The Twisted Earth (Post-apocalyptic Role play) (Started - Closed)

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"I will never allow you to touch me," Blake growled at Mortis. "Unless," he paused, sheathing his knife, "those evil hands of yours were to be pawing desperately at my face as I squeeze the life from you."

After a while, he hunter, fists clenched, looked at the others questioningly. "Is what the bastard says true? Did I attack the injured man?" Regret seemed to tinge his voice. After what they'd been through to save then man, Blake felt guilty if he had been the one to undo all their effort. Irish nodded softly.

"I-" Blake stammered uncomfortably. He wasn't used to admitting being in the wrong. "I'm sorry. Only to the humans," he put specific emphasis on the word, "that I injured. It happens occasionally." He tried to recall what had happened to cause the rage, but it was no use. He rarely remembered.

Marcus had followed the commotion and found himself stood next to Blake, he was looking down at the body of a severely injured man. The dim light made it hard to discern any distinguishable features and the mans, for that's what he assumed the body was, chest was covered in a thick dark cloak.

Marcus watched as the doctor re-located the tattered fingers. Trusting the the doctors ability, Marcus returned to the sun drenched front porch of the shop and looked at the Humvee, thinking how to disguise or remove the Foundation star that had been painted onto the side.

Pain shot through Hamilton's arm, jolting him instantly from the stupor he'd been in. He vaguely recalled having been grabbed and carried somewhere and now he was lying on a flat surface surrounded by...PEOPLE!
Bandits! Thieves! Mutant Hunters!
He began thrashing on the table, grabbing hold of one edge and pulling himself off.
Runrunrunru- owdammit
His efforts were halted as he fell face-first into the ancient, crusted carpet of the store. His legs flailed and kicked in the air for a few seconds, balanced against the side of the table before falling over, leaving him lying on his back. Plan A having failed spectaculary, he lay on his back looking up at the people circled around him. Two of them seemed somewhat familiar.

Shaun was surprised with the man's reaction, he could understand how he can be afraid of the people around him, especially Mortis, but he didn't know that he exactly fitted into this group of misfits. He sighed and then lowed himself to the man's level but managed to keep a friendly face all the time.

"You should really keep calm otherwise we can't heal you back up and I don't want to see that, especially after I saved you,. It would be nice to get your name, and why were you traveling near our little shop of horrors" He asked the mysterious stranger with concerned face.

"Saved me? How did you save me? All I did was pass out. You just carried me to..." He paused and looked around the store. "Wherever this is and then you oh hey my finger."
Hamilton looked at his hand and flexed it experimentally. He instantly regretted it as the dull throbbing began to course through his arm again.
"Which one of you fixed this?" He asked. None of his pockets seemed to have been emptied and none of the people surrounding him were pointing any of their surprisingly wide variety of weaponry at him so it seemed safe to assume they weren't going to rob him. He felt himself begin to calm down. And if they were mutant hunters...well his coat was still closed and he might be able to slip away without them realizing what he was hiding. He looked up and saw one of them, a tall, pale man with white-black hair. The man was grinning widely at him, an action accented by the pair of scars extending from the corners of his mouth.
Well at least he seems friendly.

Shaun looked at Hamilton carefully, he was looking at Mortis and showed no fear or anger, That is weird...the first time I met Mortis I was afraid out of my mind... Shaun though and the sighed, "I carried you out of there...by choice, I don't know if anyone else would pick up a stranger and carry them to their secret hideout, I could of killed you, robbed you, injure you worse then you already are and a whole other number of things, so...count yourself lucky I found you first" Shaun huffed angrily and pulled his hat off to show his deep blue glowing eyes on purpose and put it back on and walked out of the store angry.

As Shaun walked towards Marcus near the humvee, still thinking on how to cover up the star, Shaun was thinking and talking out-loud angrily, "Why the fuck do people not say thank you instead of bitching!" He yelled to himself as he walked up to Marcus. He stood behind him and thought for a while, "How about we cover it with blood, I'm sure the Doc will have loads of that?" Shaun asked the pondering Marcus.

Mortis withheld a mocking giggle at the folly of his glowing eyed swordsman, Shaun's use of the informal and collective term of "we" amused the deranged doctor. To assume anyone in this dimly light room had the capacity to match, let alone assist, Mortis' medical skill was the perfect example of hubris. With those flickering electric blue eyes and charitable features the fool tried to console Mortis' new toy into revealing his identity; a failure. In return a confused stare from the unknown man wandered the room scanning the little gathering of misfits that circled the brutalised lad, his voice still groggy and his body in pain; the stranger still managed to questions Shaun's involvement in his rescue; an obvious attempt to mask the frailty of his current disposition, and perhaps to gauge his 'captors' intents.

Unfortunately, the limits of Shaun's leniency had been tested throughout the day, the strangers remarks did nothing but sharpen the bladesman's gaze, into a venomous glare. The faint smile of that graced his lips contorting into a brief monologue expressing the simpletons displeasure, before storming from the room.

"Tell me your name." Mortis leaned just a fraction closer as he spoke to the figure in black garb, the movement more of a means of drawing attention than inspection.

Hamilton watched as Shaun stormed out of the store.
His eyes. Did I just see...?
He turned back and noticed one of the others leaning towards him.
"Hamil-" He started. As Mortis leaned forward Hamilton noticed the thick liquid dripping from his sleeves, coat and...hair? . "...ton. Is that blood?"

The stranger, unfortunate as he may have been to stumble into this particular group, seemed to be holding together fairly well; aside from the episode of panic resulting in him tumbling to the floor, of course. Though now it seemed the doctor was seeing fit to make a lasting impression on the stranger, Hamilton as indicated, of his sanity, or lack thereof. Irish nudged the gangly doctor aside and addressed him like one would a mischievous child. "Go 'way wit' ye, ye're gonna scare the poor fecker off." He turned his attention to the man on the ground and offered him his outstretched hand, as a greeting and offer of assistance. "Well, 'Amilton, 'tis nice to make yer aquaintance. The name's Miles, though ye can call me Irish," he added with a sincere smile.

What did he just say? I barely understood a word of...smile and nod, just smile and nod
"Um, hi" Hamilton said, nodding vigorously and grinning, "I'd take your hand but, broken fingers, y'know." With this he pushed an elbow against the ground and managed to bring himself to his feet, stumbling a bit as he did so. As he stood he got a better look at Irish's face and hair. "You seem familiar. Are you from Coleman's river?"
Hamilton looked past Irish and his eyes widened.
"Oh. That's a very nice...dead guy you have there. Very um, very open."
Dissected corpse. Notgoodnotgood. Heard about people like this. More of them than there is of me. Back to Plan A. Run at the first chance I get.
As if in response to this his legs gave out and he fell in a heap at Irish's feet. Directly onto one of his hands. A brief but extremely explicit shout of pain filled the room.

"Well, not exactly from the area, I were only..." Irish started off before catching the man looking behind him. The merchant slowly turned his head to see what had caught the man's eyes and practically made them grow twice in size. "Passina'...t'rough..." was all he could finish after noticing the body was in plain sight. "Oh, ye've gotta be feckin' kiddin'..." Next thing he heard was the man speak up and a thud as he collapsed to the ground. Turning his attention back to Hamilton, he reached down and picked the man up by his shoulders and propped him onto his feet. "Alrigh', clearly the open carcass makes for a bad first impression. But I assure ye, ye'll not meet the same fate as tha' man there. Jus' keep yer head up, avoid injury if at all possible 'cause if ye get 'urt, it'll be the doctor 'ere tha'll 'ave to fix ye up. And 'is record ain't the cleanest-" he leaned forward and spoke lowly so only Hamilton could hear him, "zero percent success rate, far as I've seen."

Mortis, having been thrust to the side by the accented merchant, reached out and clasped the counter between his spindly fingers in the hopes of regaining his balance; all this standing and running had begun to tear away at the muscle and flesh in his legs. He could feel the bones at the knee shifting ever so slightly but ignored the feeling; his intrigue captured by the black cloaked man laying crumpled on the floor.

Attack,. Beaten. Brutalised... Multiple people, no more than three. His fingers dislocated and broken but body with minimal damage, why?... A theif!

With his footing once again composed, Mortis began to wander around the counter, his blood flecked eye's like some rabid creature stalking it's prey... cold, unwavering, ready to strike. The darkness was returning, his minds eye tunnelled as he approached the heap on the bloodstained carpet. His strides quickening, left... right.... left... until suddenly, his weight shifted, the sinew in his leg tore and his leg crumbled to the side. Snapped from his blood-lust his body fell onto the counter, with his forehead colliding into the edge.

The sound had drawn the attention of ever soul in the room that now had their glare fixated on the doctor with his leg half torn off.

"Ouch..."

Ashe watched from a far and hid her smile beneath her grimy gloves. The stranger that had happened upon them had now seen what this little group had to offer. And not only that but the detachment of Mortis' leg from the rest of him made the entire thing look rather humorous. Ashe tucked her magnum into her holster and went forward.

"Need help?" Ashe asked as she nudged the detached limb towards Mortis with the tip of her boot. He smelt of blood and bile with a hint of the sharp accent that medicine would give off.

Hamilton paused as he deciphered what Irish had said, "Avoid injury...?" he said, dangling his hands in front of him meaningfully. "Its a bit late for that. It is nice to know you all aren't going to kill me." He paused for a moment and examined Irish again. "I think... I think you and I passed one another. Up in the northeast. You were with a caravan, right? That's where I think I've seen you. Well, it's a pleasure to meet a fellow friendly merchant."

Hamilton was finally beginning to get over the panic that consumed him when he first awoke. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest and the slowly receding black on the corner of his vision was an uncomfortable reminder of his need to avoid straining himself. A *Thunk* and a muffled "Ouch" drew Hamilton's attention to Mortis. He took a few staggering steps over to the counter, tactfully avoiding looking at the body that lay upon it, and looked down. In the muted light of the shop he failed to get a proper view of what had happened.

"Fake leg? You should get the attachment adjusted in the city. I might even be able to do it for free if you fix my hands." He flinched slightly as a young ...man(?) walked past him to Mortis. He(?) gave the limb a soft kick and asked if the white haired man needed any help. The soft squishing noise from the kick made Hamilton lift his goggles off, fumbling a bit and flinching with every jolt of pain it brought. "That's very realistic looking, though. Whoever did it was an excellent craftsman."

Mortis lifted his hand to his brow and tenderly slipped his hand across where his forehead had collided with the counters edge. As he withdrew his hand he examined, closely, his fingers; red droplets of 'blood' lined the tips of his fore and middle finger, the table had left a gash underneath the strands of black tipped hair that he had just managed to seal moments after impact.

Words carried across the pungent winds of Mortis' 'operating' room as he inspected his wound, some directed at the newcomer to his humble abode, others directed at him. It mattered little, they were mostly tedious to explain or mocking inquiries from people he had failed to find use in.

"Torn muscle... dislodged knee... snapped sinew." Mortis muttered aloud, the permanent grin on his face never fading from his lips.

He leaned forward and gripped the base of his black cargo-pants between his long spindly fingers, pulling them just above the knee; their extra girth combined with his thing frame making the endeavour a simple task. Scars of all different shapes and sizes ran up and down his leg, some were jagged, others clean. Some were thick some where thin and some were new and others old. A thrumming radiated from the centre of his chest, it's metronome in synchronisation with his very heartbeat. A crimson fluid poured from the torn flesh before contorting and weaving, it's movements like a spider twirling it's silk, until finally the doctor's leg was back in it's rightful place, the flesh and appendage held together but a blood hue membrane.

"I need to sit down or I'll tear the other one" Mortis mused before pulling himself from the floor, he held his recuperated limb in the air and moved his foot, up and down, left and right, several times before letting the thick black cloth of his pants fall and drape his pale skin.

"Come, I'll put 'Humpty-Dumpty' back together. Ashe, grab my bag and bring it to me in the foyer." Mortis added before walking into the open room adjacent to his own.

Ashe nodded and went to grab the doctor's bag. It was heavy in her hands so she holstered her pistol and picked it up with both hands now. She lugged it to the foyer where she had been told by Mortis to go.

Ashe heard a rattle when she dropped the bag and she remembered that the pills were still in her pocket. She still didn't trust what the doctor had put inside the pills so she neglected to give them to Blake who still was one of the most useful of the group members and if harm was to fall to him then there would be some serious problems.

Marcus looked at Shaun and laughed. "Sure, and turn up in Crux lookin' like a bunch o' raiders? Kid, we'd get the shot to shit before we made it halfway to the markets." He stood in thought for a moment. "No, we need something to cover it up, but not make it obvious. 'Em Foundation boys are gunna be on the lookout for this, after the shit storm at tha' hanger." He said, half sighing.

Shaun put his hand up to head and brushed through his hair, "Well, I don't know what the hell we can do then, use mud maybe, actually is there anything in the store like paint or any other rescource we can use to cover up the foundation star...unless you want to walk which I don't mind, but since I have that huge ass launcher I don't think thats happening." Shaun said with a sarcastic tone in his voice.

"You know what, somedays I wish I was back at the base with my friends, but since I have figured out what they were working on, I have to find some way of putting it to good use..." Shaun thought as he watched Marcus once more.

As a few minutes went by Shaun began to fidget and get bored, he sighs once, "I'm going back in to find something useful" He spoke to Marcus as he suddenly turned around and went back into the building. As Shaun looks around the building, his focused search brings nothing much to his attention, there are slats of broken wood strewn across the floor in the back room, light gleaming through holes in the outer wall. As Shaun walks around the rest of the building the only thing he could find was a few moldy pieces of cardboard, stored away in a back closet. Shaun covered his mouth as they smell of decay and dirt.

Sighing in defeat the ex guard walks back in depression to the car where he saw Marcus again, "I can't find shit in there!" He yelled angrily and kicked a near by stone that bounced along the ground into the jeep leaving a metal racket.

"Er...by humpty dumpty did you mean me?" Hamilton asked, still wary of the man dripping blood. Even with an apparent bum leg Hamilton still got the feeling he was more dangerous than his frail appearance let on.

The uneven resonance of a madman's shuffles echoed through the broken, dust saturated halls that tunnelled in and out of the tiny 'Clinic', The pungent scent of blood and surgical spirits wafted in his strides, mixing with the still and stagnant winds of the long forgotten relic of a time long past.

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall"
"Humpty Dumpty had a great fall..."
"Threescore men and Threescore more...
"Cannot place Humpty as he was before"

Sung the raggedy doctor, his words bouncing eerily off the slate grey walls of the common room at the end of the hallways, from here branched at least half a dozen tiny storerooms, all of which Mortis investigated with the the utmost scrutiny; he needed somewhere to rest. The doctor was well aware that for the past day he had pushed himself well beyond the means his body had set, It was only a matter of time before the wretched thing would fall to ribbons.

"Here!" Mortis exclaimed, his twisted scar-sworn smile blooming in its full as he made a rapid turn to face the small entourage that had been paying attention to the doctors manic insanity. The feminine frame of The Beasts lapdog awaited cautiously, the black bag of medicine resting at her feet while the glint of her weapon of steel and lead hung tenderly in her grasp

Behind her, approaching with an expression that betrayed pain and confusion was the black clad cripple that the fool had brought into his operating room, half his fingers mended, the other half requiring a mixture of plaster and linens. The doctor was unsure of this one, mostly as to why his services were even needed. No cuts, no medicine, no dissection was required, welcome but not required. Everything they had the him running around doing did nothing but annoy and bore him.

"Take a seat Humpty" Mortis beckoned as he rested himself atop a counter, his leg extended to left the 'Sanguine' finish sealing the wound entirely.

"Ashe, hand me my instruments and find me a bowl." He chimed, not even looking at the pup, merely extending a free hand.

Marcus sighed, watching as the sun slowly drifted across the sky, no clouds were in sight for miles and the horizon was broken by the mountains in the west. Leaving Shaun at the Humvee, he stepped into the ruined old shop and looked about, there was a new addition, sitting quietly on a checkout. Marcus gave him a quick once-over and then continued on. "If you wanna head into the district, we should go soon, get back before night and all. Lookin' like we gotta hump it though, nothin' to cover that Foundation symbol around here." He looked about, around the room as if to check that statement and seeing nothing he shrugged. "Ain't like walkin's new to anyone...".

Irish was anxious to get to the markets and out of the growing scent of putrifaction that occupied the shop, then was relieved to hear Marcus say they should head out.

"Ain't like walkin's new to anyone..."

"I would consider our new friend an exception," said Irish, "'is legs givin' way like they do. Anyway," he turned his attention to Shaun, "Marcus's righ', we be'er go afore it gets dark. Don' wanna know wha' the night life's like 'round these parts."

Shortly after Marcus walked into the store Shaun covered face with his dirty hands, "Bloody hell, why did I leave" He muttered to the empty area, surrounding him and the hummer. Shaun then sighed which echoed through out the area too, "Better see what they're doing" He again muttered to himself as he picked up his bag and the rocket launcher, it feels lighter then usual to Shaun, his face smirked a little due to this as he slung the rocket over his arm.

As Shaun entered the store he shortly heard the part of Marcus's talk about walking there and the unmistakeable voice of Irish talking to him, "Marcus's righ', we be'er go afore it gets dark. Don' wanna know wha' the night life's like 'round these parts." Irish spoke, "Agreed, but I think the others could make some defenses for our little shop here so we won't be attacked by anything in the night while we are gone, I saw some broken wood slates and cardboard, and I bet that the inventive mind of Doctor Mortis can come up with something" He said in response.

"I, ah...alright." Said Hamilton, following a few steps behind Mortis. He pushed a somewhat rotted wooden chair over to the counter where Mortis sat and gingerly took a seat in it. It groaned worryingly but apparently the rot had not managed to compromise its ability to be sat upon. "So, you're going to fix me? For nothing? I have money if you want it." He paused and thought about how that sounded. He still wasn't sure they wouldn't rob him. "I don't have much but definitely enough for some treatment."

Ashe handed Mortis his diabolical instruments, trepidation in her hands. She didn't want to be Mortis' lapdog for a second but if it meant saving someone's life then it wouldn't really be that bad of a decision. That much she hoped.

After that she went forth to fetch a bowl. She saw one but it was a tin bowl, bathed in rust. She gave that to him too. Ashe heard the broken man speak to Mortis as she came back with the bowl, hearing his voice filled with worry.

"Anything else, doc?" Ashe asked.

Thin spindly fingers drenched in a river of crimson reached forth from beneath folds of white stained in the same gory hue. The unexpected chime of a metallic collision radiated around the empty room, bouncing gleefully from wall to wall, as the concave hunk of sheet metal *clinked* with the silver buckle hanging loosely from the wrist of the madman's Jacket.

"No..." chirped the creature of pinstripe flesh, it's blood-flecked eye's jumping rapidly between the shadowed bag of steel and salve, the stranger with hands jutting out in disturbing and alien angle, and the rusted iron bowel now laying tenderly in the monsters grasp.

"You'd probably make a mistake..." The abomination's voice filled with the harmonic tune of a shall child, its scar sworn face contorted as innocently as it could, and for the first time in quite some time actually looking toward the companion that had delivered it's foul belongings. All a clever mask and an insulting juxtaposition to the venomous words slipping from Mortis' lips.

***

Wasting no more time on pleasantries, the doctor turned his full attention to the hunk of meat seated casually before him. Dressed in a midnight coat roughly twice his size with a face painted in the colours of crusty maroon, sickly yellow and painful purple, was the patient by duress that the fool had brought into his 'make-shift-morgue'. From face value, nothing the man bore appeared to by anything challenging, least of all fatal. Of course... in the wastes infection was a commonality and, more often than not, a fairly deciding factor as to whether people like "Humpty Dumpty" would live another day or die a slow and painful death; the latter thought bringing the every persistent smile on the 'ragdoll's' face to it's bloom.

"3 Dislodged metacarpals on the left, 2 on the right... fractured intermediate phalanx's on the little and forefinger of the left... ring, little, centre and forefinger proximals on the right... Right thumb distal broken." Mortis tuned out almost mechanically as he tenderly turned the foreigners hands over in his own, occasional contortions of pain racing across their face.

With his inspection satisfied, Mortis delved deep into his worn bag of tricks and pulled out two concoctions. One was a fairly large bottle of a clear liquid that was unmarked, the other was a vial in a test-tube with a swab of cotton floating in a fluid baring a tinge of yellow. With a steady hand he uncorked the test-tube and clasped the cotton swab with a pair of tweezers he had grasped entirely by memory from a fold stitched into his medical cache.

"This will hurt, If you scream I'll poison you, and leave you for the carrion birdies." The doctor stated, his addressal unsettlingly chipper as always. Like an artist to a paintbrush, Mortis gracefully swabbed a thin layer of aqueous yellow over the unknown man's hands and the occasional cut on his brow or cheek, the alcohol burning clean with each open wound.

Satisfied by the bolts of pain that arched up the man's spine, Mortis put his antiseptic preparations on hold, figuring that the trash that their court jester had brought in wasn't worth the price of the medical supplies he had already spent.

"Humpty, what is the meaning of life?"

"Wha-ARRRRGGGHHHHH" Screamed the meatbag as he threw the doctor from the counter of the table onto the cold, hard floor. It appeared Mortis' feeble attempt at distracting him as he pushed the dislodged bones back into place was less effective than he had hoped...

Clearly our "guest" is gettin' quite the warm welcome, thought Irish as he watched Mortis do his thing. The merchant winced a little as he watched the Doc yanked the Hamilton's fingers into place. Then his eyes widened a bit as he saw the man throw the gangly figure to the floor. Irish couldn't help but smile as he thought, They've got quite the friendship - already got a secret handshake.

"Ye don' exactly have the lowest center o' gravity eh, Doc?" Irish said jokingly as he stepped over to Mortis, reaching down and offering a helping hand. Then he looked over to the man on the counter, checking to see if he was still conscious, "'Ey, 'Amilton, 'ow's tha' 'and o' yers?"

Without further ado, Marcus slung his rifle onto his back and motioned to the door. "Anyone gunna come with, we got things to do...". With that he stepped out of the door and waited by the Humvee.

Ford was nattering around tinkering with the engine, keeping himself busy. He looked like a child in a toy shop when he opened the hood and saw the engine. Rubbing his hands together in glee he began tinkering.

"Well finally!" Shaun said in an impatient manner and quickly walked out the door in a heartbeat. Shaun saw Marcus waiting by the humvee, Shaun sighed quietly to himself as he walked towards him.

"So are we going by car or walking there, I'm sure either way will be okay but when we get chased out of there by angry people I'm sure a car would be useful" Shaun debated.

The sickening sensation of vertigo raced up and down the mad doctor's spine as he collapsed from the counter, it's instinctual discomfort only halting upon the resonating affirmation of cold, hard impact. The blood red membranes that lined the demented surgeons freshest of wounds stretched and contracted as he embraced the fall, their road to "recovery" interrupted yet again by the antics of his compatriots by duress, Mortis was reaching his breaking point; if he didn't give his broken body time to rest he'd begin falling apart with a rapidly increasing regularity.

"Why do they always scream..." Mortis whispered as he gently caressed the the side of his head, hoping the damnable ringing of Humpty's roar would pass. As Mortis lifted his head to catch sight of the counter he caught a glimpse of the accented man standing above him with an arm outstretched and a smile curled at the edge of his lips. The doctor waved his hand away with a drudging gesture, at this point the best the merchant could have accomplished would have been to pull the doctors arm from it's socket.

"Too fragile... I'm fine." Mortis affirmed as he slowly and carefully lifted himself onto his feet.

"Alrigh', suit yerself," Irish said, letting his arm rest at his side. "I 'ope ye don' mind me sayin', but ye're not exactly the most, err...well-constructed individual, are ye? Well, at any rate, I'll be on me way."

Irish hurried out of the shop and to the humvee where his belongings were kept. He slipped on his pack which bore a heavy, but familiar and comforting weight then slung his rifle over his shoulder as he stepped towards Marcus and Shaun. "I s'pose we'll be 'oofin' it, eh? I def'nitely don' feel comfy sittin' in a Foundation-marked car."

A bored Shaun sat on the edge of the car and looked unamused. He looked at Marcus which was close to him, he knew that he didn't get anyone in this group. Their motives, goals, dreams and evil sides, a sigh came from Shaun's mouth as he laid back in the car and stared at the sky. "Will anything good happen" Shaun pondered to himself, as footsteps came closer to the two.

Shaun got up and saw Irish come towards them. ""I s'pose we'll be 'oofin' it, eh? I def'nitely don' feel comfy sittin' in a Foundation-marked car." he said in his funny accent, "I agree but it's our only war if we don't want to walk. I suggest that we park at a near distance to the city, enough to walk there but enough distance to hide it too...so you know, we won't be killed or anything." Shaun stuck his tongue out.

Marcus laughed casually. "We take that thing within a mile of the markets and we'll have every gang and foundation member interested, we'll hoof it. If we're gunna fuck with Balthazaar, we're gunna do it the smart way..." Swinging his Pristine rifle onto his shoulder he motioned to the other two and began walking along the road, taking a kick at some weeds growing between the cracked asphalt.

The Sun was still fairly high in the sky, although it was growing closer to the evening. "We'll go and pay this Fargo guy a visit first, try and seal a way to not get fucked in the arse by the big man, then we can head to markets if you wanna sell or pick up stuff." Marcus said.

As they continued along the road, the buildings on either side slowly began to rise into the sky, or slope into crumbled ruins - all the while becoming denser; with people visible now and then, grovelling in the dirt and the putrid stench of death began to grow upon the air.

Another sigh came from Shaun as he shrugged and checked to see if he had everything. "I really hate walking...I wish I had my bike" Shaun complained to himself. He then followed Marcus to the city, keeping a distance between them both. Shaun nodded once more as he explained what they were going to do in the hellhole of a city. A scrunched up face appeared on Shaun as they got close enough to the city that he could smell the living evil coming from it. "This is going to be nasty" Shaun thought to himself.

"Walkin' ain't so bad, boyo. A li'l traipsin' about ne'er done anyone wrong. 'Cept those who wander a wee bit too far into the wrong fella's business an' end up a few Aces shy of a full 'and, iffen ye catch me meanin'." Irish joked to Shaun with a light and cheerful smile. The merchant walked close to Marcus and Shaun, casually scanning the sides of the roads and getting a decent lay of the land. The smell of putrifaction that reached into Irish's nostrils forced the man to grimace a bit in disgust. "Ugh, now tha's a brutal stench. S'pose this is the shanty slums, innit? Le's 'ope these fellas take kindly to buzzies wit' big guns, eh?"

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