Sound of Silence, Chapter 1: "Overture"
 

The man's breath slowed to a near stop as he heard boots comeing closer to the alley where he had been hiding. His vision blurred in and out, his head screamed in pain from the wound on his head. The boots came closer and stopped right at the entrance to his alley. He stayed deathly silent, if he could just get to help, get away from those guards, he might just have a chance to warn somebody, to save others...

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Meanwhile, Reena layed her head down on the counter of a local bar. Her store had just gotten robbed again. <I don't know how much longer I can take it...> She grumbled in her head as she took another drink.

(OOC: alright, you all are in this bar for some reason or another and you can meet the other PCs right now if you want to, or at least intoduce your character. ^^ The good old-fasioned bar opening scene. ^^; )

Nathan was quietly sitting at a table by himself, typing on his computer, while reading from the piles of dusty old books surrounding him.
If someone had cared to glance a passing look, they would have seen that most of them had titles involving the words "Ancient", "History", "Artifacts", and "Languages".
Amongs the pile of books spread across the table were a few small, old looking, objects of varying sizes, and a few empty esspresso cups.
He looked rather run down at the moment, his brown hair was toussled and he needed a shave, his glasses were sliding down his nose and he was holding a pencil in his mouth by the eraser end. His clothes were all brown or tan, and looked more than a little trail-worn and dirty. His vest was full of pockets, which seemed to carry any number of small objects, and his beld has both a revolver and a knife holstered on it, and he was wearing a very beaten pair of hiking boots.

He pushed his glasses back up his nose and took the pencil out of his mouth to mark something in the book. He stopped for a moment to look at the other people in the bar and gave the depressed looking woman a passing glance before returning to his study of the ancient texts.

Paige had just gotten off duty and was already in the bar and well into her first drink. She was still wearing her paramedics uniform, a blue shirt with the EMS crest on it and jeans. She had left her jacket in the ambulance when she had left it at the garage for a tune up. Her shirt was bloodstained from the many patients she had administered treatment to. Honestly, who thinks of shoving a pencil through their hand? She noted a girl who was lying at the bar when she got up to get another drink. "Hey, aren't you the owner of that store that got robbed? A shame really, I think I picked up a few people around there who were caught in the crossfire."

OOC: I'm assuming the store was robbed while there were people in it, not during the night, just for conversation's sack. Let me know if I should change it.

Reena glanced up at the girl speaking to her, "Yeah. This area is full of lowlifes that would rob a little store like mine." She sighed, "I would fight back, but then that would probably complicate matters even more." She looked up at the girl in the paramedic uniform, "I shouldn't complain, you probably have it twice as hard trying to help all of these people."

Ziff looked around. This place was robbed already I don't need to make it even harder on the people Ziff thought. Ziff looked every where to make sure no one could see him. Whearing all black could make him stick out from the rest of the people. And if so they could acuse him of robbing the place. I'm wasting my time here. But I shall stay and rob this place later unless someone knows I'm a part time thief. Also being an ex-cop someone might reconize him and since only the cops know he's changed to a part time thief they could lock him away for good. So Ziff just stood in the bar making sure that no cops were around to find him.

Pontius pushed the door open, and his big white teeth were almost visible in the gloom of the bar as he noticed that nobody seemed to care. Had he come in in his full regalia, complete with coat, chains, rings and bitchaz, he'd probably have had the entire street looking at him. Masta P was a big man in this district, and love him or hate him, everybody felt strongly about him in one way or another.

But nobody cared, and thus he was glad. He was here today as Pontius Ashvin, the nameless denizen of the lower city who had fought and bled his way to the top. And to tell the truth, he rather liked being Pontius Ashvin the scrapper than being Masta P, the kingpin. Too much responsibility and too much danger were two of the reasons, but most important was the fact that he'd been born and bred in the streets, and all the rich living of the past few years had never changed the effect of his upbringing.

As he thought this over, Pontius sat himself beside the medic and the slumped girl beside her. Damn, they fine, he thought, then he ordered a drink and put that thought out of mind. When it came, he sipped it quietly as he listened to what they had to say.

(OOC: Ziff, the store and the bar are different places. Store was robbed, bar wasn't... so far as anything in the story says.)

There was a loud resonating bang as Derek nailed a piece of paper up to one of the bar walls.

The hammer twirled in his hand for a moment as he spun it around and then tucked it into a pocket of his long black duster, before turning his green eyes to the sign he had just posted.

"Been robbed, shot, mugged, raped, or hurt in any other way? Just don't feel safe at night anymore? What you need is a professional Gunslinger.

Derek Jecint, best in the west, east, north, south, up, and down, and he's willing to work for you.

All he asks is a few hundred creds per week. That's barely enough to feed a full grown man, and yet he's willing to take it to work for you."

Contact information followed the ad, and Derek nodded, with a little grin sprinkling across his face, which quickly turned into a full blown smile as he over heard the discussion at the bar.

A half a second later he was standing over Reena.

"So... I hear you ran into a little trouble with some ruffians. You know, you should really invest in some protection. Name's Derek Jecint, professional gunslinger!" He stated with a grin as he thrust his hand out toward her.

ooc:Sorry couldn't tell.

in:Ziff looked more people entered the bar. Ziff watched to see if any fights would happen. "Wow. No fights in a bar. This is a first. Looks like there's no cops around. Otherwise they'd come to lock me away." Ziff walked around. There was nothing worth stealing here. But staying here amused him. Just in case a bar fight started. "Weird I'm not drunk, yet I'm talking to myself. Oh well I don't care." Ziff saw a few more people entering the bar. He thought since there was no cops he'd decide to have a drink. He ordered one and it came fast. Ziff noticed as people went four others stayed. One at a table, two talking to each other and the last listening to the two that were talking. Then there was Ziff sitting there wondering if they knew each other. No they couldn't, could they? Ziff decided to relax his mind just in case he would explode. "Hm... fools."

He stood, sighting along the shaft like an ancient hunter. The bright red hart of his target tantalized his eyes as he slowly controlled his breathing. A voice broke over his concentration, “Hurry up already Shad, if you don’t throw soon I’ll die of old age.”

The man named Shad replied, “Darts is a game of concentration and skill, I must use perfect form to throw my shot, otherwise it will not be my best.”

Another man laughingly replied, “You think I care about that? You look constipated man, too much fiber in your diet?”

“Distracting me wont help your cause, Tom.” Said Shad, “Because...” He let his thrid dart fly toward the board, “I’ve almost won this! Triple 20 baby! That gives me a nice juicy score of 82!”

The other player’s groans were audible throughout the room.

Dr. Wily's table was a mess he had layed a large cloth on top of it before begining anything. But now he had all the parts he had collected laid out on the table. To anyone passing by it looked like disorganized junk but not to Wily, he couldn't believe that the upper class had enough money to throw away this stuff just because it was "slightly damaged" or "malfunctioning." He pulled some of the "junk" that would be most useful to him and began to disassemble them. He took out the pieces and threw the rest away in the trash can that was sitting behind him. He put his drills and screwdrivers up and pulled out a small sodering iron and layed it in front of him. He then popped out right eye and let it sit in his hand attached to the back of his head by the thick nerve. He snapped it open and began to use his soddering iron to remove peices that were not working and replacing them with some of the ones he had collected. He closed the eye back and dipped it in a cup of water before putting it back in his head. He then proceeded to drink the water.