[H3][color=gray]The Dreadnaughts[/color][/h3][hr]
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RxInn7tkRQ[/youtube]

Eyes locked on target: heavy coat wrapped figure shaking his finger at a crew of working men unloading a box truck behind a grocery market in a strip mall under the pouring rain. An uninterested mid-height young man leaned against a fence nearby, lean build, fingered the cigarette in his hand and the hood of a brown rain coat hid his face. The docking manager looked in his direction before leaving his crew with some final words before walking off in a hurry between the buildings.

Grit looked up, watching his target make his escape. With a grin, he eagerly flicked the cigarette away and marched in the direction the coated man had gone, between the alleyways. He shot the workers a curt nod. As the brick-laden walls enclosed him on either side, the young mercenary broke into a sprint, each foot smacking against the pavement. The sounds of footsteps followed him, and then the familiar sounds of clicking metal. Grit snatched a flashbang from inside his coat and threw it at the feet of his pursuers as they began to open fire on him. He ducked down, feeling the bullets whiz past his head.

[i]'God, I nearly shit myself.'[/i]

He heard the bomb explode, and the gunfire stopped, and then came the agonized moans of men who've had their senses deadened. Grit focused back to the chase, watching the muddy prints on the ground before they suddenly came to an abrupt halt. He heard footsteps above, and he saw the man working his way up the scaffolding on the side of the building. He had pulled the ladder up behind him, and Grit was unable to follow him the conventional method.

Determined, Grit gave himself a running start and jumped on a dumpster and propelled off the side, clutching onto and climbing up pipes that ran down the backside of the building - he pulled himself up and set a foot on top of one of the vents before hopping over and rolling onto the top of the building, where he came face to face with the man he was pursuing. The man desperately dug through his coat as Grit made his charge toward him, just in time as the man pulled out his 9mm pistol. 

Grit slid on the ground beneath his aim and pushed the bottom of the barrel up and off to the side - a gunshot went off - as he pulled the man's arm down. His target cried out in pain as he like suffered and broken or dislocated finger. The man didn't try to fight to take the gun back, Grit just barely dodged in time to have his target's knee brush across the side of his face. Grit grabbed the man's other leg and pulled as hard as he could on it. Already off-balance, the man fell. Grit threw the gun off to the side, grinning like a fool as he cracked his knuckles in the face of his enemy.

The man jumped to his feet and threw himself into a blind punch at Grit. He pushed it to the side and delivered a left hook to the man's face, dazing him. A right uppercut followed immediately after and before the man could fall over, Grit grabbed his head with both arms and held him close, hitting him in the face repeatedly with his knee, before dragging him over and slamming his back against the fencing of the scaffolding. Grit pulled his head up by his hair - his face was puffy, bleeding from his nose, and bruises were swelling around his eyes.

He spat out a glob of gore, and a tooth came with it.

"You... you... thure run pur' fast... for a smoker."

"Aw, yeah? Well, what'd you expect! The name's Danny Grit. Sorry to burst that bubble there, but I ain't actually smoke. Just one of my many qualities, ya know?"

"So... ya know who [i]I[/i] am. Who th' fuck are you s'posed to be?"

"Aw, darn it. I was hopin' you'd ask how we know." Grit replied disappointed. "Had a couple good lines in mind, ya know? One goes like, [i]ain't no secret safe from me[/i]."

Jim blinked slowly, either confused and didn't know what he was talking about, or taken back by Grit's stellar personality.

"But lets be straight with each other, buddy." Grit said. "You're Hands, ain't no hidin' that. I'm a mercenary. My friends and I got a lot on you - all the way down to your credit cards."

Jim's chest began heaving as he struggled for breath. It was apparent he was entering a panic.

"And we know about your, uh... what do you call it? Your [i]distribution[/i]. So what I got is a friend o' mine on my ear thing, y'see?"

Grit pointed to the bluetooth ear piece - a light shone blue.

"And he wants to ask you a few questions, alright? Best work with him, he ain't very, uh... patient. Ya know? I don't wanna hurt you no more, but if he asks..."

Grit handed the man the ear piece, who begrudgingly took it from him and put it on. He spat, "who's this?"

"Your worst fucking nightmare, that's who." Snarled the rough voice on the other end. "This is how it's gonna go: you're gonna spill everything you have or I'm gonna have that fucking chatterbox blow your head up. He's wearin' a handgun that can fit .50 caliber rounds."

Jim glanced at Grit with a look of shock. Grit confirmed the warning, and drew out a massive revolver from his coat, clumsily spinning it once as he did - fumbling and nearly dropping the damn thing as he did so. That's what a .50 caliber handgun looked like. It looked real fucking heavy. Jim hesitated talking back to the man on the other end. "And then?"

"Glad you asked." Washe said with a smirk. He spun around in his chair, throwing his back to an array of lit monitors. He winked at an amused Baron who was sitting across from him with his legs crossed. "When we're done, you're gonna go back, and tell them [i]all about the Dreadnaughts.[/i]"

[hr]

"Hello people of Verthaven, welcome back from to VN Channel 11 news. With that commercial break out of the way, we'd like to return to a... very interesting interview. We will be doing a recap with reporter Amy Schuler and will then be covering this week in sports."

"Hello Verthaven, this is Amy Schumer reporting live in Bazaar Riviera. Here I am conducting an exclusive live interview with a representative of an [i]actual[/i] mercenary organization, where we'll be discussing their reason for being here and their relationship with the meta-specialized law enforcement agency, NEST."

The man that stood next to her was unmistakably Isaiah Washe, more clean-cut than he could ever seem. A flawlessly clean black suit over a white collared shirt. Black tie. His hair was gelled and combed back and parted in the front. No makeup. His eyes penetrated the camera, looking as though he could see the viewers themselves.

"For the folks at home who might have missed it, can you tell us your name again? Which organization was it that you worked for and what do you do for it?"

"Yes ma'am." Washe replied matter-of-factly. "For now, call me Caesar. I work for the elite PMC known as the Dreadnaughts, where I perform as acting chief tactical officer. What I do is construct strategic and tactical routes for the Dreadnaughts to follow, as well as oversee operations and operational activity."

"What are the Dreadnaughts be doing in Verthaven?"

"We have been contracted by NEST to aid in the cleansing of organized crime in the city, and to return peace to Verthaven. We don't insinuate NEST is incapable of handling this matter on its own, but I can not disclose more than that."

"You said you were asked to cleanse Verthaven of organized crime."

"Yes." Washe confirmed. "We have [i]already[/i] made numerous stride toward that goal. We've subdued several of the Fiends bosses many weeks back and have uncovered with NEST agents the Miranda Caryl Conspiracy. Now we're turning our eyes to the Hands of Science, and their hired Changeling Unit, to pick off and incarcerate what is left of them and to bring them to justice, by any means necessary."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"The walls have ears, Schuler." Washe responded dryly. "The Dreadnaughts have hidden in this city's shadows for long enough. Now we're confident of our intel and are ready to bring the fight to them.

"In fact..." Washe began to say slyly. "We are already taking action. You can expect to see results by, say... the end of this week."

"Any last words to wrap up this interview? To the viewers at home, or to the Hands of Science?"

"Of course. To Verthaven: soon you all will have nothin' to fear. This nightmare has drawn itself out long enough, and we've come to put it to rest. The danger the Hands poses to your friends, family, and children, will be exterminated. To the Hands of Science..."

Washe paused, letting the silence linger on for a couple delicious moments longer with a smug expression on his face..

"...keep checking your windows, you pissant bastards. You'll know it's us when you see it."

The interview closed, and the two bid their farewells before the news stations turned over to the sports anchorman. But the biggest question in mind was "why are the Dreadnaughts here?" All this time being spent hiding in the shadows, why now, of all times, to come out and make themselves known to all of Verthaven and to their enemies? 

What was their rationale in all of this?