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

He reached into the trunk of the Cisco and grabbed the steel grey uniform shirt. He wrapped the cotton blend around his broad, naked shoulders and flipped the collar down. The back of the shirt read N-Tec Repair, and was similar to the service uniforms worn by the men that serviced military and enforcer armories and the weapons held within. Rain drops began to fall and splashed noisily off the car as Delinquent carefully placed a matching hat on his head.

The phone in his pocket rang with a load and annoying chirping sound that drew his attention. Delinquent pulled the phone out and peered at the name that appeared on the ID. With a sigh the wrestler popped open the driver side door and sat heavily into the seat. He stared at the phone a moment longer before finally answering the call.

“Morning, Ele…”

She glanced at the boxy, digital amber numbering tuck into the car’s cartoon-big speedometer. “It isn’t even midnight, Del.” The car was cold and dead, stale air refusing to budge. “Look,” she bit at her lip, feeling bruised cracks. “Listen,” words danced stupidly and stepped on each other’s toes. “Look, this…this isn’t okay.”

A train went east, overhead, and drowned everything out for a moment.

“I mean, jee-zus. Maybe th’rest are somehow y’er friends, or just starstruck, or even intimidated. But,” her hands were shaking, “but this isn’t how it whur-cks.” She paused on a breath to keep her voice from breaking. “It’s too much noise…noise from one source. Yeah?” For a moment, she reminded herself of Alice. “There’s no army at your disposal. There’s…there’s no group here.”

Lightning cracked the sky. “If th’police get some ties between anybody from this…this parade. Everything was f’er shit, and I end up back north. And…and Ed won’t be around, either. And it’ll just be done.”

The rain started again. “Don’t make this worse.” She hung up, not having let in a single word. Naiveté embraced her momentarily, and she thought that maybe everything would work out. The Seattle Children’s Home button on her backpack stared back innocently, and disagreed.

It was late. Probably 11:30. Rain was letting up. Long day. I had been up since 5, work at 8. My phone had been lighting up like a Christmas tree all morning. But at the time, I couldn’t be bothered. Moving furniture all day would put anyone in a funk. Not to mention that all my overtime today technically wasn’t mine.

But now it was the perfect time of day. Dark mixed with an eerie kind of quiet, especially for San Paro. But why question a good thing? Sitting in the bed of my truck, I sat by myself. Tranquil and empty. The jib burned my fingertips. I didn’t even get to flick the roach before my phone buzzed again. My stomach knotted as the caller ID flickered the name “BB”. Might as well get this over with.

Britney.

A sultry, yet piercing voice drilled into my head.

ASSHOLE! I called you six times today. Why the hell didn’t you pick up your phone?

Because you’re a clingy, obnoxious, spoiled bitch with an abrasive personality?

Go fuck yourself, Mota. This is a business call.

Is that right? See I figyahed it’s late and you’re probably trashed and looking for someone else to dick around.

Oh I can’t slip one past you, Em. You caught me. It’s your own fault, though. You’re just too easy to dick around.

Eat shit. What do you want?

I leaned back in the truck bed, staring at dingy alley wall on my right. This little pain in my side told me I was in for a long conversation.

I just got off the phone with Michael. He needs some guys to go out and make some big noise. And I thought to myself, where can I find an expendable, low-brow thug to go play fodder for a Forcer gun? Naturally, I thought of you, love.

I hated this part. And I hated Britney AKA the third biggest mistake of my life (the second was coming here, the first is none of your business). She offered help and some insider info on San Paro. In return, I had to be her love grunt; bending to her every whim, whatever and whenever. She had my balls in a vice grip, which she could turn into a reality if she felt like it. I know how to pick em. I'm actually a little ashamed of myself.Personally, I blame my dad for teaching me about chivalry.

Are you even listening to me?

For once, yeah. And no thanks. You honestly believe I have nothing betteh to do with my night then go throw rocks at a Forsah’s nest? What ah you, high?

Don’t forget who the fuck you’re talking to, Mota Boy. Don’t ever forget that you’re just a boy in this world. Now, be a good boy and turn on your police scanner. Do as your told and call me later. Oh and by the-

I hung up. Another minute of that and I bet my brain would have killed itself. Huh. I had a text from this guy Delinquent. Never met him, but apparently he’s a good ally. Or the other phrase I kept hearing, “you don’t want him as an enemy.”

“Shits going down, meet me at the coffee shop asap”

Not much to go on. Delinquent and I shared a common name in the Rain Dogs, but that’s about it. Not enough to scoff at the opportunity to get Britney Bitchrose’s fangs out of neck. And that text was sent about 12 hours ago, he‘s fine. Damn, my police scanner is off. I opened the driver’s side door, lighting a butt with the other hand. The police scanner was my other favorite way of killing time. Never a dull night around here. Also good for bench warrants. I turned the knob till I felt a click. The scanner buzzed static before the fuzz cleared.

". . .enforcers be on the lookout for several armored trucks last seen on the corner of Pacific Coast Highway and 7th Street, firefight in progress. I repeat, this is an all-points bulletin. . ."

My tranquil and empty feeling was replaced by adrenaline and nausea. This was stupid if not suicidal. I strapped my Kevlar over my Bird jersey. The vest was battered and borderline broken. The once green paint was faded and chipped. The front barely made out “Diligo non proditio.” This piece of junk has done more good for me than a gun ever would. Finishing with the straps, I grabbed a bandana. A piece of cloth with a green tribal print. It was cool, cheap, and I can tie it around my face when I do stupid shit like this. And of course, custom safety goggles. An old friend once told me that the eyes were the gateway to the soul. I figure, your soul is probably a dead give away, so why let people see it? Plus, who likes getting crap in their eyes?

I live next to the Pacific Coast Highway. So 7th street is about four blocks from here. I can make that in a minute. Firing up my Patriot, I ripped to reverse and peeled off down the street. I enjoy night driving. Forcers will bug you about speed limits during the day to shut the soccer moms up. At night, they don’t care about speed limits. They’ll just stop you for some other nonsense.

The scene was ugly when I showed up. Lots of Forcers, dead and alive. A couple of charred car bodies. Two armored vehicles blocked the road. I hopped out of the truck, pulling my shotgun out of the backseat. The shotgun, which I affectionately call the “Hurt Stick,” is much like my Kevlar. It too, is very scuffed up, slightly mangled, and not worth it’s weight in scrap. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I peered out from the left armored truck, feeling like every bullet is about to come right at me. I could see a girl with jet black hair. She was pinned down. Something inside of me wouldn’t let me abandon her….damn it. Cocking the shotty, I made my move.

But they killed her. My arms and legs went numb as I watched her take three to the chest. Instinct made me dive behind that wall, narrowly avoiding the incoming fire. But my brain stopped. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen.

They killed her.

Delinquent let the phone drop onto the cushion of the passenger seat with a faded thump. He placed his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes staring down the wet and dirty side street. The words kept bouncing around in his head, “Don’t make this worse.”

That spineless twat! Supposedly the leader of the Rain Dogs, but one that wanted to live a clean life running a coffee shop and staying out of harms way. How were you supposed to be a criminal when you stood behind a counter with a false smile and a latte in hand? Delinquent tightened his grip and looked down to the pistol strapped to his right thigh. The weapon was a custom made toy, honestly. No more useful in a fight than a piece of paper, but he kept it around for reasons he could not remember. The pistol made a soft dragging noise as Del pulled it free from the holster. The gold plated exterior reflected the light that poked through the rain clouds above and lit up Delinquents face and highlighted the tears that streamed down his cheeks.

Del slid back the top of the weapon, peering inside the chamber. A single round was loaded in the weapon. The round held more meaning than the weapon that held it. This was to be Del’s way out, the last hurrah as he would seek to rejoin his beloved wife in the afterlife. A long moment passed as Del contemplated bringing that end now, bringing freedom and release to a life that has been filled with pain and torment. His daughter was an enforcer now, his wife was dead, and by now Myra had been captured by the enforcers thanks to orders handed out by Delinquent. There was nothing but death and sadness in this city.

The vehicle in his rear view mirror shouted its counter argument. It belonged to another of the Rain Dogs, a man named Ian who was in love with a woman named Dolly. The fools managed to find each other in this hell and planned on marrying and living a long and fulfilling life. They relied on Delinquent, not just as a leader amongst the Dogs, but as a father figure. Just the other day the fools asked him to lead Dolly down the aisle at their wedding.

As the Cisco sped off into the rain soaked night the pistol and it’s holster splashed heavily into the street. The single bullet rolled along the street and was swept up into the current of rain water flowing toward a storm drain. The bullet disappeared from the known world that night and Delinquent lingered on a single thought. There was life and happiness in this city.

For a few moments, nothing.
Myra lay huddled in a puddle, the rain washing over her, one hand supporting her weight and the other weakly held against her chest where the burst had hit her. Then, the blackness of her slowly approaching unconsciousness was torn away from her eyes like a blindfold as she was finally able to inhale sharply and fill her lungs with air once more.

"Vest!" shouts somebody who Myra was suddenly aware was standing right behind her. Looking up, through her hazy but returning vision, she could see the drivers of the trucks had been either shot or cuffed and that the firefight had ended during her senses' brief departure from reality. Myra feels the hot muzzle of a recently fired automatic weapon now being pressed against the back of her head, a brief sizzling sound as it meets her wet hair. Taking another quick few breaths, she slowly raises her hands and places them on top of her head. "I surrender..." she manages to mumble out.

"Well gee, ain't that a disappointment. I was hoping to see your brains scattered all over the pavement like you kindly did to my friend. You're just lucky that you're worth far more alive." Myra feels the pressure of the gun's barrel removed from the back of her head, but it is then quickly replaced by the butt of the gun slamming down hard near the base of her neck, the force of the hit and her already unbalanced position sending her headfirst into the pavement. "Course, 'alive' don't mean unharmed..." She watches as a trickle of blood from her now-split-lip flows into the puddle her face is laying in, dancing around with the moving water and making colorful red ripples whenever a new raindrop hits. Meanwhile the man behind her forcefully grabs her by the wrists and twists her arms down to the small of her back, then roughly smashes a pair of handcuffs on her far too tightly. She stays perfectly still as he runs his hands along her looking for other items on her person - taking considerable interest in feeling around a few particular places - and finds the Obeya FBW holstered on her back. Pulling it free and tucking it into the front of his belt, the enforcer grabs her by the shoulder and pulls Myra to her feet.

She steals a glance up to the top of the tower where Jekyll was supposed to be perched, but doesn't see anything. Hopefully that meant he was on his way back down to his car to follow them and not that the enforcers had found his hiding spot during her blackout and were after him. Looking around as the enforcer shoved her towards the armored truck they had come in, Myra tries counting how many are left to see if she could figure it out but quickly decides it's a futile effort, what with her head swimming once again from the fresh blow. Last one into the truck, she's forced down onto a bench between the two other prisoners - the nameless drivers Simeone had sent - and the enforcer pulls the heavy door shut behind her and latches it, then sits down across from her with the handful of other survivors.

"Oh, the things we're going to do with you three... you're in for an unpleasant night, I assure you." says one, grinning.
"Mmm, especially you, darling." says another, placing his fingers under Myra's chin and gently lifting her head up. She smiles sardonically at him in return and then spits blood in his face. The enforcer laughs as he wipes it off with his sleeve.
The one nearest to the cab of the truck bangs twice on the wall to signal the driver, and Myra feels a lurch as the truck starts moving forward, with any luck taking them all back to the hideout. But already, her hands are working in secret behind her back. She eases the gloves down until the padded ends slip free of the tight handcuffs, making them considerably looser. Then, with her fingernails, she starts carefully working at cutting through the thick, tapered, transparent silicone wrist bands she had on underneath to supply even more removeable padding between her actual wrists and the cuffs. After tearing them free she slips them behind the cushion of the bench when she's done, out of sight, and then eases the handcuffs forward to test how much wiggle room she had now - it was enough.

Sliding the gloves back on all the way to maintain appearances, all she had to do now was wait for the right opportunity.

Jekyll saw the enforcers moving in on Myra. He picked up his rifle and got the hell off the roof of the building. A slight drizzle began to fall. He took the rifle apart piece by piece and sealed it in the case. Satisfied he pulled out his phone and dialed Del's number. "They have Myra and the two drivers, the rest of the goons are dead. GPS beacon is active. Waiting on your call." He didn't wait for Del's response before ending the call and making his way down a flight of stairs. By the time he reached the set of front doors the rain was coming down hard.

A thought occurred, and Jekyll actually grinned. Withdrawing his phone once more he dialed a number, the phone rang three times then was answered. "Jyrki, I need a favor. You will be compensated. Right, I need several blocks of plastic explosive and dets. Flashbangs if you have them. Yeah? I'll pick them up."

Ending the call he grinned again and thought of the surprise he had in mind for these enforcers.

The phone was lively today, Delinquent thought as he answered the call.

"They have Myra and the two drivers, the rest of the goons are dead. GPS beacon is active. Waiting on your call."

Dice disconnected the call before Del could respond though it did not matter. With Myra in custody the plan was beginning to move along. There was little to do until the woman was in place, and then they would follow the GPS beacon straight to her. Hopefully Myra would be able to get the information needed about Erin and her location as that would be the hardest part of this operation.

Delinquent dropped down to third and dragged the wheel hard to the right, rocketing up the small ramp and sliding the car to a stop inside the car park of the ferry that had been docked in San Paro harbor since he had arrived in the city. It was here that he stored his Patriot Vegas, the colors screaming out to any on lookers that Del was on the streets. Del lifted the trunk lid and stood a moment with a crooked grin as he looked at the contents of the trunk with pleasure.