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2/15/2016 5:38:30 AM
1
It never belonged to him, it was Schrader's. Most of the big governments around at the time had gotten word that Schrader was doing something in the dark and they pushed him into a world war. He overextended himself and got spread too thin in trying to fight, eventually being cornered and killed in Dubai. Company fell apart after that, with certain little groups popping up. Man named Torrez took control, led most of the others except my father, Ashe, and Crow. My father made a deal with the federal government that he and those who helped to end what remained of Venom Incorporated would be granted amnesty, and thus, they helped finish the fight. My father killed Torrez, and he was written off. Came home on and off for a while, because he was working with the CIA and such, and eventually, after he retired, they killed him off. Crow's the only one of the originals alive, and all the company's assets have been sold off, scrapped, or used to produce peaceful tools rather than weapons of war.
English
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"Well damn, that's gotta be a bitch. Wilson over there an operative, or was he just an aff-" [b][i]He says, before being cut off, the stereotypical Canadian accent of JT being replaced by that of a thick, Texan accent. [/i][/b]"Affiliate, never was VINC, was only working with them for the off-the-books jobs" [b][i]The man says, walking from behind JT, his brown duster flying in the wind behind him, the cowboy hat engulfing half his face in shadows, the one half that is visible completely burned off. A green jumpsuit with a black trim lays underneath the open duster, and his right hand stays a stony grey colour. [/i][/b]"Remember the cowboy I mentioned earlier?" [b][i]JT sarcastically asks, placing one hand on the cowboys right shoulder. [/i][/b]
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That's the man I thought I was speaking with. Glad we've gotten that little identity crisis cleared up.
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"I've no idea what's more surprising; I'm wearing robes like the reaper and you thought I was the cowboy, or you thought I was the retarded ass merc standing next to me" [b][i]JT says, gesturing to the cowboy, lacing his words with sarcasm. [/i][/b]
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Names and faces blend when Wilson's half-drunk and catching you up on things.
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JT "Ah, fair enough. Anyways, so what brings the famous Wolf to New Terra?" Frontiersman "Wolf? Son of Blackjack?" JT "Yeah, that's him" Frontiersman "Interesting"
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Edited by Trashcan Jesus: 2/15/2016 4:16:14 PMHunting's good from what I hear.
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"Hunting what, exactly? Jobs possibly?" [b][i]JT asks, The Frontiersman still watching Wolf intently, analyzing his movements. [/i][/b] [spoiler]Frontiersman is way too uptight for most scenarios by the way, if you were wondering what's going on with this retard. [/spoiler]
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[i]If he had seen Blackjack, Wolf's body language was almost identical. It radiated a calm, calculating coldness, unfazed and in complete control. [/i] Heard there's war. With war comes the work.
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"Ah, yes, Venus and the Kings of Mars. Truly an idiotic war, if you ask me. Just means the NTR has to step into this shitstorm and quell things" [b][i]JT says. The Frontiersman, having met Blackjack once, takes note of this, before parting from the duo and looking for Wilson. Maybe he can get information on certain instances from him, he thinks. [/i][/b]
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[i]Wilson's hulking frame is seen marching towards them now, at a decent pace. His machine gun remains in firing position, all of his other weapons holstered. His cloak billows behind him, the American flag tattered, faded. The eyes of his suit glow an eerie red, and he stops in front of the Frontiersman. Standing at nearly 7 feet tall, he cuts an imposing figure. [/i]
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"Mister Wilson, it seems you enjoy killing, yes?" [b][i]The man asks, taking note of his figure, the flag, the eerie eyes, and the rest of the armour, as well as the armaments he is equipped with. [/i][/b][u]A well armed psychopath, haven't seen something this bad since... Ever[/u][b][i] He thinks to himself. [/i][/b]
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Nah, I'm -blam!-ing Bob Ross painting forests. Of [i]course[/i] I do. It's like watching that asshole kid in the class do really well, and then you -blam!- up their project as they walk in.
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[b][i]He lightly chuckles, but straightens up once more. [/i][/b]"I know of a group to slaughter, few thousand people, you in?" [b][i]He asks, pulling a specialized M4A1 from his back[/i][/b]
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How much you payin'?
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"Ten grand, and I'll cover the costs of ammo"
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Good enough for me. How soon?
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"Whenever you're ready, I'll get a ship to grab us"
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Let's ride. [spoiler]New post, I assume?[/spoiler]
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[spoiler]yeah. You want to make it, or should I? It's an assault on Mars. [/spoiler]
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[spoiler]make it yourself. I'll reply once it's up.[/spoiler]
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[spoiler]post is up. [/spoiler]
