ANMOS

Order From Chaos. (Want Magic? Demons? Werewolves? We got it here and more!)

The van arrived at a locked up warehouse away from most of the traffic. However, as should be expected, it was all but unoccupied. Eighty parked the van back-facing a large service door, shut it off, and then exited the driver seat. He proceeded towards a smaller door on the side of the warehouse, checking his surroundings for any witnesses. Thankfully, he was clear.

He knocked on the door. There was a single knock back. Eighty replied with a single word.

"Terrier."

The door opened silently, and he stepped inside. There were two men, one by the door, one sitting in a chair close by. Both of them looked like your average thugs. The seated one looked at Eighty and asked him, "Finally made it. New blood here too?"

"Yeah. Female, blank drug record, minor psychological damage."

"Perfect." The man replied, standing up and opening the service door. Eighty took out his keys and opened up the van, pulling away the blanket covering the cargo. Inside was a werewolf. Relatively small, ragged from captivity, bound by an obscene number of straps and locks. There was a device strapped to her head that was ready to drive a giant nail through it if she got too rowdy.

"Beautiful." One of the thugs commented, "We'll fix her right up for the new season. You should think about joining up this time Eighty, make some bets."

"Nah, mate." Eighty replied, "I just want the money, and the bonus we talked about."

The man nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two things - a neat bundle of pounds, and a plastic bag full of some form of black powder. Eighty pocketed both, and the thug said to him, "Season doesn't start until next week. You got some time time to think about it."

"Mate, just roll her out so I can get movin'."

The thug turned and grabbed the cage, pulling it out onto a large dolly the other thug had brought in. He took a needle from a strap on his holster and carefully injected it into the werewolf's thigh, sedating her. Eighty handed the device to shut off the nail mechanism to the thug he'd been talking to. They closed up the van, and the deal was done. Eighty turned back towards the door and made his way out while the thugs rolled the werewolf away to her new life as a pit fighter.

As he exited the warehouse, Eighty took out his phone and texted someone.

Dropped off the dog food at your friend's house.

And as he got back into his van, he got a reply.

Good, thanks. Appreciate the help.

And with work done for the day, Eighty believed he earned himself a pint before he headed back home. Oh, but where to drink?

...

The Order knew about Eighty. They knew about his activities, and boy did they not approve. But just as much as he was an eyesore to them, he was also a valuable informant. Plenty of up-and-coming villainous groups had met their end thanks to the man's sense of criminal limitation. After all, if one party gets too powerful, the business suddenly becomes harder. And no one wanted the worse of two evils.

The leadership knew who he was - the rest, not as well. And he preferred to keep it that way. So why was he just now entering their Abandoned Bar?

Well, they had the best drinks in the immediate area. And despite their strenuous relationship, the Order allowed their little informant to have a pint or two as long as he stayed out of trouble, and away from anyone who might recognize him.

Not that anyone here did. He almost never talked to these people.

Order From Chaos. (Want Magic? Demons? Werewolves? We got it here and more!)

@Nytefall What time of day would you say it is?

Order From Chaos. (Want Magic? Demons? Werewolves? We got it here and more!)

Eighty

Another round on the job.

What's an inconspicuous vehicle? Certainly not a windowless van, but a windowed one with so much clutter and spare tools on the inside that nothing else could be seen, was at least a little better. Ladder on the roof was a decent touch as well. Honestly, Eighty hated driving this thing over his other, much smaller and more reasonable car, but he was hauling some important cargo this time around. Too big for the average trunk. He was almost to his destination, he wouldn't have to worry much longer.

At a red light, Eighty passed some subtle glances around, making sure he was mostly clear of other vehicles. He turned his head, one eye peering into the back of the van. Something was draped in a cloth blanket, and fastened securely. And Eighty asked it, "Comfortable back there?"

There was no response, save for a low growl. Eighty turned his head back towards the road, continuing on with his delivery.

"We're almost home. Sit tight."

Another growl. Eighty smirked.

Order From Chaos. (Want Magic? Demons? Werewolves? We got it here and more!)

Eighty

Name: Eighty

Age: 31

Description:

Reference photo pulled from search

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Magic: "Dun' know any."

Equipment: Eighty carries little on him, normally. Cigs, lighter, wallet, normal stuff. When he's out conducting business however, he brings along some specialty items, including a custom 9mm pistol with differing ammunition intended for differing oppositional forces, such as silver bullets for werewolves. He also brings along modernized versions of tried-and-true monster-killing tools - retractable pocket stake, spray can full of Church-blessed water, small can of gasoline, what have you. Honestly, he thinks most of it is ridiculous, but it works, so he doesn't complain.

Personality: Eighty is, for the most part, the average London ganger in terms of personality. Normally keeps to himself, tends to come off as rude, hard to trust, so on. However, unique to him among most other London gangers, are his notions towards the supernatural. Eighty is no stranger to the world of vampires, werewolves, demons, etcetera. But he sees such beings as little more than humans in terms of the big picture - everyone trying to make a buck, get ahead in life, and live freely. All this adding up, Eighty is never impressed with anything supernatural. As he would describe it, "It's all the same stuff you see in comics and movies. Big deal."

History: Eighty, real name withheld for reasons he isn't keen on delving into, is someone who a good number of folks would see as a low-class, suspicious-looking, small-time criminal. When it came to his earlier years, they'd have been right. London slum dweller who never accomplished anything, and didn't strive for much else. However, who Eighty was then has been entirely forgotten - so much to say that it was effectively erased from all appropriate records by parties unknown.

For most of his mid-life, Eighty was nowhere to be seen. He showed back up in London looking much different than before, foregoing his birth name and instead using the numerical callsign granted to him by his, as he would put it, 'employers'. Eighty has since delved deeper into the London crime scene to the supernatural rung, where the much more interesting stuff happens - smuggling of magical artifacts, nonhuman organ trafficking, werewolf pit fights, and all other sorts of nasty business involving the more mystical side of life. Eighty gets involved in just about all of it, for reasons unknown, and to unclear ends.

As is to be expected, the Order tends to get involved in breaking up most of the activities listed above, much to Eighty's ire. However, much of the time, deals tend to go bad, groups will get a little too greedy, what have you. At the behest of his employers, Eighty will cooperate with the Order when it seems most appropriate to keep himself afloat in the sea of scum he makes a living off of. He hands over information regarding problem folks, and the Order doesn't fry him to a crisp. So far it's worked out, but he expects them to eventually change their mind and hunt him down.

And when that happens, he'll be ready.

Order From Chaos. (Want Magic? Demons? Werewolves? We got it here and more!)

Room for one more rando?

Eighty

Name: Eighty

Age: 31

Description:

Reference photo pulled from search

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Magic: "Dun' know any."

Equipment: Eighty carries little on him, normally. Cigs, lighter, wallet, normal stuff. When he's out conducting business however, he brings along some specialty items, including a custom 9mm pistol with differing ammunition intended for differing oppositional forces, such as silver bullets for werewolves. He also brings along modernized versions of tried-and-true monster-killing tools - retractable pocket stake, spray can full of Church-blessed water, small can of gasoline, what have you. Honestly, he thinks most of it is ridiculous, but it works, so he doesn't complain.

Personality: Eighty is, for the most part, the average London ganger in terms of personality. Normally keeps to himself, tends to come off as rude, hard to trust, so on. However, unique to him among most other London gangers, are his notions towards the supernatural. Eighty is no stranger to the world of vampires, werewolves, demons, etcetera. But he sees such beings as little more than humans in terms of the big picture - everyone trying to make a buck, get ahead in life, and live freely. All this adding up, Eighty is never impressed with anything supernatural. As he would describe it, "It's all the same stuff you see in comics and movies. Big deal."

History: Eighty, real name withheld for reasons he isn't keen on delving into, is someone who a good number of folks would see as a low-class, suspicious-looking, small-time criminal. When it came to his earlier years, they'd have been right. London slum dweller who never accomplished anything, and didn't strive for much else. However, who Eighty was then has been entirely forgotten - so much to say that it was effectively erased from all appropriate records by parties unknown.

For most of his mid-life, Eighty was nowhere to be seen. He showed back up in London looking much different than before, foregoing his birth name and instead using the numerical callsign granted to him by his, as he would put it, 'employers'. Eighty has since delved deeper into the London crime scene to the supernatural rung, where the much more interesting stuff happens - smuggling of magical artifacts, nonhuman organ trafficking, werewolf pit fights, and all other sorts of nasty business involving the more mystical side of life. Eighty gets involved in just about all of it, for reasons unknown, and to unclear ends.

As is to be expected, the Order tends to get involved in breaking up most of the activities listed above, much to Eighty's ire. However, much of the time, deals tend to go bad, groups will get a little too greedy, what have you. At the behest of his employers, Eighty will cooperate with the Order when it seems most appropriate to keep himself afloat in the sea of scum he makes a living off of. He hands over information regarding problem folks, and the Order doesn't fry him to a crisp. So far it's worked out, but he expects them to eventually change their mind and hunt him down.

And when that happens, he'll be ready.