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Post by Lunapocalypse on Mar 18, 2010 5:29:02 GMT -5
The Gun store is THE place to shop in Vegas for any and all weaponry. Seven levels of armed weapons all available for your maniacal pleasures.
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Post by Mikey on Jun 17, 2010 13:21:28 GMT -5
Mike Franks, fresh off his plane ride strolled down the street of Las Vegas, a cigarette in his hand. Same ol, same ol. Except he had gone from being on the hunt to being on the lamb. Petty assassination attempt in Raccoon City, and then nothing. That made him nervous. Were they planning something bigger? Or did they just get tired of him. No, probably not. They were still after him, and he had to keep things on his terms. God knew he couldn’t win out against a strike team of men. He had to be smarter. And if it came down to it, he had to be armed better than they expected him to be. He couldn’t be armed better than them, that was pretty impossible.
He tossed the cigarette on the ground and looked at the building he stopped in front of. A gun shop, a f**king huge one at that. He didn’t doubt they’d have some goodies there. A gun shop… good old staples of American society. The one place that didn’t get robbed, the one place that you could trust to run to in a world like this. He opened the door and looked around, seeing a few customers. They looked over at him with disinterest before going back to the items they were really interested in. Mike walked up to a shop keep behind a counter and put his hands on the glass. He informed the clerk that he had a pistol he was interested in selling at the back of his waist. The clerk nodded and watched him carefully, his hand drifting to beneath the counter as Mike reached behind his back slowly. He pulled out his Glock 19 and dropped the magazine into his hand. He ejected the round from the chamber, set everything on the counter before he pulled out the two spare magazines for the weapon.
“How much can you give me for it?” He asked. The clerk looked it over for a moment and set it back on the table.
“150.”
“Horses***.” Mike said almost immediately. “These things go for 400 used.”
“I need to make a profit.”
“I understand that, but 250 is a bit much for a profit margin. Gimme 300.” He said.
“200.”
“300.” Mike said again, his stare the same.
“250.” The shop keep said.
“Well, if your gonna be trying to f**k me over like this, I’m sure someone else with want my business.” He said, picking up the pistol and starting to put it back into his holster.
“All right, all right, 300 bucks.” The man said, defeated.
“Good choice. You’ll make some of it back.” Mike said. He looked around at some of the display cases as the owner started to take the pistol and count out some money. “Gimme one of those, the Glock lights with the sight.” He said. The clerk looked to where he was pointing, a combination laser aiming module and tactical light. The clerk placed it on the counter. “One of those grip lasers too.” He said, pointing at a laser aimer that attached to the grip of a pistol. He looked around again, eyed a rack of pistols. Namely the Glock section.
“You got an 18 in there?” He asked.
“Yep. Third generation, compensator cut. Even got a laser sight in the guide rod. Got a load of mags too.”
“Haul it out, five magazines.” Mike said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. The clerk collected everything and Mike looked at the whole package. One pistol, five magazines, two sights, and enough rounds to fill the new magazines. “How much?” Mike asked.
“Well, seeing as I like your style, I’ll let the whole package go for a grand.” He said. Mike knew he was only knocking something like nine dollars off the price, but it wasn’t a bad deal. What you’d expect to pay from any retail dealer. He pulled out his wallet, counting out seven hundred dollars.
“Looks like you came out on top after all.” Mike said, the clerk smirking. “Got some tools I can use?” He asked. The man nodded, showing him over to a table with a load of tools on it. Mike used a small screw driver to attached the sights to his Glock 34 and 26, and used a feeder to put the rounds into the high capacity magazines. He put the weapons back, pleased to see his holsters would still accept the weapons, and readjusted his back holster for the weapon with the protruding magazine. He tucked the other four magazines he had just bought into the mag pouches at the back of his belt and put his jacket back on.
“Pleasure.” Mike said, extending his hand. The clerk too it and they shook hands, Mike turning to leave the store.
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Post by .Merios on Jun 17, 2010 14:54:31 GMT -5
Cameron spit out a mouth full of blood onto the cold concrete floor moments after a large fist pummeled into his right side of his jaw. He was in a dark room, there was a single overhead light which added a sickly yellow glow to the dark, dank atmosphere. He was shirtless and bound to a single chair in the center of the room, underneath the light. His briefcase and weapons as well as his clothing were in a pile in the corner of the room, haphazardly tossed aside. There were countless bruises across his torso and a mass of dark, crimson gashes along his face. His right eyebrow had been split open, his lip was bleeding and swollen and his left cheekbone was raw and red. His boots were still on, but his legs were tied down to the chair legs by a horizontal knot.
"Ha.."Cameron said, letting out a hard cough and drawing in ragged breaths, "You're balls-up mate.. I'll let 'ya leave if you just walk away now."
The man standing over him was a large, burly beast. He had a hard-lined face and a stout forehead- Italian. He stepped towards Cameron, rearing back for another swing at his head with his right fist. At his hand got closer, Cameron decided to make his move. He leaned in to the punch, leaning his chair forward so the man's fist connected with the top of his skull. The Irish fellow roared back in pain, gripping his right hand with his left and he stumbled back a step and dropped to a knee. Bingo.
Cameron twisted his left foot slightly to release the spring to let a blade sling out through the tip of his boot, slicing through the rope with ease and letting the rope that was holding his other foot slack. Using this momentum of falling forward, he planted his free left foot on the ground and spun in place counter-clockwise, smacking the man's torso on his left side with the chair, knocking him and Cameron both to the ground, breaking the back of the chair, letting loose the lower half. He now stood, the rope and the back of the chair sliding off his arms and clattering to the floor.
The man was still on the ground and was starting to get up. He quickly withdrew the blade in his boot and spun in place, throwing out a round-house kick to the man's skull. The Irish thug ducked and rushed forward, tackling a very surprised Cameron to the floor hard, knocking the wind out of his lungs. The brute had Cameron on his back and was straddling him as he reared his left fist back for a straight punch downward. Cameron quickly slid his head out of the way as the man's fist connected with the concrete with a sickening crunch. The man grunted in pain as he pulled his broken fist back to his body. Cameron used the opportunity and wiggled free backwards and stood up, making a run to his pile of items on the floor.
He knew the man was close behind him, so he quickly stopped at his pile and reached down and grabbed the closest thing- his briefcase. He spun in place, grabbing the steel briefcase with both hands and whirling it around, connecting with the man's head with a loud clang. The man stumbled back and to the left a few paces, dazed. Cameron quickly turned around and searched his pile until he found his Baby Eagle, tucked away within the folds of his shirt. It was missing it's magazine, but he made sure to drop the briefcase and grab it with his right hand and spin around. The burly Irish man was looking right at him, his hands stilled balled into fists and his right eye socket caved in slightly, blood staining his right cheek.
Cameron quickly lifted the small pistol and lifted the sights directly at the man, his index finger moving to the trigger. The man grinned and spoke in a thick Irish accent, "Stupid Brit." The man rushed towards Cameron, and he quickly pulled the trigger, sending a .380 round smashing into the man's nasal cavity. Without another movement, the man's body collapsed forwards in a heap, blood soaking the concrete beneath his head. Cameron opened his mouth and started to say a sarcastic remark to the dead man but was cut short as the door swung open, a skinny looking man stumbled in, his hands gripping an MP5. He looked to the Irish man and Cameron quickly made a dive for his pile of weaponry just as the man began spraying wildly with his gun.
Cameron's fingers finally found his Px4 and noticed the magazine was missing. He quickly rolled on his back and lifted it with both hands at the newcomer, sliding his thumb up and switching off the safety and moving his index finger to the trigger and squeezing it, hoping that the Irish bloke forgot the round in the chamber. To his relief, he had. The round tore through the man's chest, making him spray wildly with the gun before dropping it and clutching his torso. He was still alive, but bleeding profusely. With a sigh of relief, Cameron moved to a sitting position, calmly pulling his pile over to him and sliding his feet out in front of him in a V position, putting his pile in between his legs. The man stared at Cameron, a pleading look in his eyes and fear overwhelming his face.
Cameron started casually sliding on his clothing- his undershirt first, then his long sleeved as the injured thug looked on, unable to speak. He slid his shoulder harness over his torso and attached the holster for his Px4 near his left armpit and he slipped the pistol within. A moment later, he attached the Micro-Eagle's holster onto the back of of his belt and slipped the gun in, fastening it's velcro strap. Just as Cameron stood up and slid his jacket on over his body and began to fasten his tie, the injured man slumped over and was still, his eyes looking off in the distance, his body still. Cameron finished his tie and grabbed his briefcase, pulling on it's handle with both hands and extending the handle into a strap which he slung over his torso and let it rest on his back.
He stepped over to the man's body and reached down, grasping his MP5 and stepping out of the room, checking the remaining rounds in the magazine- 12 and 1 in the chamber. He held it in his right hand as he made his way out of the concrete room and into a single hallway with a thick wooden door leading out- soundproof. There was another metal door to his right and another to his left. He moved to the wooden door and opened it slightly, peering through- it was a restaurant and it was bustling with customers. He chuckled a bit and dropped the sub-machine gun and kicked it back a few feet with his left foot and opened the door, stepping out. As he exited, he got a few stares as he stepped out of the door and closed it behind him. He was near the exit, between the men's restroom and the women's.
He casually walked to the exit and stepped out into the fresh air of the Vegas strip, a rather small pawn shop/gun store was directly across from him with a man walking out. Odd as it was, he felt even more exposed than he was in that cold, darkened room. He wasn't sure who his captors were or why they took him, but it was Vegas- he let it go. To any onlookers, Cameron's suave suit and tie clashed with his beaten and bloodied face and dirty boots- he looked over dressed and under dressed at the same time.
(Entrance posts are much, much longer than my actual posts, sorry about that.)
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Post by Mikey on Jun 19, 2010 18:22:20 GMT -5
(Same here, usually.)
Mike stopped just a few steps away from the door to the gun shop to pull out a cigarette and his Zippo, looking up by chance to see a man walking out of a restaurant across the street. A man who looked like he had been beaten to within and inch of his life. He considered going and helping the guy out, until he realized he knew the man. Knew him from where? Dammit… He knew he knew the guy from somewhere, but that didn’t help. He knew so damn many people, one face was almost impossible to remember.
He walked over, still trying to remember the man.
“Hey buddy, you need some help?” He asked. Guy didn’t look to be doing too bad, as beat up as he was.
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Post by .Merios on Jun 20, 2010 1:49:27 GMT -5
Cameron looked around, digging his right hand into his right shirt pocket and fishing out a silver-and-black watch. He fastened it around his left wrist, pressing a small button on the side as a small whirring sound emitted from it. The clock hands spun around the face until synchronized to the correct time. His eyes rested on a man who was approaching him- he had a cigarette in his mouth and looked like he belonged in Vegas.
Starting to move his right hand inside his jacket, the man spoke. Cameron's hand was wrapped around the grip of his Px4 before he heard the man speak, which then he unclasped his fingers and pulled out a cigarette case- red. He held it in his hands and opened it, pulling out a self-rolled cigarette.
"Hey buddy, you need some help?"
Cameron listened and moved the cigarette to his mouth, placing it in between his lips.
"I could use a light," he said, glancing about as the hustle and bustle of the night began to start.
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Post by Mikey on Jun 20, 2010 19:20:54 GMT -5
Mike watched the man stick his hand into his jacket, knowing the motion well. He’d done it more times in his life than he could remember, he knew the man was reaching the a weapon. He put the cigarette in his mouth and grabbed it with his left hand, leaving his right arm limp. Ready to grab the mans hand to slow the weapon draw down, jam the lit cigarette in his eye or equally damaging area, and pull his own Glock; he was surprised when the man pulled out a cigarette of his own.
“I could use a light.” The man said, a British or at least European accent in his voice. Mike knew that voice…
“Ya… Sure.” He said, his mind busy trying to remember as he absently pulled out his Zippo. He lit it and held it out for the man, eyeing him for a moment.
“You got a name?” He asked the familiar stranger.
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Post by .Merios on Jun 20, 2010 20:48:26 GMT -5
Cameron bent forward, slipping the case back into his inside jacket pocket with his right hand and leaning the tip of his cigarette into the flame. He held it for a moment before he took a drag, pulling away and taking it from his lips with his now free right hand, holding it between his index and middle finger. He exhaled slowly, watching the man, scanning his face for any clues. Oddly enough, the stranger wasn't giving off any signs or almost no markers to discern any sort of emotion. He smirked, blowing that last bit of smoke out of his nose before he spoke in his deep, British accent.
"Joshua," he said, the words rolling out of his mouth as smoothly as molasses.
He moved the cigarette to his lips and took another drag, sticking his left hand in his pants pocket and grabbing the cigarette with his other, exhaling slowly through his nose, letting the smoke roll up his forehead and dissipate above his head.
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Post by Mikey on Jun 21, 2010 15:08:56 GMT -5
Mike looked at the man closer, Joshua… No, he wasn’t a Joshua. A ‘C’ name, that’s what rung a bell. The slight British twang in the few words the man spoke dug at him like a knife. And then it hit him like a truck. MI6, the operation they had fought the CIA over years ago, how Mike won out on by being a total dick. How he’d beat a relatively new agent named Cameron.
“Joshua, huh?” He said, the look now of recognition. The guyed gotten a bit older. Not much, but it had been years. Mike couldn’t even remember how long. His long career was classified by cases, not years. Some lasting months, some years.
“That the best you could come up with, Cam?” He said. He let his gaze fall to Cameron’s left hand, in his pocket. “You still sore about that arms dealer, or just playing with yourself?” Mike said, hooking his thumb into his belt, ready to whip back and yank the Glock 34 out of its holster if Cameron tried something of his own.
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Post by .Merios on Jun 21, 2010 16:23:03 GMT -5
Cameron smirked when the man made him. He slowly pulled his left hand out of his pocket, a single shell casing of a 5.56mm round in between his index finger and thumb. He looked at it a few times, rolling it over his finger.
"Heh, tell that to the bloody MI6, I told them I don't look like a Joshua."
He lifted the casing with his left hand and gripped it in a fist.
"Ya know, I was still there," he said, tossing the casing to the man.
His eyes looked over the man, finally noticing a few tell-tale signs that he wasn't as harmless as his older exterior looked- a slight bulge on his side where his pistol was kept, the man's right foot sliding backwards into a pre-stance and the way the man's eyes looked everywhere except the eyes.
"Can't remember your name though, mate."
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Post by Mikey on Jun 22, 2010 5:10:05 GMT -5
“Mike Franks. Still where?” Mike said. He eased up his hand from his side when Cameron took the casing out of his pocket. Least he wasn’t reaching for a pocket pistol. He had to have some sort of spy crap on him. His watch, hidden knife in his belt buckle, hidden baseball bat stuck up his ass. Something like that. Mike didn’t have anything that advanced, he just knew what to look for. He knew all of those spy toys. At least ones in use six years ago.
He took a look at the 5.56 casing and looked up at Cameron.
“What’s this?” He asked, taking another drag off his cigarette.
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Post by .Merios on Jun 22, 2010 13:17:57 GMT -5
Cameron smirked.
"When the CIA pulled you out, I was sent in to make sure some shipments went to the proper place."
The casing he had tossed to Mike was marked, it was of the same manufacturer that his mission had centered around all those years ago. It was proof he was there, albeit slightly more vague than he would have liked. He took one last drag off his cigarette and lifted his boot up, grinding the tip of the cigarette on the side of the footwear, putting it out with a small plume of smoke. He felt he could talk about these things openly, seeing as it was Vegas and there were around a hundred people stumbling along the street now.
"You can keep it. I've still got one of my own," Cameron said, jabbing a finger at his right bicep.
Cameron glanced at his watch, and then looked back to Mikey.
"So.. What are you doing in Vegas, Franks? Last I heard you were running an Op. over in Saudi."
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Post by Mikey on Jun 27, 2010 11:27:38 GMT -5
Mike looked over the casing once again, trying to remember. Crappy reloaded shell, wear marks from being fired several times. Usually thrown in with the guns to make the guy buying them think he was getting a sweet deal. More often than not, they blew up in the face of the user. He supposed it was better than the old days, when arms dealers went for quality. Bad guys getting bad guns, that was always nice.
Mike chuckled once, thinking back. Saudi Arabia. Good god… The good ol’ days, when a human trafficker was simple.
“That was some time ago.” He said. “MI6 don’t keep tabs on me? I’m depressed.” He said, dropping the cigarette and grinding it out with his boot, at the same time pulling another cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.
“Some little ****ant snatching homeless locals. He wasn’t even worth my time, but he did have some friends in high places.” Mike said. “Bought used guns from a high roller in the arms business. Got me going on the case that retired me.” He said.
“And that brings me here. Ghost of Christmas Past coming out to try to f**k me over. Hear he has some boys around here, scouting for contacts and buyers.” He said, the information he’d gotten from a hitman sent by the Surgeon. “The local mob families are ripe for the picking. With his hardware, they could take over all of Nevada. Least the parts that count. You here for any reason? Or just some contact sports in an eatery?” Mike asked. He’d noticed the bruises and cuts before now, but it was starting to dawn on him that they may be here for the same reason. Sort of… If Cameron was, it meant this was sanctioned. Mike was just a civilian with some illegal guns and a boatload of information in his noggin.
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Post by .Merios on Jul 9, 2010 10:27:55 GMT -5
Cameron moved his right index finger up to his lip and smeared a bit of blood onto his chin and fingertip. He locked eyes with Mikey, shifting his weight to the left side and tensing a bit. Honestly, he hadn't had a mission in months and that was making Cameron antsy. Ever since that op in Belize, he'd always been nervous about mob families- being dangled from a 5-story building then dropped does that to a guy. As he opened his mouth, he made an annoyed clicking sound with his mouth.
"The only reason I'm standing right here is because I needed a line of sight on the strip," he smirked,"The goons that tuned me are using that restaurant as a front."
Cameron jabbed his right thumb towards the restaurant he had just exited.
"MP5's, AK's, and I think I saw a Sig in there," he realized how stupid he just sounded, saying a mob family used an AK.
"Not sure which one, but odds are Management's got a mole in there. I need to find him or her to get what he knows."
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Post by Mikey on Jul 9, 2010 13:20:04 GMT -5
“Lets go then.” Mike said, walking passed Cameron and putting his hand to the door. “I can spot a mole a mile off. And now that I don’t have to worry about the government on my ass about methods, I’ll damn sure make him talk.” He said. It wasn’t hard to find a mole. Especially in a place like this. He just had to find the best dressed person there. Sure, managers would be dressed nice, but a nice Rolex. A lot of things, simple ones like that. But Mike had to bet the giveaway would be a gun. They always carried guns. Customers too, mod enforcers in disguise, but they were not looking for customers.
“You gonna stand there all day?” Mike asked. “Or you wanna sit it out?” He asked, noting again how beat up the British man was. Without waiting for an answer, Mike walked into the place and looked around for a moment. The guy at a table right at his twelve, he was definitely a mob guy. Mike just knew it. Could he play off that guy? Or… Naw. Best to take a look around, get a lay of the folks. Odds were, a Mafia rat would be here all day every day. And then he got an idea...
He waked over to the bar, ordered a double of Jack and pulled out his wallet. He let his badge flash for just a moment, as well as the ID card that came with it. Normally, they'd tell all employees to be on the lookout for cops. Tell someone, who told the rat, who told the low life bad guys. Squeeze them, get some info.
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Post by .Merios on Jul 19, 2010 16:26:01 GMT -5
"I'm.. Going to sit it out mate," Cameron said, turning as he walked towards the establishment. "I'll stay out here, to catch any runners."
Cameron moved to lean on the glass next to the restaurant's entry double-doors, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a cigarette from his jacket, placing the case back into his pocket. He produced a lighter from his right pants pocket and flicked it, the flint lighting the wick and lighting the tip of his death stick ablaze. He placed the lighter back into his pocket and took a long drag, exhaling out of his nose slowly. His statement was driven true, as Mike was within the restaurant for a few moments, one of the men at a nearby table that Mike had passed- who looked like a Mobster- stood up without paying his bill and ducked to the door, pushing the double doors open and walking out, not noticing Cameron. With one quick and calm movement, Cameron sent his right boot out forward and downward, connecting with the back of the man's right calf and moved to the man's left, sliding his right arm in front of the man's neck on the left side (not grabbing it like a hold) and pulling backwards, sending the mobster to the ground with a hard thud. Cameron turned around calmly and took another drag as he watched the man scramble backwards on the ground. He casually stepped up and placed the tip of his right boot on the man's crotch and pressed gently, halting the fat man's movements.
"'Ello there, friend. Do ya 'ave kids?" He said in his deep British accent. The man shook his head. Cameron smirked, pressing his foot down a bit more, a look of pain straining on the mobster's face.
"You want 'em?"
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