You and Ryuji, your new sword-wielding acquaintance from the Yakuza, are sitting on the doorway edge of the helicopter you just lifted from a dock gang, with your feet on the rails, each having a cigarette. Your faces are pretty busted up but you're more or less OK.

You tilt your head back to look up at the chopper. It's a Chinook, the big ones they used in Vietnam, for the heavy lifting. If Catherine went to this much trouble to get it, she must want it for something specific. Interesting.

You wonder if it was worth it. You try the radio again. "Alex? Come in, Alex." Your teeth clench in frustration. Last you heard from her, she was on the run from the cops. "Say something, dammit!" you shout at the radio.

"まだまだだね," says Ryuji.

"Not helping!" you tell him.

A pair of headlights shines over the hill, become a car heading in your direction. You stand up, reaching for your gun, but Ryuji shakes his head. "Ken," he says, pointing to the car.

Sure enough, the car pulls up, and out of the driver's seat gets Ken, Ryuji's uncle. "Johnny," he says. "Glad to see you're unhurt. Er-" he gets a better look at your face. "That you're still in one piece."

You say ...

> We have to find Alex!
> What kind of fucked up plan was this?
> Catherine better come through on her end of the deal.
> What happens now?

>>836092
> We have to find Alex.
> Catherine better come through on her end of the deal.

"Catherine had better come through on this," you growl at him. "What the hell happened to Alex? We have to find her."

"Calm down," says Ken. "I'm sure she's okay. I've been listening to the news radio in the car. They know there was a shootout at the docks, but they haven't said anything about a suspect being caught."

"I'm not just going to sit around and hope for the best. Where was she shooting from? You gotta take me there," you demand.

Ken says. "Johnny, it's no good. We can't go there right now. The cops are crawling all over there like ants. It's too hot. Look at yourself, you're still bleeding. Get some rest, get fixed up. Find her in the morning when the attention has died down."

>You think I care about that? I'm going there now, with or without you.

>You're right, but I can't wait until morning. I have to do something now.

>I see your point. I should at least stop bleeding first.

>>836134
>I see your point. I should at least stop bleeding first.
>So, what the hell was this chopper for? It's not exactly subtle...
>Ditch the flare gun and explain what happened to Ken.

Hey, maybe you should put a post in the old thread linking it to the new thread. I've got a feeling at least one or two people are in there waiting for you to post.

>>836188
Good point, thanks

"I see your point. I should at least stop bleeding first."

You wipe the blood off your face, then point back at the huge cargo helicopter. "So, what the hell was this chopper for? It's not exactly subtle."

Ken says, "I don't think Catherine would want me to spoil the surprise. She most certainly has a plan, though. She always does. In fact, if I guess right, her plan may have a use for a man of your talents. But I'm getting ahead of myself. How did things go at the docks?"

"The plan with the rescue boat disguise worked out okay. We got into a warehouse close to the chopper. Then, uh-" You have a vivid flashback of blood splattering on the walls as you mowed down a dozen gangsters with your machine gun. "Some shit went down. You know how it is.

"Then by the chopper, there was this huge asshole with a helmet. He was talking to these rich-looking Asian pricks in suits. No idea what the hell they were doing there. They high-tailed it once the shooting started. The huge asshole didn't like our faces much, tried to re-arrange 'em." You remember driving a forklift straight into his chest. "I showed him I didn't like that much.

"Then there was this helicopter chase ... damn. Anyway, we made it out in one piece."

"Sounds like a quite an evening," says Ken. "We're stashing the chopper here for tonight. Catherine will get in touch with you tomorrow about your payment. For now, I can give you a lift into town. Where can I take you?"

>To the safehouse to rest
>To the hospital to get your face fixed up
>To a bar to get a damn drink
>To Marvin's - I mean, Zero Crash's warehouse

>>836235
>>To the safehouse to rest
With a stopover to a CVS and a liquor store for booze and pills.

Try to snap our nose back in place in the room. Prepare for pain.

>>836235
>To Marvin's - I mean, Zero Crash's warehouse.
If Alex isn't there...
>To the safehouse to rest.

>>836313
Backin

"Liquor store and pharmacy. Then I got someone I want to talk to."

In the liquor store you buy yourself a fifth of whiskey. In the pharmacy, you take a swig from the whiskey before gulping down some painkillers.

"Sir," says the pharmacy attendant. "I don't think you're supposed to-"

"Shut up," you growl.

In the backseat of the car you take another drink of whiskey, savoring that familiar burn, as Ken drives off. You take a few minutes to let it sink in. Then you reach up to your nose, carefully probing. Ouch. Yep. That's broken.

No sense in waiting around, you figure, and snap it right back into place. It sounds and feels like someone just set off a firecracker in the center of your face. "Hrrnnghfuuuck-"

"Everything okay back there?" asks Ken.

"Don mibe me," you say. "Just -snff- another broken nose."

Ryuji gets dropped off somewhere in Tangerine Grove. Outside the car door, he takes a look at you. Then gives you a short nod. "ありがとう."

"Yeah, you too," you say.

Ken drives you north into the warehouse district in Havanatown. He parks down the street from where your hacker friend lives.

"Wait here," you say, and get out of the car.

There's no answer at Zero's place. You try banging on the security door on the side and on the big padlocked warehouse door in the front. You try pulling them both open yourself. You try shouting a few times. Nothing.

It is midnight, but aren't hacker guys supposed to be awake at night? Damn it.

>Break in
>Leave a note
>Search the area
>Try again later

>>836378
>Search the area
Paranoia is a survival trait.

>>836378
>Try again later.
if he's locked up, either Alex is inside and safe behind a locked door, or she isn't here and we need to look elsewhere.

You take a quick look around the area. No signs of a struggle. No unusual footprints. No suspicious bystanders lurking on rooftops or street corners. Nothing.

Shit. Marvin's probably just snoring on his cot in some Space Invader pajamas. You'll come back later.

You get back into Ken's car. "No dice," you say. "Back to the safehouse."

Ken drives you back into the high rises of Castle Green, into the basement parking garage under your building. "Catherine will call you here tomorrow morning," he says, before leaving.
You head up to the 12th floor and back into Catherine's fancy suite she's letting you use as a safehouse. You're a little worried about dripping blood on the white carpet. Oh well. Probably worse things have happened here than a little blood.

You sit down heavily on the bed with a sigh. Another crazy day. You pull off your bloody clothes and crawl under the covers.

The next morning, you're drying off from a shower, looking at your face in the bathroom mirror and wondering if that's what shape your nose is from now on, when the phone by the bed rings.

You walk back into the bedroom with a towel around your waist and pick up the phone. "Yeah?"

"Johnny," purrs Catherine's voice in your ear. "So glad you're safe. I hear your friend ran afoul of the boys in blue, but she's a resourceful one. I expect we'll hear from her any moment now."


>You need to help find her.

>This had better be worth the trouble.

>What did you need a big old helicopter like that for, anyway?

>You said you would help me "celebrate in style" after the job, right?

>>836500
>>This had better be worth the trouble.
>>What did you need a big old helicopter like that for, anyway?

>>836500
> this had better be worth the trouble

>>836500
>This had better be worth the trouble.
>What did you need a big old helicopter like that for, anyway?

"This had better be worth the trouble," you say to her. "Alex is missing, if she's still alive, and I got a busted nose and more heat than I want to deal with. I had to shoot down a damn police helicopter on our tail."

"And I am VERY impressed," she says. "You will get your reward, as promised."

"I better. What the hell did you need a big old helicopter like that for, anyway?"

"I need it for a certain operation. Something for which I could use a man of reliability, who's proven he has a knack for survival. Someone like you, Johnny. I'd make sure that you were suitably rewarded.

"I have an event planned this evening at one of my private clubs. It caters to a more, hmm, exotic cast of mind than the nightclub. Why don't you meet me there tonight? I'll deliver your payment, and we can discuss the matter further."

"All right."

"Oh, and Johnny. I don't know where your friend is. But I would know if she were taken into police custody, which she hasn't. She must still be free."

Or dead, you don't add. "Thanks. See you at your club tonight."

"I look forward to it." Click.

You look at the phone in your hand for a few moments, then hang it up.

You now have a meeting tonight with Catherine at her private exotic club.

You remember you also have a meeting set up with Nick at 8 o'clock, at a nearby bar. You hope he'll show up after you dangled the idea of a cut of that million dollars in front of him. You're still not sure if you plan on using him somehow, giving him a third of the money to get the hell out of your life, kicking his ass, or some combination of the three.

You take a few moments to check over your guns and go through your pockets.

You have:
An Ultimax 100 LMG with a full 100-round magazine, in a black duffel bag.
A Colt Python magnum with a few extra bullets.
A puzzling file from Catherine's basement office marked Dragon's Nest.
A utility knife.
A wallet with about $5 and some Metro tickets.
Two keys to lockers at a bus station. Each locker has a bag inside. One holds guns, the other a million dollars cash.
(Let me know anything I'm forgetting.)

>>836682
We also have a spent flare gun, which could be useful if we collect some loose flares in our misadventures.

You also have that flare gun, which you meant to ditch earlier, but somehow forgot. Oh well. Maybe it will come in handy later.

You have a few ideas for things you could do today.

>Go back to Zero's place. Maybe he's awake now.
>Investigate the area where Alex disappeared.
>Scope out the outside of Catherine's exotic club ahead of time.
>Get some pocket money from the million dollars.
>Drink the rest of that whiskey.
>Something else.

>>836682
Drop off the Ultimax at home, switch out with shotgun (see pic). Then head back to Zero's house to check how he's doing.

(btw, what's the time? I'm assuming sometime around 9 or 10 am?)

>>836716

I could back that. Might be a better idea to drop it off at the locker and grab a few bucks tho. Things a bit high profile.

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>>836716
>see pic
>forgot pic

Goddamnit

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>>836736
challenger appears

>>836713
>Scope out the outside of Catherine's exotic club ahead of time.
>Make a point to stay far away from the docks, warehouse, and wherever Alex was.
Only idiots return to the scene of the crime.

>>836716
The dirty cops might still be watching our home sweet home.

>>836806
Those photos were taken by Catherine's goons, not the police. It's cool.

Plus, I'd prefer something a bit more compact to fire.

Oh, yeah, whatever happened to our Tec-9? Is that in the locker, or does Alex still have it?

Alex still has it, assuming she's alive.

>>836822
The people we shot weren't her lackies though; those were dirty cops, and dirty or not, they were ont he force and the surviving force probably wants our blood for killing their brothers in arms. Until we can guarantee they're not watching our place, I'm certain they're watching our place.

Suggested compromise to get a shotgun without going to the apartment: obtain Boris's shotgun from the gun locker.

Also yes, it's 9 AM.

>>836894
>Suggested compromise
sounds good

now we just need some 3 1/2" magnum 000 buckshot

>>836894
I can get behind this.

We should also consider going back to that cat lady at some point.

You decide the first order of business is to swap out this machine gun for something you're more comfortable with, a good old shotgun. You're worried about running into the Russians or those dirty cops, though. Someone might be watching your place.

You wanted to head to the lockers anyway to grab some cash, so you think you'll maybe just grab Boris's Spas-12 from the gun locker while you're there.

You catch a bus out to the station and there head into the room with the lockers. Part of you expects to see the room surrounded by police and caution tape. Instead it's just an ordinary locker room in a bus station. You go up to your lockers and take a look around, real casual-like. Satisfied no-one's watching, you zip open both bags and make the switch (fortunately these are big lockers).

You swap to the locker with the money, grab one of the big rolls of $20s. Then you head into the station bathroom and adjust the shotgun so it's hidden under your coat. Fortunately you're a big guy, so it's a big coat. You get out of there, real casual. All right. You're in business again.

For now, you're going to check out Zero's place again, check how he's doing.

On your way into Havanatown, you stop by an ammunition store. You're probably a wanted man again, but fortunately this is America, the land of the free, and the bored Cuban behind the counter doesn't even ask to see your driver's license, just hands you a box of buckshot.

You approach Zero's warehouse. As you do, something in your gut is telling you something's different. Something's wrong. The building looks normal from the front, but as you approach the security door on the side, you see that it's open. As you get closer, you see why.

Somebody breached this door lock with a shotgun, hard.

Inside it's quiet. Too quiet.

>Charge in there
>Enter slowly
>GTFO

>>836966
>>Enter slowly

>>836966
>>Enter slowly

Ohhhh shit.

>>836966
>Yell inside.
HELP I'M BEING CONTROLLED BY ANIME IMAGE BOARD NERDS

>wait no, better idea
>Enter slowly

>>836966
>>Enter slowly

>>836985
>WAKE ME UP INSIDE
>CAN'T WAKE UP

You pull the shotgun out of your coat and enter, slowly. You take a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, then quietly move forward. Somewhere in the room you can hear voices.

A louder sound now, like a cry of pain. Coming from the center of the room. You approach carefully, behind the cover of some massive machine you don't know the name of.

There. You settle in behind an old overturned desk and peek over. Near the main bank of computers are four Asian dudes in nice-looking suits. Didn't you see guys like this just last night, at the docks? Son of a bitch. They're standing in a circle around Marvin - that is, Zero Crash - who's on the floor, clearly getting his shit kicked in.

One of the suited guys turns around, adjusting his cuffs, and you notice he has a huge burn scar on one side of his face. Yikes. You duck back down.

They haven't seen you for the moment.

You need to ...

>Keep Zero safe
>Kill these bastards
>Catch one alive, so he can talk

>>837025
>Keep Zero safe
>Kill these bastards
>Catch one alive, so he can talk

Listed by priority.

>>837025
>>Kill these bastards

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>>837008
>

>>837025
>Kill these bastards
As long as Zero's still breathing after the smoke clears, I say we chalk it up as a win.

>>837025
>Keep Zero safe
>Kill these bastards
A over B

We've got a tie between keep Zero safe and kill these bastards as the priority, next vote takes it.

>>837030
backing

Rolled 4 (1d10)

Johnny chooses friendship over blood, at least for now. Let's see how successful you are.

You need to keep this kid safe. That's what comes first. He went to bat for you by looking up those cops. Now you gotta do the same for him.

The blood can come later. Lots and lots of blood.

When it looks safe, you take another peek over the desk. The four guys are talking to each other in some moon language, or smoking. None of them looking your way, or at Zero. You wave at him, catching his attention. His eyes widen as he sees you. Then he tries to act casual.

He's ... not very good at it.

Before you can work anything out, the Asian guys are back. Burn scar steps forward again, calmly tightening his black gloves. Then he smacks Zero as hard as he can across the mouth. "Tell us!" he shouts, suddenly furious. "Where is your friend?" He kneels down, grabs Zero by the hair, pulls out a short knife, and holds in front of his eye. "Which one do you want me to take first?"

Okay, that's enough of that. You stand up, level the shotgun, and fire a magnum buckshot round into the back of the head of the guy nearest to you. His head disintegrates in a gory mess.

The other three leap into action right away, spreading out, shouting at each other. One guy pulls out a goddamn meat cleaver from his suit and is running right at you screaming in his language about which of your limbs he's going to cut off. You pull the trigger and the Spas roars in your hands like a metal lion. He goes down, another fallen prey.

The third guy has pulled out a submachine gun. Burn scar guy has grabbed Zero and threatening him with the knife, trying to force him into some kind of hostage position ...

(Continued)

You prioritize Zero's safety and fire a shotgun blast at burn scar. He takes it in the shoulder and chest, and falls over to knees, his grip loosening on Zero, who breaks free and runs to cover.

Doing that means you eat a burst from the submachine gun. It feels less like three small metal objects and more like a giant horse kicking you in the chest three times. You stagger backwards, gasping, and fall onto your ass. But from there you're still able to swing the Spas back up and give him two in the chest, and he falls backwards, his SMG spraying wildly.

You tear open your shirt a little. You see the three rounds embedded in your kevlar vest. Close call.

You stand slowly, wincing. That's going to leave a mark.

You hear the sound of scraping metal, and you investigate. A trail of blood leads to the door you came in from, hanging open. You look around at the bodies on the floor. Burn scar is missing. You think back about how you mostly got him in the chest. He must have been wearing armor too. Son of a bitch.

Turning around, you say, "Zero, I'm going to- Zero? Oh, man." You find him. He must have taken one of those SMG rounds. And he wasn't wearing a vest.

He looks bad. Like he won't make it without help. But-

You turn back to the door. This is a real lead. There were here for you. You can feel it. Something is connecting everything: the ambush at the motel, the guys at the docks, Dragon's Nest. This could be it. Exactly what you need.

>Go after the man with the scar

>Help Zero

>>837139
>>Help Zero
Zero's been good to us. We should do right by him.

>>837143
>>Help Zero
We are running short on buds.

>>837143
>Help Zero
Let the lead go. If it loves us, it will come back.

>>837139
>Help Zero

Always nice to have a friend in your back pocket.

Oh yeah, grab the meat cleaver before we head out. It'd be nice to introduce it to Grillface's face for the shit he pulled.

>>837143
>>Help Zero

>>837161
This. We need more melee weaponry.

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Here we go, this one's got that kind of look you'd expect.

"Okay, Marvin. I mean Zero." You can't help but laugh. "I'm gonna get you to help. You're gonna be okay, you hear me?" You sling the shotgun back under your coat, drag him up to his feet, throw his arm around your shoulder, and start walking him to the door. "You're gonna be okay."

On the way out you grab that meat cleaver. It'd be nice to introduce it into Grillface's ... uh ... grillface.

Out onto the street. Zero is gasping. "Hold onto it, buddy," you mutter to him. "Apply pressure. You'll be okay. Just gotta - argh-" Those SMG bullets are turning into bruises sooner rather than later.

You look around for a taxi. Of course there isn't a taxi. Why would there be a taxi?

No time. You look around for the nearest car. It's a ghetto piece of shit. Doesn't matter.

You hustle Zero across the street. He's stumbling but you just keep his arm clamped around your shoulders. "I'm gonna get you to a doc I know in Sunset Springs. He's helped me out before, no questions asked. He's gonna-"

You're cut off by the all-too-familiar whistle of a bullet passing by your head. You twist your neck around to see two more of those asian assholes in suits, coming around the far corner of the building.

"Are you serious?" you ask. "Can't I do anything-" You drag the magnum out of your coat pocket. "-without being shot at?" You fire the magnum back at the two assholes. They duck back behind cover.

You get to the car. It isn't even locked. Who would steal a car like this, right? You pull the door open, prop Zero up in the back seat, get in yourself, slam the door closed. You duck forward to hotwire the car. A bullet crashes through the window where your head was. Shit. You scramble to find the right wires. "Come on come on come on- yessss-"

The car rumbles to life. It coughs and sputters to life, like it's being rudely awakened from a nap, but you give it a rude awakening by slamming your foot down on the gas. It finally kicks into life, and you drive off down the street, leaving them in your exhaust.

Later, you're in the doctor's office, taking a break on an old ratty chair with a glass of whiskey in hand, letting the adrenaline drain out of your system. Inch likes to drink, on occasion. Part of what got him fired from the hospital. It does mean sometimes he's a little shaky when doing stitches. But on the plus side, he doesn't mind sharing with his guests.

Inch comes in from the "operating room" as he calls it. He's a middle-aged, from somewhere in the Carribean, already working on the salt-and-pepper beard. He flops down in the chair behind his desk with a sigh. "The boy will live," he tells you. "Shame he got mixed up in something like this. Wonder how that happened." He gives you the side-eye.

>Hey, I saved his life.
>Don't fuck with me, man.
>I'm sorry it happened.

>>837238
>Hey, I saved his life.

We didn't get him mixed up in anything, he just happened to be our friend.

>>837238
>Hey, I saved his life.
He might also be controlling me through an imageboard 30 years in the future.

>>837238
>Tell me, is Physician-Patient Confidentiality still allowed if you're no longer a doctor?

>Anyway, I owe him a hell of a lot more then this.

>>837238
>>Hey, I saved his life.

"Hey, I saved his life. I didn't get him mixed up in anything, he just happened to be my friend."

"That's kind of what I mean," he says, quietly.

You look away. "I owe him a hell of a lot more than this."

"All right, all right. Just worried about the boy. Can you blame me? I know the sorts of things you get mixed up in."

"Me? I'm just some thug."

"You keep thinking that." Inch takes out his whiskey, starts to pour himself a drink. "You take anything off those punks who attacked him?"

"Well, I did take this," you say, and pull out the meat cleaver, showing it off. "Pretty brutal, right? I'd like to put this right in that burned guy's face, show him what I think of him."

"Hmmmm." Inch adjusts his glasses, leans in for a closer look. "A meat cleaver, huh. You said they were some Asian boys in suits, right? You happen to notice any tattoos?"

You think back. "Maybe, yeah. I think I saw some under their sleeves."

Inch leans back in his chair. "You know who likes to use those things," he says, pointing to the meat cleaver. "Chop off limbs. Leave them all in a big pile, as a warning. The Tong."

"The ... the what?"

"The Triads, boy. The Chinese. Meat cleavers are their, you know ..." He gestures vaguely. "Their thing. Their signature. Weapon of choice."

"So ..." Oh boy. You're going to need a cigarette for this one.

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So the Triads ... and the dock gangs ... but the Yakuza ... and Catherine ... and Alex ... and the cops ...

Ffffffuuuuuuuuuuccccck.

"You okay, Johnny?" asks Inch, breaking on your thoughts.

"Yeah, sorry Inch. Just confused. Shit is getting real complicated, real fast. I think ..." You try to put it into words. "I think I've stumbled into some kind of epic crime conspiracy."

"Well." Inch leans back, takes a sip from his glass of whiskey. "Just leave me the fuck out of it."

Calling it for now, anons. Thanks for playing Thug Quest. Hope you're enjoying yourselves.

Follow my twitter for updates on the next session: https://twitter.com/ravenkingquests

>>837299
Fuck, we are totally fucked. What the fuck is even going on

Thanks for running boss!

>>837288
And the Russians. Can't forget about Crazy Ivan's guided hand in this mess.

Speaking of crazy, I would lose my shit if I saw Crazy Hassan pop up in this shitstorm somewhere.

>>837299
Thanks for running for us!

>>837299
>"Edna, you don't happen to have anything for a large party, do you? Like an M79 grenade launcher?"

Night Bossman. Hope to hear from you soon.

Also, have you been putting your quests up on sup/tg/?

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Because this is my first time QMing, I wanted to assess things before archiving on suptg.

Maybe now's a good time to start though, because I've made it through four parts with a pretty decent amount of interest.

>>837344

Do it. This deserves to be preserved.

>>837344
You should. This is a decent read

>>837479
+1

>>837344
I think this is a great, tightly written quest. I wouldn't mind if you end it when the plot runs out and run another one, just because I feel the plot is so gripping. Please archive.

>>837344
Seriously archive this.

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We are now archived!

Part 1: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/798977/
Part 2: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/810055/
Part 3: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/824162/

Thanks for your support anons. I will resume the quest this weekend. Hope you keep playing and enjoying Thug Quest.

Part 5 is live: >>852622