[IC] GTA: Europa

[Mr. Gen]

OOC

[Mr. Gen]

It all started in a hotel room, the dim light of a high security laptop was the only source of light in the room, which rested in his lap as he tapped away, writing a message into his computer. It was an invitation, very vague, very suspicious, but it promised wealth and fortune. Each individual the message was going to go to was hand picked from a stack of folders he had managed to get his hands on a few weeks prior to today.

The message stated that a certain group of people with special skills were needed, and that the meeting point was at a fishing port just outside of London, England. Travel expenses would not be paid for, but the pay off for joining would be more than enough to pay off any debts anyone who comes may have.

It also stated that one was to make they weren't followed, and that no one knew where they were going, or what they were doing. Rook sighed then, reading over the message again, and again, until finally he sent it off with the click of a button.

The messages flew out, flying across Europe to the lucky few that had been chosen to be part of the crew, their devices lighting up as the message came, with a simple title: "A Proposition".

[nightcreeper58]

Today had been a very long day, and not a very proud day. Bran was used to doing things that weren't particularly glamorous, but this was a new low, and one he wasn't sure he could top. The cab driver was totally oblivious of his day, and chattered idly about the weather and the government, each apparently as bleak as the other. English politics didn't concern Bran in the slightest, and the weather isn't really that interesting either, leaving him sitting in the back in silence as the driver continued to ramble on. Today wasn't over yet, and it seemed like it was just going to get longer.

It took about half an hour to reach the hotel. Bran quickly paid the cab driver and headed upstairs as fast as possible, attempting to avoid drawing too much attention. That was something much easier said than done, as a bright yellow Hawaiian shirt in the middle of London tended to draw the eye. He moved through the lobby to an elevator and quickly closed the doors before anyone else could get in. He sighed as he fell into the wall, exhausted from the day's work. Once he reached his floor, he moved quickly to his room and locked himself in. He walked into the room and took off the bright yellow shirt, throwing it down onto the floor before heading into the bathroom to shower.

After getting comfortable, Bran took out his laptop and checked that the money from today's hustle went to the right accounts. Everything was in order. For the first time today, Bran smiled. He moved on to check his emails, most of it junk, but stopped when he came across one from an unfamiliar address. Taking a sip of his wine, Brad opened the email. It was vague, as messages usually were in his line of work. This was risky, taking a job from an unknown party. He sent the address off to a friend who was pretty good with technology, but it seemed like it would take forever to trace. This made things interesting. He took a few minutes to think about it. On one hand, it could be a set up; there were several parties all across England that would be very interested in getting him in their custody. On the other, it could be a genuine job, and even though he had money from today's job, the profit wasn't enough for him to turn down a chance like this. He took note of the time place, stored them in his phone, and set about planning for the event.

[Juicesir]

She'd never been to England. Germany, sure. It's where she was born. Italy, France, most of the Eastern Bloc. There was Turkey, and that small stint in the Balkans. She'd even gotten as far south as Athens one time. And then there was the summer she had spent in Barcelona.

But never England. Muddy little rock in a cold little sea full of ugly teeth and bad fish dishes. That's what she had convinced herself it was. No romance to London. Just smog, austere palaces for the rich, couple highrises. It wasn't like Paris, not like that artful place of romance, no. And certainly wasn't like Istanbul, it's culture sweating as its people did in the streets. Not a Berlin, with its bustling immigrant quarters and its tension filled streets.

London was London, and it was miserable. That is what she had always imagined. That was what had been easily confirmed upon her arrival at Heathrow.

She rented a car. It was easier to forge a name than lie to a cabbie she had found. Cabbies were the consummate people persons; they understood tells and what you were doing. They had keen eyes, and right now, Azra needed to be away from keen eyes and to be ready to meet greedy ones.

It'd been a while since she had actually done a job with a proper crew. Normally it was just side projects, maybe with a cut-in. But this seemed organized. This had a scale to it. And it was the time in her life where she could afford that. And after this?

Maybe she could afford to finally get away and settle down.

The little fishing village was just the place she didn't want to be in. It had that muddled quality that most English towns she thought of must possess. This ruddy, sliding color to it, a smell of the sea that wasn't pleasant at all. She was easily already annoyed, not only with the locale but the lack of information on her end. What did their leader expect them to do once arrived? Was this a test? Did she need to find him?

She settled on not doing any of that, and proceeded to find the closest approximation to a hotel that she could. That proved to be an inn, which was much less than she would have liked, but the couple who ran it were uncaring to her presence much. They set her up, and she had a room with a nice view of the square.

Perfect.

[Timothy]

Jason woke up in Cardiff, Wales, on the top floor of the luxury hotel he had decided to stay at this week. He winced at the light shining in through the windows and immediately felt his head explode. He reached over and grabbed his bottle of Aspirin, popping the cap and throwing two into his open mouth. Hangovers were hell. But damn if last night wasn't fun, or what he could remember of it. Jason felt a movement besides him, so he flipped over to find a b-e-a-utiful blonde woman sleeping besides him. A fun night indeed.

Careful so as not to wake up the stranger in his bed, Jason got out of bed and walked over to the fridge to get himself a beer. He sat down on the couch and grabbed his laptop from the table. Same routine, every morning. Wake up, grab a beer, and now came the depressing part. Looking at the damage done to his spending cash. He pulled up his bank's page, entered his info, and checked his balance. $35,000. He had 40,000 the night before. In one night he had spent five grand. He let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hand over his head, over the prickly remnants of his hair. How in God's name am I so low on funds?, he thought. He needed a way to find cash. He needed a job. Something well-paying. Something good enough to pay for his drugs and his women and his hotels, his whole fucking way of life. All of it.

Jason closed out of his bank account and switched over to his email, planning to write to a couple of his old crew mates, maybe work out a way to setup a job. But something caught his eye, first. An email, not from anyone he knew. That was odd in itself, because he only used this address for contacting people he knew, and made it very clear to them not to share it around. Curiosity piqued, he opened the email and read it slowly, then re-reading it to be sure. A job. A god damned job. And it sounded like one that payed well. Jason grinned to himself at the thought of catching such a beautiful break. I guess it's time for me to break out the suit

[Veloci]

Léon looked down at the man kneeling on the floor with a blindfold on. The man was visibly sweating, and Léon was nearly finished with him. He crouched down, a gun twirling in his off hand. "So, are you going to tell me anything else about this person, or will I have to shoot you again?" The man began to mumble, and Léon leaned closer, tilting his head slightly, "I'm sorry, what, I didn't hear you." The man began to blabber, and Léon sighed, this man was useless now. To much pain would destroy the mind. He cocked back the release lever and put it to the man's forehead. "Adieu, mon frère." And then Léon pulled the trigger. He was splattered with blood and viscera. He stood up, wiped some bits off of his shirt and looked around. Just him, alone in the empty warehouse, with naught for company but a dead man. Léon sighed and walked out of the building.

-4 Hours Later-

Léon walked out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel. He sat down on his bed, and pulled out his phone. He checked his business E-Mail. Most of it was junk, but one, from a new address, caught his attention. He read it and grinned. It was in English, but luckily, Léon had learned that in Primary School. He stood up, and dressed. He quickly bought a train ticket online, to take the metro from Paris to London. He packed a few things, his German built USP.45 among them. It was in a hidden lead lined compartment, to prevent scanners from detecting it. And with that, he made his way into the metro, taking the train to london.

-3 Hours Later-

Léon arrived in London and stepped off the train, he put on his sunglasses, to prevent people from noticing details about him as much. He walked up the steps and into London. He checked the E-Mail again, and noted where they were to meet. He got a room in a high class hotel that was still near the meet up point. He checked into his room, set down the briefcase and sat on the bed. He picked up the remote and surfed channels as he waited.

[.Karma.]

Kyra tapped her fingers nervously on the planes arm rest. She didn't trust planes, she definitely preferred things that stayed rooted on the ground. She felt so out of control. The email had came as a surprise to her. She knew her driving and mechanic skills were good, but she had never been out of her country, never done huge jobs. Mainly she had been a getaway driver for her friends or friends of friends for some cash. This was different, it was exciting and more importantly it would put money in her pocket which she definitely needed.

As the plane started to land in London, she gripped the seat and bit her lip, but nothing overly exciting happened. They landed safely and finally she was off of that fucking thing. She waited for her small beat up bag that had some clothes in it and tossed it over her shoulder, heading out of the airport.

This was all nerve racking, she had no car, and barely any money to her name. She just needed to get to this meeting spot. As she looked up and down the road at the airport her fingers were itching to get her hands on the beautiful red Mustang GTO she saw, but she didn't need to draw attention to herself just yet.

Pulling her wallet she opened it to see a lonely 20 dolllar bill. Putting on her sweetest smile she walked up to the most approachable persont there. "Do you think you might be able to point me in the right direction to catch a bus?" She nodded as the person gave her directions and took off walking. Walking sucks.

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She stepped off the bus about a mile from the fishing port, already exhausted and irritated from the day. She hoped it could only get better from here. If she used all her money and traveled all this way for nothing, she was going to be beyond royally pissed.

She was way too early, but she really had no other choice. No money to go site seeing, no money for a hotel. England was dreary, and she might have appreciated being a new country more if she had money or means to actually enjoy it, but as it was she again she was on foot and took off towards the fishing port. She had quite some time to wait for everyone else. She found herself a nice spot on the ground and lay on her back with her hands behind her head, looking up at the grey sky, eventually dozing off just a bit to wait for the unknown.

[Mr. Gen]

The last couple of days had been long. Barely any sleep, no good food, it was just him constantly moving from one place to the next, all to make sure he was not followed nor seen by anyone, guess that's how bad his paranoia was. This time it was a privately owned room from an old lady he stayed at, a real cat person she was, but sweet and gentle, like most people her age. He slipped out his smartphone and checked over the messages, nothing, this made him smile, no reply meant the people he had sent the message to were somewhat professional, no dumb questions or other e-mails that could be traced back to them.

He looked around for a moment, the clouds were rolling in, dark grey, and he was sure it was about to rain. His hands pulled at his coat, only to zip it up and prop up its collars before finally pulling the hood over his head. Afterwards he slipped on his leather gloves before feeling around on his coat, making sure he had everything. Wallet, phone, cigarettes, zippo, gun, dagger, it was all there.

It took him barely fifteen minutes to get to the port, but once he was finally there he'd look around, no one yet, then again he was an hour early, so he decided to make his way to the port, it was a small one, had only three piers on it, all side by side with a single, old, abandoned warehouse at the beginning of them. He made his way to the middle pier, coming to stand at the very end of it before lighting a cigarette, giving himself a nice deserving puff before he looked around. Just then the rain began falling, starting very slowly, just a light drizzle as it began getting the already humid ground wet.

[nightcreeper58]

One of the good things about London - well, not good, but useful - was the homeless population. Several times they had saved his life, letting him mingle and hide to avoid detection. The majority weren't idiots, and Bran used that to his advantage to create distractions for several of his most successful jobs. He did same today to ensure he wouldn't be followed. After checking out of the hotel, he hailed a cab and set off to one of the congregations he had dealt with in the past. They were amiable bunch, and were loyal as long as he continued to pay them. Fortunately for Bran, not having bills to pay means they're more willing to accept lesser amounts of cash, allowing what he had left on him to stretch a bit further.

The cab driver was a little dubious about driving into the gathering, but Bran reassured him with a few pounds and told him to wait for a minute. More than happy to make money for nothing, he complied. Bran moved quickly into the congregation and found a man who roughly fit his own description. Handing him some cash, Bran de-robed and traded clothes with the homeless man, who then got into the cab and went off to another hotel with one of Bran's disposable credit cards and all of his luggage, save a single carry bag he had hidden under his coat. From here, Bran made his way towards the Underground, moving from group to group, paying off certain individuals to also move about for the day to cause some confusion, allowing him to reach the Underground without fear of detection. Pulling into an alley, Bran exchanged his current attire with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, throwing a light rain-coat on over the top he had packed after reading the weather prediction. He checked his watch, collected his bag, and headed down to the train.

A few years ago, Bran helped an old friend of his get back on his feet, although never told him where he got the money. Figuring it was time to cash in on that favour, Bran had organised several tickets for that day, which he had also passed out to the homeless men and women he had 'recruited'. While some may call this paranoia, Bran called it "preparing for every outcome you can imagine and few others to boot". His pre-planning allowed him to catch his train moments before it left, and the next one, and the next one. Unfortunately, the Underground didn't quite reach where he was going, which meant taking a cab from here. Or rather, 2 cabs and a bus.

Eventually, after a bit of a walk, Bran was at his destination, and thankful for his hooded coat. He walked up to the old warehouse and looked out to the dock. On the middle pier, a single man stood smoking. He took a walk around the warehouse, then, convinced, he headed out to meet his new employer.
"Miserable fuckin' spot ya picked," he said, "I thought London was bad, but this takes the fuckin' cake, this does."

[.Karma.]

Kyra opened her eyes slowly and stretched, feeling the... grass? Hell, she had fallen asleep. She was in London. She shot up, her hair probably full of grass, her clothes all disheveled. She grabbed up her bag and jogged towards the dock. She was probably late. She cussed herself grumpily, she didn't wake up well.

Her face showed her irritation as she ran up to them. "I'm here, I'm sorry..." She wasn't even sure if she was late or not, but she thought an apology was in order anyways, just in case. She rubbed her eyes, still trying to get the sleep out of them as she looked at the men. "Any of you have a cigarette I can bum?" What was she thinking taking off to another country with no money. She was dense, what if it was all a big joke. Oh well, she was here now. She pushed her hair back from her face, trying to fix it a bit. This man probably thought he accidentally hired a homeless woman, which was partially true right now.