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2/15/2016 4:22:20 AM
33
[b][i]Guns for Hire[/i][/b]
[b]New Terra[/b]
[i]The figure materialized atop a slight rise in the land just outside of a city, his cloak down from his head. On his back, a sword and an assault rifle, at his hips, two magnums. On his left leg, a bowie knife sat fixed in a boot sheath, and on his shoulder, a khukri was prominently visible. The armor was eerily familiar to that of the man who had once earned a reputation for ruthlessness across the dimension and several others. Some minor details had changed, for the figure now carried two regular bandoliers rather than two .50 caliber bullet belts. The mask the man wore was similar as well, identical in structure, different in paint scheme. The eyes still glowed an eerie blue, but the mask was all black, save for three wide gashes across the left side of the figure's face, the inside of which were bright white, made to look as if a skull was beneath the black. No longer was the insignia of the cobra on the man's left shoulder pauldron, no longer were the cards on his right. All he bore were the same old Marine Corps dog tags, and two new insignia, that of a rook chess piece, and that of a howling wolf. Beside him appeared a hulking figure in power armor, bristling with weaponry. He wore heavily modified T-60F with an X-01 MKVI helmet, the eyes of which glowed red. On his right shoulder sat a mounted M2HB, and on his left, the skull of an alpha-male deathclaw. Two belts of .50 caliber bullets crossed his chest, and two hip holsters crossed his waist, a magnum at each hip. On his back, an MG3, a machete, and a shotgun, situated atop his cloak, an old American flag. The two stood looking out over the landscape of New Terra, as it was uncharted territory for them.
[/i]
English
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[b][i]A figure walks nearby them, on the rooftops of the city near them. His onyx black cloak sways with the winds behind him, his face engulfed in darkness, despite the sun beating down on his face. The figure has 3 revolvers resting in holsters at his left, each in a different holster, one black, one white, and one grey. The words [/i][/b][u]Hunters Legion X[/u][b][i]Are sprawled across his back, in a crimson red, matching the hair hidden underneath the cloak. On the right of his waist, in a large holster, rests an olive green AK-47, a red dot sight and muzzle brake on it, a magazine taped to the one in it. A large, blue Katana rests on his back as he moves, barely in the way of the words on his cloak. The figure looks over at them, turning his head with the speed of a bird, staring eerily at them, his blue eyes barely visible by the shadow cast over them. [/i][/b]
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[i]The bulkier man's shoulder-mounted weapon swings level to the figure, as he returns the stare. The other man had disappeared totally. From behind, there is the sound of a sword being unsheathed, and behind you stands the other figure. The armor is almost identical to that of General Cody Wolfe, known to most as "Blackjack," but it bears obvious differences, notably the mask and the kukri on the shoulder. Nonetheless, the figure was intimidating. Sword in hand, he sized up the man before him, and spoke. The voice was almost identical to Blackjack's, albeit younger, and less grizzled. It still maintained the same metallic American accent.[/i] Ain't much for sneaking up on people, are you, cowboy?
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"If you believe me to be a cowboy" [b][i]The man says, before turning, completely unphased by the blade. [/i][/b]"you should see the other guy. Now judging by the fact you pulled a blade on an NTR general, you're either one of those damned Space Marines, or your just ballsy" [b][i]He says jokingly, staring into the souls of the man, sending a shiver down his spine; Strange, considering he could likely take the cloaked general. [/i][/b]
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[i]The figure seems rather unfazed, and his posture and tone seem eerily familiar to that of the famed commander of Venom Incorporated.[/i] We'll go with ballsy, considering I'm babysitting the sociopath with the machine gun over there, JT. I'll bet you're wondering just who the hell I am and why in the hell I know you.
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"Not really, Wolf. [b][i]He says, a light chuckle protruding from his lips as he speaks. [/i][/b]"I've got WAY too big of a reputation here. Though I do know who you are. Jackson Wolfe, son of, well I never caught the bastards first name, something Wolfe. Ex-commander of Venom Incorporated" [b][i]He says, revealing most of the knowledge he had, but never revealing the source of it. [/i][/b]"The sociopath over there, that's Wilson, yes? The famed 'Courier Six?' I'll politely ask you to keep him from assaulting my citizens, we've already got one problem to deal with, don't need a city massacred"
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Can't make promises. I'm still trying to housebreak the big bastard. I assume you're also familiar with Nick Clarkson, considering you knew my father? [i]From his radio, Wilson can be heard.[/i] HEY -blam!- YOU KID!
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"One; I didn't know him, I knew a guy who met Blackjack, and that guy also knew an operative. Two; Never heard of Clarkson, mind giving some info as to who he is?" [b][i]He asks, before getting on the comms of an earpiece. [/i][/b]"Wilson, I see the reputation precedes you, you insane son of a bitch!" [b][i]He jokingly says, hoping Wilson picked up that it was a joke. [/i][/b]
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[i]Over the mic,[/i] WOOOOOH MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! [i]Wolf looks to JT, and sheathes the sword.[/i] Agent Crow, that's probably what you knew him by, in Cedyetica.
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"No, guy named The Frontiersman. He met Crow, as well as Lance May, famed swordsman, and met Blackjack on scouting detail on the planet Corra, Serpent Hyperes Galaxy. Though I do know people from 40th Millennium Terra. And what the hell does he mean by "Mission Accomplished?'"
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Your guess is as good as mine. [i]Again, over the mic.[/i] I THINK IT'S FAIR THEY GET A LITTLE WARNING! [i]Wolf sighs, and responds.[/i] You're not killing anyone here. WHY NOT? Because I've got business to attend to. AFTERWARDS? Maybe. I'll take you to Earth, and you can do what you want.
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"Ah, earth I will also ask you to avoid. You want to kill something? I suggest Venus or Mars, tensions rising there as it is, you'll just be starting the fire. Anyways, whatever happened to your fathers corporation? Son of a bitch I spoke to only said it disbanded"
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It never belonged to him, it was Schrader's. Most of the big governments around at the time had gotten word that Schrader was doing something in the dark and they pushed him into a world war. He overextended himself and got spread too thin in trying to fight, eventually being cornered and killed in Dubai. Company fell apart after that, with certain little groups popping up. Man named Torrez took control, led most of the others except my father, Ashe, and Crow. My father made a deal with the federal government that he and those who helped to end what remained of Venom Incorporated would be granted amnesty, and thus, they helped finish the fight. My father killed Torrez, and he was written off. Came home on and off for a while, because he was working with the CIA and such, and eventually, after he retired, they killed him off. Crow's the only one of the originals alive, and all the company's assets have been sold off, scrapped, or used to produce peaceful tools rather than weapons of war.
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"Well damn, that's gotta be a bitch. Wilson over there an operative, or was he just an aff-" [b][i]He says, before being cut off, the stereotypical Canadian accent of JT being replaced by that of a thick, Texan accent. [/i][/b]"Affiliate, never was VINC, was only working with them for the off-the-books jobs" [b][i]The man says, walking from behind JT, his brown duster flying in the wind behind him, the cowboy hat engulfing half his face in shadows, the one half that is visible completely burned off. A green jumpsuit with a black trim lays underneath the open duster, and his right hand stays a stony grey colour. [/i][/b]"Remember the cowboy I mentioned earlier?" [b][i]JT sarcastically asks, placing one hand on the cowboys right shoulder. [/i][/b]
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That's the man I thought I was speaking with. Glad we've gotten that little identity crisis cleared up.
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"I've no idea what's more surprising; I'm wearing robes like the reaper and you thought I was the cowboy, or you thought I was the retarded ass merc standing next to me" [b][i]JT says, gesturing to the cowboy, lacing his words with sarcasm. [/i][/b]
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Names and faces blend when Wilson's half-drunk and catching you up on things.
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JT "Ah, fair enough. Anyways, so what brings the famous Wolf to New Terra?" Frontiersman "Wolf? Son of Blackjack?" JT "Yeah, that's him" Frontiersman "Interesting"
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Edited by Trashcan Jesus: 2/15/2016 4:16:14 PMHunting's good from what I hear.
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"Hunting what, exactly? Jobs possibly?" [b][i]JT asks, The Frontiersman still watching Wolf intently, analyzing his movements. [/i][/b] [spoiler]Frontiersman is way too uptight for most scenarios by the way, if you were wondering what's going on with this retard. [/spoiler]
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[i]If he had seen Blackjack, Wolf's body language was almost identical. It radiated a calm, calculating coldness, unfazed and in complete control. [/i] Heard there's war. With war comes the work.
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"Ah, yes, Venus and the Kings of Mars. Truly an idiotic war, if you ask me. Just means the NTR has to step into this shitstorm and quell things" [b][i]JT says. The Frontiersman, having met Blackjack once, takes note of this, before parting from the duo and looking for Wilson. Maybe he can get information on certain instances from him, he thinks. [/i][/b]
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[i]Wilson's hulking frame is seen marching towards them now, at a decent pace. His machine gun remains in firing position, all of his other weapons holstered. His cloak billows behind him, the American flag tattered, faded. The eyes of his suit glow an eerie red, and he stops in front of the Frontiersman. Standing at nearly 7 feet tall, he cuts an imposing figure. [/i]
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"Mister Wilson, it seems you enjoy killing, yes?" [b][i]The man asks, taking note of his figure, the flag, the eerie eyes, and the rest of the armour, as well as the armaments he is equipped with. [/i][/b][u]A well armed psychopath, haven't seen something this bad since... Ever[/u][b][i] He thinks to himself. [/i][/b]
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Nah, I'm -blam!-ing Bob Ross painting forests. Of [i]course[/i] I do. It's like watching that asshole kid in the class do really well, and then you -blam!- up their project as they walk in.
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[b][i]He lightly chuckles, but straightens up once more. [/i][/b]"I know of a group to slaughter, few thousand people, you in?" [b][i]He asks, pulling a specialized M4A1 from his back[/i][/b]
