San Martin

[NC]

[[He asked me to start this...as he's a tad handicapped at the moment...]]

San Martin...a dangerous city with the majority of it's population being dangerous themselves. Even the government didn't work the same here as it did everywhere else in the States. It was also possible to make a name for oneself simply by being the biggest, baddest thing to walk the streets...or even by being a mover and shaker behind the scenes. The air here is rife with possiblities...


He swore softly to himself, muttering complaints about running deliveries after dark while holding a slim hand tight to a spot on the left side. 'At least they weren't too much trouble. That one only got a lucky shot off at me because I wasn't paying enough attention.' A grimace would have been seen playing across the face, except the navy baseball cap threw shadows across it, obscuring it from sight.

His steps were steady and purposeful, yet wary, an indication that this wasn't someone to mess with, even if they looked to be slightly handicapped. Keeping to somewhat lighted streets, he finally reached an out of the way building. The building itself looked very plain, but well-kept, unlike the other buildings around it. There were very few windows and those were high up, out of reach of most casual breakers. The front door was busy, looking like a cross between the entrance of a club and that of a dealer's house. Fighters and spectators were going in at this point.

He made note of the mixed crowd but didn't head for the front. Instead, he headed for the back door; he'd been here before, for a variety of reasons. A large burly man armed with what looked like a tricked out shotgun was guarding the back door. He headed up to speak to the man, keeping one hand on his side. "Yo. Is she in? Need to see her for a bit, Norman." The guard smiled, obviously recognizing the calm voice.

"Nearly got caught again, eh? She in. You know, we've been taking bets on when we'd see you next and whether it'd be for business or not. Since it's obviously not for business this time, the heavy betters are gonna loose some serious cash. Good thing I know better than to bet anything where you're concerned." Norman tapped in a sequence on the door, holding it open after it was unlocked. "Here you go."

"Thanks. How are the crowds tonight? The front looked pretty busy." He paused inside the door, waiting to hear the reply.

"Well, it looks like some of the big guys sent out a message to a variety of places in order to get some new blood in the ring...especially with some of the locals leaving in order to defend their territory against intrusions. Though one of the oldies came back from who knows where and has been rocking the joint."

He nodded and continued inside, moving in the direction of the hospice portion of the building. Reaching the room he wanted, he knocked on the door then walked in. Just loud enough to be heard, he called out, "He-llo Nurse..." and then placed his back to a wall to wait for a reply.

A low murmur and some rustling noise could be heard from one of the connected rooms. Finally, a voice drifted out from it. "Scalpel? If that's you, you know the drill. I'll be there in a bit."

He moved down to the office, where a pristine desk sat in the center and with supplies for minor injuries ringing the rest of the room. Medical files were kept elsewhere. There were no chairs except for the one behind the desk, so he leaned against the desk with care, slowly removing the right hand away from the left side. It was clear now, from the hole in the dark green flannel shirt and the sticky darkness around that area, that he'd been shot at.

Fairly soon, a brown-haired woman dressed up like a nurse and with a strict, no-nonsense hairstyle strode into the room, closing the door behind her. "What do you need this t- oh my goodness, get that shirt off! Who the hell was stupid enough to send people after you this time?" The nurse was all business, but showed quite a bit of concern.

The cap came off, allowing a fairly long braid of brown hair to escape and fall down the back. With a headshake, the flannel overshirt was carefully pulled off and set aside, leaving a loose grey shirt with a spreading blood stain behind. "They only managed to clip me, Amy. Nothing but a bit of a bleeder. Hurts like hell though." Now that the cap was removed, one could tell the guy was, in fact, a girl. "I left them a message though, so I'm hoping it won't happen again any time soon."

Amy snorted, gesturing that the T-shirt also be removed. "I'll see what I have to dull the pain till you get home. I take it here was the closest?" The nurse started rifling through supplies, occasionally placing something on the desk besides the injured person. "Lilly, you really should consider another line of work..."

Lilly sighed and with some difficulty, got the T-shirt off, showing that it was only a small gash in her left side, from a bullet passing fairly close. "What I do is safer than some things...heck, I know you only deal with the minor injuries to the fighters, so they can go home, but you've probably seen some of the worst ones too. Shit like that happens on the streets too, you know, especially now. Besides, I try to only fight if I have to."

Amy hummed as she opened a bottle of some liquid and pressed a cotton ball to the mouth, placing some of the substance on it, then swiping the open wound. As Lilly hissed, fingers gripping the desk edge, Amy placed a cotton pad over the gash and then started to wrap the area so it was held in place. "Get that taken care of soon. I only put enough to clean it and numb for a few hours." She glanced at the shirts and shook her head.

Lilly smirked. "Leave 'em. It's not like anyone will notice all that much...and I'll leave by the front. It's faster that way. And it's not like security hasn't seen me often enough, since I make deliveries here too." Still being careful, she replaced her clothes, tucking the T-shirt back into her jeans and doing a few buttons on the flannel. Grinning, she gathered up the braid and shoved it under the baseball cap as she put that back on. "No prob...I'll see you some other time, Nurse." With that, she opened the office door...

[Sothiaz]

San Martin. A city where friends are never a guarantee, and you never give your back to someone you dodn’t trust implicitly. Anger is a constant, tangible thing in these streets, and it grows with each riot. With each skirmish along the edges of gang territories, the fear grows, feeding the anger, which in turn feeds the fear. But when you live for that anger, the fights, and the kill, it is as heady as the purest heroin. A high like nothing else, where adrenaline takes control, and the possibility that this may be the one where you didn’t walk away.

There are people on these streets that live for these fights because they tell them that they are alive, where as some one else is dead. Some fight because it because it means that they will live that much longer. Some fight to prove their worth when strength was your only protection. And some fight because it is all that is left in them. An all consuming anger that is only released in the kill. The kill, which gives some measure of peace, until the next time when the drug wears off, and the reality, sinks in that you have become a monster. Anywhere else, these people would be sociopaths, locked away, and for that reason, this is their haven.

Standing in the back of the filthy ally where her marks had finally stopped running, a lone woman stood. At her feet were 3 bodies. 2 men, and a single woman. The men, they had been easy, and they now lay with their throats slit, the blood making the ground a dull red in the dim light that the street lamp cast from just outside of the alley. The woman, she hadn’t been part of the contract, but she got herself a gilt-edged invitation that didn’t allow for refusal when she pulled the gun. Unlike the men, her death had been slow and nowhere near easy. It was simple really, and no one would care when the sun rose on the prostitute and 2nd rate dealers. The woman had burned, and all that remained was a charred, withered carcass at her feet.

The woman’s screams had meant nothing, and neither had the men’s pleas for their lives when they realized that there was no where left to run. Their angel of death had come, and given them a one-way ticket to hell. Never one to leave a weapon when it could be of use, she retrieved the gun from where the woman and thrown it aside in agony, and looked it over with a cool professionalism that spoke of more experience than one her age should have. The gun was a decent one, a two shot derringer, well cared for and in good shape. An ivory handle, it was a lady’s gun, probably inherited, and an odd thing for a woman who obvious had little. Oh well.

Walking to the front of the alley, she slid a cell phone out of her pocket and dialed the number to her contact. She never spoke to the boss, only errand boys, and that suited her. As the phone rang in her ear, she looked at the street before her, the dingy buildings, the bared windows, the broken ones where some hadn’t been smart enough to invest in even that limited security. On the third ring, the voice that she associated with this contract came over the line. “Well?”<br>
Hers was indifferent as she gave her report “The job is done, but there was a complication. A woman interfered.”<br>
“How?” the question was almost offhand, as if it made no difference whether or not he knew the details.

“She pulled a gun. You didn’t tell me either one was involved.”<br>
“She wasn’t supposed to be there. “<br>
“You know what you need to do to make this right. You have one hour, and then I check for the rest of my fee, along with your reparations. If it is there, then this is the last you will hear from me concerning this job. Don’t disappoint me.”<br>
“It will-”she cut him off by closing the phone and turning it off. Returning it to her pocket, she pushed her hair off of her face, and turned to leave, walking to her favorite coffee shop about 2 miles away. Her attitude as she walked was careless, at least to some one who didn’t know what to look for. She was aware of her surroundings, every shift of shadow, every slight rustle as the wind blew softly through the streets. The night was clear, the stars as bright as they ever got in this area, the moon dark so that all you saw was a dark spot in the night sky where it should have been. An hour was enough time to get her coffee and relax before booting up her laptop and checking for her fee. It always was.