clothes, boots and clearly packing, perfect. Dusk came to the Conclusion that this was a woman didn't like to fool around although she was slightly annoyed that she has to surrender her own sidearm before entering the club.
"Of course it was honey...." She purred taking another sip "Nice place you chose here"
Dusk motioned to the bench seat opposite her, inviting the woman to sit.

Anita smiled and sat down placing her jacket next to her on the seat. The non stained part was folded up. "I usually don't like clubs, but this one I don't mind. People like to have fun here, but not too much fun." for Anita too much fun ended with shell casings and bodies everywhere. Not the worse thing in the world, but it wasn't good for business most of the time.

She leaned back and sighed, tired already but not from the work. The weather just put her into that mood. Even the woman's voice was relaxing, but there was business to get to. "So, I know you aren't here to drink with me which brings me to payment." her jacket had the money in it. Anita went through one of the pockets and grabbed a envelope filled with money. "Just paper to make things a bit easier, and because I was late how about this."

The enforcer leaned forward slightly and grinned "If you ever need my services you can have it just once for free." this was something she usually wouldn't do for people outside of The Lost, but she had a good feeling about Dusk and it wasn't because she had pretty eyes. If Dusk really is good at her job then it wouldn't hurt to try and develop a good rapport with her.

The pain came first. He felt everything just rush to his mind. The visual representation of life was not yet arriving to the station, but the intense feelings of agony and relentless throbbing had already departed into his body. There were intense muffles in his ear, as he felt almost motionless. Was he dead? Was he just a unlikely soul killed in the field of no-accomplishment? It was likely, but hearing muffles slowly echo within his head made it hard to tell the difference. His head had felt like it was smashed to pieces, concrete or marble...though from his last vision of life, the stairway might've been the cause for his death. The impact wasn't much, but with bleeding going through and a hard-hit to the face...it was likely that Marcus did not survive that incident. He could rejoin Lucinda, Luther, Shikra, the Nest 7 Victims as well as every single individual who had suffered a fateful end in the world as they did not know it. The pain came first. The thoughts second, it lead to a wake-up call of sound and smell. Is this a real sense of lacking life? He felt something shake him, maybe...maybe something wasn't right...He felt the muffles become louder as the eyelids he bared slightly opened into a thin-blurry slit. They had been closed for a few moments. Moments is probably an under-exaggeration, but for the man it was impossible to tell. He felt the gentlest of taps against his fragile face, which let his eyes open slightly more. The slit became thicker and thicker, his vision still getting used to the whiteness of what seemed to him as a Super-Nova. The light was blinding, as if he weren't blinded enough already. That was when the muffled sounds made sense.

"Get up!" The shouting said. The visual sight of the man looking down upon him was quite startling. Marcus stared up at him, fear within his emotions and terrified looks. The face looked hardly touched by the smaller face of the taller man. "Finally...I've been here for, Oh I don't know, thirty-fucking-minutes trying to wake your shitty arse!" He had a thick-Indian accent. His skin was a bittersweet tan that had very detailed complexities, clearly a veteran or experienced specialist in whatever he does. That reminded him, where the fuck was he? Marcus looked around, only to know that the room was almost completely white. A one-way glass, as it clearly was, looked in upon them as it acted as a Mirror. Marcus tried to remember. It was baffling to think that he managed to clearly represent the events that had previously happened in his mind. He looked closely on his right shoulder, seeing bandaging and plasterwork beneath the over-armour he was supplied before it all happened. It looked makeshift, only to be worked around what he was wearing. "LOOK AT ME!" He jumped back into gears, still trying to refocus his mind on the current situation. "Now...tell me...your name. It isn't a question, but a fucking-order!" His voice was loud, too loud and intense for his liking.

"U-uhh..." Marcus stuttered, still trying to collect the memories and focus. He stared at the brawny strength of the Indian interrogator.

"What's the matter, huh? I'm sitting here waiting my arse to get home and relax...but instead I'm dealing with your useless arse! Hurry the fuck up!"

"M-M-Marcus...M-Marcus..." He managed to finally spit out, shuddering slightly. The interlocking links of his attire moved, catching the attention of the larger warrior. His face seemed mildly confused and angered.

"Where the hell do you come from, eh? Where you working, boy?" Marcus thought for a while. He could use the idea to his advantage, this was his chance to finally manage to bring his past to somewhat use. All those times he was haunted by his past actions could finally be used to save his own fucking self in a situation where one wrong word could end up with a knife to the neck.

"I...I...I'm...a-an operative here...l-long term." He staggered out of his thin lips. The man looked oddly at him, asking him through eye contact and facial expression for a repeat of his words. "I'm...I'm a 53rd Detachment F-field Operati-" A fist thudded into his face. If only he had his helmet, it would've somewhat absorbed the pain that he faced. He moaned in great pain as the second fist slammed into his opposite cheek. He felt like this was the end. Suddenly, a doorway in the corner opened. The man stopped, turning to see who was entering. Once he had clearly gained a sight of who it was, he snapped to attention, without saluting. It was common etiquette to not salute without some sort of formal head-dressing on, like a Beret or Cap. He moved aside as faint mumbles caught past Marcus' ears, only the destructive ringing that he had heard himself.

"Marcus? Marcus is it?" He looked up weakly, blood slowly dripping from a cut on his left cheek. "Marcus, you mentioned working for the 53rd Detachment. How long will you say you've done this?" Marcus looked up to examine the new interrogator. It was an all-out Good-Cop/Bad-Cop situation, the Indian man being the Bad one clearly. This new one, however, seemed to be more gentle. A thin and small female, with a quieter, yet more formal accent. From what he could guess, she was German. She sounded like she had European Heritage within her, and it definitely wasn't the one's you'd expect from the old Kingdom Islands. Marcus nodded slightly, murmuring his words as he let his weak mind clear the pain and process the questions.

"S-since I was...1-10...I'm...25..." She nodded. A faint hum came from behind her closed lips as she leaned away, walking around the room. She nodded to the larger man, signalling for him to exit the room. She typed down some details onto a small pad held within her hands, nodding in strange appreciation.

"That's odd, isn't it? The only match I have for an Operative within our files, for something 15 years ago, is in fact a Marcus. Which makes you Marcus...B-Brenada?" She didn't give him time to answer with words, only enough time to nod and moan slightly. "You've apparently gone rogue, this final case-study says...or at least M.I.A...once here, the next...gone? Last you were seen was at an Execution...Sergeant Arek Ultsa's...Did you know the man?" This was clearly going to take sometime.

"Y-y-yeah...H-he was...my spokesperson."

"Marcus, listen...you are placed on the Priority list, as these records go. And it happens to be the reason why you haven't been found anywhere else but at the detachment F.O.B you left at the start of that year...You were working on a case, it says, on a small Cell, formally known as 'Earton's Flock', strange name, isn't it? Anyway, you were at least three weeks into the Operation when you went missing. Odd experience, and it is a large stroke of luck that you have been extracted and not already shot dead by mistake." She looked upon his cut cheek. "I apologise about Richard, he's kind of like that. Punch first, then get the entire information out...doesn't always work. You are lucky I came in before he ripped you apart, not that he could with an individual like yourself." She looked down at where his eyes followed, his own right shoulder. "We tried to get our Medical team, who were nice enough to deal with an extraction like you, to do what they could to at least settle the blood-loss. Luckily enough, we could stop the bleeding. Unluckily enough, we couldn't find the bullet." She chuckled slightly. "Got in the way slightly, your uniform. Strange piece of equipment, we couldn't get it off for starters. It looks a little too advanced to be something your everyday terrorist or gunman would hold. Light-alloy, very flexible...you look more like a New-Order operative than a Double-Field Operative."

"W-why haven't I been...y-you know...shot?" Marcus slowly spoke, looking back down. His long Jet-black hair swooped downwards with his head motion, making him feel more concealed, face-wise.

"Well...originally we could've gotten some information out of a Rebel...but...let me just ask Ma'am what we can do." She stepped out of the chamber, leaving him alone again. He was to wait there for at least 50 minutes. Time slowly ticked by, and the digital clock mounted within the tiled walls helped it feel longer. The bleeding on his cheek slowly dripped to a halt, and the pain in his right shoulder seemed to have not gotten any worse. He felt like the fact he was chained to a seat made him feel more...wait...he wasn't chained to the seat...he never was? Odd, isn't it? He moved his arms slightly, feeling very little pain in both arms and shoulders. He must've been out for sometime to have felt rather recovered, but not long enough to have the bandaging removed. He slowly stood up, his legs staggering and shaking slightly. The fact he'd have been laid or sat down for a long time made everything feel less able, more harder and difficult to move. Half of this didn't make sense? First the brutality of the attacking team, and the stroke of luck that helped him realise, he wasn't dead. He hadn't been shot for defecting, and they might've not even known that he had defected in the first place. Soon enough, she walked back inside. She was wearing a cap this time, more neatened in a uniform. It wasn't a New-Order uniform though, something more civilian like...The New-Order...another memory. If they said they extracted him, or that they had his files...this...this was the New-Order...worrying thought for such a frail man. "Right...I got some great news, Two-Side...you are back in Operation!" Marcus tilted his head in wonder, thinking what she was on about, if all things? Why was she so positive and had a great attitude about consulting someone who should be dead? "Oh...well...we've got this one movement coming up...you'll be able to do some little work, for your life I mean. Apparently if this is refused, then death is the punishment. Well, reconnaissance new to you?" Marcus shook his head. She was talking too fast for him. The slow timed pace of waiting contrasting to this quick and extreme pace was hard to process, but he had to, didn't he? If he was to refuse this, the white room would be his deathplace. Indeed something not everyone wants in life. He shook his head once more, to make sure his lack-of-speech was clear. "Great...well...when we are done, you'll be able to meet some of those who were just edging to meet you once again. You'll be able to do some R&R For such a long period of time on field and also some tests for your...weird costume, would be ama-"

"W-wait...what...t-tests? What's...Wh-wh-why are...am...am I being moved to? Wh-what are you making me do?" She nodded, smiling to herself as she grabbed a small pistol from a bag in the corner. A beautiful handgun, slipping it into an inside clock within her dressing.

"We aren't getting you into trouble, just Ma'am wants you to get some work done, seeing as your here. We got a day or two to prepare...so...we can get you a new outfit fit for the movement!"

"W-where are we moving to, exactly?" He tilted his head, still unsure of what exactly was going on. Why he was being used was beyond his own comprehension.

"Ever been Night-clubbing, Marcus?"

---

Marcus was still uncomfortable. It had been nearly two days since the New-Order had taking him into custody, and whether or not they could trust him was on his mind constantly. He was in a danger-zone, where if he refused to go against what he was ordered by superiors then he'd be capped on the spot. Scary thought. Frightening, even more, was the fact that he was working alongside them once more, through choice. It was a choice, in sense, seeing as it is either death or work. Not forceful, is it? He could've chosen a path one would rather prefer when in a place like his own, a Resistance fighter. He should be out there, back with his own home-people...the deaths of the rooftop murder was extreme, making his own fate worry him. The past events had happened so fast, that it had almost felt like the same day that he was being sent on this work errand. Now, this still anonymous and joyful female was alongside him, both being accompanied by what they were told was 'A source of help'. A black-market dealer, would be the most truthful thing to say. One that works both with the Resistance and the New-Order, no matter who, just as long as the cost is high. He grinned as the two were about to enter. They approached the bouncer at the front. This was it, time to move into the darkest of times that Marcus had served in his pitiful lifetime. Something death would've rather avoided than work with, was just crawling slowly back to the useless man. It wanted to feed off of his sanity, make him switch sides. The point of this must've been to gain trust, to think that the New-Order were going to keep him alive and safe. They probably knew that he wasn't one of them, and spending so long with a Resistance force can really change someone. Field Operatives usually ended up like that, either dead or changed. And this was probably a standard procedure they had to go through in their lives.

The bouncer looked down on everyone, noticing and remembering the Black-Market male. He nodded, explaining to him through quiet talk that the New-Order female, though identified as a Resistance Fighter, was armed and would hand her weapon over. He looked to her, signalling her a few times to hand over her beloved pistol. She was unsure at first, but for the good of her identity, it was something she'd have to do. This bouncer was clearly not dumb, but not extremely smart enough to deduce what was going on. He might've trusted the work of the Dealer, making his word easy to go by and trust. He checked the magazine, checking both Marcus, now dressed into a casual dressing, for more weaponry. He shivered. Marcus was cold, and the short-chequered shirt combination with the weather was never really a good thing. It was too cold for him to feel his hands, though assuring that the inside was warmer. He looked back as the other two slowly began to walk inside, seeing an empty street. He could run...he could run now. He could escape and return to his Flock. He could make way and find hope, make sure that he was not to be run by a pack of wild-dogs waiting to slaughter him in a pit. He could just make his life a little better and do what he believed in. He cou-...A hand dragged him, pulling him inside...

"Find a seat, while I go take a look around...act like you know me too well." Before he could comply, both the dealer and the female were gone into the loud and booming music. He stood there, like an absolute dumbass. He didn't know what to do, and so he just stood there, slowly edging himself down into a stool at the Bar counter. He tried to ignore everyone around him, but in reality, he wanted to turn to the next person, scream for help before he was spotted and shot on sight. What was coming was completely unaware to his mind, but he could think that a Reconnaissance mission meant something big was coming towards here. He could just help everyone, yell at them to run and save themselves and risk his own life, for the good of mankind. But instead, he was a whimpering man...who just rested his head into his tensing hands, contemplating life as he laid unaware of everyone around him.

Liv’s ears pricked at the sound of somebody approaching, her fingertips glancing across the cool handle of one of the many knives she had concealed on her person. Every muscle in her lithe form tensed, and her chewing went from casual and relaxed, to slow and methodical. It was unlikely that anyone other than Lanius would’ve stumbled upon their meeting spot, but it never hurt to be prepared, especially on a night like this one. She swallowed, the mouthful of pulped cereal rubbing harshly against her dry throat, and took another bite. Not even the possibility of armed thugs could come between Liv and her favourite snack.

The sound of familiar footsteps and a quiet, but recognisable, murmur announced the presence of her (quite literal) partner in crime, clambering through the boarded up window. Liv relaxed instantly, there weren’t many friendly faces in The City, but that just meant it’s denizens felt all the more at ease with the few there were. A small smile, barely noticeable, flickered across her lips at his friendly jibe, “I had to travel all the way across the city to some old granny’s kitchen for these beauties, might as well enjoy them while they last,” she said, popping the end of the cereal bar in her mouth, savouring the last of the incredible taste as she waited for Lanius to finish making his way across the sea of questionable litter that covered the floor.

“And I’m good,” She said, watching the end of his cigarette as it burned red in the comparative gloom, and shivered “fricking freezing because my stupid heater packed in, but overall good. You?”

People moved around everywhere -chatting, drinking, laughing, dancing. Pity they didn't have a blues band instead of the overhyped DJ, Dusk could have really settled if that had been the case. While she didn't mind electronic music she grew up on a staple diet of blues and blues rock.
"Perfect, then Victor told you my price so I assume.... I don't need to count it" Dusk eyed the thick envelope being slid over the table towards her. In one swift smooth move she took the sealed payment, weighed it briefly in her hand before swift shoving into an inside pocket of her vintage tan leather jacket.

Dusk smirked cockily, as Anita - her new acquaintance was very forthcoming, already offering favours. Time to bring a bottle over and get those lips loose Running her hand through her chocolatey mop like hair and leaned in a little closer "Well honey... ain't that just sweet" Her Cajun drawl really was more pronounced when she drank "Have a drink with me" Dusk suggested "Then we'll discuss what you're good at."
Without giving Anita a chance to decline, Dusk was up, out of the booth an making her way over to the bar where her handsome barman was working.

Lanius let a smile across his face. "Ha well after this job you should be able to buy some more." He moved further into the building. "I'm doing pretty good. Just tired, as usual. If you want I can take a look at that heater see if I can maybe work fix it." Looking around he finds a wooden chair that looks like it would support his weight. After taking a seat, he takes a long drag and looks at his partner. "Place looks like trash. Good spot to meet up by the way." With one last puff he throws the cigarette on the ground and steps on it. "Okay so onto the job. What does this dealer look like? Do we know where he currently is at? Or where he lives?" Lanius looked at his partner sheepishly. "I kinda didn't read the mission paper that was given to us. My bad."

She pursed her lips in thought, “I think I’m gonna save the pay out from this one, maybe if I spent less money on sweet stuff I’d actually be able to afford a place that isn’t about to fall down around my ears,” She grinned briefly, and slipped her hands into the pockets of her patched up jeans, unwilling to even chance her bare skin coming into contact with the array of mysterious substances coating the wall behind her, “and that’d be much appreciated, but I don’t know how far you’ll get with it, it was making some pretty funky noises when I left…”

Liv let the slip in preparation slide with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a pointed look. If it had been anyone else, she probably would’ve refused to continue on principle, but this was Lanius, and she knew his skills on the field more than made up for the small mistake, plus, he had offered to fix her heater. She glanced toward the entryway, checking for casual earwiggers, before filling him in, “He looks like the kind of arsehole who tricks kids into buying stuff that’s been cut with rat poison, but I guess you want more specifics than that,” she smiled ruefully before continuing, “from the pictures, he looked to be around five foot, maybe a little shorter or taller, and probably in his fifties. Also… grey hair, one of those faces that looks kind of ratty, and he was ridiculously skinny. From the reports, it sounds like he tends to stick to one of the back alleys a few blocks away from The Nexus,” she paused, a thoughtful expression flickering across her features, “It wasn’t really clear who exactly ordered this, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say one of the nexus do-gooders finally got sick of him hiding under their influence but didn’t feel like getting their hands dirty.”

She shifted, and moved away from the wall, a kind of restless energy boiling in the pit of her stomach, “In terms of strategy, this shouldn’t be too tough, so we can probably just head straight in and take the guy out, but…” she frowned, her lips stretched taught and white, as she turned back to face her partner “I dunno… there’s something about tonight that just feels… weird, I guess? Like something big’s about to go down,” she shrugged, trying to dismiss the thought, “whatever it is, I don’t know about you, but I sure don’t want to get caught in the crossfire. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

"You remember your mission, correct Nick?" a crackled voice asked from the opposite end of a cell phone. Nick stood in the street, a little distance away from the Nexus club.
"Yeah, I remember. Get in, scope the defences, take cover and watch the fireworks. Not hard to remember, boss..." Nick replied, a slight look of distain on his face towards his current mission. Apparently he was too valuable a resource in the military to lose. The Cyo-gene couldn't have been THAT rare, so why the hell were they making such a fuss.
"That's good. We don't want you getting caught up in the eradication." the voice noted with a proud tone. With that, the call ended and Nick went about his duty; heading towards the club to begin his "inspection".

As he approached the front of the club, there was no one around other than a couple guards. The inside was pretty loud, which kinda gave away the whole club part of it. Nick walked up, nodded to a couple of guards - who gave him rather skeptical looks - and headed inside. So somewhere around here was some Intel of some plans or something, or at least that was what his commanding officer had told him. Entering, he not ied immediately how fucking loud it was. The dj seemed a little too into what he was doing and all the sounds just mixed into a dull, loud and annoying wash of vibrations. He headed up to the bar and ordered himself a drink, making sure to note how many people around him had weapons. Apparently the Nexus were at least some what prepared for an attack. It definitely looked to be a good fireworks display and old Hollywood movie mixed into one.

Hish phone buzzed at she stood, drinking the beverage he had purchased. A message from his higher up, telling him some random dribble that he could probably ignore. He flipped out his phone to check, knowing that the guy would get majorly pissed off if he ignored him.
Scout out their defences, then send them back to me. Make sure to let me know as soon as you're out. it read. Like he had expected, more useless information that he already knew. Sometimes he wondered why he stayed with the New Order if they were so redundant, but this wasn't the time to be questioning his loyalties. He got to shoot people and live at decent standards, even if he was treated as a criminal. He started scanning the area, taking note of a few notable people. A group in a stall seemed to be doing some kind of business where money was involved. He couldn't wait to steal the thick looking paper bag of money off of her corpse once everything was over. Some more important people were mulling around the place, but generally all seemed to be in the same place. As well, some more guards were stationed by the back door. That didn't seem normal, at least not from a military standpoint. Why have guards stationed by the back door for an attack when the enemy will be coming from behind the door? Unless... They weren't preparing an attack, but were instead trying to keep people from going out. He quickly sent a message back to his commander.
Might want to check out back entrance. Seems guarded, might be something to look at. with that, he flipped down his phone and downed the remainder of his drink. Hen he kept looking, ignoring the dark looks from the people around him.

Unsurprisingly he fit in with the people of the club quite well. He was wearing his normal clothes, which were pretty casual considering his military rank. To his right his gun sat in a small leather holster of no notable design, and his knife sat tucked away in his back pocket away from prying eyes. In his jacket were multiple sets of grenades, all in small pockets created specially for him. Still observing the surroundings, he saw the more important looking people begin to join together and head over to the bar. They were all talking about something that Nick couldn't hear, and he couldn't risk getting any closer for fear of suspicion. Looked like it was back to scouting.

The moment Dusk offered to get the bottle it was over and Anita didn't even bother to decline the drink. At this point she just resigned herself to the inevitable and smiled. Getting drunk in front of someone like her didn't seem smart, but most people learned Anita wasn't the most fun drunk. "I'm good at a lot of things girl, but drinking and talking isn't my strong suit." she whispered to herself while keeping her eye on Dusk and the newcomers who entered the club. Anita felt her phone vibrating in her pocket and frowned when she saw who it was.

"Is it something important Danny? I'm getting drunk with someone." immediately after saying this Anita could hear the man chuckle.

"Well lets hope she doesn't get tired of drunkin whining mixed with an accent so thick you could make tank armor out of it. Don't worry I won't take up much of your time. I just need to check on you that's all."

This worried her more than it should. He'd never call for something like that. Must be something else going on. "Don't just stop there I'm still here." the timing for this seemed weird, but it seemed unreasonable for this to be related to what happened earlier. The guy was small time, unless he made a deal with some rival group.

"Nah its nothing just watch yourself out there. I might need your help later. Been hearing about something big is about to happen. Don't really have any details, but there might be a bit more excitement in the future."

"Huh, okay then good to know. Its probably nothing that'll involve us." she wasn't sure exactly what he was talking about, but the man had contacts in a couple of groups. One of them New Order and if something was going down then it could be big, but she doubt he would have all the information. At best the call was just a warning nothing more and even then it was too vague. It was just him showing what little concern he could muster. "If that's it then time for me to get too drunk for you to understand me."

"heh have fun kid." He hung up leaving Anita a lot to think about.

Her mood had improved dramatically over the evening, she had been paid a hefty sum and the booze was beginning to give her a wonderfully warm buzz.
Dusk felt her way through the crowd to the bar- hands placed lightly in the general areas where people kept their cash, fingers brushing against hands and wrists scoping for watches. She was taking inventory as her father called it - Seeing what was worthy to 'lift' in the crowd. She wasn't there to steal but it had become more a practiced habit. Dusk smiled at random memory of her father.
"Pardon me" She politely squeezed into the nearest vacant space at the bar - between a couple so deep in conversation they ignored her and a rather uncomfortable looking young man, Dusk looked him over briefly. He had obviously been used as somebody's punching bag, you could clearly see that by the residing bruising, newly healing abrasion to his left cheek and the way he hung his head in his hands. Dusk pulled some cash out of her pocket and waved to the next available barman and game him a concise order "Top shelf bourbon, short glass, ice and I'll keep the bottle." The barman almost hesitated but she slid a high denomination cash note towards him "Keep the change" she added. The barman nodded and went to work with her order. Dusk tilted her head to suss her defeated looking neighbour out. People came to clubs usually to have a good time, he clearly wasn't enjoying himself.
"Ohh Honey... She's not worth it, no tail is" Dusk cheekily smiled at her lame attempt at a joke.