Mr. Murumbi?
The dark skinned man glanced over his shoulder, taking in every detail of the two suited men standing behind him. One was a thin pencil pusher type, with balding hair and horn rimmed glasses. His companion was obviously there as some sort of muscle, a much larger man who looked uncomfortable in the suit. They were both white men.
They didnt fit into their surroundings at all. They were in the middle of the desert after all. Noah was being hired by the US military to handle special operations in Iraq, and was staying with one of the standard regiments until he got his next assignment. They were in the mess tent right now, and Noah had a table all to himself. None of the soldiers wanted to sit anywhere near him, so now they watched quietly as these two men interrupted him.
Yes?
Mr. Murumbi, were from-
I know who you are from.
You do?
You from legal, yes? It is bad to break prisoners arm after surrender, so I in trouble with de Whiteman?
Nnno. Were actually here to talk to you about your future employment.
Noah sighed and swung his legs out, turning to face the two men and standing up.
Oh?
Yes, weve arranged for the end of your contract with the United States military, and-
I am fired?
Oh, no, not at all. You see-nngh!
Noahs right hand had snapped out and cupped the mans crotch, the tendons standing out on his arm showing that he was squeezing very hard. He grinned, brilliant white teeth standing out against his dark goatee and black skin.
See, de white man, that is you, he hates de black man. Dis is me
M-m-mr. Murumbi, plllease!
The larger of the two men stepped forward, reaching out to grab hold of Noah. Noahs left hand lashed out and grabbed the mans wrist, twisting it sharply and snapping the bones inside. He kept wrenching it to the side until the man fell to his knees, eyes squeezed shut as he howled his pain.
So let me ask you dis, if de white man do bad things, would he be fired? Or is this just for de black man?
Were offering you a job Mr. Murumbi, a job!
Oh.
He seemed to consider this for a minute before letting go of the two men, letting the thinner one fall to the ground next to his companion.
Why did you not say this? I will sign, I hate dis country. Too bright, eh?
((Another day, another expired sub and borred forum-account. Gizza job?))
------------------------------------------------
'Sorry 'bout yeh friend there pal, but I did ask 'im polite like teh not shove tha' thing in me face, an' I hate wastin' good bitter.'
The uniformed man glanced down at his companion, who lay in a pool of his own blood, chest caved in and gurgling horribly even as he still clutched a silver crucifix in his right hand. The standing man looked back to the scruffy-looking Irishman who lent casually against the bar. They were in an Irish theme-pub in Salamanca, which managed to do a halfway good job at authenticity. They even had a flag. The Irishman pulled on a cigarette, then blew smoke upwards with a grin before speaking in his Dublin brogue.
'Now what was it yeh wanted t'ask me again?'
The other man cleared his throat, clutching protectively at a crucifix he wisely kept in his trouser pocket.
'Mr O'Bannon, you have certain skills and experience that we would fine useful to our operation. We, or at least now, I am offering you a job.'
'Yeh sure it won't muck up me dole?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Nevermind. What's the job then?'
The suited man looked around at the other, very silent patrons in the bar before looking back at Cormack.
'I'm not sure this is the right place to discuss such things. There are certain things tha-'
'Whatever, I'll take it if it avoids yeh tellin' yer life's history. Sign me up pal.'
Cormack stubbed out his cigarette with his thumb before strolling past the dumbfounded suited man. He stopped before we went out into the twilight to apply another layer of sunscreen to his arms and face, tucking it back into his pocket as he strode to the black car by the kerb and getting into the front passenger seat. He put his feet up onto the dashboard and waited, lighting a fresh cigarette.
"If your here to look for nukes, you got the wrong guys, we don't deal in such crude b****cks."
The gigantic figure of Ben Campbel stands arms crossed behind his back, the tail of his coat flicking in the winds from the propellers of the helicopter which landed moments ago on the KM-Tech mobile factory in the Atlantic ocean.
Two suited men in black sunglasses walk towards him, one with a hand outstretched in greeting, which is ignored as the giant turns on his heels, and strolls away.
"I'm positive you'll find us above board. Make this quick"
One of the men calls after him "Mr Campbel, this isn't a weapon's inspection, we came to offer you a job."
"I have a job. Your standing on it"
"Mr Campbel, in light of your previous criminal activities, i think it would be beneficial for you to accept."
The giant pauses, turns, and marches back to the agent, leaning down into his face "Was that a threat?"
Leaning back slightly, the suited man laughs nervously "no, no, it was a ...eheh... i mean it would help your public image... doing good for the world..."
After an uncomfortable silence, the giant smirks "Fill me in."
There was a knock at the door early morning at the Renaru family home in founders falls.
Erion 'Demonic Storm' Renaru opened the door to two men in black suits and sunglasses, Dem looked down at them.
"Mornin' Gentlemen, can I help?" He said in his calm voice
"We have a situation" one of the men said attempting to walk into his home only to be met by an invisible barrier.
"Mother didn't teach you manners clearly, do come in" Dem walked back from the door and down a corridoor ushering for the men to follow, he walked through a door and into the kitchen, where Fi, his wife currently pregnant with their second child and Orion Renaru their first born were sat.
"Please take a seat gentlemen" Dem said as the two sat looking a bit at Fi and Ori before looking back at their eight foot target.
"We have a situation we require your help with" the two said still eyeing him up.
"Firstly, if you have a problem with me or my family I suggest you leave it outside my door as I could kill you with a flick of the wrist... secondly, tell me more about this".
The two looked at eachother looking a bit unsure then spoke
[u]Briefing room, Paragon City[u]
"If I can have your attention gentlemen? thank you."
Around the room, the assembled team sit in varying states of relaxation, while a grey haired man addresses them from the front.
"For some time now, we at the United Nations Security Council have had a problem. There have been times when we have had need of intervention where our normal Peacekeeping forces will not suffice, where direct and precise action is needed, and where it is too sensitive to send in the average hero-on-the-street.
This is where you come in. You all have proved yourselves in countless occasions to be capable of getting the job done, no matter how high the stakes.
You will be formed into an elite team who will operate independently from any nation to strike hard at the threats to all nations.
You will have as much resources at your disposal as we can allow, and all you need worry about, is getting your missions objectives complete, in any way you see just.
You will be given a uniform, expenses, and an operations facility, how you choose to use them is down to you.
You are the United Nations International Tactical Squad. Codename: Red Griffin.
Dismissed."
((okay, in case you haven't guessed it yet, its SG founding time again!
A few people where getting bored with the lack of gritty, harsh, 'realistic' RP, so among us four, we've come up with a plan to save us all from saving kittens from trees.
So what is there to know?
1: The Red Griffins are a hardcore RP group. This means there is a certain level of role-playing competence expected of all its members. The ability to discern between IC and OOC, accepting of consequences, and trying to maintain a certain level of believability are among what we hold to our core.
2: Gritty is good. Fluffy is nice occasionally, but some times you just want to beat up some guy and jam his shattered tibia through his chest... and sometimes you want to RP that too. Batman Begins > batman & Robin.
3: We're harder to get into than a gnat's chuff. Some SGs have open door policies, and take on anyone who is generally a nice guy. For varying reasons, the core 4 disagree with such recruitment methods. Here, you wont get in without someone first vouching for you, an observation period, and a short trial period. Hassle, yes, but you know at the end of it your let in for a reason other than bumping member numbers.
we now return you to our scheduled program))
((The following is a RP project brought to you by Franklin's Baked Goods Boxing.
"no one punches a doughnut quite like Franklin's"))
[u]United Nations Headquarters, New york.[u]
"Sir, I have the Interpol files you requested"
A grizzled, black suited man looks up from his desk to the young male clerk brandashing a fistfull of manila folders.
"Good, Simmons, take a seat"
"Are you sure these are the right people, Sir?" the younger man asks, as he drops the files on the desk and sits.
"This squad has to be ruthlessly officiant, Simmons, these are men we KNOW can get jobs done."
"Yes, Sir"
"Read them out to me."
The clerk clears his throat as he repositions the stack of folders in front of him, reads the first sheet in each before placing it aside.
"Murumbi, Noah. Kenyan national, part of the Maasai and a top grade marksman. One of the only candidates of the, uh, Kenyan super soldier program. Excellent, if unorthodox, stealth operative.
Campbel, Ben. British national, trained black-opps soldier, former mercenary, assault specialist. Strong pro-Europe patriot, unlikely we will have any trouble getting him to sign up.
O'Bannon, Cormack. Irish Republic national, former IRA, no prizes for guessing his speciality. Insurgency, firearms, good, better with explosives and better in a fist-fight. Known to drink a lot, and there's something else: He's a Vampire.
Renaru, Erion. Extra dimensional entity, large, blue and hairy. Specialises in the supernatural, and able to control the elements. He's a risk however, being a non-terrestrial, although his record shows no run-ins with the law, and Azuria, the woman who deals with M.A.G.I recruits in Paragon, speaks highly of him."
"Good. Bring them in, and begin looking for next wave of recruits"
((Further information to follow after these messages...))