>>5911016
>No one. Fully Freelance, but on the Lucky Hand's payroll tonight.
>Built different. You're stronger, faster, tougher. You couldn't be beaten by any of the kids in the wrestling club. Some of the adults, too. You're not superhuman or anything. Just a little extra.
>We have an awkward lisp that we don't make any effort to hide, whatsoever.
People call us "Thug" and we're okay with that, even if our real name is "Thimmy". It's time for some goonery!

That's a lot more vote than I thought it would be. Oh well, better to have it all at once. Probably. I have no idea where I am going with this. I stole the idea. I'll leave this one open for a while since it is a lot of crap.

Don't worry about getting locked out of things. You can always change course down the line.

>>5911019
I will inform you now that I won't be typing a lisp. Primarily because I know I will forget about it while writing. You can still have it, but it'll be something I gloss over for sanity's sake. Just FYI.

>>5911016
>No one. Fully Freelance, but on the Lucky Hand's payroll tonight.
>Techie. You were building zip-guns in elementary school, bombs in kindergarten, even made a tiny tank with a little cannon and everything!
>Blue eyes. Very blue eyes. Things are so bright they just about glow. You've also been told you don't blink so much.
>Alberto Posada

>>5911021
Don't rush it QM, give it some time and more people will show up

>>5911016
>No one. Fully Freelance, but on the Lucky Hand's payroll tonight.
>Medically inclined. You've a fair hand at making stimulants, toxins, and various other questionable substances.
>Blue eyes. Very blue eyes. Things are so bright they just about glow. You've also been told you don't blink so much.
>Roland Wozniak
I wanna be the creepy drug dealer/chemist guy.

>>5911038
The amount of green just threw me for a loop. I guess I was subconsciously trying to speedrun chargen. I probably could have snuck more tidbits in about the character's history. I do have some backstory in place just to get him from point A to here. MC was convicted of murder*.

>>5911016
>Bane's gang.
>Medically inclined. You've a fair hand at making stimulants, toxins, and various other questionable substances.
>Friend of crows. You snuck food for the birds while you were in prison. You got a pet crow from it, and most of the crows in and around the city are pals. Sometimes they even bring you junk.
Our name will be Alexi Dmitriev

>>5911033
That's fair, kek

You reminisce on what led you here. Applying at one of the halfway houses and being turned aside for "over occupancy" when the building was decrepit and mostly empty from what you could see on the outside. Panhandling from street to street before being shooed away by cops or shop owners, with a cup that remained mostly empty. Being shunted from the prison with nothing more than some threadbare junk and clothes that no longer fit. You thumb your collar a bit, reminded of the fact that your clothes came from a Salvation Army drop off. After tonight you'll have some cash, you'll get some fresh digs, not this hand-me-down trash.

Glancing down the street again you see a car pass by, windows tinted and engine whining. Not what you're waiting for. You've been waiting for half an hour, where could it be? You squint at the street sign, confirming this is the route. You sigh. Once again turning to your thoughts. Prison taught you some harsh lessons. Welcome, but harsh. You spent most of your time reading, exercising, looking over your shoulder. There was always someone watching. Mostly Falcone's mooks, but every big name is talent scouting in the penitentiaries. You go back to your trial, a kid on the stand shouted down by an overzealous prosecutor, a public defender out of his depth, a judge who didn't even look at you. You remember the cops putting you in the back of a squad car.

You remember standing over your father's body.

Here's a little something while I let the vote run for a while. I've got to do a little cooking for a short while anyway. Might as well feed you all a little something too kek

>>5911019
>>5911036
>>5911042
>>5911054
Alrighty, we ball. So we've going Blue Eyes White Chem Boi, (almost) all on his lonesome.

If anyone wants to include anything else for the eccentricities they'll be open for a while still. Just because it's pretty easy to slap them on. And as I said before, I won't lock you out of other things. If you all want to spec into other skillsets that'll be an option down the line.

I'll also leave the name open, because there's no clear consensus on it and what is a man if not a name? But we'll collate them here for brevity's sake.
>Thimmy "Thug"
>Alberto Posada
>Alexi Dmitriev
Anyone can add to this or vote for one here.

Writing time.

>>5911106
>Alexi Dmitriev
I figure this makes the most sense given our blue eyes, even if the near-glowing bit may be a genetic defect.

>>5911106
>Alexi Dmitriev

The truck almost passes by unnoticed with you consumed by your thoughts. Thankfully you catch the logo in your periphery, "Alni Freight, we drive all night!". You kick a can over toward the other two goons chatting with each other near the car.

"Showtime, truck's here." you announce as you walk over.

"What good timing. I just about finished my drink!" the shorter of the two waggles an almost empty beer for emphasis.
"I can barely feel my ears." the larger then mutters something in what you assume to be Chinese as he climbs into the driver's seat just as you stuff yourself into the back.

The engine starts with a pleasant rumble, a sleek, black, foreign thing. Maybe you'll get one of these some day. Something exotic. But that's for later. He pulls out of the alley with the lights off, waiting until the truck rounds the next turn to flick them on. You assume this isn't the first time he's tailed someone.

You pat yourself down, double checking that everything is in order. Dumpster adrenaline, heroin-adapted paralytic, "home" made neurotoxin, and a little jar of choking gas. Perfect. The sewing needles you fished out of the trash are safely tipped and pointing away, the inhaler you appropriated thoroughly cleaned, everything sealed up nice and tight. Ah, and your pocket knife of course, in its pocket.

"Hey" you pat the passenger to get his attention "what are your names, anyway?"
"I thought you were eaves dropping on us, guess not, big guy. My name is Lao Ching." he beams, missing a single tooth in his grin.
"If you tell me his name is "Chong" I'm gonna lose it." you scoff.
The driver snorts before interjecting "I am Sh-" he's cut off when he has to slam on the brakes, the truck abruptly stopped for a red light. The driver curses, repeatedly, in what is definitely Chinese.

You glance down at the bottle in the cup holder.
>Suggest that he pulls in front of the truck, cut this trip short by chucking the bottle out of the window straight at the truck's windshield. Cover as typical road rage to get this show on the road.
>Keep quiet. You don't know if the truck is picking up or dropping off yet. The details you got were quite vague.
>write-in?

>>5911128
>Keep quiet. You don't know if the truck is picking up or dropping off yet. The details you got were quite vague.
Easy does it.

>>5911128
>Keep quiet. You don't know if the truck is picking up or dropping off yet. The details you got were quite vague.
Cool, calm, collected. We're a professional goddamnit.

So, your general skills are that you know how to scrap with an empty hand. You've been in plenty of fistfights. You know how to use a gun, as your father taught you, but you are obviously very out of practice (and without a piece of your own). And you have a surprising amount of skill when it comes to throwing things. You're pretty handy with darts, needles, knives, and generally aerodynamic stuff. Maybe in another life you could have been a baseball star. You're also just fine with plain stabbing someone, be it with a knife or pin or poker.

You can cook up chems of various natures even with an ad-hoc set-up. But with a proper lab you could make some things that are genuinely unsafe to handle. In addition to drugs. Sweet sweet drugs. And you've a decent tolerance to low-grade poisons. You won't want to stick your hand into a ball of spiders, but even pepper spray barely phases you. It comes with the territory. You know just enough about anatomy to know how to stitch someone up without perforating an artery or tangling a ligament.

Physically you're a fit man, though a bit on the lean side since you've been a tad hungry lately. You've got good balance and generally know your body quite well. Intellectually you're pretty sharp, you take in information pretty well and you've got a strong memory (because frankly, anyone can just go back and reread updates and such.), you also don't have any psychosis (so far) congratulations.

And I'll give it about fifteen more minutes on this vote.

>>5911160
Thanks for the clarification. I'm already thinking of directions we can go with base proficiencies like this.

>>5911132
>>5911142
>Slow ride, take it easy.
Discreet as can be it is.

Writing.

>>5911168
Any time, if you have any questions (or anyone else for that matter) feel free to ask. I promise only half of it I will make up on the spot.

You settle back into your seat and take a deep breath. Patience is a virtue they say. Though now both of the men in the front are exchanging words you cannot understand but can just feel are a deluge of slurs. More than once you feel like the Driver is pulling closer than he needs to, though just before you speak Lao tells him to ease up a bit as the car slows a bit and keeps a leisurely distance.

The trip continues for a while, at one point you think they're making false turns to see if your car is tailing them, only to catch a glimpse of the trucker fiddling with an honest to god paper map with the cab light on as he turns down an alley. You see his brake lights on as you pass by, as well at a few men in some very loud shirts.

You tell as much to Lao and the Driver and you all pull in to stop at a gas station on the other end of it. You all wait a moment, getting some gas as a cover if need be. When the truck doesn't pull out you figure this must be the place. Strolling down the sidewalk you peek around the building and note that the truck is still there, though now pulled in at an angle to unload the back. However instead of unloading the truck, the - now clearly thugs - are harassing the trucker, you hear an occasional shout. You take note of some of the graffiti nearby, most of the tags are rather uniform, not just hoodlums having fun with spraypaint.

You hurry back and inform your compatriots, as well as describe the logos.

"Hm, bad shirts, no class, and that territory marker. You thinking what I''m thinking?" Lao taps the Driver
"Ghost Dragons." the large man replies, before spitting on the ground.
"Bad blood?" you ask.
"Very bad, they sell bad product, muscle in on our territory. This is rather far from Chinatown, though. They must not want us to see, eh~?" Lao checks his coat before nodding to himself.
"And now we see." Driver sneers.

"So, 'Lán', you want to earn your paycheck?" the happy little man quirks his brow toward you.
A plan, then.
>Walk right up the alley, go from there. The best plan is a simple one. You'll probably wind up having to stab a few people. It might get loud depending on what they're packing
>Knock on the front door. You'll play a nice distraction while Ching and the Driver wait around the alley. Drawing them back into the building so your pals can knick the truck itself.
>Have the Hand boys knock. You'll get the truck.
>Stumble down the alley, like you're proper sloshed, the boys will go around the side side while you draw attention. A bit less overt than just marching in like you own the place. When you get closer you can throw your gas jar, perhaps.
>write-in?

>>5911221
>>Knock on the front door. You'll play a nice distraction while Ching and the Driver wait around the alley. Drawing them back into the building so your pals can knick the truck itself.

>>5911221
>Stumble down the alley, like you're proper sloshed, the boys will go around the side side while you draw attention. A bit less overt than just marching in like you own the place. When you get closer you can throw your gas jar, perhaps.

>>5911221
>>Stumble down the alley, like you're proper sloshed, the boys will go around the side side while you draw attention. A bit less overt than just marching in like you own the place. When you get closer you can throw your gas jar, perhaps.

>>5911234
>>5911236
>>5911244
>Yo this whiskey is HOT
Very sneaky.

Alright, so, this will proc "combat". You have the option to stab the guy the inevitably comes over to tell you to fuck off, or maneuver to throw your jar at the group next to the truck. There are only four of these mooks total out here. So this'll be a little sub vote.

>stab
>throw
>write-in?

It addition, I'll need 4 rolls of 1d100s. These guys are not prepared for this as this is a relatively quiet neighborhood, and this is a "secret" stash house. Normally it's 3, but you have the drop on them. If there aren't enough rolls after a healthy while you can always roll again.

Violence, everyone's favorite past time. With a splash of surprise.

>>5911303
Ah and silly me, I forgot, you CAN choose between lethal and non-lethal in this instance, as you do have both at your disposal. Or you can just, y'know, punch the guy.

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>5911303
>As one of them comes over to give you shit, hit him with a headbutt and toss your jar at his friends while stunned.
I hope you don't mind, but I lumped both my choices into a single action. I feel it conveys what I feel like doing a little better, but if you want it separate I can always reformat.

>>5911316
For combat stuff, absolutely. If you guys have plans or things that you can line up one after the other you can totally be specific and stuff. So long as it's not mutually exclusive stuff like "I want to run away, but also grapple the alligator", right?

>>5911319
Understood. Just making sure.

Rolled 7 (1d100)

>>5911303
>>punch vigorously

Rolled 78 (1d100)

>>5911303
>throw

It's been a while, if any of you would like you may roll again to round us off. See if you can do better than
>>5911334
This gentleman. Don't worry, you passed

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>5911303

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>5911341
>>5911303
here yo go boss

>>5911316
>
Oh, and I'll back this combat approach

>>5911343
>>5911303

>>5911334
>78 vs 55, these guys are too relaxed

You pull out your little mason jar full of gas and give it a little shake.

"Try not to inhale this. It won't kill you but you'll be too busy coughing to do much. Hold your breath if it wafts your way."
"You start all your dances with chemical warfare?" Lao quips
You shrug "It works. You guys circle around to the other side, I'll put on a show and throw this at them. It disperses quickly enough, so it should be easy to clean up whoever is wheezing."
You turn to the Driver and he nods in response before getting back in the car with Lao and going around the block to get in position.

You press against the wall next to the mouth of the ally. You take a deep breath. And another. And one more as you roll your shoulders. Focus. You check one more time to make sure the jar is secured, but ready. Showtime.

You stumble over into the alley, leaning against the wall as you do. Creeping in further step by step. Your heart starts to pick up. Your face is getting hot. Your musc-

"AY, fuckhead, this is private property- er, PARTY, you can turn 'round." one of the punks says.
You reply with just as much gusto "A PARTY?! What've'ye got huh? Holdin' out onme? I'm good for one more!" you emphasize by stepping out into the center, and nearly falling onto your side until you latch onto a trash can with a laugh.
"Listen lightweight, I told you to scram, so it's time to leave." the punk swaggers up to you as his cohort jeers and make snide remarks.
"Come on pal, we're'll friends here, huh?" you flash him your worst best smile and lurch forward. Almost there.
"I am asking you nicely, dickhead, now leave before I break your knees." he finally reaches you and punctuates the end of his sentence with a simple poke. Idiot.

You dip low and drive up with the curve of your skull right as he looks down at you, you can feel his nose break against your forehead as he reels back against the wall. Your ears ring from the impact but you don't let it stop you. You hurl the jar from your sweatshirt pocket right as the other mooks shout, one of them even pulling a machete out of his coat.

The jar hits him in the should and instantly shatters. The gas, no longer contained puffs out in a satisfying cloud that shrouds him and the man next to him completely. The wind does the rest, blowing it right into the face of the final man. They all immediately break out coughing. You hear the sound of several object clattering, whatever they were holding and reaching for, to grasp at their throats. The truck, very wisely, runs to the other side of his truck and ducks down out of sight, wheezing himself.

(1/2)

>>5911355
The first man finally pushes off of the wall, tear filled eyes as he lunges at you, you plant your foot on his hip and he stumbles before losing his balance and falling to the ground. Sparing a glance back you see Lao through the dissipating fog deliver a quite literal hammer strike to one of the mooks and Driver slamming one into a wall face first.

You feel a hand grasp your knee, the thug pulling himself up so you punch him - right in his broken nose. He crumbles to the ground howling in pain. You kick him while he's down a couple times before dragging him to the side. He curls up, no fight left in him.

When you move to help Lao and Driver you notice them both beating the stuffing out of the fourth and unluckiest mook. Lao pauses when he sees you looking and waves. "That stuff really works 'Lán!" he laughs.

You..
>wave back. You think you really like this fighting thing. More than you let on at least. It's fulfilling.
>nod at him. It gets the job done. Fighting is a tool like anything else.
>frown. You hate fighting. You're good at it, but you never know when you're gonna get stuck, or shot, or mauled by some freak with metal teeth.

Then you breathe. The air is cold. Crisp. Invigorating. Your heart's thumping gradually slows. Then you look up, the trucker. You smoothly stride over to him cowering on the side of the truck. He looks up at you and wordlessly fishes the keys out of his pocket and tosses them up to you.

Now then. What, do?
>check the truck, what exactly is back there?
>check the building, surely there's something worthwhile in there?
>just take the truck. You don't want to spend any more time here than necessary.

I WOULD feel bad about a formatting issue, had I not already had a typo earlier in the thread.

>>5911356
Oh and because I am just fumbling super hard right here, Write ins are an option. Just in case I forget about things. Assume write ins are always an option unless otherwise specified.

>>5911355
Honestly though god DAMN the last paragraph here went sideways kek. What a shitshow. A glorious flub.

>>5911356
>nod at him. It gets the job done. Fighting is a tool like anything else.
>check the truck, what exactly is back there?
I still plan on delivering what's inside, but color me curious.

>>5911376
Temptation is too large
>support

I think I'll leave this one open overnight.

And it looks like the name we'll be going with is Alexi (or Alexei? Does it matter?) Dmitriev. And he has pretty sapphires for eyes. Should I allow longer for the eccentricity vote? On one hand, neat details. On the other, every thing does make you stand out more. I have left it open until now. I'm waffling on it now.

I'll still be here for a while if people have questions.

>>5911399
I imagine most people are gonna be calling us "Alex" anyways as it's an easier name for Americans to remember.
Also I'd say the eccentricities vote has been open for a good while, so it should be safe to close it. Me personally, I'm down to stand out a little bit. For as vulnerable as that might make us, it also lends itself to some creative strategies in the future.

>>5911405
Yeah, Alex is gonna probably be the go-to for most. The even more impatient might call him Al. And the truly impetuous, A. Or, like Lao, they may call him "blue".

It's probably safe to close it, yeah. I did however have a relatively late start in the day. But it has been, oh eight hours? I should just close it, if you guys want any more quirks you can just develop them organically over time. Like the rest of us weirdos.

>>5911376
+1

>>5911376
>>5911398
>>5911621
>I'll take a peek. What could it hurt?
Confirmed. I would like a roll of d20, please. Only one, as it is just a single moving truck worth of stuff. Let's see if they left anything special back there on top of the usual business.

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>5911878

>>5911889
Well, you're not gonna find anything great, but you also won't have something really nasty back there either. There's a goody though.

A 1, 2 or 3 would have had someone jump out at you.

You nod your head toward the street and the trucker obliges immediately, turning and making a quick pace out of there. Then you set your sights on the shutter door at the back of the truck. You tell Lao and Driver you're gonna just check the back real quick, make sure there's actually stuff back there. They tell you to take your time as they rifle through the pockets of the very beaten mooks.

You unlock the back and swing the door up and see... crates. Many crates. With logos and icons on them. Most of them bearing a black dragon but a few have other animals and colors. Some of them were poorly secured and rocked around, clearly, as one of the crates is open and the lid is on the floor next to it with splintered corners. You lean over and see a blackish-brown chunk of semi-rigid crap. Heroin, then, you assume. You pick it up, giving it a closer once over. You can't quite put your finger on it but it feels off somehow. You wrack it with your knuckles a couple times. You give it a quick sniff. You toss and catch it. It all feels the way you think it should, but you can't shake the feeling that it isn't right. Some informed part of you just knows it's strange even though you can't identify it.

Your face screws up as you toss the drug back into the crate. Just before you turn to leave you decide to look between the crates on a whim. You do see something caught between them. Reaching in all the way up to your shoulder you manage to get your finger on it and drag it back. It's a bit tight but it squeezes back. To your delight you find a cheap knock-off Chinese pistol. Something based on a Russian design no doubt. You fumble a bit trying to find the mag catch before you manage and find it is loaded. You pull the slide and check the chamber, empty. At least whatever moron dropped it there when loading these crates followed gun safety rules, which gets a snort out of you.

You have acquired a free gun. Congratulations.

You hop down after stuffing the piece in your pocket, pulling the door down as you go.
>tell Lao there's product back there, everything's good to go
>inform Lao that there's product back there, but something feels weird about it
>+offer to take a look at it more closely at a "lab". They probably have their own guys, but it couldn't hurt?
>write-in?

>>5911901
>>inform Lao that there's product back there, but something feels weird about it
>>+offer to take a look at it more closely at a "lab". They probably have their own guys, but it couldn't hurt?
I was tempted to try and break off a sample without telling Lao about it, but something tells me his people would have figured it out eventually. Might as well just ask.

>>5911917
Smart thinking, I'll back this.

>>5911917
To be fair, there are many crates and they are pretty stuffed. They wouldn't really mind. It'd basically be like shaving off a couple hundred bucks from hundreds of thousands. And with the condition the crate is in they would just assume it broke on its own. If they ever really noticed it.

You guys can grab a piece while extending a formal offer of aid. No biggie.

>>5911371
>>5911372
It happens. We've all been there.

>>5911901
>tell Lao there's product back there, everything's good to go
>+offer to take a look at it more closely at a "lab". They probably have their own guys, but it couldn't hurt?

>>5911917
>>5911926
>>5911959
>Heebie jeebies
So you'll inform him that there is in fact, a LOT of drugs. And it seems funkier than it should, while also throwing a helping hand in.

Writing.

I got spooked by the character limit before realizing "Am I stupid? I can make more than one post!". Big goof.

>>5911980
I have a bit of advice. I would recommend writing updates in a separate document to the posting box, it's very easy to lose over an hour's work because you accidentally hit the esc key.

Lao is sitting on one of the mooks, chatting with Driver when you approach, but he quickly springs up and chucks a wallet at you. "Your share, 'Lán. Only fair!". There's probably two hundred bucks in it, you're eating for a week even if you get stiffed from the job at least.

"Thanks for looking out, Lao." you thumb back at the truck "Seems like there was a big shipment, but something's weird about it."
Lao waves you off "Of course it's bad. It's Ghost Dragon trash. They cut it with dog-shit if they can get away with it."
You frown and shake your head "No, more than that. I've seen plenty of black tar before, even really bad shit, this is... wrong. You trust your gut?"
At this Lao pauses. Sniffles. Taps his foot. He's about to wave you off again when Driver puts his hand on his shoulder and says something in Chinese. They have a short exchange. Lao finally turns back to you and nods.
"Okay, we'll make sure it isn't eh, cancer paste, as you say? We check first."
"I can check it, too, if you'd like. Not to step on toes but I'm pretty familiar with this business." you make an errant gesture with your hand.
"Ah we can ask the boss when we deliver. I'll put in a good word. Your fart cloud did work like you say." he laughs and makes back to the Car.

You shrug, best you can hope for. Now is a good time to leave, you surmise. So you jog over to the cab of the truck, but as you climb in you are struck with abject horror. Your guts twists and your heart sinks. Your tongue feels dry. You hop back down before calling out to Lao and Driver. "Do you know how to drive stick?"

Lao doubles over laughing and even Driver's shoulders are shaking trying his best to suppress his laughter. Lao eventually stops laughing and comes over, waving you off. "Pick your poison!"

So, will you ride with Lao, or Driver on the way back? Lao is taking the truck, Driver in his car. Hopefully it'll be a nice quiet ride back. Might even be a nice time to chat.
>Lao
>Driver

>>5911989
I do have notepad++ though I haven't had to use it. Thankfully my keyboard is rather sprawling. I should use it though. The autosave feature is quite nice.

>>5911994
>Lao
Worst case scenario, we get to have some chit-chat while we root around the cab for anything valuable.

>>5911994
>Lao
Can't wait to get back to the goon cave after this

>>5911994
>Lao

>>5911999
>>5912032
>>5912056
>happy little hammer man
Alright. Poor Driver. No one wants to hang out with him. Trucker time.

Writing

You clear your throat and try not to look sheepish as you clamber into the passenger seat of the truck. Lao glances over at you and begins speaking slowly
"Okay so this," he gestures to his foot "is the -" he pauses. And waits, face tight as he thinks. Finally he changes the subject and starts the truck. "Well it was a pretty clean job this time."

Just as he says this while pulling out of the alley you glance back and see Driver's car pass the other side. You see him on the next street heading your way as you merge. He's following at a comfortable distance. You decide to idly search the glove compartment as the truck lumbers along. Maps, atlases, a road flare? And a pair of sunglasses. Which you pocket. Next you check the sun visor, nothing. And finally dip your hand under the seat to feel around. There's a little box with reflective tape in it.

Turning back to the road you note little traffic. An occasional car at an intersection but nothing noteworthy. You check the mirror several times. Driver's still there. No one's following. It really does seem like everything went off without a hitch. Lao hums quietly to himself some tune you don't recognize, tapping the steering wheel in tandem.

Do you have any questions you want to ask the man?
>Sure... such as? (this is small talk, basically, or you can try to get operational details or schmooze with him to try and make inroads with the triad, whatever you fancy)
>No, just relax, but not too relaxed. This truck's already been jacked once tonight.
>Something else?

>>5912071
Ha, lao has no idea of the English terms for any of the mechanisms, does he? Fair.

>>Sure... such as?
So, what's the boss like? And how'd Lao get into this line of work, and in Gotham City USA no less?

>>5912071
>"So...Triad in Gotham huh? I never really hear much about you guys out here. Kinda makes me wonder why a group like yours even let me in on a job like this."
>"What's your boss like? He take well to gweilo? Or should I just not speak unless spoken to?"

>>5912109
Again, this is smart. Backing.

>>5912094
>>5912109
>>5912115
>Do he hate wypepo?
Asking about him, his boss, the circumstance. Fair questions asked by a fair-skinned man.

Writing.

"So, Lao" you begin "What is the Triad doing here? I mean, this is Gotham, why not somewhere like L.A. or some other west coast shithole?"

"Oh it's a good place. Lots going on. Police always very busy. Easy to slip in. New York City brings in so many people, plenty of our boys go right through the crack! Good business here if you know how to keep quiet, pay the right people. We have plenty of experience back home doing it. The food, not so good though." he chuckles

"And you, specifically? Why're you here instead of some Homeland intelligence agency? You seem professional enough."

He makes a long cooing noise "Flatterer! Ha! My father told me when I was very young, 'Do not work for fools. Fools get you killed for stupid reason.'. Then he got shot in the mountain by tǔbāozi near Mongolia. He taught me a good lesson. The army is full of fools. So too must the people in charge of them be. Detective Reasoning as you say? I joined with Triad soon after. They pay well. They don't tell me to do things I can't handle. Though they also beat you if you do not live up!"

You wince as he recalls his father. "Sorry, about your dad."

"It's fine 'Lán. I had a long time to mourn, and he made me stronger for it. He was a good man." he nods to himself, his smile never leaving his face.

"Why did you guys hire me, tonight, anyway?"

"You had a very convincing resume." he smirks. "Some of our boys are hurt right now, spending time in hospital. Ghost Dragon boys and some lǎo mò cartel started hitting us. So we see desperate man come from prison, with good record from inside. Keeps to himself, keeps quiet, but doesn't get pushed around. We watch, we see. You putting yourself on the job market was a smart move. We like smart people. Even smarter was accepting the job." his fingers lift one by one as he lists things off, finally dropping them in a rolling drum when he finishes.

You shift in your seat, adjusting the seatbelt a bit to get comfortable. "And uh, your boss? He a fan of gway low? Should I be on best behavior or does he like a bit of cheek? What's his deal?"

"Oh Mr. Tzu is very traditional, but not unreasonable. Very level-headed man. Just be polite and you'll be in no trouble." then he snorts "the only guǐlǎo he hates is the Ghost Dragon mán zi King Snake" Lao's face twists in disgust, deep disgust. He seems to very much dislike the Ghost Dragons, or perhaps King Snake in particular. "But you máo zi have nothing to worry about." he pats you with the back of his hand. "But eh, maybe don't stare to much at some of the lieutenants, Mr. Han will take it as a challenge. He'll be who we're dealing with tonight."

"And Mr. Han is like?"

"Typical, he thinks he is very smart, and very strong, and very good. He's certainly no fool, no weakling, and not bad at what he does. Does not like hóng máo guǐzi in particular. Just put on an accent and he'll like you more. He has no ear for things like that. Oh and despite how he introduce himself, do not call him 'William'. His name is Wei Han, just call him Mr. Han." he spares you a very, VERY exasperated look. You nod.

The truck rounds the corner and you see the somehow ubiquitous sight of Chinatown, much to Lao's delight. You're in the home stretch now. All the closer to your payday.

Any final questions you have for Lao or are you ready to meet with Mr. Han?
>One last thing...
>Good to go.

>>5912147
As a disclaimer, Gotham is NOT NYC, in case that was unclear. They are however in relative proximity to each other.

>>5912148
>Good to go.

>>5912148
>Good to go.

>>5912148
>Good to go.

>>5912159
>>5912188
>>5912217
>Cocks out, lads.
Moving on to meeting your paymaster. Right on. I will return and write after a bite to eat.

You sigh as you pass under a dragon-motif gate, the normally drab cityscape replaced with shocks of vibrant color. All the darkness and bleakness of Gotham seems to ebb away for a moment. It, naturally, comes right back when you see a man getting mugged in an alleyway. You smile despite yourself, it's home no matter where you go in this city.

After a dizzying number of turns, stops, and checks you're ushered into a warehouse next to a restaurant. Lao leans out the window and shouts something in Chinese, getting a handful of excited responses as people come rushing over. Driver, you note, has parked out in front of the restaurant instead. The back of the truck is flung open and the ramp extended, the noise is as good a signal as any to hop out of the truck. A handful of workers scurry to and fro, smaller boxes moved by hand while handtrucks, dollies, and other such leveraging rollers are brought about for the larger crates.

You scan the room before your eyes fall on a large Chinese man with thick rimmed glasses and a suit vest. He matches your gaze then waves you over. Lao saunters into view in front of you and and cocks his head toward the large man.

You make your way over and the large man immediately presents his equally large hand. You clasp it and give him a firm shake. He smiles, a crooked smile with many gold and silver teeth under his thin mustache. "My name is William Han, pleased to meet you, guǐlǎo."

Wei "William" Han can best be described as a gorilla in a suit. He is tall. Almost as tall as Driver, and unlike Driver - who is notably lithe and sleek beneath his suit - Han is rippling with muscle that makes the short sleeves of his vest strain under the pressure. Along his arms are a number of tattoos of animals and motifs. His vest itself is subdued and tasteful in its color and might look fetching if it weren't two sizes too small. The same could be said for his pinstripe pants. His dress shoes are capped with gold, or brass. It's hard to tell in the dingy lighting. You do note he does not wear rings, and his knuckles are very calloused.

Lao immediately begins a tirade in Chinese, gesturing to you, the truck, making a big show. Han simply nods, a very satisfied smile on his face, up until -

"So, you say the black dragon is bad? More than just low quality? And you wish to examine it? Why should I allow this?" Han leans in, not frowning, but certainly not smiling. Vetting, perhaps?

Well?
>argue that it's a professional courtesy, from you to him.
>say that you were hoping to get a little extra from stopping them from losing any repeat customers
>cite your simple curiosity
>write-in?

>>5912283
>"Not bad, Mr. Han sir. Different. I've been in chems for years and I've got a feel for it. There's something strange about that product. It's probably just in my head, but I'd like to check. A bad batch could get customers killed, and that brings heat."

>>5912287
Supporting, though admittedly this could also be construed as professional courtes.

>>5912290
Best to start on a reputation for reliability early on. This is just as much for us as the Triad.

>>5912287
+1

>>5912287
>>5912290
>>5912326
>This is my wheelhouse, mister.
Very polite, very professional, very fore-thinking?

Writing

You draw yourself up to your full height and then bow your head, before you meet his gaze and begin. Heeding Lao's advice, you put on an accent similar to the one your father had when you were young. "It is not necessarily 'bad' Mr. Han, sir. But it is different. Altered in some way. I have been in the business of chemicals for years, even with a lack of resources. One has to know when things fall out of the norm before it diminishes their customer base. It could potentially be stronger than normal, or more dangerous than normal. If people are ODing or simply dropping dead from what you supply it may bring unwanted attention. I would like to ensure that does not happen."

Mr. Han leans back and crosses his arms, eyes twinkling as you speak. He tilts his head back and makes a show of deliberating and digesting your words. When he looks down at you again he smiles, it is not necessarily a pleasant smile, but it is a happy one.
"You speak well, and true. The police here would cost us money or manpower. We would not want to be tied to the stigma of 'bad dragon'."

Lao snickers for a moment but quickly masters himself when Han glances his way.

"You may examine it, but you will do so here, at our facilities. Our specialists will perform their studies in tandem and you may share expertise and advice. But first, we have a transaction to complete." Han snaps his fingers and a small, thin man with a receding hairline hands him an envelope. Han stops him before he goes and the man hands him a small billfold. Satisfied Han nods and the small man leaves.

"This is your pay. $20,000. Clean." he holds up the envelope. "And this -" he waves the billfold "is a little bit extra. For keeping it quiet. I was expecting at least a little shooting, maybe a car chase like the Hollywood movies. Discretion is appreciated when it can be upheld." He places the billfold into the now bulging envelope and hands it to you. "It was a pleasure doing business, Mr...?"

"Dmitriev. Alexi Dmitriev." he nods, satisfied, before lumbering off to - surprisingly - a landline phone to make a call.

Lao gives you a good few nudges "That went well, eh 'Lán? I think he likes you. This was a good job. I look forward to working with you in the future!" he says as if he knows you're going to sign on for more later. You just might. "Take care of your business and we'll have a drink out front, huh?" he pats you on the shoulder before he walks through a door into a kitchen.

You have just earned a decent chunk of money for someone with no job, you're $22,000 richer!

Now then. Where do you go from here?
>Take Lao up on that drink. You should celebrate. Driver will probably be there, too.
>Hotel, sleep, it has been a long night.
>Buy some new clothes immediately. You are tired of looking like a bum.
>write-in?

Whoopsie. Look at the silly goober who left his name off after shitposting. We speedrun blunders ITT

>>5912357
Oh and big stupid, I'mma need 3 1d100s to see what exactly you can learn about the heroin.

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>>5912357
>Take Lao up on that drink. You should celebrate. Driver will probably be there, too.
Networking is important. I hope this quest's pacing doesn't drag out for 3-8 updates per day like some do.

>>5912363
Also, dope.

Rolled 15 (1d100)

>>5912357
>Buy some new clothes immediately. You are tired of looking like a bum.
>Take Lao up on that drink. You should celebrate. Driver will probably be there, too.
>Ask Lao if he can recommend a discreet motel. Laying low for the next day or so might be good idea after a job like that.
>>5912363
Rolling

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>5912357
>Take Lao up on that drink. You should celebrate. Driver will probably be there, too.

>>5912374
Are you saying you'd prefer more time between updates, or more expedient updates that move the "pieces" further? Or just well wishing that I don't wind up padding to get updates out?

>>5912391
I mean some quests will go for RL weeks covering two or three in-quest days, which is wild to me.

>>5912399
Oh so literal updates for a day time unit in quest kek. Alright. On the one hand, if it's a particularly eventful day you might need quite a few updates to properly encapsulate it. If you were playing a Batman quest for instance and it was a Bat Breaker scenario with Bane I imagine it would take quite a bit of writing to get to the conclusion.

Days that aren't eventful, or when you guys make fantastic choices or preparation will be glossed over or sped up. As a matter of fact there were three more mooks in the building at the alley. They were watching a movie and getting high but they were there. Had you checked the house you'd have had to choose between sneaking around or just beating the shit out of/killing them. It really is a quiet neighborhood when the mooks ON JOB TIME are sitting around. And since you guys were quiet and didn't resort to lethals (Driver and Lao both had guns) it didn't alert them either. Nor did it get the cops called on you, or thuggish backup.. Though I understand if I do drag a tad. I tend toward wanting to address things in completion as they present themselves.

Don't be afraid to tell me if things feel particularly slow at any given time, everyone.

>>5912374
>>5912376
>>5912385
>SHOTS!
You'll have a good time, after you have a very bad realization.

Writing.

During your check in a remarkably clean basement lab, you notice some alarming things. Extremely alarming. This heroin isn't addictive in the traditional sense, it instead forces a dependency. On a cellular level. The various markers match up with those you'd typically find in the nervous system. Without it, it would cause headaches that escalate into seizures, wracking total body pain so severe it could send the user into shock, blind and deafness, even brain tissue necrosis. Worst of all it would be permanent. You're frankly shocked at how sinister this is. This would cause an unprecedented level of death if supply ever ran low after people got hooked.

This was a deliberate choice, and one done by a real expert. One or two hits and you'd have lifelong users, however short those lives may be. And more than that, total control over them with the threat of withholding their fix. Unfortunately for them, there is a way to preempt it. With some further refinement and a few new additions the bonding process can be neutralized. It'll have a little more zest than typical heroin, but it should be any more dangerous than any other black tar. You relay as much to one of the chemists and he hurries off to no doubt inform Mr. Han. Hopefully he will be very grateful.

You wipe your brow. That... could have been ugly. But that nasty business aside, you make your way outside and back into the restaurant out front. You sweep the room before you see Lao and Driver sitting at a table and make your way over. "Room for one more?"

"Ah the man of the hour!" Lao scoots over and gestures for you to sit. "Now then, let's get you a drink, beer?"

"Beer's fine."

Driver signals a waitress and orders a few more bottles before turning to you "You do good work. Gas remind me of army but on them not us!" he chuckles at his own joke, clearly already buzzed.

Lao interjects "For a big guy, he's got a weak liver." eliciting a short rebuke in Chinese from Driver.

This is good. This is fun. You haven't had fun like this in a long time. You even manage to relax as the night goes on. Working yourself up to a decent buzz as Driver gets plastered and Lao is properly drunk. Over the course of the night you manage to learn that while Lao is rather fluent in speaking, he cannot write or read in English besides the numbers. And Driver has not only very good handwriting (even while hammered) in both English and, whatever kind of Chinese that is. He showed you a few decent hotels in and around Chinatown on his phone before writing them out on a napkin just in case, along with their contact information. You wind up with a pocket full of napkins.

When your time at the Lucky Hand's front business concludes you make your way to the nearest of the aforementioned hotels. A nice but cheap place. You're definitely taking the bathrobe and towels with you when you go. You enjoy a hot shower. Air conditioning. You make sure to sleep curled around your money. Just in case.

>>5912439
The next week is a blur of activity. You've got a few things on the docket. Where to begin?
>You want to get a means of communication. Cellphone, laptop, tablet, whatever. Just something with a connection.
>The time has come. Fashion at last. You'll sort out your outfit, what you like to wear, casually, professionally, whenever.
>A place to call my own. You look for an apartment. Somewhere you can set up shop and rest your head. Either or.
>A car. You can sleep in it. And it lets you get around easier. Though Gotham does have a robust subway system, it never hurts to have wheels.
>Gear. You can find someone to make you proper tools of the trade. That pistol you found is nice, but you had to dig in the trash for your other kit.
>Write in?

>>5912440
>A car. You can sleep in it. And it lets you get around easier. Though Gotham does have a robust subway system, it never hurts to have wheels.
Wheels can double as a home in a pinch, and something big like a van can even hold a basic set of chemistry equipment. It'd also easy enough to disguise with some fake plates and some other odds and ends.

>>5912439
Oh damn, that IS a very bad realization.
>A car. You can sleep in it. And it lets you get around easier. Though Gotham does have a robust subway system, it never hurts to have wheels.
I agree with anon, we need to get ourselves a beater so we aren't carpooling all the time.

>>5912440
>>A place to call my own. You look for an apartment. Somewhere you can set up shop and rest your head. Either or.

>>5912151
Metropolis is supposed to be NYC and Gotham is jersey iirc.
>>5912440
>>5912448
Backing this. Let's get a battle van!

>>5912448
>>5912451
>>5912458
>>5912611
>Battle bus, where we jumpin'?
So you guys are gonna try to buy a van. For funsies, do you want to haggle really hard? If so, give me a few 1d100s, I'll get started on the update in the meantime.

Rolled 16 (1d100)

>>5913082
Of course we're gonna haggle, we're a deadbeat, kek.

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>5913082
Big money!

Rolled 78 (1d100)

>>5913082

Wheels. You need wheels. Having Driver and his slick ride was nice but you can't rely on bumming a lift at any given moment. And if nothing else it gets you off of the cold ground at night. You'll want something bigger. But not too big. You ponder for a moment before settling on some sort of panel van. You can fit plenty in those things, even get a rudimentary cooking table set up while still having room for a blanket. You nod before hopping on a train to get to the outskirts. There's always someone pawning a junker out there.

It takes about an hour or two of wandering before you come across an old painter's van with a cardboard sign in the windshield. $15,000. You're not gonna pay that much. Buuuut while you're here...

You make your way into the nearly defunct building the van rests in front of, an old business that doesn't see much, clearly. The man inside sits behind a counter flipping through some tradie magazine about wires or something. He hops up when he notices you and comes over, ready to hit you with some speech but you go first.

"How much for the van?"

"Twenty grand, pal."

"Twenty? It says fifteen on the sign."

"Eh, inflation?" he smiles. It's a greasy smile. You're unimpressed.

"Seems like the only thing inflated here is your bigass head if you think anyone paying twenty big ones for that old can."

"Maybe you just can't see worth when it's right in front of you, kid. 22."

This fucking guy. "Fuck outta here, you think I'm stupid? No one is paying that kind of money for that piece of shit. 18."

"I gotta eat you know, business is slowing down out here. 24." you very nearly grit your teeth. This fat fuck could use your diet for the past month.

"Someone could have been iced in the back for all I know. I ain't coughing up that dough for a fuckin' cleaner's hand me down! 15!"

He pales slightly "Look it's clean, it runs, it even has air in the tires. What more could you want? You're really making a big deal out of this. 16."

"How about this, I pay you 8 grand, cash, upfront, you never see it or me again. Or we could keep going, and the one needing a change of tires will be you." You bend a bit and tap your knuckles against your knee for emphasis on 'tires'. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead.

"Hold on, hold on, we're civil here, right? I think we're below asking price, that's fair, how's'about te-" you loom over him, leering with fully open eyes, unblinking, unwavering as you slowly ball your fist until a couple knuckles pop under the pressure.

"Seven." you hiss through clenched teeth.

He sputters "A-alright man fuck! Seven and you fuck off. I can't afford new fuckin' legs!" he shakily fishes his keys out of his pocket and holds them out with one hand, the other extended. You dig up your cash, count out $7,000 and plop it into his slimy fist before snatching the keys.

What a prick.

>>5913134
You have just shaven three years off of a sleazeball's life with your very successful haggling. Eh, he'd probably do that with burgers anyway. But now you have a van! Fuck yeah.

That was very successful. You check to make sure it does in fact have air in the tires, and that it is void of any blood stains. Thankfully everything comes up aces. You hop in and trundle off with a quarter tank of gas and a smile tugging at your lips. It'll be a while before you can get anything set up in it, but in the mean time while you build your lab

What would you like to do next?
>Threads. Something fresh and clean-smelling would be nice.
>Battle kit. You're ready. Ready to upgrade your dinky whatsits anyway.
>Get a phone. Even kids are rocking thousand dollar phones nowadays. Or something?
>Spend a day at the park. Why not? You're on vacation.
>An apartment. Or maybe garage? For you or the car, somewhere you can plant yourself safely.
>write-in?

>>5912611
>Metropolis is supposed to be NYC and Gotham is jersey iirc.
It really depends. Gotham is literally named after New York, and both Metropolis and Gotham steal a lot of NYC things/ideas. However, in the current comics canon, they both coexist with New York. When Marvel's heroes entered DC in the last big crossover event, they even confirmed that their USA is slightly LARGER to accommodate all the fictional locales. Gotham in movies and such is sometimes New York, sometimes Jersey, sometimes Chicago or Detroit... Sometimes even in its own STATE called Gotham!


>>5913138
>Threads. Something fresh and clean-smelling would be nice.

>>5913138
>Threads. Something fresh and clean-smelling would be nice.
Battle kit. You're ready. Ready to upgrade your dinky whatsits anyway.
>Get a phone. Even kids are rocking thousand dollar phones nowadays. Or something?
As far as gear goes, my short list is as follows
>Proper hypodermic needles
>Nitrile gloves (anything but latex works really)
>A decent IFAK
>Ammo for the pistol
>A shoulder holster for said pistol
>A suppressor (and threaded barrel I guess)
>A few decommissioned tear gas grenade casings for chem bombs
>those darts they use for animal tranquilizers

>>5913156
I've heard people argue about Metropolis being L.A., which if they were talking about it in the 70's alright, okay, not great but sure. But nowadays? No fucking way. Gotham was clearly meant to be New York, even the cityscape has been pretty consistently depicted in art as being like NYC, but people have also argued that it's like Chicago or Detroit. I've heard arguments over Central City being San Fran or somewhere in Idaho. People are all over the place.

Generally speaking, I see it as "Every fictional city exists as its own place in addition to the normal big cities.". It's just easier to keep track of that way.

Except Hub City. That's just fucking Pittsburgh.

>>5912451
>Oh damn, that IS a very bad realization.
Fun fact, with the 95 you managed to not only realize the exact mechanism by which it worked and the fact that it was engineered intentionally you memorized the structure. You can make a lightweight version of it as a poison that harms people when they don't get hit with it down the line. For a while. Basically forced temporary withdrawals. Lasts for several weeks.

>>5913138
>Threads. Something fresh and clean-smelling would be nice.
>Get a phone. Even kids are rocking thousand dollar phones nowadays. Or something?

>>5913156
>>5913159
>>5913217
>Do these pants make my ass look fat?
We'll start with the clothes. Fashion souls time. This'll also double as the general appearance vote for the character, to make it more concrete.

Writing.

You've spent yesterday getting your new ride a bit cozier. Finding places to put things out of sight. Familiarizing yourself with the specific dimensions and how to get around. Scraping off some rust and dried paint. Tidying up. When you're placing your old rub of a blanket you realize- you can just buy a new blanket. You can just buy new clothes. You feel a little embarrassed. You got so used to assigned clothes and scrounged junk you forgot shopping existed. You'll fix that.

You go to several stores, window shopping at some, getting shoo'd out of others for the rags you're already wearing. The higher end places on most occasions simply think you're a bum. But you don't let it get to you. There are several things that catch your eye. Utilitarian wear, like coveralls, work gloves, and boots. You also quite like the look of some of the formal wear. You can't afford a personally tailored suit but there are some pre-mades that you think you'd wear pretty well. There's also casual wear. In prison you mostly just wore your wifebeater and the slacks, so the novelty of something other than an orange t-shirt appeals to you. Jeans and sneakers and baseball caps. Makes you feel like a kid again.

Between your trips and deliberating you idly munch on some pizza from a corner shop. It's a little hot for you so you fan it a bit. You consider, what, exactly, suits you best? Your body, your face, your hair. What is your style? And more importantly, what are you gonna wear for 'work'?

You're
>A classic movie worthy Russian. With the high, elegant face and the blonde hair. Broad shouldered and tall. About 6'3". You take after your father.
>Just the average. Black hair, plain faced, you don't stand out. A normal build, and only a bit above average height. About 5'10"
>Momma's boy. You've got light brown hair, a pleasant face with soft features. A bit on the slender and shorter side, but no less strong for it. About 5'6"
>The wildcard. You don't know how but you got red hair, unlike the rest of your family. No freckles, and an otherwise rugged face. Also standing about 5'9"
>write in?

>>5913263
And you settle on your outfits being
>Traditional. A suit, slacks, dress shoes. You want to feel like a million bucks and look like somebody. Your 'work' attire is similar, but with a thick overcoat and leather gloves. You also get a nice hat.
>Quiet. Lots of drab colors and reserved fashion. Long sleeved shirts, hoodies, jeans and walking shoes. You blend in with a crowd. Your 'work' clothes include a ski-mask and warm fabric gloves.
>Easy. You wear what you're used to. Thin shirts, short sleeves, a beanie, khakis and sneakers. You only stand out in polite company. Your 'work' wear is largely unchanged, sans the addition of a cheap face mask that has been all the rage lately.
>Rugged. Can't go wrong with leather. You'll wear a vest, boots, pants, the whole shebang. No one will spare a glance in seedier parts. Your 'work' fit simply replaces the vest with a jacket, and a biker helmet.
>Working man. A jumpsuit, coveralls, pouches and pockets. Work boots and gloves. You wear the exact same thing for 'work' with the addition of a proper ventilator mask that you'll take with you whenever you leave your lab.
>write in?

>>5913263
>A classic movie worthy Russian. With the high, elegant face and the blonde hair. Broad shouldered and tall. About 6'3". You take after your father.
>>5913266
>Traditional. A suit, slacks, dress shoes. You want to feel like a million bucks and look like somebody. Your 'work' attire is similar, but with a thick overcoat and leather gloves. You also get a nice hat.
A good suit and a little bit of confidence can get us just about anywhere.

>>5913263
>A classic movie worthy Russian. With the high, elegant face and the blonde hair. Broad shouldered and tall. About 6'3". You take after your father.
For fashion I'd like to go for Traditional but with a bit of a twist. Not a full suit but dress pants and shoes. A button up with the sleeves rolled and maybe a vest+tie? Casual mobster kinda feel.

>>5913307
For sure. You guys can discuss the specifics at your leisure. Mr. Han wears a similar style, albeit with some key differences. It is a respectable but comfortable look. It's also a very classic and cool style. Screams "I've got business with your kneecaps before I go back to poker." vibes. Very nice.

>>5913296
>>5913307
So his "canon" look is a very distinguished gentleman. Sharply dressed. And pretty tall, to boot!

My headcanon for his face is slightly owlish. Because I can picture an owl with huge, excessively blue and intense eyes mogging someone with it's piercing gaze. But really he is just an old world handsome type. Wouldn't look out of place with the Tsars.

Now time for a little story, and a little more choices.

>>5913263
>A classic movie worthy Russian. With the high, elegant face and the blonde hair. Broad shouldered and tall. About 6'3". You take after your father.
>Quiet. Lots of drab colors and reserved fashion. Long sleeved shirts, hoodies, jeans and walking shoes. You blend in with a crowd. Your 'work' clothes include a ski-mask and warm fabric gloves.

You step out of the boutique with your coat slung over your shoulder. You fix you collar a bit and roll your shoulders. A bit loose but you'll fill it in when you get your weight back to normal. A pleased look comes over your face as you make your way back to your van. You get a few people sneaking glances, one of whom looks around for a camera, you imagine. Yeah. This is nice.

Over the next couple days you get to work setting up a table and tools in your van. As you get nearer and nearer to finishing you start to hear whispers amongst users and sellers. People are getting sick on the outskirts and poorer neighborhoods. Reports of people developing illnesses they by all rights were in no danger from. Getting hurt. Having psychotic episodes. But none of these things are happening near Chinatown, from what you can gather. It seems like the Ghost Dragons have managed to get some of their tainted product in the area after all.

This does present an opportunity. You could cook up a stop-gap. Not heroin, but something that mimics the twisted tar the Dragons are selling. It wouldn't cost you much of anything, you could probably even filch the supplies you need from under countertops in the addict's houses. You could roll by and sell them your relief "medicine" at a premium. You're sure they'll pay, the symptoms it'd alleviate more or less demand it.

Do you?
>Yeah. May as well make some dosh. You might get some scrutiny from particularly savvy blues but most of them are too deep in someone's pocket to care about junkies.
>No. It's not your problem. May as well keep your head as low as possible.

With that taken care of, what would you like next?
>Further preparation, gear, comms, whatever. Just to get it sorted out. You've still got plenty of money left for a while.
>Connect with Lao, Driver, or Mr. Han. A social visit, or looking for more work?
>Spend a little more time recovering. Maybe visit a park or the library. Now that you look presentable you can get into most establishments no problem.
>write in?

File: wusilentpistol.png (73 KB, 600x273)

73 KB PNG

>>5913346
>Yeah. May as well make some dosh. You might get some scrutiny from particularly savvy blues but most of them are too deep in someone's pocket to care about junkies.
I figure if we're just selling a withdrawal suppressant, the cops wouldn't much care and we'd start building up our street rep amongst the junkies.
The Ghost Dragons might come knocking at some point down the line, but so be it. We'll be ready for them by then.
>Further preparation, gear, comms, whatever. Just to get it sorted out. You've still got plenty of money left for a while.
I refer to the list I posted earlier for my suggestions. Also after looking it up, apparently cartridge fired darts (known as Remote Delivery-Devices commercially) are a thing.
Sounds like a recipe for some Metal Gear Solid type shit if I'm honest, but I wonder if we can buy those through a third party.

>>5913362
>>5913346
>Connect with Lao, Driver, or Mr. Han. A social visit, or looking for more work?
Forgot to add this bit. I figure cutting our teeth right now couldn't hurt either.

>>5913163
That fact IS fun!

>>5913346
>Yeah
BUT
>Run it by Mr. Han first; we just got a contact and cozied up to him, better not to fuck it up now
hence
>Connect with Lao, Driver, or Mr. Han. A social visit, or looking for more work?

>>5913362
>>5913364
+1

>>5913362
>>5913364
>>5913379
>>5913392
>The doctor is in.
So you'll shop around for some doohickeys, then stop around the Restaurant to give Mr. Han a shout for some more niche things, and tell him about the activity outside. Righto.

Writing.

Loving this quest so far. And gonna be real. I though the dope was laced with fear toxin before Alexi got to studying it

>>5913400
What's worse, the worst trip of your life or terminal chemical dependency?

>>5913404
Chemical dependency on the worst trip of your life

>>5913406
>fear toxin makes you experience your worst terrors, as your phobia deepens and expands
>if you stop taking it, you die
>you want to die, but can't, because the toxin makes you terrified of your own mortality
Johnathan Crane is a goddamn ghoul.

>>5913406
NOW you're thinking like an amoral biochemical engineer!

You park in front of a military surplus store, counting out your budget for this stop before you hop out and head in. The scruffy man behind the counter seems a bit shocked that anyone is in his store. You ask if he's got some ammo and he looks perplexed at the cartridge but he does come up with a few boxes of old Chinese surplus from the 70's. Next you get a shoulder holster that doesn't fit perfectly, but still firmly secures your piece. You ask about a suppressor for it but he doesn't have anything, he can't recognize the model, either. Finally you look for some first aid kits and he has a few. They're old but they'll do. You'll discard the stuff that lost its potency and replace it with your concoctions as need be. They strap nicely around your thigh or arm. You consider asking him for decommissioned dispersal canisters but he's out of his depth.

All in all, still in budget. Next you make a trip to a pharmacy to pick up some hypoallergenic gloves and slip him a twenty under the counter to "lose" some clean syringes. You pick up some lesser pills you can mess with later, too, to save you a trip. You ask about tranq darts but he can't help. He points you at a zoo and shrugs.

Deciding it makes sense to talk to Han about Dragon activity you cruise over to his front business, which you are told is called "Happy Fortune Duck". You have no clue why. You wait patiently at a table while one of the busboys informs Han of your arrival. You're told you'll have to wait a while as he is on a call. You settle in and order some pork and rice while you wait. Lao may have had a point, this is very good pig.

When Han emerges from the back he looks a little irritated, though it dissipates when he sees you. The restaurant quiets slightly but maintains a healthy hum of activity. He pulls a chair up and leans on his shoulders before addressing you. "My favorite little foreigner! And my what a figure you cut! You look straight out of an old mob film." he laughs and tugs on your sleeve. "It suits you. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

You explain that you have a little shopping to do and figure he can help, but you've also got some ground level intel about the Dragon's actions. He glowers a bit when you tell him but doesn't interrupt.

"I see. So you want to play the good doctor and heal the sick? While also snubbing those Ghost Dragon scum. I approve. Having the lowest listen for you, thinking you their friend is a wise investment. I'll send a couple of my more discreet riders to tail you. In case you come across any Dragons. They'll deal with them, and back you up if someone gets bold. Otherwise they will stay out of sight and out of mind."

>>5913435

He pulls a phone out of his pocket and slides it to you. "A burner, you can call me or any of my associates on it. The riders are in there as well. Call them when you're going gallivanting through the slums. Mr. Long can assist you with your purchases through us. I'll inform him to give you a good discount, as well." He taps the table "Consider your lunch on me as well."

Mr. Long is the small man who attended Mr. Han, you learn. And through him you manage to get your hands on a dart pistol, some tranquilizers, and even the gas grenades you couldn't find earlier. Both with and without gas! He doesn't haggle but he does offer you a very fair price.

With that business concluded you decide to
>Ask Mr. Han about some jobs before you leave. He offered several, most of which are taking place at the end of the month a few weeks away. You'll have your pick of the litter.
>Just visit with Mr. Han. He is quite personable. And he seems to have a penchant for films and movies, if his constant comparisons are anything to indicate.
>write in?

Also, if you'd please roll me 1 1d20 but also 3 1d100s. For a random encounter and for your efficacy in administering your cure.

>>5913400
I had considered that. But I figured it's a bit early for that. However, Alexi would have been sweating if he did come across Crane's work. As it'd be too advanced for him to counteract in any meaningful way.

>>5913407
Jesus Christ, how horrifying.

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>5913436
>Ask Mr. Han about some jobs before you leave. He offered several, most of which are taking place at the end of the month a few weeks away. You'll have your pick of the litter.

>>5913438
Yeah I figured as much, crane is a genius when it comes to chemicals, especially his house cocktail. If it was fear heroin we'd just have to dump the batch in a furnace

>>5913436
And silly me, I forgot, Mr. Long did provide you with a suppressor for your pistol. It's a pain to get on and off though.

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>5913436
>Ask Mr. Han about some jobs before you leave. He offered several, most of which are taking place at the end of the month a few weeks away. You'll have your pick of the litter.
Gotta keep that cash flow.

Rolled 18 (1d100)

>>5913436
>Ask Mr. Han about some jobs before you leave. He offered several, most of which are taking place at the end of the month a few weeks away. You'll have your pick of the litter.
A professional does not leave a meeting before business is concluded.

Rolled 15 (1d100)

>>5913436
>>Ask Mr. Han about some jobs before you leave. He offered several, most of which are taking place at the end of the month a few weeks away. You'll have your pick of the litter.

>>5913442
>>5913444
>>5913464
bad rolls fuck.

>>5913467
Probably means the Black Dragon caught onto us.

>>5913439
>heavy breathing
You dodged a bullet there. Anything lower would have been a REAL professional. But you definitely have some unwanted visitors.

>>5913439
>>5913442
>>5913444
>>5913464
>What are the deets, big man?
You'll get invited to work for the Lucky Hand again. He'll have a decent spread for you.

Writing, though it will be a hot minute as I have some cooking of my own to do.

>>5913472
Bingo, though if I may offer a small correction, it is the Ghost Dragons. Black dragon is actually just a colloquialism for black tar heroin, typically coming out of China. Also why it was on the side of the crates in the truck, literally saying "Hey we've got heroin in here.". Genuine fucking mook hours for those goobers on their end.

I understand there are a lot of "Dragon"s going around though kek. In fact on my little simple char sheet for Alexi, his special recipe for his safe version of the nasty compound in the heroin is named "Bad Dragon". If you all would like to rename it I'm all ears.

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>5913436

File: 75076-60001-Tiger-Sauce-1(...).jpg (347 KB, 2119x3961)

347 KB JPG

>>5913480
>If you all would like to rename it I'm all ears
This recipe is antagonistic to the compounds in the shit the Ghost Dragons are slinging, right?
I say we call it Tiger Sauce. Ya know, since tigers are opposed to dragons in classical eastern philosophy.
Also helps obfuscate it a little since it's a name shared an existing condiment brand, pic related.

>>5913486
I can get behind this

Before you head out you find Han bellowing orders and directing shipments. You wait politely for him to finish. As he does he turns and regards you curiously.

"Mr. Han, I would like to inquire about further employment."

He smiles and goes to clap before thinking better of it. "Wonderful. We are quite busy this month. We can fit you in nicely towards the tail end of business." He then holds up his hand and raises fingers as he lists jobs. "We are going to hit the Ghost Dragons hard, and where it hurts. They have a shipment coming in via the harbor. We're going to storm their boat as it docks. No need to take any product, this is a message, not enrichment. It will be loud. It will make them bleed.

There is a stash house where they are keeping weapons, stockpiling them or distributing them we do not yet know, but it doesn't matter. We're going to break in, steal as many as we can, burn the rest. Simple.

A collaboration is brewing between the Dragons and the Penitente Cartel. We're going to sour it. Kill, beat, break, whatever suits it, all of the Penitente delegation. It would be easier to remove the Dragons beforehand, but there is a certain beauty in showing that even with those fools present they cannot protect the cartel.

And finally, a job closer to home, we've got some trucks full of our people coming in from out of town. They are unarmed as of yet. Just as a precaution we'd like some able bodies to get out there and check the streets from the outskirts to here. A quieter job, but one no less important."

He sighs out before finishing, "Take your pick, Mr. Dmitriev."

What to do?
>You're gonna bloody their nose, sign on for the Harbor fight.
>You will protect your second amendment rights by appropriating those poor lost firearms. Sign on for the stash house raid.
>Muddy the waters. You'll sign on to put a divide between the Cartel and the rival Triad.
>Look to the homefront. You'll sweep the roads, make sure no one is trying to ambush the fresh faces. Sign on with the convoy.

With that business handled you make your way outside and climb into your van, it's time to brew some shit.

1/2

>>5913566

The first day you spend solely cooking, just getting the process down to a tee. The second you test it on a bum who is obviously tweaking. He makes a pretty swift recovery over the course of the day. The third day you make rounds. You pace the roads, getting to know them a bit before parking a few blocks away from any given neighborhood, before you walk the sidewalk, keeping an eye out. You help plenty of people, make a pretty penny, though little thanks are exchanged and they seem to be wary around you. Like you're going to hurt them if they speak up. Or someone else will. You have an odd interaction at midday, an addict mentioning he doesn't recognize you. You wave him off and give excuses and he shrugs.

You were hoping that was the end of it. Just before sunset you're proven wrong. Right as you turn away from a door after making a sale you feel a tremendous impact on your back that nearly makes you double over. Whipping around you see a man in motocross leather with a long chain and a ball attached to it. The fucker just nailed you right in the spine. Before you can act though you notice six more bikers rolling down the road toward you, the rat you met earlier with the questions point your way from around the corner. Leave it to an addict to be able to stalk his hood better than you can watch. Son of a bitch.

As the biker gang rumbles to a stop and begin to dismount you hear the roars of more engines. Everyone's head jolt as they look down the road only for a couple of bikers in more welcome colors soar down and brain a pair of the hostile bikers with a pipe and an aluminum bat respectively, before peeling away. The other bikers move to get their bikes going and pursue but hesitate. Until the man in front of you gestures and they all remount and take off after the others.

You guess he's in charge of these ones. You can feel your back burning. You're gonna pay him back for that.

Right, plan?
>Close in to melee. His weapon will be a lot less effective than yours at close range.
>His leathers are thick, but you should be able to get a couple needles through them from here. Engage at range.
>Shoot this fuckhead.
>write in?

Welcome to your first real goon fight. This man's no mook.

As an aside, fuck naan bread. Tried to make a pizza on one of them. They cook way longer than you'd think the would.

>>5913486
>>5913544
I will be sure to rename it for posterity. Very clever.

>>5913566
>Look to the homefront. You'll sweep the roads, make sure no one is trying to ambush the fresh faces. Sign on with the convoy.
We're a brain, not dumb muscle.

>>5913570
>Shoot this fuckhead.
There's no need to complicate things.

>>5913566
>Look to the homefront. You'll sweep the roads, make sure no one is trying to ambush the fresh faces. Sign on with the convoy.
They're good people, no reason for them to get hit with the Gotham welcoming party just yet.
>>5913570
>Shoot this fuckhead.
WELCOME TO AMERICA!

As a little tidbit, just for curiosity's sake.
Lao is 5'7". Barely above average for a Chinese national.
Driver is a whopping 6'9".
And Mr. Han the muscle man is 6'6".
Mr. Long, ironically, is only 5'2".

>>5913566
>>Look to the homefront. You'll sweep the roads, make sure no one is trying to ambush the fresh faces. Sign on with the convoy.
>>5913570
>Close in to melee. His weapon will be a lot less effective than yours at close range.
we need to know who he is and who sent him and his friends to us

>>5913585
>Mr. Long, ironically, is only 5'2".
He's a fucking kung-fu master, isn't he?

>>5913606
You're right actually.
>>5913582
>His leathers are thick, but you should be able to get a couple needles through them from here. Engage at range.
Let's dope this fucker up and watch him drop. We can make sure he doesn't die after he's down for the count.
Then we can drag him back to Han's place for some proper interrogation.

>>5913609
I uh, meant to signify I was changing to this course of action in case that was unclear.

I'll leave this one open for oh, twenty ish more minutes for a tie breaker or discussion. There is merit in shooting first and asking questions later, just as there is in taking hostages. I'd loathe to take that away from people with a tiebreaker roll before they've had their say.

>>5913608
Mr. Long is a man of few words and much business. His speed with an abacus is the stuff of myth.

>>5913617
>His speed with an abacus is the stuff of myth.
...please tell me he has a calculator nowadays.

>>5913620
Surprisingly only marginally faster for the arithmetic he typically does. But he does use his phone for things that require actual formulas to calculate. He had a very exacting education.

>>5913570
I'll switch to
>His leathers are thick, but you should be able to get a couple needles through them from here. Engage at range.
It's thematic.

>>5913606
>>5913609
>>5913627
>Catch!
Very well. You shall show him that he's not the only one who can fling shit around.

And when the time comes Mr. Han will call you for your next night of profit and fun playing street sweeper.

I'll get started, but do please roll me a few 1d100s. Moto here is trying to take your head off, after all.

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>5913628
Here goes

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>5913628
I CAST HYPODERMIC NEEDLE

Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>5913628

You stare him down as the screams of engines distance themselves. Eye to visor. A noiseless cue only the two of you could hear is the only signal you need. Your hand dips into your coat as he yanks on his chain. In an impressive display of toe brutalizing he kicks the ball straight back toward you. You slip to the side as it soars past your head, shattering the glass on the door behind you. Your own throw is just as deft, flinging a needle directly at his face, it embeds itself in his visor as you leap over the railing off of the porch. He pulls the chain and twists it as you go, sending a shock through it that makes the ball bounce toward you. It impacts the railing harmlessly aside from a rain of splinters.

You roll to your feet and grab a handful of your little friends. You manage to send two more his way before he can fully retract his weapon and he's forced to dodge, himself rolling off at an angle. His response is violent, as he draws the chain back he doesn't stop, instead turning it's motion into centrifugal force to bring the ball up and then down with lethal intent from above. You step back, the ball narrowly missing your lagging foot. Then to your surprise he whips the chain and the ball jumps up at you, you're forced into a spin to pivot around it and avoid having your chin crushed, but you use your own motion much as he did and launch a needle straight at him, his dodge is just a little too slow, recovering from his attack as he is, it lands on his chest, over his right lung and he yelps before immediately pulling it out and tossing it aside.

He begins circling, so you respond in kind. He begins spinning his weapon overhead. You ready a few more of your needles. Your breath is quick, your back aches, your heart is hammering in your chest. You want to move. Faster! But you wait, you know it's adrenaline. The jitters. Breathe. Focus. You've hit him. It's only a matter of time before he loses sensation under his arm.

What is your next move?
>You've got plenty more where that came from. Keep pelting him. Patience. It'll work.
>Now's a great time to close. You'll be able to more quickly capitalize on his weakness when it presents itself that way.
>Pick up a rock and aim for his stupid visor. Shatter it. Spook him. Make him panic.
>Write in?

>>5913642
Coming in clutch at the last moment. Turned a glancing blow into a very solid one. Nice.

And, for round two, please roll me a few more d100s. This guy is not having fun any more.

Rolled 74 (1d100)

>>5913647
>You've got plenty more where that came from. Keep pelting him. Patience. It'll work.
He'll only get weaker from here on out.

Rolled 78 (1d100)

>>5913647
>Pick up a rock and aim for his stupid visor. Shatter it. Spook him. Make him panic.
Real damage can wait for when he's panicked and vulnerable.

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>5913647
>>Pick up a rock and aim for his stupid visor. Shatter it. Spook him. Make him panic.

>>5913647
>>Pick up a rock and aim for his stupid visor. Shatter it. Spook him. Make him panic.

In the distance you hear a door open and immediately close with an "oh shit". Your eye flicks over, briefly. Scanning the lawn as quickly as you can. Moto lurches forward and you step back, but he waits. You chuck a couple needles toward him to keep him occupied. He dives to the side and lets the ball fly straight forward toward your gut, the speed is more than you'd expected and you barely twist out of the path, it grazes your stomach and unsettles your lunch. You slide over lawn smoothly as the man rolls and springs to his feet. You deliver a few more needles with far more zip than before but they go wide, he's moving faster now. He begins a staggering assault, the ball flying left, only to be redirected down toward your legs. In the same motion he makes it jump and you're forced back only for him to torque it again and move forward again. His control over that chain is insane. You find yourself barely able to respond, taking all of your effort to dodge and weave between his unending barrage. You can hear the amount of exertion even over the thumping of his weapon on the ground and rattling through the air. Your muscles are starting to ache.

Finally you're forced to throw yourself to the ground. He thinks he has you. He's wrong. You landed right beside what you were looking for. A fist sized stone displaced by his rampage. Your hand shoots out with all of your speed and you send it whistling through the air toward him. He's taken completely by surprise as his visor explodes in front of his eyes with a shout of "Fuck!". His would-be final attack is abandoned as he shakes his head trying to displace the shards of plastic and glass. You capitalize on his distraction by picking another needle out and sending it straight into his leg, right above the knee pad where the leather is thin. He curses again as he whips his chain to send it sliding across the ground toward you.

You scramble to your feet out of range as he shaves the lawn a little shorter. Now you see his face. He's a little younger than you, and his eyes are red. Whether that's from the visor giving his eyes a kiss or something he's on you can't quite tell. He sends you a look of pure hate as he slowly pulls the needle out of his leg and sticks it into the dirt. "You're a dead man." he threatens, but you can hear it. There's less bite to his voice than he intended.

Sweat drips down your face. But it's over now. Even if he's high, your toxins will be kicking in any second now.

How do you finish this?
>Grab him. So far you've been dancing with him. Now you'll show you're not all footwork.
>Brandish your gun. See if you can't force him to surrender.
>You're just about out, but you do have two paralytic needles left. May as well go full send.
>Just stand there and stare at him. Like some all-knowing god. Bank on your toxins.
>write-in?

This was not how his day was supposed to go.

Just noticed where I got a couple of "S"es switched. Silly me. Alexi is not a cyclops.

>>5913692
>Grab him. So far you've been dancing with him. Now you'll show you're not all footwork.
Whatever he's on might keep him on his feet longer than we want. Time to apply some anesthetic.

>>5913692
>>Brandish your gun. See if you can't force him to surrender.

>>5913692
>Grab him. So far you've been dancing with him. Now you'll show you're not all footwork.
We're no brawler but we've been in the joint.

>>5913706
>>5913721
>>5913723
>Come over here, pretty boy.
So you're gonna show him that you're not a beanpole and he has made a big mistake.

No need to roll on this one. He's about to crash, hard.

Writing.

You abruptly dash straight toward him. His eyes widen and he starts to pull his chain but you've made it past the head already and you stomp on it. He jerks as the momentum is arrested. He ditches the chain and shoves himself to standing position before immediately dropping into an odd stance. You're already on top of him and snatch his wrist. You pull and find that even now, he's still surprisingly strong, even with everything playing against him. His other hand shoots forward toward your face, fingers first. He's going for your eyes, you've seen this plenty. You tilt your head down and slam your forehead into his fingers. His nails scratch you pretty bad but in return one of his fingers breaks.

You pivot and seize him by his elbow now, forcing him over as you drive your knee into his stomach. He doubles over but doesn't quit, slamming his wrist in an improvised chop against your ribs. It smarts, but nothing more. He's losing steam. Using your other hand grab his broken finger and twist. He screams as he tries ramming his helmet against you but his leg gives out suddenly. He barely has time to make a panicked noise before you grab his helmet and pull him straight down as hard as you can into the ground. The helmet flexes under the impact and he is clearly dazed, and probably suffering from severe whiplash if the grimace is any indication.

You stand and deliver a few soccer kicks to the side of his head. The helmet cracks after the third. But his is definitely unconscious. You huff. Trying your best to keep your breathing even. Your throat is dry. You roll your head and crack your neck a couple times. Turning toward the road you only see the two motionless thugs next to their bikes, not a sign of your guardians in sight.

You pull out your phone and call Mr. Han. After a brief wait you're answered by Mr. Long's voice. "Hello Mr. Dmitriev. How can I help you?"

"I've got a -" you glance down and check "live one here. Could be a Dragon. Could be hired help. Had a biker gang with him. My two babysitters lured the rest away, don't know where they are now."

"May I have a location, sir?"

You strain your eyes, relaying the streets.

"Very good. We'll have some backup sent. I assume you are unharmed?"

"I'm fine. More than this guy at least. Mind if I bring him your way?"

"Not at all Mr. Dmitriev. I look forward to your visit."

>>5913754
You end the call. Then you lean down, grab Moto by the lip of his helmet and drag him back to your van. You secure his hands with some zip ties. Then decide to do the same for his legs. Finally hauling him up and throwing him into the back. You lock the door and brace yourself against the back of your ride. You clutch at your back and hiss. If he hit you any harder he might have slipped a disc or broke a vertebrae. You want to lay down on a bed of ice right now. You want to slash his fucking throat. You restrain yourself. Climbing into the driver's seat and pulling away, slowly, regularly. Inconspicuously. A couple of patrol cars whiz by you when you're a fair distance away. They don't even look your way.

Nice going, you beat a weeb half to death after giving him temporary asthma. But he was a proper Goon. And now he's in the tender grasp of the Lucky Hand.

You
>Need a drink.
>Need a nap.
>Need some fresh air.
>write in?

>>5913755
>Need some painkillers. We aren't the type of bozo to get hooked on our own product, but we went to prison for a reason.

>>5913762
Well, you were in prison convicted of murder. But the drug trafficking and various cases of "self defense" certainly didn't help. Perhaps I should write an interlude about it? I did a tiny teaser much earlier in the thread, but I didn't give it much.

>>5912405
It's the little details like that make the magic, kek. Don't stress about it man, this quest has been a blast. Makes me nostalgic for some of the old capeshit quests.

>>5913763
I thought we were in for drug dealing due to our background. That's very interesting to hear. I thought painkillers seem realistic for this, drug users as main characters aren't common at all.

>>5913763
It would be nice to know the details of our sentencing, gives a nice window into the character as it were.
>>5913755
>Some painkillers. You might be walking a fine line with opioids, but a 100 milligrams of tramadol would do you a world of good right now.
I know that reads as super specific, but I imagine an amateur pharmacologist would have a somewhat in-depth knowledge of drugs like that.

>>5913766
Personally I feel Beat Cop is probably one of the best capeshit quests I've had the pleasure of reading. There's something novel as not starting as some guy who can melt steel beams. Maybe getting there one day, but the human element is really neat. And Detect is very good at evoking that human element.

Well, Alexi didn't get his general tolerance for toxins by staying clean. He never had addiction problems because of the lessons his father taught him about self control. Self control being the -ultimate- expression of power. Stimulants and your adrenaline inhaler are part of your kit for just that reason. If Moto hadn't gotten the drop on your I would have included it as an opener to the fight, since he was a genuine threat. I can contextualize that a little better here in a minute.

>>5913768
I shall endeavor to provide such illumination as I can, then. kek. It's not a happy story, as most crooks lack one. But I'll leave a little vote at the end of it to determine one very key detail about it.

As for being specific, go for it, please. Because I have absolutely zero knowledge of chemicals or pills.

>>5913769
Duly noted. My other autistic hyperfixations include human anatomy and martial arts, so this character may as well be tailor made for me to write-in for.

So, funny wahoo Motorbike man. His whole thing is that he watched Kill Bill, once. He saw the bladed ball and chain wielding girl and thought it was the COOLEST SHIT EVER. He went to Japan, got kicked out, so he went to China instead. He bummed off of people giving alms to Shaolin monks and copied their rope-dart shit. He practiced relentlessly to be able to do stuff like that. He even took to amphetamines to stay awake in order to practice more. He was, as a matter of fact, on meth in your fight.

He got into a TON of fights. Dojo crashing, street brawls, muggings. He wanted to be The Guy. He's been doing it since he was around eleven years old. Obviously growing more violent and less whimsical as he aged. The Triads picked him up because he was kind of stupid and naive despite the awful shit he was willing to do. Especially when he got hooked on the happy skiing enhancers.

Immediately after you sent a needle almost into his eye through his visor he was on edge. He didn't blink even once after that until you busted his visor. He was watching your hands and eyes like a hawk because that was the only way he could actually see when you were attacking him with your needles. If you've ever seen a spear or sword pointed straight at you and thrusted, you'll know how fucking hard it is to see shit like that.

He was on your ass the whole time, but he obviously wasn't prepared for being poisoned. Especially by something based on a drug he never built a tolerance for.

>>5913772
Hell yeah, brother.

>>5913762
>>5913768
>Max Payne, his name is my name too
So you'll get your very legal and very prescribed pills a poppin'. Roger that.

Writing.

After you get the dick out of your van and exchange pleasantries with Mr. Han and Mr. Long you sink into the seat in your van. Your back is throbbing, your stomach aches, and your muscles are sore. You reach over and pop the glove compartment. Retrieving your Ultram bottle and tossing it into your mouth. It doesn't want to go down dry but you don't care, and it does regardless. Of course it isn't just ultram. You've baked these ones personally, they're a little denser and have a few additives to increase their conversion efficiency in the liver. They won't flag on some blue's drug kit, and your forged prescription papers are bulletproof. So long as they don't actually dig.

You groan as you try to get comfortable until it kicks in. Shouldn't take more than a half an hour. What a week. You never imagined you could get out of the pit. Gotham grinds people down so fast once they're fallen. That you've gotten your feet under you at all seems like a miracle. Twenty grand. In a single night. All you had to do was dig through some trash first and borrow a barrel fire to get ready. Almost like the set up for some bad joke. Does that make you the punchline?

No. You're not going to be laughed at. You refuse. All of these people who'd turn their noses up at you, like they're better than you, like they know something you don't, like they're worth something. You've made something of yourself. It might be a criminal but it's something you built with your own two hands. They may not be your friends, but you've made inroads with the Lucky Hand Triad. The Chinese, of all people! Russians and Chinese, it's always them in the movies, isn't it? Mr. Han seems on the level. His inability to find fitting clothes aside. And Mr. Long has been nothing but courteous and professional.

Then there's Lao and... what was his name? You wrack your brain. What was h- a bark of laughter draws your attention outside for a moment. Some drunks stagger by telling incomprehensible jokes and laughing like there's no tomorrow. Ah but Lao. Lao is nice. You don't understand him when he starts going and his mother tongue slips in, but he's fun, yet not flippant. The Driver, well, he seems alright. It's a chore to try and get what he's saying sometimes but he's reliable, if nothing else. Fuck if you know where he gets his suits tailored though.

You wonder if mom approves. You wonder if her brain even works any more. You sigh. Banishing those thoughts. You're alive. You'll stay alive. You'll beat this, and everything else in spite of it all. You roll your shoulders and arch your back to a cacophony of pops and cracks that you hardly feel. Damn that's nice. But that's enough wasting time. There's always something more to do.

>>5913794
And so what will you do?
>Try and get some practice in with Lao or Driver. Maybe they could give you some pointers on hand to hand? You're a little embarrassed how much trouble that little freak in leathers gave you despite the drugging.
>Just focus on getting ready for the job. Learn the streets early, learn the route early. Preparation is key to victory. (skip to the job, you hack)
>Relax before your next gig. Live a little. Find a hobby. Go for a walk. Just do something "normal"?
>Build your operation. You can do better. Sell more. Sell better. There's always a new niche that needs filling with drugs.
>write-in?

>>5913796
>Build your operation. You can do better. Sell more. Sell better. There's always a new niche that needs filling with drugs.
Sell some more of that "medicine" and a little more, on the side. The Black Dragon's customer base can become ours, with a little finesse.

>>5913796
>Build your operation. You can do better. Sell more. Sell better. There's always a new niche that needs filling with drugs.
>Try and get some practice in with Lao or Driver. Maybe they could give you some pointers on hand to hand? You're a little embarrassed how much trouble that little freak in leathers gave you despite the drugging.
Drug peddling by day, martial arts training by night. Seems like the safest way to get shit done in Gotham.

>>5913796
>Build your operation. You can do better. Sell more. Sell better. There's always a new niche that needs filling with drugs.

>>5913775
Really want to recruit this guy

Interlude: Morning Blues

You feel a gentle shaking. "-on." then a little more "Son." then a lot more "Ah this boy, sleep through an earthquake." finally your head starts to spin as you are picked up and placed on your feet. All at once your eyes snap open and the world comes into focus. You waver on your feet and your eyes flutter. "Come on, you've got to be ready for school." you feel a steadying hand on your back. You pout up at your father, he simply smiles back. "You can't be late to your sciences class again, son. Mr. Henson will call us again and you know your mother has so much trouble with his accent."

You can smell something warm, and sweet. Your eyes light up and you're suddenly fully awake. "Hah! Yes she made the pancakes with the blueberries again. Go on, have your breakfast." You rush out and of your room and find your mother in the kitchen, she waves a little plastic egg-flipper at you. You hug her leg and she ruffles your hair.

"Morning Mama"

"Good morning little one~" she smiles, the room seems a little brighter.

Partway through breakfast your father comes clacking down the hallway in his boots. With his big belt and hat. He's buttoning up his blue shirt on top of his tank top. With the shiny shield gleaming. He kisses mom and you make a face at them. "I've made pirozhki for you dear, the darker one has a little surprise, for the one who keeps snatching them up from the fridge, keep the others in your locker." she tells him with a gleam in her eyes.

Your father laughs "Thank you, honey. I'm sure he will appreciate it!" then he turns to you and pats you on the shoulder "Remember son, no being late today, okay?" he wags his finger at you.

"Yes, Papa." you frown at him, you heard him the first time. He simply tuts and chuckles as he heads out the door.

"Stay safe!" "And to you!"

......


>>5913798
>>5913805
>>5913842
>I am the one who knocks.
You'll be a good producer and pusher both, then. And maybe if you can find time, ask for some tips. But only tips. They are busy men most nights. I figure they can give a little advice even if they can't spare a class for you.

Writing.

>>5913938
Well, you never know what strange bedfellows a conflict makes. Something to ask Mr. Han about, perhaps?

You know you can optimize your recipe further. Make it easier to produce. Quicker. With less smoke, hopefully. Over the next few days you expand your operation. You build several routes you rotate through, you vet your customers a bit more thoroughly, watch a little further over your shoulder. You start to pull in several hundred bucks a day, just on your Tiger Sauce alone. Your more traditional product begins to sell as well. Bringing in a decent stream of cash. You see a couple of other dealers occasionally, one of which has a tattoo in Ghost Dragon colors, but nothing comes of it and you make sure to keep a healthy distance. Fights bring eyes. You'll simply stay out of sight.

The bums begin to warm up to you. The more "affable" addicts are still wary, but they don't look at you askance any more. Occasionally the bums give you tip offs to friends who are looking for things, or when blues are going to be making their rounds. Even the undercover types have trouble hiding from the alley men. Always watching. Not much else to do all day. You're making decent headway, you think.

You've shaken off the cobwebs now, and while things are calm you figure now's a good time to think about your other work. You could do something about your poisons, or enhance your personal stash, perhaps try making something new? Options, options.

>Enhance your poisons. You can tweak the dosage a bit and give them more punch. There's always a more coherent formula.
>Put some REAL ass behind your tailored adrenaline. You can handle it. Might put some poor idiot into cardiac if they aren't tough like you, though.
>You've got your hands on actual tear gas, now. Maybe you could try and make something more your style out of it? Then again, it works as is.
>Try to make your product a little cleaner? Good product is good product. The higher your quality the fewer complications. It is certainly something to think about.
>Get to brewing another Alexi original. But what? (what would you like to try and make? What purpose would you like it to serve?)


While you do that, you meet up with Lao some nights, Driver the others. When they're in between jobs they're usually at the H.F.D., by their lonesome or together. They tease you a little but only a little, when you ask for advice. You spend some time with them getting pushed and thrown around. You'll need to put it to practice more to get it down, but you're already seeing minor improvements in your footwork. You'll have to get one of them to really spar with you if you want to truly practice, but this is fine for time constraints now. At the very least you realized you were too heavy on your right foot.

>>5914004
You've got just over a week left before the convoy job. You figure you have some time left for some more chores. Though you are hearing about the occasional gunfight picking up in bad neighborhoods, and violent assaults on the rise. Particularly with moto gangs. You'll be sure to keep an eye out for them. You idly rub your back.

What would you like to do next?
>Work, work, work. Always work. You'll simply focus on expanding your operation further. You like your progress so far. It's easier to get your foot in the door with junkies already.
>Train. You find alleyways and parking lots with no one in them. Set up targets. Make sure your aim is good and that you're still able to kick a dumpster correctly. Put your tips into practice.
>Relax. It's important to take some time to yourself. You visit a park, or a zoo? Maybe the library to pick up new chemistry books, or just something fun to read. (anywhere in particular?)
>Focus on the upcoming job. You can drive the route early. (obligatory timeskip option for consistency)
>write in?

>>5914004
>>Try to make your product a little cleaner? Good product is good product. The higher your quality the fewer complications. It is certainly something to think about.
>>5914005
>Train. You find alleyways and parking lots with no one in them. Set up targets. Make sure your aim is good and that you're still able to kick a dumpster correctly. Put your tips into practice.

Fun fact, while Alexi never learned how to drive stick in his youth, his father did show him the pedals before everything went sideways in his life. Alexi also does not have a license and never has, not even a learner's permit.

>>5914004
>Try to make your product a little cleaner? Good product is good product. The higher your quality the fewer complications. It is certainly something to think about.
>>5914004
>Train. You find alleyways and parking lots with no one in them. Set up targets. Make sure your aim is good and that you're still able to kick a dumpster correctly. Put your tips into practice.
For now, we need to work. We can think about relaxing when we've got our feet under us. I'm PjA3Kx6W, not a samefag, just on mobile so my IP's changed.

>>5913983
So pops was a cop huh? Well, least we can do is deliver justice in his name at some point. Anyways, back to los drogas...
>>5914004
>Put some REAL ass behind your tailored adrenaline. You can handle it. Might put some poor idiot into cardiac if they aren't tough like you, though.
Enhancing our product also sounded good, but I have to wonder if slinging high purity stuff wouldn't cause us to start butting heads with some of the bigger players in the area.
That's something I don't wanna risk till we're situated a little better. Besides, working on our oh-shit button is a good idea anyways.
>>5914005
>Train. You find alleyways and parking lots with no one in them. Set up targets. Make sure your aim is good and that you're still able to kick a dumpster correctly. Put your tips into practice.
No one's gonna care about a few gunshots or a dented dumpster in Gotham I suppose.

>>5914041
>So pops was a cop huh?
This is why Alexi refers to them as "blues" often instead of cops, pigs, badges, and so forth. It's a core memory of his. His father's blue shirt. He wasn't necessarily a good cop.

>>5914057
>spoilers
He looked after his family at least. You really can't ask a man for much more than that.

>>5914004
>Try to make your product a little cleaner? Good product is good product. The higher your quality the fewer complications. It is certainly something to think about.

Less fatalities means less of a chance of the bat pushing out head up our own ass. Or one of the worse vigilantes putting us on a T shirt.

>Train. You find alleyways and parking lots with no one in them. Set up targets. Make sure your aim is good and that you're still able to kick a dumpster correctly. Put your tips into practice.

Some real Miyagi shit

>>5914005
>Try to make your product a little cleaner? Good product is good product. The higher your quality the fewer complications. It is certainly something to think about.
>Train. You find alleyways and parking lots with no one in them. Set up targets. Make sure your aim is good and that you're still able to kick a dumpster correctly. Put your tips into practice.

>>5914008
>>5914034
>>5914041
>>5914080
>>5914083
>That look like spit to you?
You'll make sure no one is dying from some dirt that got into your brews. And then you'll channel your inner Kevin against trash receptacles. Crack a monster energy, les go.

Writing.

Though as an aside, I have a few ideas in the works for interludes, three in particular for the backstory. Would you all have any preference for which order they get worked on/posted? They are
>Pen Pals. Recount your time in Blackgate.
>Proven Guilty. Recall your day in court.
>Homecoming. Remember what happened seven years ago. (This one is the silver bullet, and it'll have a vote at the end to determine a very key detail)

>>5914093
>Pen Pals. Recount your time in Blackgate.

Homecoming seems best saved for last

>>5914093
I have no preference as to what gets worked on first. They're all neat interlude ideas though.

>>5914093
>Pen Pals. Recount your time in Blackgate.
Let's see if we became the toilet wine guy

If people are choking from an imperfection in your product that'll draw attention. People can ignore someone zonked out of their mind, they can't ignore a corpse. You double down on your cooking processes. You make sure your instruments are clean. You refine and refine and refine some more until all the biggest problems are out of your stuff. While it is still dangerous, especially in the hands of idiots who can't pace themselves, they shouldn't be having heart attacks because a fly fell into the mix or a bubble popped and disturbed the concoction in a funny way. No small error and bad luck is gonna get you.

You watch the users for a while after they're juiced. They're doing fine. Everything seems to be in order. No spasms more than is typical. No lasting effects that aren't expected. It's going down smooth. They're getting exactly what it advertised. Nothing more and certainly nothing less. The police presence also lessons over time, fewer calls for some tweaker frothing in someone's yard you guess. And some of the competition even have to move elsewhere because their buyers just aren't buying like they used to.

You're eating good. They're growing fond of your business. And of you. Not too fond. But you worry less about them jumping ship and selling you out, now.

While that's going on, you make sure to find a real dump somewhere and set up targets. A dingy mattress to practice your throws, especially with your gloves on. The sensation is odd. It's difficult to throw without your fingertips giving you feedback, but you get the hang of it. Soon enough you think you can throw nearly as well with or without them.

Some trash can lids strung up with discarded tape and rope serves as a target for your pistol. It's an awkward little thing, it's a little small for your hands but you manage. You have a lot of rust to shake off. It's been years since you last went shooting. You're all over the place. At first you think it's the gun, or maybe the ammo. But you're forced to admit you're just shit, at the end. You start to get dialed in however. Hitting the lid more often than not. You're no Doc Holiday, and you certainly won't be hitting anyone further than you could throw the damn gun, but the muscle memory is kicking in. You won't have trouble handling the pistol even if you won't be a great shot. Even if the mag catch is sticky. Piece of junk.

>>5914126
Finally, you fill a trash bin with newspaper, blankets, bits of food waste, anything to fill the space that's soft. Then you wrap it in a stained rug and nail it together. You practice your kicks, low and center, you can't quite get it to stay still enough when you brace it up on a dumpster to practice your high kicks. You're not very good at kicking, but you practice it anyway for your flexibility. Your punches however, are heavy, and hard, and fast. Crosses, straights, jabs. At one point you're practicing your uppercut but the can sways and you wind up punching the catch for garbage trucks to lift and move the dumpsters. You shake your hand off after that one. It's definitely gonna leave a bruise. You round it out by practicing your knees and elbows. Knees are harder to land right, you have to be much closer than people expect or get moving much faster. But elbows, elbows are dangerous. You learned that early. Even at hugging distance you could bruise or break a rib with them. You place your hand on your side and frown.

You think you've done just about all you can in that department for now. Your joints have the pleasant ache of use to them. You feel a little more confident.

Two days. Two days before the convoy. What would you like to do for those days?
>You look into last minute preparations. Is there anything being forgotten? (any gear you want to try and get, equipment, anything really?)
>You relax. Steady your nerves before the job. Make sure you get good sleep. See the sights. (anywhere you want to visit, anything you want to do?)
>You just focus. The time is here. Nothing else matters. (you're ready to rock)
>write in?

>>5914129
>>You look into last minute preparations. Is there anything being forgotten? (any gear you want to try and get, equipment, anything really?)
Gas bombs, maybe a stun baton. A knife, definitely. Stuff just in case of the worse, you know?

Another fun fact, Alexi is actually fluent in Russian. His parents both spoke it when he was younger before switching primarily to English to help him learn it better and fit in. Alexi, unlike his parents, is a Gothamite born. They emigrated before he was even conceived.

I am not, however, fluent in Russian. Nor have any proficiency in any language. Even my mother tongue kek. It'll be handwaved.

>>5914138
You do actually have some tear gas. And you have some of their used dispersal canisters repurposed and refilled with your own choking gas.

To tell the difference, tear gas, obviously, irritates the eyes as well as the airways. Your gas doesn't irritate the eyes but it triggers much harder coughing fits. Tear gas does last quite a bit longer in the air than your choking brew, though.

>>5914129
I'm glad Alexi is no stranger to putting in the work. Here's hoping the triads have a dojo in their pocket or something so we don't have to beat up innocent garbage cans forever. Anyways...
>You look into getting one last piece of kit; a proper knife. Nothing fancy, anything with a fixed blade and a point will do.
After that
>Hit up your old neighborhood, see if anybody even remembers you after you got pinched. If nothing else, it'll be a nice change of pace before you get back to work.

>>5914138
>>5914148
>One more thing...
So you'll pick up a few odd and ends. No big deal. And you'll swing by your old neighborhood. Who knows what's left?

Writing.

The Lucky Hand does have facilities around in Chinatown, dojos included, Alexi just figured it'd be easier for him to set up a little thing in the outskirts just so he wouldn't need to make so many trips when doing his rounds. You can certainly go and hang out with them for more sanitary training.

>>5911016
Batman is a superhero appearing in American comic books published by DC Comics. The character was created by artist Bob Kane and writer Bill Finger, and debuted in the 27th issue of the comic book Detective Comics on March 30, 1939. In the DC Universe continuity, Batman is the alias of Bruce Wayne

Thinking about it, there are some things you'd rather get now. One thing in particular, a knife. You've got your pocket knife, but it could barely cut through a cardboard box. You mostly just use it for whittling things when you need them thinner or cut. You want something with more heft if you're gonna be using it for wetwork.

You pay a visit to that MilSurp store from before. The owner waves and greets you, asking if you've got any more old Chinese junk you need bits for. You smile politely as you wave him off. You ask if he's got any MP stuff, maybe a stun baton? He says that sounds more like movie stuff, but he can check for something like it. When he comes back he throws his hands up, and apologizes. You shrug it off and ask if he's got a knife then. He claps and affirms that he definitely does. Heading once more into the back he comes out with two knives. Presenting them and introducing them

"Alright so we've got this baby," he waves the one with a leather sheath "it's a real classic, dubya dubya 2 stuff. Ka-Bar. Can't go wrong with it."
then he wiggles the one in the plastic scabbard "And this is more modern. They were using these in Afghanistan. The OKC bayonet. A bit longer than the Ka-Bar but it's pretty sexy, right?"

You'll
>take the Ka-Bar. It's a classic.
>take the OKC-3S. If it's good enough for the military it's good enough for me.

"Right on, dude. I'll get you a bag."

You thank him and go on your way. Back to home. Where it was at least. You don't know what to expect. The drive feels somber. More so than usual. You almost don't want to go back. But you persist. As you draw closer the neighborhood gets worse and worse. Graffiti pops up. Transients loitering around. People getting drunk on the sidewalks. The buildings start to look more beat up.

When you make it to your old block you realize it has been replaced by section 8 housing. Low income housing. Welfare applicants. Assisted living. It's the same but so... not. There used to be flowers on that balcony. And over there was a basketball hoop. Now just a pole, with bullet holes no less. You get out and lock your van. Then check it again to make sure, before you start to walk around.

You get a few dirty looks but no one steps to you. They all look tired. Defeated. You hate it. You remember playing with the other kids in that alley, someone used to throw broken toys out of a window above it that you'd all take. That window is barred, now, despite being three stories up. Your shoulders tense. You hate it. You're done. You don't know these people. Everything's wrong.

You turn back around and nearly bump into a little old black man. He apologizes before going on his way. You watch him. Then it clicks. You call out to him. "How have to been, old man Henry?" the man stops, craning his head toward you. He squints. Then fishes a pair of glasses out from under his collar and sticks them on. His face unscrunches and he immediately looks a decade younger.

>>5914228
"Well ho-lee shit I'd rec'ah'nize those big blue eyes anyhwere. 'lexi when did yo pale ass get so big? Get ov'a here you lunk!" he hobbles toward you before stubbing your toe with his cane, for which he quickly apologizes, forcing himself up out of his hunched position to shake your hand. His grip is still pretty strong despite his age. He's gotta be pushing 80 now. "The hell've you been, 'lexi? You up'n vanish one day then turn up taller'n better dressed than I ev'a seen!"

Well, what should you say?
>chat with him, about nothing, just talk. You're glad to see the old man. He used to give you candy when you'd pass him by from school on his afternoon walks.
>tell him the bad news, you were in prison, but you got out! And you're doing alright for yourself. Spare him the dirty talk of your work in particular.
>let him have it, tell him you're a crook now, but you haven't been doing all the fucked up shit you normally hear about in Gotham, you've been quiet.
>write in?

>>5914228
>take the OKC-3S. If it's good enough for the military it's good enough for me.

>tell him the bad news, you were in prison, but you got out! And you're doing alright for yourself. Spare him the dirty talk of your work in particular.

>>5914229
>take the Ka-Bar. It's a classic.
A knife is a knife is a knife.
>tell him the bad news, you were in prison, but you got out! And you're doing alright for yourself. Spare him the dirty talk of your work in particular.
We can't just abandon our life. We're a Low Tier Goon, not a Supervillain.

>>5914207
Thank you for the trivia, good anon. But you're wrong. There's no way Bruce Wayne is Batman. You're telling me that party boy is dressing up as a giant bat and attacking people? Shiieeeet.

>>5914242
I bet the bat is something one of those fucks in Arkham summoned or some kinda labrat cooked up by one of its regulars. Some real Frankenstein shit

>>5914228
>take the Ka-Bar. It's a classic.
If my peepaw trusted this to kill Nazis, I trust it to kill gangbangers.
>tell him the bad news, you were in prison, but you got out! And you're doing alright for yourself. Spare him the dirty talk of your work in particular.
Didn't expect to actually find a friendly face around here. I'll take what I can get.

>>5914250
Hey man. What if it's like, an alien? You know like the Blue Boyscout? What kinda fucked up planet has giant bat people? No thanks.

>>5914256
It's gotta be a ghost. Has to be. Nothing just VANISHES like that thing does, freaked the fuck outta me.

File: 1280px-Ka-Bar_USMC_fighti(...).jpg (251 KB, 1280x852)

251 KB JPG

>>5914233
>>5914239
>>5914251
>No country for, young knives?
You'll pick up the Ka-Bar, and let Henry know that you spent some time in the clink. But you won't give him the nitty gritty.

Writing.

You swallow. "Well, old H, I was a bit 'locked down' so to speak." Henry hmm's and nods "The family isn't around any more, but I stayed."

"Ah now tha's'a damn shame. Yo momma had som'o'da best stroganoff I ev'a had. Sorry tuh hear'a'bout that. An' I tol' yo daddy once'n'a tol'mn a hun'ned times, them pals'a his were some dirty-ass muthafucka's. Lookit what they did to-ya. Don' think I can't see it 'lexi, them tired eyes. Seen it plenty befo'." he waves his hand on and on as he rambles, but you smile.

"It wasn't so bad. I picked up a lot of skills in there. Learned a lot of stuff."

"Prolly learn'd how'ta use yo ass" he snorts

"HA! Nothing like that, H. Just how to spot the bad ones. When to double down. When to shut up." he nods his head, like he knows exactly what you mean. "And besides, they had to let me out. A mistrial. The old D.A. finally got around to it before he moved on or something I guess."

"Shithead sho took 'is time uh?"

"Yeah, sure did." you pause. "Well, anyway, I did get out pretty recently, took a job that paid out pretty well. Now I've got my side gig going and I've got more work lined up."

He slaps at your side a few times "Hehee'attaboy. Always knew you was a smart'n. Them other kid's'd eat rocks, but you'd be out makin' em edible. Dumbass kids. You get out 'n' go an' get all fixed up all quick. Bet them fuckin' boots at the station're steamin' about ya. Can't even break dem laws they know right. I tell ya if they ev'a come'round here again I'll whack 'em upside the head fo'ya."

"You don't need to do that for-"

"Naw fuck dat, they'on'up'n'fucked wit my boy, can't let dat shit slide. It's fo' me too. Ain't respectin' they eldahs." you snort, even out here you got types like him.

"Well if they fuck with you, give me a call, okay H?"

"Sure'I'll'letcha watch." he smiles and takes the note you wrote your number on. He calls you right away to make sure the number's right. You're surprised his old phone still works. A flip-phone of all things. Sure yours isn't a spring chicken either but it's a burner.

"How's your back, anyway?"

"Old, the hell you think? I can still walk. Need the stick mor'n'ev'a but I can walk. Not gettin' in'na'damn chair yet." he stretches and twists a little bit, as best he can.

You could give him something for it. Steroidal, but also something to take the edge off. It won't fix him, but it'll certainly make him more comfortable, let him move better too. Should you? Before you go?
>Yeah. You'll give him something. Not hardcore, it'd almost be prescription if you were certified for that sorta thing. Probably more precise and effective than whatever he'd get from a pharmacy anyway.
>No. Old Man Henry is just old. He knows it. He'll fight it. Might not use it if you gave him something for it anyway. He's a stubborn coot. Don't say that out loud though.

>>5914339
>>Yeah. You'll give him something. Not hardcore, it'd almost be prescription if you were certified for that sorta thing. Probably more precise and effective than whatever he'd get from a pharmacy anyway.
Ehhhh fuck it. Alexi knows what's safe and what isn't. Might as well let him enjoy what time he has left on this Earth.

>>5914339
>Yeah. You'll give him something. Not hardcore, it'd almost be prescription if you were certified for that sorta thing. Probably more precise and effective than whatever he'd get from a pharmacy anyway.
Let's help the old fogie out. Why not? I can't think of any reason we'd refuse.

>>5914355
>>5914407
>Hey let me get you something from my van
You'll give him a couple things before you go. The next job looms.

Writing.

"I think I can help with that, hold on." you jog back to your van and nab a couple of things, a bottle, a fresh needle, some of your stuff. You fetch it all and bring it back to him.

"Now t'hell is allat?"

"Medicine. Good stuff. If you want to use it."

"I don't w-"

"I know, it's just in case you want to later. This goes into your side, about here, it's pre-measured so it's easy. After that you take one of these a day until any soreness stops. Maybe before your walks. It should give you some extra pep and stop your back from pulling you down."

"I really don't need this stuff, 'lexi." He holds your gaze before he sighs and stuffs them in his pockets. "I'll think about it, a'ight?"

"That's all I can ask for. Take care of yourself, H."

"Yeah, you too, kid. Oh but before you go, tell her-" he then uses his free hand to sign 'Hello, hope you're doing okay'.

Your stomach twists. A wave of nausea tears straight through you. You force a smile. "Yeah I'll send her a letter." Henry smiles back and starts shuffling off down the sidewalk.

You hop back into your van and slowly make your way around and out of the neighborhood. The tightness in your throat persists. You want to scream. You want to hit something. Your fingers squeeze around the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white. Stop. You have to stop. You breathe. Deeply. Calmly. Slowly. Once, twice, thri- a honk from behind draws your attention to the mirror as a man makes angry gestures at you. The light is green. You wave out of your window as you start moving again.

The job. Focus on the job. There will be a convoy coming in late tomorrow. You need to be ready for them. You check a map to trace the route better. You could check one of the bottlenecks right now, get a look at it while there's hopefully no one around, and hopefully it'll stay that way. Where should you check?
>The entry. The outskirts of the city are pretty open, comparatively, but the road they're taking goes right by a junkyard. You can check to see if there are places someone could hide nearby.
>The midway. Not as dense as the inner city will be, but there's a lot of traffic there. The intersections and fire escapes are prime places to be. You can make sure there's no indication of Ghost Dragons there. Or prepare, if there are.
>The home stretch. Before the convoy reaches Chinatown proper there are lots of alleys, turns, and low rooftops. It's a shitshow. Granted, being so close to Chinatown means the Dragons are probably busy clashing with the Hand already, so they may not try to set up there. You can find out.

>>5914462
We have a deaf friend or family member? Interesting... I'm sure we'll learn more in the future.
>The entry. The outskirts of the city are pretty open, comparatively, but the road they're taking goes right by a junkyard. You can check to see if there are places someone could hide nearby.
The starting point is always the most dangerous part of these. Best to make sure our convoy isn't ambushed by some thugs from the get-go.

>>5914462
>>The entry. The outskirts of the city are pretty open, comparatively, but the road they're taking goes right by a junkyard. You can check to see if there are places someone could hide nearby.

>>5914466
I am physically battling myself to avoid spoiling.

>>5914462
Entry

>>5914475
That's the best part of QMing, kek, keeping the players speculating

I'm not going to call it yet, but I'm sure the Entry will win. I've got some cooking to do. I'll get right on it when I get back.

>>5914466
>>5914470
>>5914479
>and indeed it did
Getting legwork done on the far out places before the Op begins. Very nice.

Writing

The first step is sometimes the steepest. If the Dragons wanted to stop the Hand from getting new bodies, it'd be best to cut them off when there aren't so many other roads to take. You make your way over to the outskirts, and then a little further beyond. You're at the city limits when you see lights in the distance, "Ted's Trash-heap", the junkyard. The road itself is a bumpy affair, with a few potholes you do your best to avoid. The terrain offroad begins to get uneven, with errant trees dotting the rises. A few miles away you can see the beginning of one of the forests that dot the state. Thankfully too far away to come into play later.

The shoulder along the road is flat, without many deviations, but you do see several places that break the trend as you go. Either dips or trenches or culverts under the road. Then there's the main feature. Ted's. The big sign out front very clearly denoting the location. With the logo of some handyman in overalls and a checkered shirt. Immediately you see crap strewn about outside of the fences. While the interior of the partition is filled to the brim with wrecked cars, discarded furniture, appliances, everyone's barely-salvageable litter that is still worth more than a trip to the landfill.

You park. You watch for a while, pretending to be on your phone, on a map, what have you. No one coming or going yet. But you can't wait here forever. You get out, lock your door, and trudge up toward the junkyard. It's the first time you've walked on something other than concrete, asphalt, linoleum or other man-made surfaces. It's strange. You forgot what it was like to walk on dirt. Or even gravel. There's a sort of uncertainty to it now.

What is your strategy for investigating the yard?
>As a buyer. You're in for some junk and by god you'll have it!
>As a first-time hiker, looking for directions.
>As a seller. You've got tons of shit you can pawn.
>As a vagrant. You're looking for work, honest.
>write in?

>>5914626
>>As a buyer. You're in for some junk and by god you'll have it!
a huge plus if we actually something worth buying

>>5914626
>As a buyer. You're in for some junk and by god you'll have it!
We do look like some rich Russian guy, might as well play into that.

>>5914626
>As a buyer. You're in for some junk and by god you'll have it!
Easiest way to avoid scrutiny is to be someone they want to have here.

>>5914626
>As a buyer. You're in for some junk and by god you'll have it!
With how we dress and look it's more credible if we pose as some kind of wealthy Hipster looking in the junkyard some Ghotamite classic cars to buy and restore.

also QM, is there an image on how Alexi dresses? I couldn't still have a mental image on how he looks with the clothes the anons choose

File: sorta.jpg (72 KB, 640x640)

72 KB JPG

>>5914670
You don't quite look fabulously wealthy right now so much as you look like a man of means. Your suit is decent, but it is not individually tailored on closer inspection. So you won't look like some Neauvo rich heir type or however it is spelled, but you will look like you do have money to spend. It's the combination of your features and outfit which makes you look quite dashing. Though what those features are aside from "high society eastern european" is up to individual headcanon.

As for a visual representation, something like this. You can put the sleeves down, drop the vest or tie, wear it all with the suitcoat, and there is an overcoat to match that you stuff all of your "tools" in when you're doing "work".

File: kinda sorta.png (3.26 MB, 1400x1400)

3.26 MB PNG

>>5914670
Fully decked out looks closer to this, if it helps. Pretty much just watch a John Wick movie, kek. You're well dressed and well groomed.

Add another thing to my questionable recent searches.

>>5914643
>>5914655
>>5914665
>>5914670
>Junk seller, I want your strongest junk.
You're going to walk in like you just got paid. Which you technically did.

Confirmed.

Since you guys are also going to genuinely peruse the stuff I would like three sets of 2d100. The first roll is investigating, the second is for finding cool stuff.

I will get started.

Rolled 7, 35 = 42 (2d100)

>>5914690
Big money baby, big money

Rolled 79, 93 = 172 (2d100)

>>5914690
Let's do some browsing.

Rolled 58, 15 = 73 (2d100)

>>5914690
I hope there's no problem if I roll again to at least finish this first roll

You take a deep breath and puff up your chest. All bluster and deep pockets. Then you push the doors open with confidence. Stepping in you notice right away, more junk. Some of it has price tags, others have tags stating they are unavailable or to ask for an appraisal. It's all trash, though. Broken things. Might be useful for parts but they're things that are out of your sphere of expertise. All wires and electronics.

You turn your head and see a man behind the short counter gawking at you. You turn your nose up only a little and approach him. "I am in the market for collector's items. Of various kinds. Car parts, old trophies, game cartridges, jewelry. I was told that these" you pause for a moment and gesture idly "places can be a gold mine. Better than a pawn shop. There is certainly a wide selection here." you settle into an easy smile.

The man fumbles for a minute, face twisting between confusion and distrust, but finally he settles on trying to seal a sale. "Uh yeah, you know pawn shops get some stuff, but it's usually stuff people want to get rid of. We get plenty of stuff from attics and basements that would never see the light of day anywhere else! I know the sign says it's a junkyard, but it's much more than that. Just the other day we got a truckload of stuff from some geezer's house, still had gold on the candle holders. And we don't fleece you like a pawn shop would! Not that you look like that matters, mister." he's got a decent pitch, other than mentioning that someone may have died on some of this garbage.

"Very good! I trust you can lead me to some of these finer pieces?"

"Oh sure, of course. You wanna start outside so we can finish in here where it's warm?"

"That would be perfect."

He leads you outside and begins to advertise bits and bobs. Hood ornaments that he swears are out of production, oven racks that came from some socialite's property, bafflingly a solid marble toilet somehow in one piece and undamaged. He takes you to an old model of car with the only thing missing being the hood. There's a giant penny leaned against the back of the main building. Tons of plain unusual junk. At one point he gestures grandly at a wardrobe with gold handles and pure silver inlaid mirrors, it is empty, but the wardrobe itself is quite fine. If not for the mud it is an inch deep into.

You're only half paying attention of course. Ooh'ing and aah'ing as necessary. You see plenty of places that have a line of sight to the road. And gaps in the fencing and concrete divider partition wide enough for a motorcycle to fit through. On top of some of the cars there are pieces of furniture placed. Pillows, reclining chairs. You glance over toward the sign on a whim and see a sort of gantry on the back, if you laid down you could peek around the sign.

>>5914735
You make sure to nab a few things to keep his game up, a mirror, some soft stones he insists are geodes but you recognize as chalky elements you can work with. Nothing mind blowing. He takes you inside and you can see the tint on the windows are one way. The ceiling, like many buildings such as these is merely a facade with a walkway to get at the guts and wiring of the building above.

He leads you into a side room and you come across a locked box. One you understand is a military crate. With some emblem that is, to you at least, endemic to criminal organizations. He pats it and says it's stuck, even if they get the lock off. Does he not know these are often nailed shut as well? You tell him you'll take it, for the novelty of an un-openable box. He seems to want to shrug but decides against it to instead try and price gouge you. You wave away his price but offer him something still good and he immediately seizes it. He must not sell as much as he buys.

You think you found some interesting tidbits. And something in that box. It is quite heavy, heavier than its wooden structure would suggest. There's certainly something in it. You decide to buy a cart on a string while you're at it. To transport the crate with. Leaving behind a very confused but very happy junk dealer.

You relay the pertinent information to Mr. Han via text message in your van before driving a ways back toward Gotham proper. You pull over to the side of the road and get to work prying the nails loose with your pocket knife and some pliers. When it finally opens you find

>a high powered rifle, with silver trim and elegant etchings. As well as a generous amount of ammunition for it. (you can specify if there's a particular /k/inda gun you want it to be)
>Explosives. High explosives. An entire crate full of them. Even the Triads would struggle to sneak this into Gotham at a reasonable pace.
>Cocaine. A particular blend in fact that most people swear is real but never find. Snow like this is as valuable as it is deadly. It's known to drive imbibers to acts of extreme frenzy if overused. You know you can lift that property with a little experimentation. (gain a recipe for a powerful combat stimulant)

>>5914712
For sure. I think if fifteen or twenty minutes pass and there aren't enough rolls, anyone can roll again if they want to test their luck.

>>5914738
>Cocaine. A particular blend in fact that most people swear is real but never find. Snow like this is as valuable as it is deadly. It's known to drive imbibers to acts of extreme frenzy if overused. You know you can lift that property with a little experimentation. (gain a recipe for a powerful combat stimulant)
If we can get stims exclusive to us, so much the better.

>>5914738
>Cocaine. A particular blend in fact that most people swear is real but never find. Snow like this is as valuable as it is deadly. It's known to drive imbibers to acts of extreme frenzy if overused. You know you can lift that property with a little experimentation. (gain a recipe for a powerful combat stimulant)
Maybe there's enough to make a stimulant and learn how to replicate this blend for later. If this operation is successful and get some extra money we might buy our own house and some quality materials to make it by ourselves.

>>5914738
>>a high powered rifle, with silver trim and elegant etchings. As well as a generous amount of ammunition for it. (you can specify if there's a particular /k/inda gun you want it to be)
If it was explosives or coke, a k-9 unit would have sniffed that shit out immediately. No way it would make it to a scrap yard.
A rifle that "fell off a truck" and got pimped out for a South American drug lord slipping through the cracks is much easier for me to believe.
I think something akin to pic related (Zastava M93) with some new wood furniture and tasteful engravings fits the bill quite nicely.
Mostly because I'm also tired of seeing the Barret M82 as the default .50 BMG rifle in fucking everything.

>>5914738
>>Cocaine. A particular blend in fact that most people swear is real but never find. Snow like this is as valuable as it is deadly. It's known to drive imbibers to acts of extreme frenzy if overused. You know you can lift that property with a little experimentation. (gain a recipe for a powerful combat stimulant)

File: Sniper_Zastava_M93.jpg (441 KB, 1920x1053)

441 KB JPG

>>5914759
Dropped my fucking picture goddamnit

>>5914763
That is a very cool looking gun kek chunky in all the right ways.

File: gettyimages-457240352-204(...).jpg (521 KB, 2048x1430)

521 KB JPG

>>5914768
If there's one thing Slavs still do well, it's design sexy rugged ass guns. If it weren't for political nonsense and the ATF, we'd be able to import the sons of bitches stateside like that.

>>5914748
>>5914752
>>5914759
>>5914760
>Cocainum!
So you found a box of blow. How the fuck did that make it past the border? Some Letter Agency boy is getting fired for this.

Writing.

You blink. This isn't just good stuff. It's exceptional stuff. The sort of thing cartels bump people off just to ship. Ritzy assholes ripping lines off an escort's ass use this. And you just found a crate mostly full of packets? For a moment you're filled with panic and you rifle through the container looking for something that shouldn't be there, a chip, box, pager, anything! But when you find nothing you lay back and slump against the wall of the van. Where the hell did a junkyard get this from? Well, their loss is your gain, you suppose.

You sneeze.

You decide to take a look at it under the scope. It's hard to make out the exact structure in here, you can identify common compounds and likenesses well enough. You figure you'll give it some time and sort it out. By the end of tonight you should have enough time to do something with it and still get a decent night's sleep.

You sneeze.

You manage to synthesize a single hit of a stim that'll rock even your world. If the stories are anything to go by, your sclera paints itself reddish when you get high on this stuff, on account of vastly accelerated blood flow. You get faster, your fast twitch muscles working overdrive and your veins bulging. Not only that but you become just about immune to pain. Purportedly they still feel it, it just pisses them off instead of sending them into shock. And a surprising byproduct of the high allegedly is extraordinarily increased lung efficiency. People who take it just don't need to breathe as much despite the need for more oxygenated blood. It's... something. What should you call this "something"?

You sneeze.

>Bloody Nose
>Red Snow
>Bale-eyes
>write in?