When did assassins kill humor? Jesus he has never met such a stiff crowd in his life. He drained his drink and asked for another silently. Somehow he missed the boner killer of the Grand Church at least there it was understandable. You had Nazi Lolis, some guy breaking through a window and not one of these pinheads could laugh at the fact someone busted through a window.

As he was sipping his cranberry vodka, a second individual entered the room with a literal blood spray that would have made Dracula cream his pants. The final person to enter the bar then congealed the blood in a way that would have made Dracula’s very balls weep in teary ecstasy.

Kimber sighed he didn’t even take masturbation this seriously, even when he really wanted it. He drained his drink as the three individuals called them over. They took Tinder way too seriously, he would have swiped to the right if it weren’t his paycheck on the line. Or his very life.

Taking out a smoke and lighting it, they were in a bar, you were meant to make bad vice choices he walked up to the three individuals with the more grand introductions. Makes him think next time he should just bust through the wall with the Purple Chariot, but the repair would be too expensive for him to have to explain the reason why he did it to his Mother.

“Dinner would have been more romantic,” he tells one of them representatives with a smile.

---

Allison glanced away from Chroma momentarily at the series of entrances that followed, and the quick pick up of talk around the trio. A few neural pushes and she was able to listen in to them from her current location.

Raising her voice enough to be heard, "I can hear. Continue."

She briefly touched the Charm around her neck, under her clothes and out of sight, before returning her view to Chroma.

"I do hope wee have time to continue this conversation.... Elsewhere," she murmured.

Her gaze floated around the room again. The assembled group was... Large. Very different. Dangerous. This was a boiling pot.

A joker, a druggie, a mystic, a poison drinker... The list was varied, and honestly one of the weirder things she'd ever seen.

The mention of someone listening to the trio...

Dark Vision. A glance around the parameter showed nothing in range... Which left the more likely option of the roof. Sure enough, something was up there.

She suppressed a giggle.

Yes, things were getting weirder by the minute.

Omnivore

"That includes you, too, Omnivore, You'll have to get to know these people sooner or later, it might as well be now."

"Aw, that's no fun!" With Baigo's phone suddenly switched to speakerphone a youthful voice bemoaned Person's request. Looking over the side of the ledge she could see a white haired fellow smash through the window into the building. Switching her vision over to infrared she took quick stock of all the probably still warm bodies awaiting inside. It was a fairly big crowd for a group of people she wasn't preying upon.

Pulling her tongue back in she swallowed the phone and took a quick dive off the side of the building.

Like her earlier landing her claws clicked against hard stone with a faint clickity clack, A very gentle drop for something weighing two hundred and fifty pounds. With minimal pause she went from the outside sidewalk to the bartop in a single leap, the heads of her tongues pinching the lower sides of her tarp and keeping them down so little else besides the faint gleam of silver edges could be spotted beneath the flowing white cover. She skidded along the top of the bar, knocking over a couple people's drinks and leaving long score marks across the surface she landed upon.

_
On the bar she now sat, just within reach of Mr. Person. Her legs were up under the sheet, feet perched on the edge of the bar with her lengthy claws only just peaking out below. She was hunched forward a bit, holding the same edge of the bar with her hand claws.

"Heeey boss! How's it going? How you doing?"

From the point of view of the other patrons around some strange person dressed up in some sort of ghost costume just jumped in through the already broken window and was now sitting atop the bar, her costume draped over the bar top as she rocked her head from side to side, lavishing her attention mainly on the man with a box on his head. The tarp she had picked for her costume was quite long, cut down of course by herself to such length purposefully. While having long sides on the tarp kept over from seeing well below it, even in mid-leap, it also meant that the sides were prone towards getting dirty as they often dragged across the ground, picking up mud stains. Well, it wasn't all mud. Some of it just rhymed with mud.

@BCTheEntity

Analyzing the situation Vincent wondered how some had made it through without dying. The man who loudly announced his presence to the barkeep, strong looking, muscular man. The first masked individual he met and their inattentiveness. Someone could have taken advantage of that situation.

The pretty boy who had currently walked up to everyone like some desperate attention seeking puppy.
The female he met, albeit masked, considering her interaction with said pretty boy she didn’t seem too trusting of others. While she might be more skilled than some of them, he worried what such distrust could mean for her future achievements.

He didn’t like underestimating people, but he also didn’t like to give them more credit than what they were worth. Worth. Like placing price tags on the value of a human life as if he knew any better than the toymaker themselves. Price was an arbitrary payment for life. No one could estimate the amount of value you’d get out of your own play time.

Sipping on his apple juice Vincent sighed as the bar doors were kicked open. It’s like these people wanted to be killed on the spot. As they did a dramatic pose, and began over exaggerated gestures, like blood splattering and posing.
Vincent saw many openings, he was impressed on the groups restraint. He didn’t know how long he could watch a man with white hair in a coat do as many melodramatic movements and convince himself why he was of any use alive.

Was this a talent show? Or an important meeting he wondered. Perhaps they were going to get rated by their next dramatic introductions. Except stylish had never been Vincent’s specialty. All though with people on the roofs, loud mouth muscular men, people in Nazi costumes, people in mask, when they were called over Vincent asked for another apple juice.

Walking over to the table he handed to the black man ,who had commanded them over, the boxed apple juice.

“It’s on me,” Vincent told him.

Hopefully this was acceptably flashy enough for them.

"Vhell zhen. Zhat is not somezhing zhat you see all zhe time." Nonetheless, she remained unphased, taking a sip of her drink and wiping away the head of foam with her tongue. It was a pretty shit beer, but it was cold, so she could live with it. She hadn't expected a good German weissbier here anyway, so the flavour was appreciated. Apparently the man exploding into blood and the other one shattering a window were a bit impatient, despite both of them being late. If you paid attention to the grumblings of the agent that was. Eyeing the one that had blurred over the table, she just barely inclined her head in recognition, even as he held a pint of vodka.

"Hopefully it vhas zhe kind of business zhat one can celebrate aftervards." She paused, before her head perked up as she heard someone order... An apple juice. "Zheems razer tame, if I might zhay so?" Not that the flavour wasn't bad, she had enjoyed good apple juices before, but perhaps something harder was in order.

["He's smarter than you. He knows to keep himself thinking clearly an- AAGH!"] She let out a cordial smile as the demon recoiled from her mind again, before walking to the black man. Biting her lip at the idea of having to be tutored by... Well... Him, she had to instead take another drink to repress her instincts. No good burning bridges that were only scaffolding now.

Let's see what we had here then. Gore and viscera. Halloween costume worthy disguises. Manic energy well past bordering on the psychotic. Oh and of course there were plenty of those new cliques that were so popular in the assassin world... with the long coats and perfectly scruffed hair... what were the young people calling them these days... tryhards! that was it, yes Oscar was certain he'd heard a few of his waiter/apprentices use such a term before. Yes all very par for the course when it came to dealing with the cohorts of the UAA.

Yet one question remained: What were they all doing here? Assassins in this neck of the world were a solitary bunch, more likely to turn on each other over rankings and prize money, often proving more of a threat to each other than potential targets. Perhaps the organisation was going to alter their rules in some way. But then they could have left a message with them. Hmm this was all rather strange, Oscar was beginning to suspect that a declaration of a jolly battle royale would be declared.

Still he would make his way to the agents, standing by the side of the table occupied by his usual contact with his arms folded. That Mr Person chap could be a bally stick in the mud when it came to pleasent conversation but compared to his peers the box loving fellow was a bastion of good manners and gentlemanly conduct. Had some good taste in tea and tobacco as well, Oscar could not deny.

Frankly, the look Zzyxx gave to both Able and Abigail could not have been more sour. It was as if he were trying to kill them with his glare - or indeed, trying to hold himself back from doing so - though it could also be misconstrued as severe constipation on his part if one saw the expression out of context.

Mister Person’s reaction to Able’s dramatic entrance was more subdued, at least visually, only taking another drag from his cigar. To Kimber, he offered but a shrug, and to Omnivore’s enthusiastic greeting, he responded ’Well, thank you. I’ve been working with some other agents on this for a while, so I’ve been a bit busy.‘ He nudged his head over at Zzyxx and Rutabaga as he mentioned the other agents, just as Rubert was gifted a box of apple juice by Vincent, much to his confusion.

‘Uh… thank you, Vincent,’ he muttered, accepting the gift somewhat hesitantly before poking the straw through the covering and taking a sip. Admittedly, he felt himself calmed just a bit by the notion of an assassin wanting to get on his good side - and it was at least better than the actual weedkiller Abigail seemed to be drinking.

Everyone else ultimately took their positions as necessary, gathering roughly around the three agents who’d called them there that afternoon, at which point Rubert double-checked his phone for something, before frowning and putting it away as he began to speak, more exuberant than he felt.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the zeroth day of… let’s call it a job within a job, shall we? You see, my fellow agents and I have had an idea. You all want to reach the top, do you not? Rhetorical question, of course you do. The upper echelons are where the money’s at, after all, moreso the number one position than any other, and that’s true no matter what your business is - assassination, corporate work, military, whatever.

‘And yet what some people don’t realise is that humans evolved to cooperate. They try to get up there on their own, taking all the weight without considering the benefits of allies, especially assassins. But you know what benefits you folks would get out of working together? Take a guess. Go on, take a guess-’

‘Money.’

‘...thanks, Person,’ Rutabaga deadpanned, his mildly drunken annoyance back to its former level after a brief inhalation. ‘But yes, money. Turns out, if the top few spots in the United Assassins Association actually unite their earnings, from odd jobs and rank defense and so on, they can actually earn more money per person than they would even if they simply held the number 1 rank. I know, I found it unbelievable too when I figured it out - but the math fits. Agent Person, you’re up.’

‘What doesn’t fit, more frequently than not, are the personalities of the assassins,’ Mister Person continued dryly, pointing at the assassins gathered round him. ‘You guys don’t like playing nice with one another. We even have examples present - The Heretic, right now, and Omnivore, just a moment ago. Left to your own devices, you’d probably all tear each other to shreds before getting anywhere near the top fifty, let alone-’

He was interrupted by the door being kicked open again, this time by a rather angry man in ragged gear with a beam katana already drawn and blazing, his other hand immediately pointing in the general direction of the entire group and screaming ‘KILLSTEALEEEER!!!’ at the top of his lungs. He proceeded to ignore everyone else as he stamped over toward the Killstealer in question, and held his weapon up against the agent’s throat, the hand holding the sword visibly juddering.

To his credit, Zzyxx didn’t lose his cool as he replied. ‘It’s pronounced “Zzyxx von Killstealr”,’ he insisted. Mister Person simply stared through his box at the newcomer, whilst Rutabaga barely held himself back from having an apoplectic fit, perhaps with the notion of Zzyxx’s over-timely death in mind to help.

‘I don’t care how it’s said! I care about what you did!’ the man ranted, angrily waving the weapon around without care for where it went. ‘My brother, a man whose life would have been spared… and then YOU come in and end him where it isn’t warranted, you BASTARD!’

‘Live by the sword... die by the sword,’ Zzyxx quipped, flicking his hair again, then unsubtly leaning back from the beam katana to grab the headgear off the floor again. ‘Mine, if not his foe’s... or, mine anyway. I take my dues, much like the Grim Reaper... you never know when I shall-‘

‘Okay, no, shut up, shut up!’ the guy raved, seeming rather unhappy with the direction the edgelord was taking. ‘You’re a fucking fool, do you know that?! What, do you think you’re DEATH now or something, in your stupid coat and dumb hat? Oh, well aren’t yuuurck.’

It wasn’t quite clear what had happened to make the man’s neck suddenly spray blood over the bar, and his head to come away from his shoulders. At best, the keener-eyed assassins might have seen a slight flicker of light, and maybe a hint of motion from Zzyxx’s arm, before he turned to his fellow agents and giving what he surely believed to be a cool smirk.

‘I guess that’s what happens when you… lose your head oh shit,’ he uttered, his hat now falling into a puddle of his would-be opponent’s lifeblood. As he picked the item up for the umpteenth time, he made to swipe the blood off, thought for a second, then evil eyed everyone around as he stood and placed the cap back atop his scalp. Apparently, having someone else’s blood dripping into your hair and down your face was a price he was willing to pay to try to look like a badass, even if to everyone else, he just looked like a lunatic.

‘...moving on,’ Mister Person sighed quietly, ‘as you can see, assassins dislike working with others. That’s what we’re here for: we’ve gotten special permission to shift you fellows up the ranks a little, just in order to practically test our theory. In exchange, we will be performing the murderous equivalent of herding cats. Not all of you at once, though, no no no. You’ll be split into teams of three: Heretic, Kraken, Chroma, you'll all be working together under Agent Zzyxx, as will The Savile Fist, Omnivore, and Whiteout under myself. Maiden of Bones, Silver Prowler... you ought to be in a team together under Agent Rutabaga, and in fairness, we might have somebody else showing up late; if they don’t show, we’ll figure something out.’

‘I assume you will know what to do from there,’ Zzyxx promptly butted in, for some bizarre reason contorting himself in a practically ballerina-ish fashion as he spoke. ‘Then again, if you need… help with your jobs, I would be most gracious as to offer my services in training you... for a certain price.’

‘We’re all willing to help you folks out,’ Rutabaga confirmed. ‘If you will, consider me a strength trainer: harder, better, stronger, that’s this Rutabaga’s goal for those of you looking to boost yourselves. Zzyxx, admittedly, is not entirely incompetent-’

‘I have never been incompetent shut up.’

‘-and he’ll be focusing on speed, and… shall we say weaponplay? Sure, let’s go with that… and Agent Person will be covering more general combat skills, martial arts, and the like. Maybe stealth, I don’t know. All, of course, for a price - but I think you’ll all appreciate the assistance.’

With all of that said, Agent Rutabaga finally leaned back on his stool and took another sip of apple juice. ‘Any questions before we go, boys and girls?’

Abigail listened closely, taking the occasional sip from her drink, and the often gulp every time Zzyxx spoke. Every time he talked it sounded like more of Abigail's brain cells were engaging in a suicide pact of monumental proportions. It was irritating beyond reasonable and unreasonable measure, to say the least.

Another sip went by and the teams were divided. She was put on a team with this "Silver Prowler" guy. She had some research done before as she glanced over the various files of people she might be facing down the road prior to this event. Checking the figures for the assassin in question, she looked over to his figure before she reached into her bag and pulled out a small burlap sack of potting soil. Walking over to her team mate, she placed the dirt sack in front of him, a newly formed purple rose being created seemingly out of nothing.

Wiping the trickle of blood away from her nose, Abigail raised her hand before she asked a question. "Magic. Supernatural powers. Whatever you want to call them. Who do we go for in order to receive insight into using those?"

Omnivore

She sat like a good, patient little killing machine. They talked their talk, job within a job, Money, yadda yadda yadda. Nothing they said answered the question as to why this all couldn't of taken place over a group chat or phone lobby.

Their little spiel was cut short for the moment when a guy barged in. Another assassin, presumably, and he seemed to have beef with the silly man in the red clothes who posed a lot. Words were said, heads were taken and so forth. What was interesting however was that the silly man's movement barely registered on the capture. She let Omnivore take a moment to replay the footage and the motion was still blurred. Being able to slow down a waterfall to the point of being able to count each individual drop of water as it fell this was quite unusual. There was little organic about the attack, leaving only two remaining paths of logic to explore there. Either he's got some super fine cybernetics at work there or it's magic, that weird thing she's only heard rumors of since joining.

The beefy dark guy resumed talking, discussing them all getting ranked up and put into teams amongst other things. It sounded like she was getting some weird tag-alongs for her missions now which wasn't the most attractive sounding proposal in the world. Looking at the group they gathered none of them striked her as any good at scurrying through vents or across the ceiling. If anything they were barely passable distractions. He mentioned something about a third guy coming to join the two which prompted her to look down at the freshly killed corpse.

"Are you sure that wasn't the guy?" She pointed at the decapitated man leaking his cooling blood upon the bar floor. "He's kinda dead."

_
"Any questions before we go, boys and girls?"

After going over what they'd be charging for the big boy opened the room to questions. Oh boy did she have a few. Mildly shuffling across the bar top, careful not to disturb the edges of her disguise, she sat just out of Mr. Baigo's grasp. Leaning in just a bit she extended a hand out from under the tarp. With a metal claw on the cusp of being long enough to classify as a short sword she gently poked a fine hole in the side of his juice box, a tiny puncture right on the dot above the i. It was an unerringly precise poke yet executed with a particularly casual air. Only the kind of precision one could ask from a computer guided needle. After leaving her mark on his box, the container leaking very slightly through this new aperture, she retracted her claws which all gleamed like fine silver back below her ratty tarp.

"I have a few questions." She opened, probably having gotten his attention by this point. "Who the heck are any of those guys? If you moved our ranks, what's our rankings at now? Who are we killing? If another team is ahead of us do we kill them or wait for them to move up ranks? Is each team fighting each rank assassin together or is it still one on one? If a team member decides to be a jerk how much killing qualifies as overkill? Why couldn't this whole meeting take place on a secure chatroom? Even a lan network would of been cooler than this. You also had three messages in your voicemail. You won't believe who the second message is from! By the way if you're called Rutabaga does that make
you tuber? If so I'm so not gonna like your vids, that's a lame pun."

She breathlessly bombarded him with questions, easy enough for her to do since she doesn't really need to breath in a deliberate sense anymore. Her breathing was more of a continual flow which ran through a series of filters that seperated the oxygen from the molecules and stored it away to supply what little blood still kept the remaining organic sections alive. That was all not to mention the fact that her voice was generated through a speaker in the back of her mouth, producing nice clear sounding audio for the audiophiles who would hang on her every note if they knew it was a speaker talking and not a real girl.

She made sure to keep a fine eye on his every movement, studying him like a tiger studies it's prey. The same went for every other living soul in her presence. Death was for the unwary and she was not going to be caught unawares.

@A Lowly Wretch @Irredeemable

A group effort?! Well this was far more interesting than the free for all Oscar had been expecting. Yes indeed this could brighten up the sense of ennui that had been coming over him recently. The challengers that had been coming to his dojo were all beginning to blur into one. Angry youths with poor fahion sense and questionable choices in hair styles that had no sense of decorum or genteel manners when it came to the beauty of combat. Oh but it was always a good laugh to take such impotent whelps apart and the look on their faces before Oscar smashed them into pulp was something that would always warm his heart - oh but the feeling of their bodies giving way beneath his fists and feet - but this did offer a new world of possibilities for him. Yes... maybe this was just what he needed.

Then the trio of agents did their best accountant impressions and explained the mouth watering amount of money they would each be able to make if they were to pool their efforts and profits. Which just nailed it for Oscar! Yes, he would dedicate himself to this new goal in life. The bankers were always breathing down Oscar's neck these days, as if such misers had the right to bother someone of his station over something as tawdry as money! This way he could practically hand wave his financial affairs away and get back to the standard of living he was owed as well as seek out a more seasoned form of foe.

Now he only had to hope that the UAA hadn't decided to play the trickster and set him up with this Zzyxx charac- The door flew open and the dull shade of the bar was lit up by the furious light of an active beam katana! What followed was... just a sad display. Oscar couldn't tell what the issue was truly about but clearly the interloper was after vengeance of one flavour or another. Unfortunatly the two didn't seem to be ready from the same script and Zzyxx's attempts at poetic pose left much to be desired. Perhaps if he tried some Byron or Keats. Fortunately none of them had to suffer through the travesty for long as in a flash the miscreant's head had departed his shoulders in a crimson fountain.

"My word!" Oscar guffawed. "No call for that sort of thing now." Oh sure there was a sense of flare to such instantaneous death but it wasn't quite Oscar's style.

Still... it was good to see that this agent and potential trainer knew his stuff. Oscar wasn't too proud to admit that he was intrigued by the idea of reaching such speeds with what looked like ease. Improving his technique and physical form was one of the few things Oscar could actually put his pride aside for... most of the time.

"Any questions before we go, boys and girls?"

As it turned out a few people had questions, none more so than the happy ghost perched on the counter top who streamed them off as if afraid that pausing might mean forfeiting her chance to ask something of anyone. Person had called her Omnivore earlier hadn't he? So this was one of Oscar's new teammates. Oh dear... he got the distinct feeling this one would be an uphill battle. She wasn't even properly dressed for the situation! Perhaps she had been interrupted while at a costume party in order to come to this event but that was no excuse not to bring along spare evening wear in case of an emergency. The youth of today!

"I believe I can answer the first question." Oscar gruffly chimed in, offering a respectful nod to Rutabaga who at least seemed to appreciate a good tailor. "I am The Savile Fist, Oscar Betteridge at your service. I think I might dare offer an educated guess as to whom Whiteout could be." He said, looking to the hyperactive chap who crashed through the window and was sporting a conspicuous mustache of powder.

"A pleasure, Madam." He said offering her his hand.

Blitzen couldn't help it. She just couldn't. As soon as she heard that she would be working with other people, and as soon as she saw the blood splatter all across the floor, her head lolled back and she let out a mighty laugh. But this was no normal laugh, no. It was a laugh that seemingly couldn't fit into her small frame, a long, high-pitched cackle that split ears around the bar. a brief moment for her to take a breath, and then she returned to the laugh The laugh trailed off a little bit, and she drained the weissbeir that she had in her hand and wiped the foam away, giggling at the top of her lungs. "Vhell! My name is Blitzen Kreigen meine Kamaraden. And, as zhou can see..."

COME OUT LITTLE DEMON!

Her tentacles burst out of her back, the elongated purplish-black limbs smashing into the bar top and the ground. "My codename is Kraken! Bechause vhen you release me, I cannot exhactly be rechained. Ahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!" Was she mad? Oh, yes, very much so. But she was a nazi! Nazis were allowed to get a little mad, were they not? She couldn't help it if she ended up cackling a little. And stabbing people with her weapons. And shooting them. "I zhink it is a marvellous- Wait, vhich svinehunds am I going to be vorking vith exachlty here?"

---

Allison was.... Greatly amused at this stage. The crazy Nazi Demon spawn was rather interesting, let alone the thing under the sheet.

Things were getting exciting, people were moving. A body was on the floor.

It felt just like old times. Except...

She felt alive.

Standing up, Allison raised her hand towards Kraken. "One of those two is me, little Nazi," she said quietly. "We'll do well together, if that Japanese wet-dream coming out of your back is any indication."

Turning towards the agents she asked the only thing she cared about at this point:
"Yes, one question. When do we start?"

@Gardevoiran@BCTheEntity



Teams? Actually this probably could work towards his advantage. Earn the respect of the team. Rise in the ranks together. Get to the top. No more worrying about or maybe really he should say less worrying about pipsqueaks coming in trying to kill him.

He just had to earn their trust and not want him dead, instead they’d work so well together they’d want to stick together. Unlike the others he wasn’t so averse to working in a team as the others. Because he was use to it in the Exorcism Society.

He could do this. Yeah it wouldn’t be as simple as that, but they gave him the opportunity to game the system. You bet your ass he would. He didn’t bother too much about the dead guy, all he did was inhale then slowly exhale his smoke towards the ceiling of his cigarette.

Oh this was this girl earlier, drinking something he was sure people should not be drinking. When he saw the flower in the pot he took a second as it instantly grew. Nice. He knew spells too. Kimber wasn’t sure if he was suppose to take the pot, but he hadn’t gotten anyone gifts for this event.

If he had known that he’d take whatever shit trunk space he had and loaded it up. Because Santa would want to deliver presents in a sports car he believed.

“So teams, that’s new, sounds like one of those bottom of the barrel ideas they scraped from the bottom to change the dynamic of things,” Kimber mentions to her, as he’s taking off his watch. It cost him forty dollars, but looked like it could have cost him hundreds,. He handed it to her, “Remind me I have to get you a gift and hold onto that for a while until I do.”

“Mind you I am not complaining, unlike some of these freaks, I know how to work in a team,” Kimber tells her, “Maiden of Bones, huh. That’s cool. Wasn’t expecting plants though. Silver Prowler, but just call me Kimber when we’re not doing anything important. Way too formal for me in this kind of scenario..”

He takes a look around. The loud Japanese Stereotype began to laugh loud enough everybody could damn hear her. All eyes were on her, oh at least that’s what he expected. Tentacles bursted out from her back and Kimber kind of laughed.

“Guess she produces her own hentai too,” Kimber tells Maiden of the Bones with a laugh, “Japan, am I right?”

Kimber sighs, when someone ask if you have questions that’s when everyone gets chatty. Trying to get this crowd earlier to talk was like they had just recently gotten out of a coma. Kimber feels like he’s black in the classroom of school, when the kids all huddle together in their groups after their teachers called them names and lined them up in a group.

“Yeah,” Kimber raises his hand, “Teach, what’s pay going to be like? Is it shared? Separate?”

@Lady Selune@Old Amsterdam



Such characters. He felt like he had been sucked into the television. Surrealistic cartoon moments, where a man is dead and the people they are taking orders from are giving each other shit. Felt nothing like the military. In a bar it would be friends and comrades talking shit. In a briefing it would be about your last goodbyes. Only reason he was on this train of thought was because of the announcement of teams.

Soldiers worked together. Police worked together. Assassins. Assassins killed each other. Killed their targets. Killed others targets then each other. Vincent did not see the benefits. He could work with others. If asked. If told. An order was to be respected. The Bible of Professionalism. He worried others might not.

Till he heard his name in a lineup of individuals. Such characters. One was the young woman he already had spoken too earlier. The other the Nazi. Now Vincent did not want to start any conflict. But Nazis were not something he liked. As a Soldier or a Former Soldier it was occupationally necessary to hate Nazis.

Still he gathered around the group he had been paired off with. The woman in the mask, cautionary. Though she chatted with him earlier, guarded with others. Then the Nazi began to laugh loud. Vincent covered his ears. He was sure the whole neighborhood heard the Nazi’s laugh.

Tentacles. Kraken like the myths. Or whatever she said. Vincent wasn’t entirely sure he understood most of what she said. Though his orders were to be respected. Work within a team. Work with these folks. It was the Bible of Professionalism to not let his own biases get in the way. Suppressing the way he feels about it either way.

Vincent nods his head.

“Chroma,” Vincent says in his dry way, he actually forgot he had a voice for a second, “I do not have,” he paused, “a flashy display prepared for this moment.”

Questions. Better let everyone ask. He’ll listen. He’ll absorb them. Take them in. Perhaps his train of thought is similar to another person’s here.

“....” Vincent stares at the two he is supposed to be working with.
[You may also call me Vincent]

Asterisk resettled the skirt she'd been wearing, taking the chance to run her hand down her thigh. Really, this was much better than the previous models had been. She swung her lower leg forward gently, just to feel the muscles move. God, she loved wearing these bodies. The gang of people in the bar had been quite amusing, not least of which was the nice young man next to her, evaluating her work in other, more difficult areas. She leaned forward while he asked a question, and kissed him just under his jaw. After all, his hands were awkward in a good way. A server whirred as a note of the hesitation and touching he used was saved and filed. Another identity might find that useful after all.

She gently removed his hand from her blouse, then turned to face the three agents. "Sorry, Mr Baigo, but I was a little busy. The name Asterisk should be on that list of yours." Leaning across her new friend's lap, she trailed a finger down his jawline and neck. "This is that one. I suppose this means I'm in your charge, with this," the finger hooked into Kimber's collar, "fine, young gentleman," She wiggled her hips with a half smile on her face. "And his gun." And that other girl with the armour and sword, but getting to know her could wait until later. She lowered her voice to precisely the volume necessary to reach Kimber's ears and no one else's. "Does this mean we get to share rooms?"

An alert sprang up elsewhere in her network. Her eyes unfocused slightly and her expression went still for a moment while she made sure it was taken care of. Lesser subroutines had their place, and that was taking care of lab accidents. This particular model hadn't been fully test-driven yet, she thought as the mental processes focused back on her new best friend. Perhaps he'd be willing to help with that. She flicked the top button undone on his shirt, partly to cover the lapse in concentration, and partly out of mischief. It was such a lovely emotion, mischief. Doing something wrong to provoke a reaction in someone would have horrified her before. Now... She swung her legs again. Now it was fun.

@AngelofOctober@BCTheEntity

There was a loud, conspicuous sound as Able slurped the vodka, before shaking his head. "Wheeeewie. That gives you a pep, for sure." He smiled. A group to work with, huh? A job within a job. He could live with making millions via the brutal assassination of everyone in his way. He could especially work with making even more millions by cooperating. As long as he made the most, of course. He hadn't become the head of international drug syndicates simply by allowing other people to walk all over him. Even if his business partners looked... Interesting. Wiping his nose, he snorted the last traces off and rubbed a little into his gums, letting out a long sigh as he did so.

The finely dressed man who introduced himself to... Omnivore... Seemed to be the one making their group all tick together. Straightening his clothing out, he also stepped forward, (or, really, stepped, as he was currently coked up enough to make every movement at about thirty miles per hour,) and stuck his hand out too.

"Indeed, that would be me. My name is Able. Able Blackthorn. If any of you have any... Fingers in the pies that are international drug smuggling, I'm sure you should know me very well. Beam Katana enthusiast, un-addict to cocaine, and owner of some very nice firearms. I hope we can work together nicely! Also, if any of you would like 99% Colombian White Snow, I can hook you up with that no problem."

For a brief while, everyone began asking questions, introducing themselves to one another, or just laughing maniacally at the top of their lungs. It was almost difficult for the agents to process the noise, Rutabaga most of all - aside from anything else, the cloaked girl questioning him at a rapid-fire pace had poked a hole in the side of his drink, and was quickly draining his patience. About the time of her “you tuber” pun, he began sucking the liquid out of his juice box as though he were sucking the life out of it, crushing it in his hand once it was empty and dropping it with a mildly violent unclenching of his fist.

One would imagine that the untimely reveal of Asterisk Hash’s presence all along would be soothing to the dark-skinned man. Somehow, it only made him angrier. ‘Nice to see you still value your ability to sneak around, Hash,’ he spat through gritted teeth. ‘How about next, you work on your ability to attend meetings like a normal human being? Even the ghost managed that, barely.’

‘To answer Abigail’s question, there will be others around town to help upgrade your arsenal and skillset,’ Mister Person called to the crowd when he got the chance to speak without interrupting anybody. ‘Santa Destroy has always been a hub for suppliers of all sorts. I’m sure you can look around and eventually find what you have in mind. As for your other questions, you will be sent a list pertaining to your new ranks tomorrow, along with some starting funds to help you purchase equipment to assist your rise upward.'

'Wait- wait a minute, what the hell do you mean, "starting funds"?' Rutabaga asked, yet more anger slipping him into a sort of half-yell.

'You don't want to leave them unfunded, do you?' Mister Person asked quite calmly. 'It's only fair that they receive payment for this matter. I'll chip in, Zzyxx will chip in, we've both agreed that this-'

‘You motherFUCKERS!’ Rubert finally exploded, fists cracking the surface of the bar as they slammed into it before he stood to confront his fellow agents. ‘Do you really think you can just OFFER these people money for free?! That's not how-’ For a moment, it appeared as though he intended to continue his rant, but after a couple of moments of angry gesticulation and undecipherable guttural noises, he finally just stared at his feet and slammed one fist into the bar again, this time severely denting the wood under it.

‘You will officially receive your ranks and some starting funds by tomorrow morning,’ he scowled, loudly announcing the information to the bar. ‘If you’re ranked immediately below members of your own team or others, you may skip their ranks until you find somebody to fight who isn’t in on this scheme, if any such people still exist above you; you may also fight members of other teams early if you so choose, but you WILL receive this Rutabaga’s FOOT up your ASS if you try and fuck over your own team members. Your pay is shared based on what you earn from your work, and you have to push up to the top to get the full benefits of this plan. We’re just putting you in the right place to do so - within the top 200, if it matters.’

‘I think, then, that this… concludes our meeting,’ Zzyxx intoned, throwing his hat off of his head all over again. It usually does when Agent Rubert loses his temper.’

‘...I am going home now.’ The agent stormed out, tossing some money on to the counter to pay for damages; taking that as his cue, Zzyxx promptly posed one last time before vanishing in a spray of blood and shadows. Mister Person took one last drag of his cigar before stubbing it out on the damaged countertop, snatching up Zzyxx’s hat with what could almost have been mistaken for a chuckle before he stepped out himself. It seemed the meeting was over, and people could take their leave at their leisure.

@AngelofOctober@Gardevoiran

Asterisk blew off Rutabaga's anger. She wasn't a normal human being. The comparison was actually vaguely insulting, but she had more interesting things to do. Or more accurately, more interesting people. She slid off her stool, turned and straddled her new teammate's lap in one smooth movement. She took hold of his collar, running her hands down until she could pop open a button on his shirt. "Since we're on the same team..." Asterisk began, looking at him through her eyelashes with a seductive smile, "why don't you come back to my place and we can get to know each other a little better?"

Her voice dropped into a sultry whisper, and she put her arms on his shoulders. The movement might have made her cleavage a little more prominent, but that was only to be expected. "I've got a penthouse in the west side of town. Very private." Leaning closer, until she was practically nibbling his ear, she continued, "Where you can do to me... something your mama would disapprove of." Her body was pressed against his, and she giggled just a little. This time she did nibble his ear a little, but it turned into nuzzling his neck fairly quickly.

He was hers tonight, even if he hadn't decided it yet. Humans were ruled by their hormones, and there had to be enough going through this poor boy that he could hardly think straight. If he followed her line, Asterisk would make it easy for him. With a particularly drawn out hip movement, she slid off his lap. She kept hold of his hand though, pulling him along with her. "Oh, and Maiden of Boners?" She closed her eyes momentarily, cursing herself for the Freudian slip. "Maiden of Bones. You're welcome to come along. I'm flexible with plans this evening."

"Bah. To whoever my team iz, I shall zee you all tomohrow. Fick dis. I'm going home for now." She turned on her heels rather dramatically, her tentacles retracting, before dropping her beer down onto the ground, hard. "And bartender! Your weissbeir is Scheisse!" A single raised middle finger at the barman, and she departed the door post-haste. Working together. Bah. She was going to prove that she could work apart from people... Right now!" Pulling a phone out of her pocket, she scrolled through the list. Assaassin number... 341. Some rando idiot. Perfect!

---

As it turned out, they might be a rando idiot, but they were a rando idiot with a lot of guns. As another faceless trooper ended up shot dead at her feet, she let out an annoyed growl. "FICKING FIGHT ME YOU COVARD BASTARD!" The luger in her hand barked again. One in the chest, one in the throat, one in the head. The man let out a stifled gargle as he ate the lead, clawing at his throat, the Nazi taking just long enough to kick him out of the way before continuing. Half her tentacles were focused in a shield in front of her, the other half were busy throttling a poor sod to death, his mask falling off to reveal another mask, this time of terror.

Thrusting her pelvis forward, Die Ficklasen blasted out a superheated charge, the Nazi letting out a very innapropriate noise as she did so. Combat with Blitzen was a rather 'hands on' deal, what with all of her hands being occupied. Someone came charging at her with a beam katana, and promptly learn why that was a bad idea, the tip of her pelvis-mounted doomlaser pressed firmly against his chest, before exploding out and decimating his chest.

By the time she had done with her minor orgasm from that, she looked around, eager to kill some more, only to find that... There was nobody left to fight. Or, rather, no goons left to fight. Now there was just a large steel door between her and her target. Sadly unhooking the device from her suit, she gave the fine Hugo Boche tailoring a quick flick with her wrist to clear the gore and viscera from it, her tentacles settling in for another round of combat.

One thing that many people underestimated was the non-combat utility of a beam katana, particularly something as hefty as Die Ficklasen. A low power setting meant that the heavy metal parted like a hot knife through butter, her tentacles finishing the job by blasting the door straight forward, Newton probably weeping in his grave as the eldrich creation absorbed the recoil without a second thought. With a loud crunching noise, it smashed into the back of the room, and she found herself face to face with the person that kept fucking running away from her, who, as it turned out, was an African American.

"ACTUALLY, ZHAT MAKES A LOT OF FUICKING ZENSE!" There were no mufflers on the Blitzen train, her petite form launching forward, tentacles slamming into the ground in order to keep herself somewhat airborne. Beam katanas met, and whilst initially it seemed to be a battle of strength, Blitzen simply levered the laser cannon so it faced towards the enemy assassin and switched from 'beam' to 'fire' mode.

With her foe now missing a head, and Blitzen feeling rather let down after such an anticlimax, the Nazi turned and began to walk out. She just about remembered to scoop up her luger and tuck it back into a pocket, sighing as she found herself in the gloom of the city at night. "Fuck. I vhant to kill more zhings now."

@Regitnui@Gardevoiran


She clearly had the wrong idea about him. Sure Kimber had ranked up a reputation as somewhat a womanizer, the difference was as a man he understood the difference between sexual harassment and promiscuous pleasure. If she were a man and decided to touch on a woman like that the feds would have busted through the already broken windows and arrested Asterisks.

He sort of hated how her body teased his though. When she straddle on him and got close she smelled sweet and candy like, hmm butterscotch. Her skin was smooth. Her voice was properly sultry. It ran tingles through his body, but mentally he as not amused. When she moved off, he took out a cigarette. He didn’t have any more money, he needed way more than two drinks to proceed in this situation.

Still he knew little about Asterisks or Maiden of Bones, it sounded like an opportunity to know the both of them. He inhaled and exhaled, leaning back relaxed at first.

“Sounds like a plan,” Kimber said with a smile, “We could get a bottle and get to know one another.” He gave both of them a charming look in his eyes and stood up, “My car sits four. I hope someone doesn’t mind sitting in the back. Sports car you know.”

He takes another second.

“Maybe get a pizza too,” he says, “If you know you eat pizza.” he stares at the Maiden of Bones and gives her one of his teasing smirks.