The Package - Open RP (Pace: 1 post / person / day)

((I won't be able to hold a candle to the well done Crimes Against Art, but I have been promising that I would start an open RP for Delinquent. Any are welcome to jump in, and I want to steal the pace of Crimes Against Art to allow people to present the best responses they can. This means each person in the Open RP can post only once for their character every 24 hours <just in case people thought I meant only one post into the thread every 24 hours>. Anything goes, pull the story where we can, I am happy to react to anything that would fit within the canon that is APB.))

A thick rain fell outside creating a blanket of sound that dulled the senses. The grey floor of the warehouse was coated in a thin layer of rain water that seeped through the walls and ceiling. Those that had built the structure had taken this into account as a drain was strategically placed in the center of the floor and a slight and unnoticeable angle was given to the room. It was intended for those that held ownership of the building could wash their equipment inside and under the cover of the roof, but now it served as a way to keep the building free of unwanted leakage as the ceiling and walls had begun to show their age.

The previous owners of the building had used it as a customs office where packages arriving to the harbor of San Paro would be inspected and approved or denied for distribution into the Fifty States. Now the building acted as a garage to the squatter that had taken up residence in the building and had prevented demolition of the property through the use of excessive force. The clank of a wrench striking the floor tore through the noise of the rain and was accompanied by the chirping of a cell phone. A pair of legs protruded from underneath the front end of a Charge Cisco, the torso hidden by the engine of the vehicle. The man beneath the vehicle rummaged through the pockets of his oil stained jeans as he retrieved the cell phone so as to cease the endless ringing.

“Ye’llo?” he spoke in a mildly annoyed tone while he greeted the party on the other end of the line.

The caller began to speak, telling the man about a stash of weapons and cash that were confiscated by the Praetorians recently. The mechanic listened quietly as he stared at the underside of the engine block, his face flat and without emotion as the words flowed through one ear and out the other.

“There is one more thing, Delinquent,” the intensity of the voice grew as the words flowed through the speaker of the cell phone, “They also have taken the one last thing you hold dear into custody. They have Erin…”

Delinquent rolled the creeper out from under the Cisco and stared at the ceiling of the warehouse. Seconds passed as he lingered on the words before he finally responded, “I will need to send the word out to the crew…”

Mornings. She'd always liked mornings, from being cheerful and peppy on the cheerleader squad to now.

She paused, cracked an eye and blearily peered out the window at the sun, more than halfway through it's daily arc. Okay. Maybe she didn't like mornings so much anymore. The ringing of a phone elicited a faint groan, one hand groping blindly at the nightstand and in the process knocking a sidearm on the floor before she grabbed the cell and put it to her ear.

"Mrrph?" she muttered. "Oh hey. Yeah, no I'm just getting up." Her movements shifted a little and with a heavy sigh she suited actions to words, padding around the dingy apartment looking for her clothes. "Uh huh. Yeah... oh, huh. Well, will there be cake? What sort? That sounds pretty good actually.. okay, bye." She flipped the phone closed and set it on the dresser as she finished getting dressed, then frowned, growling in frustration as it started ringing again.

"Hey... oh hey Del. Wha... no, actually, don't need to explain yet. Hell. I just got up and I have a hangover... we meet up somewhere that serves coffee and I'm game for anything. Uh huh... right." She clicked the phone shut and crammed it into a pouch on her hip holster usually used for a spare magazine, then grimaced a little. The automatic got fished out from under the bed and went into the main part of the holster, then the OCA from under the mattress. She pulled the charging handle back and up, glancing at the bolt face through the ejection port before nodding to herself. "Good enough I guess..." she muttered as she slid a fresh magazine into the well and slapped the charging handle off of its locking hook, the bolt slamming closed with a metallic whack. She lowered the OCA to parallel with her thigh, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths before smiling.

"Okay, let's go see what's up."

A overwhelming feeling of compassion disspates in a blink of a eye.

The Disiples of pain and torture are within the stretches of my mind,
And attack at every living thing within my sight.
The Insane mind of mine is a riddle, not a mess.
A composure, not a ink blot.
A mix of happy and sad,
The Masquerade and Super Stardom.
I feel no feelings of feeling, the destroyed come back as the Destoryers.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ricky had just put his suit on, cigar already lit and in mouth, puffing the toxin of smoke out of his crisp, rough nose.

He had been called for a break in contract by a blood rose contact, Byron. Just a quick and clean job, for some unanimous material. He never remembered the last time he knew what he was getting -- he just did it.
He had went to the parking lot to get his car. As he got in and started it up, a enforcer with a machine gun came out from around the corner, aiming it right at him. It was glistening in the sun. Brand new.

"GET OUT, NOW! You are under arrest, Ricky!"

Ricky slowly got out, with his hands up.

"Get down on the ground!"

He went to his knees,and looked around. Just a one second distraction would be enough to be this enforcers demise..

Gravel crunched under the tires of the Charge Cisco as Delinquent pulled the vehicle into the rear parking area of the coffee shop. Reaching forward his pressed the ignition button and brought the roar of the engine to a silent halt. With a thunk he popped the latch free and swung the door open, then slowly he rose from the vehicle and looked around for any others he might know. No one was here that he could tell, the lot was empty of vehicles to include the green Mikro that belonged to the owner of this establishment. Delinquent retrieved his cell phone and wallet from the vehicle and walked to the front of the building aptly named, “Out of the Loop.”

As he rounded the corner to the front side of the shop he looked down at his phone, double checking the text message that he had received from Eleutherophobia the day prior, “New guy coming to town. Name is Ricky, call him up and show him around.”

His mind was heavy from the call he had taken that morning, and Delinquent was agitated from receiving voice mail after voice mail until he had finally managed to reach one of the Rain Dogs, Petra. Her peppy attitude, even in the thralls of the morning, acted like the sting of espresso coursing through the blood stream. Even still, here was an opportunity to bring more blood into Delinquents problem, and if the Pup did not like it then this "Ricky" could answer to Delinquents boot.

His fingers worked over the simulated buttons of the touch screen, the phone vibrating with each button press as it worked to make the user believe that they had touched a real button. Del tapped on the headset in his ear and connected the blue tooth to the call and listened to the ringer.

“Great…” He muttered as he disconnected the call, “Another God damned voice mail…”

An Ice cold drink, and a few guns. For a few minutes Dice was content and quite possibly happy.

The phone on the table began to vibrate. Dice set down the gun he was working on and picked up the phone.

A message from Delinquent: "Shits going down, meet me at the coffee shop asap."

The moment of happiness was over, if Del had a problem then it was serious, only how serious was it?
"Fuck." He got up off the ragged chair and made his way over to his closet, more of an armory then a closet really.

Assault rifles, pistols, submachine and machine guns, grenades, and enough ordnance to blow a hole in the hoover dam.
After some quick consideration Dice pulled out the modified N-Tec, and some concussion grenades, aswell as his ACT .44.

"These will do nicely." Reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his phone he replied to Del's message:
"Pain Train is Oscar Mike." Once the message was sent he walked back to the table and finished his drink, grabbed his keys, and left the apartment.


((Yeah its short, but I'm tired.))

"First I get you coffee, then some other man calls you, and now I have to help you with this. I sure do a lot for you!" I had to chuckle as I walked back into the bedroom. I did love giving Dolly a hard time about being in contact with other men.

Truth be told, I had no problems with Del. Ran with him a few times; he saved my back, I saved his. Hell, the only smudge on our partnership was the time I caught him staring at Dolly's chest. Plus, he's a Dog. I had to help; he would've done the same for any of us.

I pulled the large box out from under the bed, opening it up to reveal my Ntec. Is was worn in a few places, but the old girl sure got me out of hairy situations. Now began the ritual of getting it all ready.

Webbing vest on, ammo and grenades on the vest, pistol (after a show-offy spin in my hand) placed in its holster, and all weapons loaded and ready to go. And finally, I wrapped the Iraqi-looking scarf around my neck; the gift from my brother being the final touch.

"Alright, you ready? I-"

A glint.

A glint hit my eye. Or...at least I thought one did. I turned, looking out the window. Cars, buildings, the occasional drunken homeless person...Nothing out of the ordinary. Oh well.

"...Right, ready?"

Sweat Glistened off Rickys head. This is one of the few situations where he didn't know how to not get out of without getting severly injured, which he preferred not to have.

Ricky said in a very rasp voice, "What do you want, Enforcer? You haven't moved a inch."

The Enforcer looked very stern at him. "I clearly remember the Tigers tellin you to stay out of San Paro, or we would kill you. And your here. So what are you gonna do about it?" *he laughs, and then adds more to his sentence:*

"Just get on the ground. Maybe I'll change my mind."

(If anyone wants to interact with the enforcer, stop/shoot at him whatever, do so.)

Something like a lion or a bear or Godzilla roared around the building. It shook the windows and rattled the walls, and then died all at once, somewhere in the back. Fara rubbed at her eyes and lifted her hat sort of sideways to pull her hair forward underneath it. The whole mess of red and orange spilled, knotted, over part her forehead and draped over the green of her eyes. Her cheeks sat high, peppered with reddish-brown freckles and traces of acne, and pointed to a poor-night’s-sleep frown.

She put her hat back, it being brown and tan, matching her shirt. Both read Espresso Royale, which had been painted onto the front windows of the storefront. Though, the previous tenant’s signage still buzzed atop the building and misled more than a few. Laziness or incompetence from the landlord had kept it that way. She closed her eyes and pushed her Wayfarers up her nose, and the back door opened with a metallic kind of crunching sound. A heavy stomp rippled across the tile.

“Del,” she spoke before seeing, “F’er the last time, I don’ own this place. Y’can’t keep parking back there – we’ll both ger-ren trouble.” Leaning over the counter, she peered through the doorway to the café’s kitchen. The man was nearly twice her size, and would, arguably, meet his end swatting down biplanes from atop a skyscraper. He had been a wrestler, or boxer, or something like that. When they had met, he was wearing a black tee shirt with his own likeness stretched tightly across it, the word “Delinquent” printed above in big, bold letters. She had never found his real name. Maybe, she thought, he had lost it somewhere, and adopted the character and its apparent limitless bravado.

But standing in the kitchen, arms kind of slumped, head aimed toward his shoes, the giant seemed somehow wrong. The girl felt herself pause, legs awkwardly stiff, looking up at the behemoth of a man. “You…okay?”

"Hmmm... keys... keys..." Petra muttered to herself as she walked out of the dive apartment to her parked car, patting herself with the hand not holding the OCA. "Ah, here we go!" She hit the clicker to open the doors, tossing the submachinegun on the passenger seat before going around to get in the driver's side. She fired the engine, slapped the gearshift up and to the left, and simultaneously dumped the clutch and pressed the gas. The bright green and black painted Cisco obliged by chirping all four tires for a moment before leaping into traffic. She squealed in glee as she countersteered, the tires squealing in counterpoint and leaving black stripes on the sidewalk before she moved between a couple other cars.

"Right, now, Espresso Royale..." she thought outloud, pushing the cigarette lighter in and cutting the steering wheel to the right. "I think it's sorta... no, that's not right..." She frowned, the rear tires squealing and the fronts countersteering to hold the car under control, then casually flicking the gear lever up to third before reaching into the center console for a battered pack of cigarettes. She tapped one out and pinched it between her lips, considering.

"This looks sorta familiar," she thought out loud to herself again coming across a parking lot. "Maybe if I just... shit!" she exclaimed, the lighter popping out of the socket and falling in the passenger side footwell. She leaned to the right, across the gearshift, steering with her left hand as she fished around for it. Her search was interrupted by a loud meaty THUD, of the sort a car doing sixty plowing through someone on foot makes. "Oooooops," she giggled, looking over the dashboard again, before finally finding the lighter and straightening up, weaving a little to avoid a minivan pulling out of a parking space and then reentering one of the main roads.

"And... that's better." She applied the glowing coil of the lighter to the end of the cigarette and took a drag, weaving between the rows of traffic as she returned the lighter to the socket. "And... hm." Her right hand came back up, hitting the stalk on the right side of the column. Windshield washer fluid squirted out on the Cisco's windshield, followed shortly by the wipers coming up and cleaning the spray of blood off of the glass. "And better still! Right, so... oh hey, maybe this is it..." she slapped the shifter forwards into third as the brakes clamped the rotors and the Cisco scrubbed speed, before cutting the corner to the right. The car slid neatly between the lightpost and the corner of the building and the girl nodded to herself.

"Okay, I think this is it... maybe a little... no... hmm..." she muttered, taking another drag off of her cigarette and frowning in concentration. "Ah!" She grinned, cutting the wheel to the side and pulling the handbrake, the car starting to spin before sliding sideways into one of the parking spots intended for customers. She nodded in satisfaction to herself, shutting the engine down and clicking the key fob to lock the doors after she got out. "Allrighty... let's see who else is here."

This dumpster was like an all you can eat buffet for the man who only possessed a growling stomach.

A half eaten cheeseburger, some stale potato chips, hell even some leftover chicken breast. Tony tried his best to maintain what was left of his composure as he grabbed all he could of what was still edible with one arm, as the other was holding up the dumpster lid. He was making a pass at a promising chunk of steak when the sudden outburst caused him to react unexpectedly, sending the dumpster lid crashing down upon his back. He thrashed about violently before escaping the dumpster that had tried to consume him, making an awful racket in the process.

Tony had no idea of the man in the suit being arrested a short distance away. He was also oblivious to the fact that the man in the suit's would be captor was distracted by the racket, if only for a second.

Delinquent let his hand go slack at his side, the fingers tracing along the ridged grip of the pistol. He had come to a halt when Eleutherophobia spoke in discovery of the man entering the coffee shop. Lowering his head a moment to gather his senses Delinquent drew in a deep breath and absorbed the sweet smell created from the plethora of coffee blends. His mind lingered on the scent of raspberries which brought forth a flood of memories of his late wife and her preferred perfume. As he stared at the creamed colored linoleum floor Delinquent recalled the silky texture of her dirty blond hair and the mesmerizing depth of her hazel eyes.

“You…okay?” Ele asked with a child like awkwardness as though unsure as to how she should approach the wall of man before her.

The words served another purpose as they brought Delinquent rushing back to the present, the memories returned to the lock box in his mind. Del nodded a response to the question, answering it as general as possible, then dragging a stool out from the bar. The legs scrapped along the floor, making a sound that would rival claws on a chalk board. As he placed himself on the stool the cushion belched out air that had been trapped into the pillowy foam that was designed to provide the user with comfort. For the first time since entering the shop he looked up and met the eyes that stared at him. They were wide with concern, and yet lost with innocence. There was much to learn about Eleutherophobia but this was not the time.

“There is a problem, Ele,” his voice rolled across the room and filled the listeners ears like a percussion instrument beating out a rhythm, “But I would prefer to wait until all of the Pups have arrived before I explain it…”

Del stretched, arching his back and grunting with a pain renewed each morning. Wrestling took its toll on his body, the life of a criminal just reminded him that he was getting to old for this shit. His gaze shifted from the floor the incandescent lighting that lined the ceiling, the plastic coverings filled with the bodies of various insects that had thought they could make it to heaven if they just went toward the light.

“How ‘bout a raspberry latte while we wait?” The request came in conjunction with the entrance of the first of the Rain Dogs to have answered their phone. Delinquent nodded to Petra with a forced smile as confidence began to rise within the old warrior that his troubles would meet their makers soon enough.

I laughed as our car came skidding to a stop, and my back hit against the seat. "Hot damn, I'll never get tired of that."

Taking Doll's hand, I walked into the old coffee shop, calling out as soon as I entered.

"Del? Mate? You here? We're ready to cause some senseless violence on your behalf!"

Ricky busted out laughing. Somebody with a nicely painted Cisco slammed into the enforcer, sending him flying up over the car, and away from the parking lot.

"Well, thats that." He said out loud to himself.

He got back into his Sungnyemun Moirai, the engine already on. He looked down at his phone.
Wonder who called me at such a time.. he thought to himself, as he looked at "Missed phone call."
He checked the number. It wasn't anyone he knew. He got onto the main road, just cruising for a bit, thinking.

Bah, To hell with it,

He dialed in the same number he called with, and awaited someone to awnser, if anyone was going to awnser at all.
He knew all too well of fake phone numbers. He suddenly wished at the moment this was one of them.

Pulling up to the coffee shop in his behemoth of a truck, Dice noticed several cars that he recognized.
"Looks like the party is getting started." He mumbled. Dice shut off the truck and began to climb out, then he realized he almost forgot his sidearm. "Always keep a party favor."

Tucking the ACT .44 into his belt loop he walked inside the coffee shop, and was hit by a wall of aroma and flavor.
A few people turned to see who had joined them. "Del, comrade, is good to see you."

Walking up to the bar he shook Del's hand and gave him a pat on the shoulder. They had been through many tight situations in the short time they'd known each other. Comrade. A term of respect in Dice's language, and Del had earned it many times over.

Pulling out a seat from the bar, he glanced at Ele. "Let me get a coffee, black, and dirty if you can."

The Espresso Royale, Tony thought to himself as he stood across from the old dirty building, quietly observing the sudden influx of patrons in the last few minutes. Perhaps this was one of those places that were like a diamond hidden in the rough, secretly harboring the best damn coffee in town. Tony's face slightly broke into a grimace as his curiosity reached it's peak. Coffee houses usually didn't have much food wise, but he figured if anything he could pocket some old pastries and coffee grounds from the trash to help keep him going.

Tony made his way across the street and around the building, circling it until he found the dumpsters. He was thankful that the dumpster had the strong scent of coffee, rather than the normal vomit inducing scent, as he jumped inside to search for goodies.

She gave a slight nod, moving toward a steel and ceramic piece of machinery before the man finished his request, hand snaking through a regimented line of flavored syrups, clasping around a pinkish bottle of raspberry. Fingers turning red, she pulled a chilled pitcher from the fridge and uncapped a glass jar of milk. She pulled the steam wand from its leisurely sinkwater soak.

Something kind of misty found its way into the tallish room, buzzing from unhidden speakers.

The wand sat diagonal, dipping a foot into the milk, instantly turning the edges to a frothy spring. This passing, she pushed the wand until it clanged gently with the pitcher’s bottom, the milk bubbling carelessly. She drew a smiley-face of raspberry syrup on the bottom of a wide-mouthed white mug and put the pitcher down for a moment, grinding and brewing two shots of espresso.

“…else is here,” came along with the door’s chime, the voice young and quiet, a thought not meant to have reached any ears.

Arm shooting upward, she pulled an elongated spoon from an overhead rack. Wand tossed sinkwardly, she spooned the milk’s frothy skin to the side and poured just a splash of it into the mug, swirling it, letting the milk turn pink. The first shot was fried, and the mixture took on a dark brown at the center, pinkish milk forming a cloudy edge where it had been pushed. More milk seeped in, the drink turning unappetizing beige. Second shot fired, with a small splash more syrup and a flick of the mug.

“Del? Mate?” a man’s yell. He added a breathy grunt, like he was tugging something alongside. “You here? We’re ready to cause some senseless violence on your behalf!”

A splash more milk, there was hardly room left for it. Finally, she pulled the spoon and ladled the foam from its pitcher, spreading the goo across the drink’s top and scraping a second smile across the top with the spoon’s stem.

Another man stood at Del’s side, smiling something toward him. She put the drink down on the counter, catching his attention. “Let me get a coffee, black, and dirty if you can.”

She nodded again, and reached for a dark roast.

Myra taps her cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the table beside her, then takes another slow drag from it. Next to the ashtray is a stack of photos, cut up documents, stamps, bottles of ink, and a stack of fresh security holograms that the Praetorians probably wouldn't notice were missing for another few days. Long enough for her to finish the forgeries and get the place cleaned out before they tracked her back here and raided the joint, anyway. She's just finishing the next flawlessly precise cut when the cell phone an arm's length away starts vibrating, buzzing loudly on the metal table and startling her. Myra looks at it menacingly and takes a deep breath, then looks back at her work - ruined, by the slightest slip of the blade. She'd have to start over.

Dropping the knife and throwing the crumpled up forgery in the trashcan at her feet, Myra reaches over to see what was so damn important to interrupt her work. She reads the text from Delinquent, then quickly stands up and tosses the cigarette in the ash tray. She grabs the Obeya FBW off the table and holsters it, pockets the cell phone, and grabs her keys. She flicks the lights off in the darkened room as she heads out, then thinks twice about it and doubles back for a moment. Hanging along one wall is a row of drying counterfeit bills, some of her more recent work. She grabs one and holds it up to the light, comparing it with another, legitimate note nearby. "Damn I'm good." Myra mumbles to herself as she grabs about two dozen more of the counterfeits off their rack, folds them, puts them in her back pocket, and heads out the door for good this time.

Her Bishada roars out onto the street, tires screeching as she accelerates past the busy traffic down the center of both lanes. Myra didn't know what Del needed help with, but he'd probably saved her life that first time they'd met in the parking garage, so she owed him for that. And she wasn't one to forget a favor. Still, being around him sort of bugged Myra. That first time they met had been kind of weird, like Delinquent had mistaken her for somebody else... though she could never figure out if that was just the bottle of painkillers in her system talking at the time. Still, Myra couldn't help but wonder who Del thought he was talking to whenever they met face to face.

The black-red and blood-red stripe-marked Bishada pulls into the parking lot of the coffee shop, coming to a stop in a space near the entrance. Myra steps out, checking her watch - the message had come a little while ago, but she managed to make it here pretty quick. She recognized a few other cars in the lot already though, and couldn't help but wonder if she was late to the party. Hurrying through the door, she sees the crew starting to gather around each other. She nods to Del and heads over to the counter to get something to drink before joining the others. "Just give me something strong that'll wake me up. Was a long night." She retrieves one of the crisp, new bills from her pocket to pay for it.

Petra nodded to Del and Dice as she wandered up to the counter, smiling a bit to Ele. "Hi... ah, could I get a double espresso, if it's not too much trouble?" She pulled out a small wad of paper money, tapping the rolled end against one hand and looking back over to Del, an eyebrow raised curiously.

"So... what're we breaking?" she asked, almost jokingly, a hint of a smile across her lips.

They had come, and their presence filled Delinquent with a confidence that he had not had in sometime. He swept his eyes across the room and took in the sea of color before him. The Rain Dogs were a very eclectic mix of backgrounds, race, and talents. The gene pool had been kind to them all and they worked hard to repay their makers for the gifts given to them. Delinquent was proud to be among them, proud to be a leader of them, proud to be honored by Eleutherophobia to be placed in that position. With a rare smile the man gripped the cup that held the freshly made drink and took a slow sip of as the door chimed once more.

His tired eyes looked over the lip of the cup as Myra walked into the Espresso Royal. She greeted him with a nod, a gesture simple enough but one that had him mesmerized all the same. There was something about Myra that grabbed his attention and held it in a vice grip. She reminded Delinquent of what he had taken from this world and it filled him with sadness. Myra’s face was a near spitting image of his late wife, Jennifer, and each time he saw her it was inevitable that the memories would break through the blockade that Delinquent had put up to keep them at bay. Delinquent sat tranquil as he watched her cross the room, the cup never moving, his eyes never wavering…

"So... what're we breaking?" the words jolted the man back into the world that was around him.

Delinquent stood from the stool and set the now half empty cup onto the counter top. Delinquent rubbed his hands, warm from the hot drink, and cleared his throat. It was now or never, either test their faith or tempt their desire to destroy, either way it would work out in the end.

“I will start from the beginning then,” Delinquent's voice boomed across the coffee shop and commanded attention from all in the room, “A man called me this morning. This man is known to you all, some have worked for him, and some aspire to be in his good graces that he will trust you with such duties. His name is Michael Simone and he has a problem that is hurting business.

This problem, however, is not my concern. Yes, Michael might be upset that he has lost the potential of millions that he could make from selling illegal firearms and distributing drugs on the streets. I can understand that concern, but it does not have any impact on me.” Delinquent moved to the window and peered through the blinds at the dingy street outside made darker from the unfinished overpass that was partially built over top the small shop, “My problem is that it seems that family somehow got involved.”

A brief glint of light caught Delinquent's eye from the top of a scaffold that stretched high above the streets. He scanned the area, wondering if it was just coincidence or if they were being watched. The light did not reappear and Del quickly dismissed it, returning to the tale, “Many of you in this room do not know much about my history. I was once a wrestler, a middle man on the totem pole of popularity working hard for Vince McMahon and the WWE. I fell in with the wrong crowd, became addicted to drugs of all kinds, and one day I accidentally killed my wife while in the midst of a drug induced rage. A mistake I will live with for the rest of my life and one that, even to this day, I am being pursued for.”

The memories tried to push past the barricade once again forcing him to pause as he fought them back. Clenching his eyes closed a single salty tear raced down his cheek and fell to the floor. With a shuddering breath the man was able to regain his focus and return to the tale.

“My wife and I had a child, a daughter, named Erin. By now she would be about twenty years old, though I have not seen her since she was fifteen, shortly before I laid her mother to rest. Michael told me that the enforcers took her into custody when they had taken hold of his belongings and that is why he called me directly. I don't know how she was involved, and I know nothing of the enforcers that took her. Michael stated that they use guerilla tactics and that they do not place criminals into the penal system, electing to torture, rape, and kill the criminals they detain. If Erin has been captured by them then she may not have long to live…”

I slung the Ntec into my arms. That was all I needed to hear. Hell, I didn't even mind that Dolly hugged him. God knows he needed it. So I looked over to him, trying to give him a comforting nod.

"We'll get her back, Del. You can be sure of that."

Dice listened intently to Del as he explained his situation.

Finishing his drink in a few gulps he slammed his cup down on the bar and turned to Delinquent.
"Enforcers...they speak of justice...we will show them, the justice of the grave."
Yellow eyes stared at Delinquent through arctic white hair. He reached up and grasped the dog tags around his neck.

Eyes shifted down towards the dogtags, he sighed and released them, then looked back at Del. "I know much of what its like to lose someone, we shall not let the same happen to you, comrade."

Vengeance. The scent of blood was in the air, and Dice was ready to poor hot lead into the first thing to get in his way.

Ricky heard the last bit, entering the coffee shop. He didn't realize this wasn't just any coffee shop when he saw all the weapons.

He looked directly at Delinquent, as if he reconized him.

Then, he said, a bit aloud, "I hope i'm not a lone wolf among badges?"