Futuristic OPERATION LASER GUN

[RandomBlobMan]

A giant tower stood in the middle of a mountain in the Old South Wing. A section of its top opened and closed as spacecraft entered and left the construct. This construct is one of the many Cities built on Earth, where most of the people from out of this planet come to pay a visit to the old dying planet. Inside these constructs are everything you need- shops, restaurants, hotels... sometimes even weapon merchants. With Earth being a relatively less watched planet, there were many things going on on it. Something like today's point of interest-which would affect the fate of Earth greatly.

Spoiler: more strong language

"Old fuck Hetcher's finally kicking his master plan."
A sigh escaped the man's mouth. He twirled a small glass of liquor in his hand, leaning against the wall as he looked around the deserted bar. The place was all his for the rest of the day, just so he could do a nice briefing to the hired guns. Approximately 70% of his savings were put to this little job-and less than its 1% being the price for renting this bar- so those people better make it count. Taking an impatient sip from the drink, he glanced out the window.

To you, fellow mercenaries, a following message was sent as soon as you neared the Earth's atmosphere- a coordinate and an address. The coordinate would lead to the said City in Old South Wing, and the address lead to a bar in the alleyways. Make sure you are not followed- and when once you are inside, make yourself home, say hi to your client, and chill out.

[MISSION REPORT 0: The Prologue]
Get to know your teammates. Any liquor's on the house, but don't drink too much.

 

[CapRock]

Ansgar

The bell above the bar's door rang softly as the fist arrival made its way in, looking already annoyed at having a noise even announce his entry at all. His worn-out, faded jacket would make anyone confound him with a bum at a glance, posture and walk riddled with an unassuming, harmless intention to it capable of squashing an observer's interest after mere moments. But were one to look through the disguise, they'd spot the high-quality, military-grade mesh wore underneath, the belts and pockets and holsters hiding his gear, and an unusually keen eye taking in every detail like an industrial vacuum cleaner about to turn this room so spotless you could eat off of it. He made his way to the counter - the far left of it, where he'd fade from unattentive view and catch an angle to keep track the front door off of - and slid into the seat. When he spoke to the barman, his voice was calm and chill, treating the situation as if it he were just any frequent customer on his usual weekend evening:

"I'll have a Sazerac. Make sure it has a bite to it, if I'm not drinking much, I at least want to make the most of it."

 

[Soviet Panda]

"Kelpie, you are clear to land." the tower operator said through Connor's ear piece as he (im)patiently waited for a spot to open up for him. And once he touched down, he wrapped the fur lined, leather coat around him a little bit tighter before stepping out into the crisp, cold air that was common on top of mountains. He hurried to the meeting point, an out of the way bar, and quickly entered. Stamping off the cold, his gaze quickly snapped to the only two patrons of the bar. One of them seemed like a bum, and the other one looked to be flaunting his wealth. "I'm guessing you're the guy that wants us to do this suicide run. And you are someone that I have to work with," he said, pointing first at the wealthy looking man then at the bum. "Let's get one thing straight and clear, we aren't going to be fucking around with any personal vendettas. We go in, do what we're paid for, and then we get out. If you want any toys, if you think you can get some dirt on them before we leave, getting it and extracting with it is your problem." He glared at the two, forcing his words across with that stare. He wanted to be retired, not getting shot at. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he'll be sipping a drink on the beaches of Rosellias.

 

[Vagabond Spectre]

Adalene "Fantôme" Lebedev
Entering Earth​

Wars are a common theme on Earth. The current state of the dying planet is the aftermath of human warfare leading to destruction of the planet. Adalene is to return to this once perfect goldilocks zone of a planet after receiving a huge amount of cash from a mysterious client, as a mercenary she can't help but accept the payment at the moment. The mission maybe different from her previous past missions.

The coordinates weren't hard to follow for the young woman as she travels to the meeting place with a low profile. Entering the run down bar as she expects to meet the person who payed her to do a bloody big time job for him. The door chimed it's tune as she entered slowly. Her silhouette outlines her appearance before she closing the door. A young woman with an obviously youthful foreign looking face. A black nearly-skin suit protects her from shoulders to down to her heels, seems to be an outfit of a private detective or something similar. She had her personalized PDA in her right black gloved hand focused more to the PDA like a smartphone. Looking up to find required little to no effort to find the people she was looking for, 3 men who were about twice her age. The one in between them matches the details of the man in her PDA video file. Tilting her head slightly to left, she had a curious look on her face.

"Hello. Are you the man? The man who paid me lot of money to Schlaboosh a building? The money you sent you sent is a little less but that will do."​

Right of the bat, the lady has a distinct voice and accent that can be distinguished from a crowd. Sounding similar to how a Russian speaks English. Folding her arms whilst still holding the PDA. Adalene patiently stood a distance from her client. She wanted to hear a more elaborated briefing at the moment.

 

[RandomBlobMan]

As always, strong language warning. Every time the client guy appears he eill drop at least one f bomb. Aesthetic.

Spoiler: Warning

A sigh escaped the client's mouth as three mercenaries arrived one by one, each dropping a unique one liner each with unique headaches. This operation would require more painkillerd than he had originally planned. Another sip went into his mouth before the man spat out his reply to all of them. He pointed at the first merc first.
"Let's make this clear. I'm a rich ass fucker, but not a bartender. So if you want a Sazerac, you make your own damn Sazerac. It's on the house, so feel free to fail a shit ton. Or if you're doing this just to test my patience, bravo. Get a gold star."
Then he turned to the second, older merc. Then took another sip. Hey at least this one seemed to know what was up.
"Your job is to blow the guts out of a shady megacorp operation, bottom line. If that didn't get to you in the fucking video then maybe I'll have to learn how to convey information again."

It took two sighs and one last, big gulp of the remaining liquor in his shot glass to face the third. Placing the glass on the long table with a very audible tap, he raised his hands to his face and gently placed them on his temples. He expected there to be true military fashion operstors. All he got was a superhero comic level of colorful personalities. This is NOT the timing for fleshed out characters, it's time for efficient fighters! Swallowing the sentence, he chose a different answer to say.
"This is how it works. You get a pre payment, do the job, come back, get a good job headpat, and also get the actual reward -which is more than two hundred and fifty five times the pre payment, by the way- and buy a five star leisure planet and spend the rest of your life in paradise because MONEY.
"Are we clear, Mademoiselle?"

CapRock Soviet Panda Vagabond Spectre

 

[CapRock]

Ansgar

The bartender's answer earned a hearty, gruff laugh from Ansgar while he served himself of the ingredients, as if it had reminded him of some old inside joke he couldn't seem to shake off. His movements hardly had the precision and intent of a barman, but they got the job done without calling up much attention to it. With the task done, he glanced over the shoulder to reply to Connor:
"Aye, that I am. But let me assure you this, my presence will be nearly ornamental. You will find me a respectful, quiet, passive observer of the situation until my help is truly needed."
With the drink ready, Ansgar took a sip and laid his drink by the corner before washing the mixer and cups he used. It wasn't a gesture of etiquette, of course; Leaving fingerprins behind would be sloppy, even if this was the ally's headquarters. Perhaps, especially because of that. He also took advantage of the moment to look at the third team member to join. He offered her a quiet nod and headed back to his seat, turning his attention to the seemingly fascinating whirl of the ice cubes as he shook the cup. The ears worked better, he came to find, when one's eyes were kept occupied with something trivial.

Soviet Panda RandomBlobMan Vagabond Spectre