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STATE ZERO | Hired Guns

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cl0ud

cl0ud

Senior Member
State Zero - Hired Guns.png
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"Roadside Camp"
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Nomad. Transient. Temporary. Murderer. Monster. Butcher. These were all words that described your group. You were a group of mercenaries, after all. From your humble beginnings in Folkston with just yourself, Hansen, Yu, and Tusing, you've grown fourfold that number. Altogether, the four of you used to only have 108 dollars. Now your coffers hit past the five-digit mark. While not some paramilitary organization like the Wardens, your group has gained a reputation for your ruthless efficiency.

Over the past fifteen years, you and your teammates have traveled from coast to coast of Atlano. From Eagle Rock in the northeast to Camargo, you truly have traveled well, and have also managed to stay alive. Your men have grown to respect and admire you, Jacob Bento. You've led them to comfortable lives with plenty of money to line their pockets. You've also proven yourself on the battlefield. Defending farms from raiders, escorting caravans between colonies, or even being hired by a New Republic captain to bust a ring of slavers once. Each time you given proof of your mettle.

Yu has proven useful as your agent for contractors. Using the cellular number provided to one of your previous clients, it's constantly ringing. Each request is kept in a spiral notebook that is kept with Yu, with offers and job descriptions for each client. Each time a new one comes in, he walks into your tent and provides you with the said notebook and a brief explanation of each job.
 
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Bento walks out of his tent in full gear at five in the morning - barely the earliest time he had ever made his troops be ready at. He looked up at recruits Michael and William Hidgon, who stood vigilant atop an elevated position within the vicinity of the Mercenaries’ most recent campsite. The recruits were always the ones pulling the lookout duties - Bento sure wasn’t gonna fucking do it.


Jacob whistles and that’s all he needs to do. His soldatos begin to stir immediately, and each member of Squad 1 and the leaders of the other squads make their ways over to him, while the others in the company begin to pack up the campsite.


Bento stands in front of his half-dozen highest ranking soldiers, all with varying degrees of groggy faces, but that would soon change. “We’re heading north toward Boonton in about ten minutes, to Sarcoxie Farms. Mauro, Atnip, Gonzales, have your men eat, drink, bathe do whatever they need to before we get there,” Jacob states, before looking over to Yu. “You’ll be expected to give a quick briefing on the Crimms-affilates contract before the company heads out,” he warns Yu. This was a pretty often occurrence, Yu being the one that had always been the one that held the cell phone and negotiated contracts. “While in Boonton, we’ll be doing some trading at the market - if any of your squad members want to request they get a new toy, that better fall on my ears before we leave to execute the mission.”


With that, if there are no questions, Bento will dismiss his higher-ranking troopers and he himself head back into his tent to quickly eat, drink, and shave off a stubble that had recently begun forming due to an extended period of neglect.


After those ten minutes have passed, Yu will be expected to brief the company on the assignment at hand, and Jacob Bento and his brothers-in-arms will mount up and head toward Boonton.

Seating Assignments
Dirtbike 1 - Tony Bierman

Dirtbike 2 - Walter Grant

ATV - Paul Harris

Sedan - Flacko Gonzales, George Clark, William Hidgon, Michael Hidgon

Reinforced SUV - Jacob Bento, Matthew Yu, William Hansen, Ira Tusing, Keith Atnip, Rob Yount

Hatchback - Daniel Mauro, Benjamin Martin, Frank Cooper
 
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As you call your officers to attention, you can hear the clanging of pots, the rustling of silverware, the hissing from freshly-doused fires, and early morning conversation in the background. Assorted in front of you are William Hansen, Matthew Yu, Ira Tusing, Daniel Mauro, Keith Atnip, and Flacko Gonzales. After listening to your orders, the officers deliver a respectful salute and then walk off to distribute orders.

"Alright shiteaters, attention!" Yu demanded as he had the men line up into rows of four, with the last row missing two men, Bento and himself. Yu's voice carried well by itself. He didn't often need to raise his voice. "We're heading to a settlement called Sarcoxie. We've been employed by a John Morse. Those rim-licking Crimm have created a disturbance with the Sarcoxie farms, harassing the farmers and disrupting the general flow of the colony. Mr. Morse says that they're most likely teenagers, and there's less than ten of them. They want to be badasses that take from others? We'll show them what badasses really are!" Yu said, slightly raising his hope, in an attempt to bolster the morale of the troops. They were about to go fight children, they needed to muster all the spirit they could.

"In regards to the ROE of the situation, that's up to Mr. Bento to decide. On our way to Sarcoxie, we'll be making a stop in Boonton. Now, my informants tell me that Boonton is heavily influenced by the Crimm, so don't be surprised if you see a bunch of dimwitted, mouth-breathing, slack-jawed teenagers hanging around, inked up with skulls. We'll be there to trade, refuel, and rest if needed. If you wish to purchase something while in Boonton, mention it to your squad leader, who will run it up the chain of command to Mr. Bento. If that is all, dismissed!" Yu said. With this last commanding order, the rest of the mercenaries saluted and began to scramble to the vehicles to prepare for the journey to Boonton. It'd only take a few hours.

. . .
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Boonton. Kinda sounded like Boomtown. Either way, it was infested with Crimm scumbags. As your convoy drives into the town, you can feel the suspicious eyes laid upon you. It didn't matter, though. If things went to hell, you undoubtedly had these wannabe brigands definitely outgunned if not outnumbered. The town was pleasant somewhat. Boonton was abandoned after the August Broadcast. Survivors had decided to settle in later and wall off the inner section of the town.

As your troops dismounted, several of them habitually checked their guns to see if they were loaded and on safety. If not, they would quickly correct such a mistake. Some of them posted up around the edges of the market and some went inside the bar, either to feel the pulse of Boonton's populace or to grab a drink. Maybe both. As you walked down the busy market, accompanied by Matthew Yu and William Hansen, a guy in an old metal cargo container catches your eye. You walk over to the man's stall. Dangling from the lip of the container, a neon "OPEN" sign flickered. The two heavy metal doors were pushed open, creating a funnel into the container. On the walls and on the doors were pin-up girls dressed in military attire.

The man smelled of cheap liquor and cigars. His yellowing and missing teeth accounted for the latter, anyhow. He was a small, old man. Probably in his early seventies. He barely had any hair left on his head, and what hair he did have were patches of thin gray. Standing between you and a collection of ammunition crates, gun boxes, and a rack full of handmade weapons was a wooden stand, with the man posted. He wore a brown vest with a green button-up shirt and filthy khaki slacks.

"How may I help you?"
 
(Edits have been made to first post.)


Bento’s eyes flickered around toward this drug-addled douchebag and that tattoo-covered jackass as he walked down the road of Boonton, he looked for some kind of weapons vendor who would be of any use to him - someone who wasn’t selling cheap pistols for one of the local gangbangers to produce from his waistband if there was the slightest disagreement. Holding his rifle at a low-ready along with two of his most elite soldiers, Jacob felt out of place, but in a good way - he knew that people were looking on, scared of him, knowing that picking a fight with Bento’s team was death itself.


“I’d like to browse your wares. And perhaps even offer some of my own in trade. I am especially interested in purchasing weapon attachments and body armor - I’ll pay you a hefty sum for suppressors,” Bento said in a business-like tone, looking the vendor in the eye as he spoke to him not quite in a friendly tone, but not quite in a hostile tone either.


Jacob thought about the contract that was coming. Those who Bento’s men may be apprehending soon might very well be within the town limits right now - but hey, he wasn’t hunting them yet, at least. He pawed around the options he had in his head in terms of how he and his men would complete the mission. These were kids, most likely, that the mercenaries would be dealing with. Vandals and hooligans, he doubted they would even be armed, and if so, poorly. Hopefully Jacob wouldn’t have to fire a shot - just bring them in without an incident. He knew that if he were a teenager, and sixteen rifle-toting mercs suddenly sprung upon him, he wouldn’t put up much of a fight.
 
"Well of course!" the vendor said, proceeding to list out his items and his prices.

Trading Icon.png


    • (10) 9mm Pistols
      (2) Uzis
      (4) Revolvers
      (3) Machine Pistols
      (3) Pump Shotguns
      (1) Tactical Carbine
      (1) Double Barrel Shotgun

 
After some consideration, Bento decides to outright purchase three revolvers for George Clark, William Hidgon, and Michael Hidgon. Two combat knives for Ira Tusing and Daniel Mauro, a trenchknife for Flacko Gonzales, and swiss knives for Benjamin Partin, Tony Bierman and Rob Yount. He continues on to purchase a rifle suppressor for himself. He then purchases six Type I Body Armor Plates to be put together to form a vest for himself.
Finally, after spending a total of $2,210 Atlani dollars with this vendor and buying out a good amount of his wares, Bento will call for his men to come collect their newly-purchased weaponry. If anyone has a problem with any of their new gear, they are to let him know.

Meanwhile, Jacob will ask the vendor if he would like to purchase any Tactical Carbines, three at the most for $200 each. He also offers an Uzi for $125 and eight alcohol, $20 per unit.
 
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Your mercenaries equip themselves, content with what they receive.
You purchase the armor plates, but Yu reminds you that you need to have a rig created or you can buy one at some other vendor for them to be of use.
You screw the silencer on to the barrel of your Bull Pup Rifle.

The vendor hastily buys up your tactical carbines but laughs at the price you ask for the alcohol.
You've gained $600 Atlani Dollars.
 
Jacob grins, happy with the new purchases. Now, his men were much more individually capable of taking out the infected silently. Almost everyone save for the recruits were armed with some kind of melee weapon which would ramp up the silent efficiency of dispatching targets, dead or alive, without alerting it’s allies - which was important in his line of work.


He also felt much safer now knowing that his rifle was suppressed, and while it wasn’t like it was in the movies, his gunfire definitely wouldn’t travel as far as it normally would - bullpups were loud beasts. Those plates could be saved for later; someone’s got a rig somewhere around here, Bento was sure.


After overseeing the collection of then newly found tools and the sale of the trio of Tactical Carbines, Jacob approaches Yu and Hansen. “Good buys, fellas?” Jacob questions with a chuckle. He would normally never be so loose in his speech with anybody in the company, but the two of them, especially Yu, were his friends just as much as they were brothers in arms. “Anything else you guys think we should do while we’re here in shitville? And, do you think the recruits are ready to upgrade to some of the higher-power hardware we have not in use, or should they stick with their combat rifles until they’re a bit more experienced? I don’t want to give a bullpup or an assault rifle or tactical rifle to someone who doesn’t know how to use it - then they might become just as much a danger to ourselves than a danger to our clients’ enemies.”
 
Hansen spoke up first, "They're still wet behind the ears, boss. One of 'em might fuck up and squeeze the trigger too long and waste ammunition. Wait 'til they get into a few more battles or before we can put them on a range and work out the kinks before we level up their gear," he says. There was a lot of truth behind his words. Recruits were less likely to conserve ammunition and also were known for their below adequate aim despite them being trained somewhat. The best experience was earned on the field.

"Aye. I agree with Will," Yu says. "On the topic of while we're here, though, the outfit could definitely use with some medications. We actually don't have any. I'm sure some chemrunner 'round here will have some pills or something. If we can't find anything like morphine or antibodies, we could check in with the general market that I saw on the way in. She's bound to have first aid kits or something," Yu suggests.
 
Jacob, instead of hunting for medicine and first aid kids with Yu and Hansen, decides to count off $800 Atlani dollars and hand them to Yu. "Purchase what you can find and deem worth it - I trust your judgement. Hansen, let's me and you head into the bar - knock back a drink and pick the tender's brain for info on what's happening around here," Bento explains.

"I appreciate the input about giving the recruits automatic guns. I think you two are right - but we'll get them into shape in no time," Jacob states confidently.

With that, Jacob walks away from Yu with Hansen, and heads into the bar. He takes in the likely vulgar scene of whores and thugs, and spots his clique of mercenaries that had come in to get themselves a drink with their wages. He walks over to the barkeep and stands where nobody else is if he can find somewhere uncrowded, so he can have a more private conversation with the bar keep. Once the guy comes over, undoubtedly busy, Bento pays for Hansen and him to both have a shot of something cheap but strong, and then flashes an additional $20. "You got anything interesting you wanna share about what's going on around here?"
 
Yu thumbs through the bankroll you just gave him, nods, and then sets off to complete the task you assigned him.

"I've not heard sweeter words, boss," Hansen says, clasping your shoulder and then playfully shaking you before removing his hand and walking with you to the nearest bar. Paying $10 for some shots from a liquor called "Gin Viper". As soon as it slides down your throat you feel a slight burning and when it lands in your stomach, it feels as if someone's hit you with a foam mallet just a little too hard. When you pull the $20 out, his eyebrows crawl towards the top of his forehead just a tad.

"How about you tell me about a subject you'd like to know about and I'll think about telling you what I know," the bartender says as he washes the inside of a glass.
 
"Anything that could lead to the acquisition of a job, or some good loot. You know who I am, hm?" Bento asks in a deep, low voice. He keeps the $20 in the palm of his hand which is face down on the counter, now concealing the currency to the bartender. His knuckles quietly rap against the bar as Jacob hunches over, his eyes looking right into the bartender's.

"Who's got problems with who, who's too pussy to take care of it themselves and needs us to take care of it for the right price. Maybe who have the gangsters around here been harassing? Anybody causing trouble for the town that someone might wanna pay for getting taken care of?" Jacob prods, taking a bid that this bartender wasn't in with the crowd of the more heavily armed and hostile raiders and criminals operating out of Boonton. Those that were a higher caliber than those Jacob would be dealing with when night came.
 
"Everyone's got a problem with everyone and almost everyone here's got a gun. Shit, even if it's just a nine-mil. Ain't no one in their right minds out here in Crimm territory without protection. If you really want to take care of something, take care of the Crimm. But unless you got contacts with the Oldies in Calhan, no chance in hell are you gonna do that," the bartender says laughing at even the thought of the notion.
 
Bento sniffs at the idea. Unless it was in a job description or they were trying to attack the convoy, he had no intention of fighting with those criminals, especially not here in Boonton where their influence was extremely high. "Anything else?" Jacob asked, turning his palm upright and holding the bill in between his index and ring finger.
 
"There's some chemrunners who are going to deliver a shipment of Chopsticks to a group of Oldies at the Outer Peninsula Checkpoint. They ain't affiliated with Crimm, so I'm sure if news got round that a group of teenagers were running six Chopsticks people would start going after 'em. If they got good quality Chop, then they'd have enough to pay for protection," the bartender said, setting down the previous glass and then picking up another to scrub with the cloth.

Chopsticks are powder-based drugs stored in long, paper tubes. The ends of these tubes are often cut off and the powder is applied directly to the tongue, which stimulates the tongue and then produces a mild to strong high a few minutes later. The powder itself is called Bonedust. It's a mixture of refined herbs doused and mixed with industrial chemicals. Bonedust also comes in the form of tar bricks, which are comparatively expensive to it's powder counterpart.
 
Jacob took a few moments, thinking about it. That checkpoint was a while away, and the jobs that Bento's group had scheduled right now were going to be difficult to complete if they took such a long trip. Then again, maybe these chemrunners would be willing to pay much more than Morse, Davidson, and Ramos.

"Where in town will I find these chemrunners?" Jacob asks, placing the $20 onto the counter top, officially paying the bartender for his information. This was useful stuff, and even if Bento didn't decide to utilize it, a deal was a deal.
 
"Probably high somewhere behind a house," the bartender says, slipping the $20 from the bar top into his apron's pocket.
 
Jacob scoffs at the location he had given. "Give me something more; what do they look like? Do they have names? Identifying tattoos, anything of that nature?" Jacob asks. The idea of working with someone who was a druggie kind of did not appeal to Jacob, only because of the fact that they didn't tend to be very reliable. Then again, if payment failed, Bento could just kill the chemrunners and take all of their shit. Wasn't a great conclusion to that sort of thing, but it was something.
 
"One 'em called Remmy Shades. Fucking loon. He runs around with two other airheads. Billy and Redd. Neither of them smarter than the other. All of 'em are strapped though. If you hang around the bar long enough, I'm sure on'em will pull themselves in here for a drink," the bartender said, breathing onto the glass so it'll steam up.
 
Bento nods, deciding that he would wait in the bar for as long as an hour and a half for one of the chemrunners to show up; he would rather wait here and let them come to him than run around town asking high kids, which seemed to be everywhere in this shithole, for names.

He turns to Hansen to vocalize these intentions. "I'll wait here for an hour and a half for one of them to show. If they don't, we're just going to move on to our prior target and begin operations to complete the contract," Jacob said, specifically leaving out specifics of what this contract was, where it was, and who was giving it in case there were any ears that such information didn't need to fall upon in the general vicinity.

"You're welcome to stick around and keep me company, or go roam the town. Whatever you choose. If it's the latter, though, make sure someone is guarding the convoy; I don't trust the people around here."
 
"Aye boss, I'll stay and have a drink with you while we wait on the dog," Will said, raising up his glass and then downing the rest. It didn't take him long though to pull out a wad of cash, probably only a few hundred dollars, and stumble over to a roulette wheel. About an hour after you decide to prolong your stay in Boonton, a kid with red-dyed, braided hair comes through the front door. He sits down a few seats away from you and begins to order something. The bartender shoots a quick glance at you.
 
The boredom would have became mind-numbing if it weren't for the fact that Hansen was there and so were very strong drinks. By the time a teenager that Bento presumed to be Redd walked into the bar and sat down, he was a bit tipsy. Not enough to be incapable of conducting business, however.

Jacob tapped Hansen's arm, nodding over to the person of interest before getting up from his stool and sitting next to the teenager. "Hey. A friend of mine told me you're running some serious stuff over to the peninsula checkpoint. You sure you got the weaponry and training to get them there?" Bento questioned. "If you doubt it, me and my mates will ensure that you do - for a price. I run a group of mercs."
 
The boy looked at you wide-eyed. You could see the cloudiness in his eyes with the red, almost as if he had been crying. "W-w-who told you about that?" the boy managed to stammer. As you sat around him longer, the smell of drugs and the lack of personal hygiene were evident. His clothes were little more than rags fastened together with belts and tape, completely covered in diesel and filth. His hands, though white as his complexion, were stained with grease, along with his face. A teardrop was inked next to his left eye.
 
"I've got connections, and money to make tongues move the way I want them to. Don't worry son, I'm not looking to take your shit, and I haven't been talking to anyone else about it," Bento explains, trying to calm the tweaker down.

"But it would be foolish to think that information doesn't pass around quickly about such a high profile move as the one you're thinking of making, especially in this sort of town. That means other people know about it; other people that aren't as friendly, and people who have probably got a bigger stick than you and your friends have," Jacob explains, sniffing and looking around the room at some of the more shady looking individuals, at the firearms they carried openly on them.

"My outfit? Sixteen highly trained soldiers, armed to the teeth with rifles, handguns, shotguns, bombs, you name it we've got it. We will keep you safe on the road to your client if you pay us what is due," Jacob promises, looking expectedly at the teenager. He would be a fool to not at least bring Jacob and Will to his drug dealing buddies to hash out the terms of this deal.
 
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The boy moves his hand down to behind his back, but then stops just at his waistline. He lets the hand fall down to his side, staring at his drink as he played with the shot glass in his hands. "If we was to take you, our client would freak out. They'd kill us and then come burn down this town and slaughter our families," Redd said, not taking his eyes off of the shot glass.
 
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