Thriller you should see me in a CROWN

The King is coming ...

A single graffiti was written all over the house and Lyle Christians felt the message had a threatening effect on him. It could hardly mean "the King", but anyway it was a strange coincidence. Lyle was in his late fifties by now, but the Grafitti made him feel ... it brought back memories.

The King and his Fool.

He desperately laughed at the thought and walked up the stairs using his key to open the door to his house in Mayfair. He quickly pushed himself in and took his coat off.

"Lyle, you have been out late." The voice came from the dark living room.

"Laura Landau was killed. But I got the feeling you already know that, do you?" Lyle answered.

The man in the dark seemed to nod. Lyle entered the living room.

"My wife?" He asked and looked over to his piano, where he had a Glock hidden away. As if he read his mind the man put it on his legs.

"Still loves her sleeping pills. She is upstairs." The man in the dark said. His finger tipped on the Glock.

"So am I next?" Lyle asked and sat down on the couch.

"No." The Visitor answered. Lyle relaxed a little. The feeling of impending doom retreated from the room, but kept on lingering in the darkness.

"Why Laura?" He asked.

"Why anyone?" The Visitor said. "Ask God, he didn't do crap to save her." Did he imply it had not been him?

"What do you want?" Lyle demanded to know.

"Let you know." The Visitor said. "Let you know I know." The Visitor stood up, ejected the magazine from the Glock and threw it on the seat he had used to wait. "Make sure you make the call."

Lyle shrugged. "What makes you think I know where he is?"

The man in the dark smiled. "Educated guess." He walked past Lyle and left the man sitting in his couch. Lyle could do nothing. He knew that was true.

"Long live the King!" He shouted out before the man could leave. The Visitor hesitated for a moment, then he opened the door and walked out.

------------

Chief Superintendant Robert Archibald Miller of Scotland Yard closed the file and looked at the photos on his desk. They all showed the dismembered torsos of young women in various states of decomposition. Eleven of them, dragged from the sewer the week before. The murderer had cut off their arms, legs and heads. They had identified five of them so far from missing person files. Tattoos. Piercings. Medical files. The rest would take weeks until genetics confirmed their identity.

The pattern was pretty clear already. All were young single women who had vanished from clubs and been reported missing.

A bloody serial killer.

Eleven victims and they had not known until they accidentally found their remains. Some of them were years old.

The press would have a field day. He already had received a call from the Deputy Commissioner. He wanted the case to be solved yesterday. Instead they had found another potential victim. This time in her flat. Badly mutilated. Laura Landau fit the profile. Young and single. Clubbing a lot. They had to check her.

Miller sighed and leaned back. He had his best men on it, but they started late into the race. He doubted they would make it to the finishing line before all hell broke loose.

This was going to be a very rough week.



---------

you should see me in a CROWN

---------


This game has no supernatural element and no sci-fi twist. This is a game about evil, bravery, corruption and a deadly conflict. This is a Neo Noir. My special effect are my players exploring their characters in a world that has little room for heroes and probably needs one all the more therefore.

Set in contemporary London it will be a thriller. So who do you play? Oh that is a good question.

The game is set 10 years after the vanishing of the dominating figure of the underworld known as "the King" and the city is divided between many criminal organizations. It is a world of cruelty and corruption where people are pawns or playthings of those who rule the world from the shadow (or hiding even in plain sight). Any form of gangster or cop, journalist, politician or even an everyday person would fit.


Character Sheet

Name:
Age:
Occupation:
Appearance:
Equipment:
Bio:

Only original characters are allowed.





Rules:

1. GM Word is law!
2. No God-Modding and such
3. Combined posts are allowed and encouraged.
4. All CS for approval to the GM.
5. Only original characters allowed.
6. Enjoy the game!

 

Approved by a Lawbreaker

Name: Abelard "Abe" Lindsay
Age: 38
Occupation: Criminal

Equipment: All kinds of weapons and clothes, cars, houses, computers ... he has the resources to buy what he needs.
Bio: Abelard was not exactly a force to be reckoned with. A small time gangster from the fringes of London he did odd jobs for his bosses. Nobody cared about him.

That became fatal when he crossed the wrong man in town and received punishment for it in the shape of a beating with a steel pipe. It took the doctors a year to get his broken body fully healed.

The year changed him. It changed him fundamentally. It changed everything about him. When he returned to the streets he was an angry force of ambition. The King was gone and Abe made good use of the power vacuum left by his absence. Quickly he assembled a gang around him and began dealing with illegal guns. He also began to accept offers for contract murders. A service soon highly appreciated by the underworld. Highly intelligent and ruthless he began to carve his niche into the underworld circles. Weapons were soon sold worldwide, drugs and human trafficking diversified his portfolio. Rumors said even the Government secured his services when something was too dirty to have their prints on it.

He made many friends in high and low places. Rumors have it the intelligence agencies of various Governments relied on his various services.

Enemies he had few, as all those who stood in his way died quickly.

If there was any candidate for the crown, it was him. But the King was not dead. He had just abandoned his lands.

(Mostly redacted by GM request)

 

GM Approved

Character Sheet

Name: Ivan Morozov
Age: 43
Occupation: Gang leader
Appearance:

Equipment: Always equipped with a .357 Magnum revolver, brass knuckles, and a garrote.
Bio: The Leader of the infamous and reclusive gang called "The Reds", Ivan Morozov is the Russian-born former supporter of the King. His gang, one that is simply now a whisper in the underworld, was one that had seen better days during the time of the King. Ivan had made his way high enough the the King would send his men to deal with certain threats. That's what the Reds were good at. Shutting people up. Now that the King was gone, the Reds quietly slipped back into the shadows. Waiting for the time to show themselves again. Their work hasn't ceased, but they now work almost exclusively for the Russian mob, who have reclaimed a lot of their old power after the King vanished.

 

Lawbreaker approved

Name: Robert Landau
Age: 48
Occupation: None
Appearance:

Equipment: A suitcase with clothes including a black suit.
Bio: Little is known about patient 0072 of the reputable Norwegian Gustafson clinic for the mentally disturbed. He has been there for ten years under heavy drugs.

They say he was an accountant by trade. Maybe a lawyer or auditor. He shows signs of high intelligence whenever he has clear moments. His body is full of scars. Some seem to be self-inflicted. When asked about it he is usually silent, but once he admitted he tried to cut something out.

Recently his daughter died, Laura Landau, an ambitious young journalist. For the first time in a decade he dares to return into the "real world". A journey that he fears more than years of drugs.

 

Approved by the Lawmaker

Name: Adrian Montrose
Age: 48
Occupation: Sergeant, Metropolitan Police
Appearance:
Equipment: Handcuffs, baton, pepper spray, is trained to carry a police issue sidearm
Bio: Every villain needs a hero.

Well in this case an honest cop.

Northern Irishman Adrian wants to clean up the city of London where gangs reign supreme.

Montrose joined the Metropolitan Police to make a difference after his family emigrated to England from the troubles of Northern Ireland.

He joined the Metropolitan Police at the age of 23 and spent a few years on the beat and impressed his superiors with his arrest record. Homicide then began to interest him, he wanted to catch killers, killers who preyed on the innocent and used corruption to escape.

Not any.more

He has risen to the rank of Sergeant but it took a lot of work and hard graft to get there. And it took locking up a high ranking gang member to eventually gain his stripes.

Bit the city was still full of violence, corruption and political infighting and Adrain is the only one willing to root out the cause of it all and stamp it out. His main mission is to keep Londoners safe.

.His wife Dorothy was his first love and at first she understood that he would be working long hours and even weekends. Eventually though it took a toll and cost him his marriage, his wife leaving him as she felt that he was more interested in the job rather than their marriage. His divorce hit him hard but he continued on in his work

The big fish in the criminal underworld was the King. But 10 years ago he disappeared which Adrain thought was a shame he was one man he wanted to put behind bars.

Adrain had been after the King and had been close to arresting him after gathering proof that he had made several journalists disappear. They were about to expose a potential deal between the authorities and the King.

Unfortunately when it seemed the King would finally be in prison, he disappeared, the suspect was found dead and the journalists work had been undone. The trails went cold and Adrain moved on to other cases.

But something else has caught his attention.

A possible serial killer was on the loose. It could be a disaster for the service if this killer is not caught. Laura Landau is the killers latest victim. Another family potentially not receiving answers and no.killer brought to justice. But he was determined with his partner to catch whomever is responsible and put them behind bars.

For life.

 

GM approved

Name: Jane Gray aka grymtr
Age: 24
Occupation: Hacker (maybe we could call it Cyber-Security Expert?)
Appearance:


Equipment: A couple of high performance laptops, USBs, programs, clothes, a small flat, fake IDs, hardware wallet, a flat, a VW Golf, an attitude.

Bio: Jane always was good at problems and never good with people. Her people skill got better. Her problem solving skills got excellent.

When her Dad gave her a laptop and explained her Skype she was 14 years old so they could chat when he was away, it opened a world. Jane had always dreamt about being a criminal (her teachers did not like that answer in school), but this was a bit of a different scale. The world was connected to one large corridor of doors and all she had to do was learn to lock-pick.

She learned quickly. So when her parents send her to university, she was really hacking the university computer to shift around courses before she even got her first lecture. Later she simply abandoned her "normal life" to fully concentrate on her new "career". She grew very successful.

Completely agnostic to the question for who she works or against who she has become a go-to ressource for many people if ... let's say ... high security standards of their rival networks keep them from getting what they want.

Lately she has befriended Laura Landau, a young and very ambitious journalist. She denies rumors among her friends the two had an on-off relationship, but nevertheless they are obviously close.

So the murder of Laura devastated Jane badly. At first. Then she started to get really, really angry.

 

GM Approved

Name: Michael Mcay

Age: 33

Occupation: Former Soldier

Appearance: Rugged features and a few days of stubble on his chin, his brown hair still short, growing out of his military cut. The sides and back are still short but aren't buzzed anymore. The top is a little longer the front drooping down just above his eyes. Generally wears a jacket, rugged pants and his old Royal Regiment of Scotland shirts, has a tattoo of his unit's Cap badge on his shoulder, a few more covering up some scars.

Equipment: His knife, a cell phone, a few changes of clothes, wallet with a few quid in it.

Bio: Born in Glasgow young Michael grew up rough, getting involved with a bad crowd in his younger days. This led him to enlist...or more accurately be given the option of military service or a jail sentence. Given his tattoos, it's clear what he chose. He Enlisted and was put into the 3rd Royal Regiment of Scotland, formerly known as the Black Watch. He did some service in the Middle East, and other places, never really staying one place for any length of time. He served for 15 years before deciding to not re-enlist and taking his pension. Though it was some it was not enough and his work experience left something to be desired.

However his job hunt was cut short...or not even started at all. As soon as he got home after his 'retirement' he got news that his sister, Claire had moved south, with some man named Scott, after a spat with their parents. She hadn't checked in with them ever since and they were getting worried. They didn't trust this Scott as far as they could throw him. They couldn't just ask the Police she was technically an adult. So Michael decided to head to London to see if he could find her, crashing at Albert Crow's, an old army friend, flat in the city. As he entered he started hearing rumors about young women being carved up in most gruesome of fashions.

His only hope is that his sister isn't among them...and if she is...that he can find the bastard that did it...and kill him.

 

Prologue I
​

The facility was having a spectacular view, which barely any of the patients appreciated.

Nurse Andarsson entered the room of patient 0072 with a heavy sigh. The man sat there as every day and stared out to the water.

"Robert, I have to talk to you." She said and sat next to her favorite patient. Calm, gentle Robert Landau. He turned his head and smiled. His eyes showing the emptiness his meds caused. A dimmed brain, a chained spirit. It was chained for good reasons she assumed. She did it know. Often she wondered what it was gentle Robert had done to be condemned to this luxurious facility and it's very pharmacological approach to treating the worst of the worst patients.

The Nurse sighed deeply. Today she brought the message no man deserved.

"Robert, I need to tell you something. It is about your daughter, Laura. She is dead." The Nurse fought to sound calm as she spoke the words.

Robert nodded slowly. Maybe he did not even understand a word she was saying. Yet, she felt something resonated deep down within his drug ridden soul.

"The Doctors have talked about you going to her funeral. Do you want to go to her funeral?" The Nurse asked. "Dr. Michael would come with you to London."

Robert nodded slowly. The Nurse smiled. "Good. We will arrange accordingly and half your dose for the trip."

Robert nodded again. The Nurse gave him a sympathetic smile, touched his hand and stood up. As she left the room she missed a single tear running down Robert's face.


ooc: Many thanks to @LordTroepfchen

 

Prologue II​

Many years ago ...​

The King was wearing a hoodie and a jeans. Not exactly what you expected from a criminal mastermind. He looked at the various guns on the large table and picked one. He had chosen the Austrian automatic and for a long moment he admired the black gun before he turned.

He saw the five men on their knees, hands handcuffed behind their backs. They came from different social classes and environments, but they all had in common they were tonight here and on their knees.

"Almost forgot you guys. Okay, Inspector thanks for gathering tonight's entertainment program." The Inspector gave him a smile as if he tried to kill him with it. The King laughed and looked at his men.

"You get a lot of girls and you get friggin rich in this job, but God knows, you don't win bloody popularity contests, right?" He smiled at the Inspector and winked and then stepped in front of the five men. "So let's get the rules clear. You got last words and then you die. So if you wanna convince me not to kill you, this is the time for your one-liner of your life." He loaded his gun through. "Got it? Okay you ... you start."

He began from left to right. He began with the mid-thirty banker. The man in front of him smiled at him. A smug smile. "You are bluffing, or the copper would be nowhere near." He laughed. The King smiled back.

"Any idea who you are talkin' to?" Ivan asked and the King raised his hand.

"No, the man senses a bluff and wants to see my hand. Perfectly within his rights!" The King looked at Ivan and pointed the gun without looking at the head of Number One and pulled the trigger. "Probably a really crappy poker player." The King laughed, but nobody else was. He stepped to Number Two, a guy of African heritage in a hoodie. "Get it over with." The man hissed. The King nodded and fired a bullet into the man's head. His brain spread in a red cloud as he collapsed.

"Fair enough." The King said and smiled as he came to Number 3. "Oh yeah, I remember you. Tommy is it?" The man nodded. "Any last words, Tommy?"

Tommy shook his head and cried, he cried like a little baby. The King lay his head aside and then gave a double tap into his chest. The man collapsed dead, too. He slowly turned to Number 4. A man in a uniform of the local firefighter department. He blinked at the King.

"I know who you are. I mean ... I could guess. Why do you do this ...?" The King sighed a little annoyed and fired the man in the head. "Wasted last words."

He finally turned to the last and smiled down at him. The man in a black suit laughed hysterically and then regained control. "Guess I am the messenger then, right? Killing the other four was clearly a message ..." The King smiled down at him and the nodded. "Smart boy. Smart wicked little mind you got there. But he is the messenger." The King nodded to the Inspector who was fighting to keep control. He was still looking at him when he fired another bullet into Mr. Fives head.
The man joined the other four bodies.

The King looked down at his work and handed the gun to one of his men.

"Why exactly did these people have to die?" The Inspector finally demanded and the King turned to him.

"That isn't obvious? Mr. Five here was right. It was a message." The King stepped over a body and walked over to the Inspector. "I had to make you understand." He said calmly.

The Inspector blinked irritated. "Understand what?" He demanded an answer.

"That whatever I do, all you will do is ... watch." The King smiled at him. "All you can do is ... watch. Watch. Power. It's a thing about power ..."

"You ..." The Inspector swallowed the words.

"Hah?!? You don't wanna make me do more of this do you?" The King asked and his smile turned into a hungry grin.

The Inspector shook his head. He avoided the Kings eyes as the man came so close he could smell his after-shave.

"Then ... say it." The King whispered. "Say it or I get myself another five. Say it or we do this ALL NIGHT!"

The Inspector turned his eyes on the man known as The King and finally nodded in defeat. He knew the man was not bluffing.

He pressed the words through his teeth, angry, frustrated and defeated.

"Hail to the King." He hissed.

"Yeah baby." The King replied and winked at the man, before turning away and leaving ...



ooc: Special Thanks go to @DarkLordoftheFins

 

Prologue III ​

He watched the News with an unusual interest. He was the News. After all the time, he was suddenly out in the open. The excitement this gave him was a surprise. It made his blood rush through his body, made his neck tingle. He heard Benedict Cumberbatch whisper "This is the Endgame" into his ears. The last bit made him laugh. Goddamned Avengers. He had actually hated the movie, but kept on having Dr. Strange say things to him.

Anyway, he had been playing the game alone for a long time. No more. Finally the game got interesting ... finally his work was recognized by the world. Not understood, not appreciated it was. No they were not ready for that. They would learn. Some at least.

Around 0900 the News broke. By noon they had a name for him. The Devil of London. He disliked it, but he knew he was not to choose. They asked so-called experts in interviews what kind of man he was. They got him completely wrong of course. They knew so little by now. But he felt it was a beginning. Sooner or later they would see the connections, the tradition, the history behind his acts of ascension.

In the afternoon a man called Miller gave an interview. Two Inspectors were sitting next to him. Driscoll and Montrose. Older men with worn out eyes revealing they had probably seen many things in their careers. They had seen nothing yet. The hunters, he realized. These two men would be the hunters. He leaned forward and studied them. Later he would google them and find it what kind of police they were.

Then he would send them a message.

An invitation.

A sign of his happiness that the game had finally ... finally begun.




And so it begins ...



It was the autumn of the year 2019 and London expected the Brexit, while the politicians became the citizens daily soap opera. The city had become emptier. It was waiting for something to happen ... and had no idea something was indeed about to happening. It happened in the shadows. So well hidden few people would know about it. But it had begun already ... men were set on courses that would lead to a collision.

London Metropolitan Police, Major Crimes Unit, Scotland Yard

They had got their own room. The largest one in the building. The photos of the victims were tagged to walls there. Boards were ready to consume every bit of information. Eleven corpses had each their own board. Five were identified. Three Russian women were among the victims. Ivanka Makarov, Elena Sud, Olena Shawyshenko. All were young woman in their twenties, blonde. The other two identified victims were Maria Stein, a German Banker working for HSBC in their risk management department. 28. Blonde. The final identified victim was Karina Osone, a Russian too, but from Spain. Blonde again. 21. The youngest victim. All had vanished more than six months ago. Ivanka actually a year ago. The decomposition of the bodies hinted the first victim was not yet identified. Seven unknown victims. Most had tattoos, piercings, but their bodies had been in the water for so long it was hard to make out what the tattoos once showed.

A twelfth potential victim took center stage. Laura Landau. 25. Freelance Journalist for lifestyle magazines and lately going into investigative journalism about human trafficking. Blonde, but the only victim with short hair. Her murderer had smashed her face with a blunt tool. He had beforehand done the same to her hands. In her blood they had found a large dose of Rohynol, better known as the date-rape-drug. It made victims entirely unable to resist or act. Her head and limbs had not been cut off. That was the first difference. there were signs of someone sawing st her arm though. She was found in her flat. All victims had their own flats. That was a similiarity. Then there were the cuts. Someone had stabbed deep into her shoulder with a knife. A wound found on all the victims.

"She had intercourse within six hours before dying. We analyze the probes, but if it is our guy we got his DNA." Mara Aspinall was a young blonde woman from the "special victims unit", as the department for sexual crimes was called. She had been assigned to their team. She had undercover experience, so she was probably chosen in case they needed a bait. Long legged, cute and with natural blonde hair she was the type of the killer. She also had the reputation to be tough. In her area she probably had to be.

"Maybe he was disturbed and could not finish the job. A neighbor said he heard a scream and went up and knocked. Nobody answered though." Bobby Shore was from the cyber-crime unit. Early thirties and a typical nerdy millennial with glasses and fashionable designer shirt. He had been send because he was good at digital profiling. Something their superiors clearly hoped would help.

"Maybe." Bruce Crane added. He was the second oldest of the crew. Grey, small, with a face like a rat, but clever eyes. An experienced homicide detective who had been brought to the team to give them some extra investigative power. "I am not fully sold."

The last member of the team coughed to get their attention. Dr. Raymond Forbes was not a cop, but an advisor. In his expensive three part suit he appeared older than he was. He wore a pocket watch and made notes wot a MontBlanc pen. He was a psychiatrist who had been profiling serial criminals for many years. Certainly he did not do it for money. Metro didn't pay that well. He was said to be the best at what he was doing.

"It is far too early for a profile, but there is a clear theme of male dominance in the crimes and the victims are all the same type. Young, very attractive blonde women." He shrugged. "We look most likely for a white male who was between 25 and 35 at the time he began killing. He probably got a history in abuse by either his mother or a girlfriend. He will also have a history with violence against women prior to his first murder, but probably not anymore after he began his killings. He is intelligent, organized and most likely works in a job with flexible hours." Dr. Forbes shrugged. "Not much, I know. But without having his modus operandi I cannot do more for you, I am afraid." They all knew in London that profile would probably fit on thousands of men.

Bobby shrugged. "Sounds like every serial killer in history." He said and sighed. "I would start analyzing their social network profiles. Maybe I find a pattern." He sat behind his Laptop and was clearly ready to go to work.

Mara stepped next to Montrose and folded her arms. "I could go through old cases. That guy is not new to the game." She said and sighed. "We also should set out a price for any clues. Maybe someone out there recognizes one of the victims."

Driscoll's attention was captured by the bloody hand of Laura Landau. It was smashed, but near her thumb the remains of a red stamp was still visible. Like an entry stamp from a club. She had died between two and three thirty in the morning. That would have left her time to go to a club.

The investigation would need them to identify seven unknown victims, create movement profiles of all victims and interrogate hundreds of potential suspects. The problem was they would not have time for this. The killer seemed to strike every two weeks. Also Chief Superintendant Miller had been clear he needed quick progress. The press had picked up the scent and the murderer now dubbed "The Devil of London" was prime time news and ranked highly online. The public eye was on them.

So Sergant Montrose and Inspector Driscoll had to solve the case quickly. A case that felt like it would take a lot of time to solve ...

Tag: @HanSolo29, @JerjerrodLennox




Hotel Vauxhall Inn, Vauxhall, London

Doctor Clement Laurent had checked the room of Robert as if he expected a secret drug stash or a hidden accomplice in it. The Doctor was a handsome man in his forties, dark haired, blue eyed and always wearing impeccable blue modern suits. He was satisfied now that he had opened every door and cupboard and turned to his patient Robert Landau with a smile. He took the box of pills from his jacket, took one into his hand and closed it again. Then he opened a bottle of water that generously declared to be "free" and filled the plastic cup next to it half. Finally he offered both the pill and the cup to Robert.

"We half your dose for the trip. It will allow you to be a bit more ... active. But you take three pills a day. One after every meal. You understand, Robert?"

He waited for Robert to take the pill and then sighed and looked around one final time. "I have the room right next to you. If anything happens please come over. If you find me not there I will probably enjoy a cigar downstairs. I picked the hotel for it's famous cigar lounge." He smiled at Robert, but did not expect a reaction to the confession.

"How do you feel Robert? I know being here is probably very stressful to you." He gave that understanding and sympathetic smile that only a bunch of highly dosed psycho-pills made endurable.

Tag: @LordTroepfchen



Red Line, The London Underground

The London Metro was impressive when it came to punctuality and the capacity to always get a few more people into crowded wagons.

"First underground rail system ever. 270 stations. Still the fastest way to move around the city." Albert chewed his gum and winked at Michael as they left the next station. He was wearing his Watford cap and the totally not fitting blue hoodie. His face was the of a veteran. Young and yet not young anymore. Old beyond years they said. Only his vulgar way of chewing gum gave him a youthful note.

It took almost forty minutes from Watford to Baker Street, but obviously they neither had a car nor could afford a cab. "So I did stuff for her. Tell ya bloke, if anybody can help you find your sister it is her. She is a real wizard with the keyboard. Cute, too." Albert had known people of course. Comrades helped each other out. In this case it was a young woman apparently. A young woman with great skills at finding people.

On the screens inside the wagon news flashed up of the murdered girls. The Devil of London they called the guy now.

"Man, I would have gone with Torso Killer. Less cheesy, more catchy. Bet the cops are already looking for a scapegoat." Albert shook his head. "Mighty Scotland Yard, good at press conferences while this damned city rots away under their bloody noses." Albert showed little love for authorities. He was one of those guys. Had given his life and health for his country and then had got kicked out on a blood test. He swore until this day he had been set up, but considering the amount of weed he had smoked since Michael had arrived here the night before ... there was good reason to doubt that story.

Tag: @galactic-vagabond422


Coffee Fellows, Baker Street

Jane had taken the request of Albert to meet him on a rather urgent matter. But that did not mean she left her eyes off anything.

Hacking the Metropolitan Police had been almost a routine and she now sat in a corner and waited for the pictures to load. Public Wifi was terribly slow. The file showed they had eleven confirmed victims and Laura. Some were identified. Some were not. A team was on the case. They brought everything to the table, really.

In her mailbox the notifications from her system kept on coming in. The police was still going through Laura's Appartement. The guys had so far not found any of the cameras she had installed there. Had the wifi been better ... she could have enjoyed the live feed. More interesting was a mail from a former client who had got her the financial records of Laura. Not even the cops had those. Two accounts. One had 6732 GBP on it, the other had 150 million on it. A 150.000.000 GBP and Laura had never touched a penny from this account. Nobody ever had. Was the money the reason why Laura had begun looking into her past? She had been after the King. The files were all over her cloud, which Jane had cracked without too much effort. Three journalists had vanished ten years ago. They had been after the King, too. Laura had begun tracing back their steps. Jane had helped and got her into the London Times server of the three. Maybe she had doomed her by doing so.

Tag: @SirakRomar



Bureau above the Kingslayer, King's Cross

The Kingslayer Club was dead as a cemetery at day, but the three levels above the three floor temple of modern music were the headquarter of Abelard Lindsay and his growing organisation. They had safe houses all over the street, but this was where Lindsay held court.

Behind his large Mahagoni desk he could see the plethora of screens showing footage of security cameras, news and stock market feeds. Two chairs and a couch with an expensive metal table in between them completed the furniture.

Today only Scott Ramsay was present. Red haired and with a cardigan sweater he looked like a guy trying to blend in with a student crowd, but he really had those eyes. Those eyes that seemed not to care. The blue a strong contrast to his red irish hair. He was the closest thing to a right hand man Lindsay had and right now he was giving him the daily report. "We got the three Libanese pinned down and prepare our move. The shipment has arrived and has been unloaded in Beirut. It will take the ordinary road. Bitcoin is down another 300. Maybe time to hedge our exposure and liquidate one of our majority positions." Scott was not fully present, his thoughts were wandering off. "They are mobilizing, Fjodor and his guys. You know that. Do you?" He asked Lindsay. The man was a mystery to him even after all those years.

On one of his three screens he saw the security footage of Laura Landau. Talking to a tall and handsome man. Lindsay could see him flirting. But a predator recognized a predator when he saw one and this man was none. There was a hunter though. A dark haired man sitting at the bar was watching her. Smoking. Drinking water. Cold, still water. Lindsay had seen the footage a dozen times already from other angles. He knew how that night had ended for Miss Landau.

Tag: @RachelTyrell



The Vodka Restaurant, Mayfair, London

Fjodor Rudyenev always found the cutting of things relaxing. So when he was agitated, angry or simply restless the Elder of the Bratva, the Brotherhood, as the Russian Mob was called ... asked people to his kitchen. Today he was hacking cucumber with blinding speed with a long sharp kitchen blade of Japanese making.

Peter Bern, the Destinyrzhatel obschaka, the bookkeeper, was present. His most trusted advisor. So was Ivan Morozov, Leader of the Reds. A crew of nine who served as his most trusted enforcers.

"The game was and always will be the game I suppose." Fjodor sighed. "They give you a sting and you sting back. Ivan, do you remember the old days? Certainly you do. Things were more simple for my predecessor." Fjodor was in his late sixties and bald, a generous grandfather from his appearance. He had come to power right after the fall of the King and had ruled over the brotherhood ever since. Nobody would guess he was one of the prime figures of the underworld if he saw him. "We had the Russians and the locals back then. A few Bulgarians maybe and those treaded Kosovarians. We took good care of those. There was the King of course. You remember him, do you?" He stopped cutting and lay down his knife. With both hands he rested on the table. "Nowadays? The Chinese, the Ukranians, the Arabs, Lindsay that snake, gangs, crews nobody ever heard about. Hooligans. Nigerians for christs sake. Somali. Hackers. Even some bankers play. Everyone with a dick pisses into the pond we are all drinking from." He shrugged. "Piotre." He then simply said.

Peter Bern took a USB drive from his pocket of his expensive and sharp suit and offered it to Ivan. Peter was a handsome man and his face always looked a little arrogant and smug, but he had a history of proving loyal under the harshest of circumstances. Tortured by a rival for two days he had not let one name slip ... that story earned him a lot of respect among his peers.

"Robert Mulligan. He seems to be well connected with some warlords in Africa. He had ordered several shipments with Lindsay. Weapons. All going to the Ivory Coast. Rebels. They pay him in diamonds and ... girls." Peter Bern shrugged. "He is not under Lindsay's protection. But he makes him rich and begins to build up his own infrastructure to run these girls from Camden." A rival to the human trafficking business of Fjodor. One who had entered the market through the backdoor.

"You find the code to his penthouse on there. Make him vanish." Fjodor remarked as if discussing weather or a football game. That is what rivals of Fjodor did. They vanished. Just usually those rivals were not partners of Abelard Lindsay. Lindsay and the Russians had tensions for so long nobody probably remembered why ... but they stayed away from each other. This move and the Bratva drug deals lately proving Lindsay's clubs ... these felt not like unconnected events ... but rather than a slowly intensifying campaign to escalate into all out war finally.

If so they could only hope Fjodor had a plan. Because the younger rival was certainly having the numbers ...

Tag: @Master Vo'Un'Var

 

Ivan Morozov
Many years ago

"Dad..?"

Ivan's head snapped over to the noise. He stood over a headless body, his gun still pointing at where it was. A child stood in the doorway, eyes wide with horror and fear.

"They didn't tell me there was a kid here..." Ivan murmured. This was his first job in England, and he didn't want to screw it up. The child turned and ran. Ivan cursed to himself and went after them.

He found the child in their room, huddled in the corner. Ivan cursed again. How was he going to deal with this? The child looked at Ivan with tears streaming down their face. Ivan shook his head.

"I'm sorry." he said, raising his gun. He closed his eyes and-

---

Ivan snapped awake, breathing heavily. He was drenched in sweat. He got out of bed and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He was having these dreams more often. His innocent victims, and the ones who died simply because they were in the wrong place. He had tried his hardest to forget about them. But when night came, they would all come back.

He shook his head and drained his glass. He wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. Not with all the ghosts keeping him awake.

----

The Vodka Restaurant, Mayfair, London

He slid a Cuban cigar from his sleek, custom-tailored black suit. After preparing it with his custom cigar cutter, he took out his engraved silver lighter, made specifically for him. It had a large ornate 'R' over the two-headed eagle of Russia. He lit the cigar, taking a few draws, enjoying the fine taste. It was rare that you saw Ivan Morozov without a cigar. He was never short on supply. They had to be hand-rolled professionally. Not machine-made or cheaply put together.

He listened to Fjodor, spitting on the ground when he heard Lindsay's name. Fjodor finished his talking, and Peter then handed him a USB drive, which Ivan pocketed, and was informed of his next target, Robert Mulligan. Ivan nodded as he took every piece of information that Peter shot at him. When Peter finished, Ivan took a long draw from his cigar before speaking.

"Harasho. It will be done. I will get Iosif to find out more of this man's schedule" he stepped over to the exit of the kitchen before looking back to the two. "Dasvidaniya. I will contact you when it is done." He didn't linger in there for long. Quickly finding his way out of the building. He had quite a bit on his mind.

As he stepped outside into the cool air, Iosif, his most trusted, approached him.

"Take this USB and prepare me a printed file on as much as we can find out about Robert Mulligan. I want it done as fast as you can. I want everything, as usual. When he eats, sleeps, takes a bath, his security, you know." Ivan muttered as they both walked towards the vehicle they arrived in. A silver Aston Martin Vantage. Ivan slid into the driver's seat. Iosif took the passenger seat. He started the car as Iosif took out a laptop, sliding in the USB drive.

Ivan drove through the streets of London, towards the main hideout of the Reds. He smoked in silence. Brooding on the war that may be on its way.

@Lawbreaker

 

Robert Landau
Vauxhall Inn, Vauxhall London

He took the pill and the cup of water and smiled gratefully at the Doctor.

The fog was getting thinner now. The world slowly returned. The meds still had their effect, but once they lowered the dose Robert had realized he had developed quite a resistance to the drug. They probably had underestimated how clear he would get. Of course he had not shown them.

He threw the pill into his mouth, allowed it to settle under his tongue and drank a sip of water. Then he looked at Dr. Clement.

"I am very tired, Doctor. Maybe I should get some sleep." He said. Then he took of his shoes, sat down on his bed and waited for the Doctor and his understanding smile to leave the room.

Once he was out Robert went to the bathroom. The hotel was nothing special. Low budget for London. Surprising actually, considering what budget the Institute usually seem to have. Smiling he realized how much clearer his thoughts had become. He had returned to some clarity again.

Spitting the pill into his hand he looked down at it. He did not want to go off his Meds. But he had to.

Laura. His little girl was dead and she had not died in a car accident or of a heart attack. No. Someone had killed her. He closed his eyes. He threw the pill into the toilet and then leaned over it and vomited. Withdrawal. It was beginning already.

It was necessary.

Someone had killed the only good thing he had ever put into this world. He had to find that someone. He had to find him and make him pay.

London. He was back in London now.

The past catched slowly up to him. His life here seemed like a vivid dream. A nightmare full of violence, cruelty and excess. He had not wanted this life. Someone else had drawn him into it. Someone more powerful than him.

He stumbled back to his room and sat down in the only worn out seat. He closed his eyes and grabbed a bottle of water on the small desk next to him. Opening it he desperately emptied it half. He was sweating.

His options were limited right now. Dangerously limited. No money. No mobile. No knowledge of what the city looked like, of how the world had changed. He felt like a man stranded in the future.

But he was not alone in this. He had ... a friend. He would be here by now. Laura's death would draw him back to London as it had drawn him here. There was no way to contact him, but he let him know where to find him.

So all he could do was wait.

It did not take long before it knocked at the door. Afraid and yet relieved he pulled himself to his feet and walked over to the door.

He opened it and smiled as he saw the man in his hoodie outside.

"Hail to the King." He just said and stepped aside to let him in.

"Hail to the bloody King, indeed." The man answered and entered.

Tag: @Lawbreaker, @DarkLordoftheFins

 

Abelard Lindsay
The Kingslayer, Office

His eyes remained on the video while Scott reported on the Libanese and Bitcoin prices. Both had to be taken care of. Both were not that interesting to him. Not right now.

"The Libanese. Stay on them and look for a good entry point. And yes let's hedge our risk on Bitcoin ... convert into Ether and USD. J34 should be good. Private keys should be destroyed afterwards." He sighed. Administrative functions were a necessary evil. He played the video again.

"I got plans for Fjodor and his guys. I am more concerned about the rats he sends to our clubs. Maybe it is time we meet. Have a word." He leaned back and saw the other man approach Laura Landau.

The Devil of London they called the Serial on the loose. What a cheesy name that did not appreciate the art of the man. He was a hunter. A skilled one, actually. Lindsay admired the skill of such a man. He was now in the game. He probably did not know it. But he was in the game now. The game wanted to be played.

"Anyway, double up. I want our guys to be ready. The Russians will make their move. Then the dying begins. It will be fun." Lindsay smiled his humorless smile. "Laura Landau is what we need to keep our eye on. She was the opening move. Things will now begin to develop." He laughed.

"The Great Game wants to be played! Scott! That is exciting! It is what we have been building up to! Men will die! Organisations will fall! One man to rule them all!" He put his head rolling and then stopped and stared at Scott.

"Get me this Russian Grandpa into a meeting and then let's rock." He nodded.

"That is all." He had stuff to do. His preparations were not yet complete. He waited until Scott was out and then he took the encrypted phone and send a message.

GOT YOUR BOYS. WHAT DO YOU GOT?

Tag: @Lawbreaker

 

Michael Mcay
London

Michael hated trains, he didn't hate them before he left for the middle east, and he didn't hate them after either. No, he hated them after taking a sleeper train from Glasgow to London, and then a few more to get to Crow's place. Now they were getting on yet another to go find this person that was going to find his sister. He packed himself in next to his former comrade, he was average sized, with an average build, not the tall broad shouldered recruitment poster of the military. Though it was still close quarters, pressing him between several people and close to Crow the stench of devil's lettuce still on him. He looked up at that hat showing support for Watford FC, Michael was more a rugby fan.

"Thanks for the history lesson Crow." Michael grumbled out in his noticeable accent. He still referred to his former brother in arms by his surname, an old habit that can't be shaken in only a few weeks. That and saying sir or mam, to everyone he ran into. "You mind tellin' me what ya' did for the woman? Want to know what reputation you have with her so I can distance myself or ride your coattails." Looking to the screens he let his lip curl a little. Not at Scotland Yard, they were doing what they could, with a psycho on the loose. His experience with authority, while not always good, wasn't as hostile. He knew a lot of his commanders were in a bad place trying to follow orders from others above them or doing the best with what they had.

No his revulsion was at the 'Devil of London', of Torso Killer, and Crow seemed to want to call him. He'd had his fill of violence overseas, and now he sees gruesome pictures online (censored of course), or descriptions given of it like some thriller novel. The rags were treating it like Christmas, a gift to get traffic onto their site or something like that, and it sickened him. Using the loss of these young women, his sister possibly among them, to enrich yourself with clicks...was it. He'd be honest with himself, he kept out of some changes in the internet, it was a world beyond him and his service. It felt almost like he was frozen in time from 15 years ago and came out and the world changed around him. He still knew his military tech and some civilian things, but the intricacies and even some of the most basic things flew over his head.

Maybe that was why he was going with Crow to this mysterious keyboard jockey. The cyberworld was one he didn't understand. Ask him to take apart a rifle, he can do that, ask him to take point on a Foxhound patrol he's your guy, ask him to look for someone, he's going to have trouble.

"I hope this lass is good." He pulled out a folded up picture of his sister, blonde hair and blue eyes, a pretty girl much like girls that were murdered in most grizzly fashion. She also had a rebellious streak, the kind that would have her run hundreds of miles away with a man she hardly knew.

The wagon came to a stop and a station and he was jostled again.

Michael hated trains.

TAG: @Lawbreaker

 

Jane Gray
Coffee Fellows, Baker Street

The coffee left room for improvement, but what these guys called Wifi here was a joke. Jane sighed as her third attempt to get any footage from Laura's flat failed miserably once again. They were still working it, but from what the reports she got from the metropolitan police server they had not much. Probably DNA. That was useful if it had a match and at least
would allow the clarification of the murderer if they ever had a suspect. Problem was the police had none. Neither had she.

For a moment she turned her attention to the email. 150 million. Laura was rich. Not wealthy, but filthy rich. Yet, she had not touched the money. Not once. Not a holiday, car or flat. She just had it on her account. A special account. But the murderer had certainly not robbed her. Nevertheless this was a bit too much of an odd detail not to consider it connected. Somehow. She just did not know how yet.

Jane was not an investigator. She was not into riddles. If she wanted to know something she broke into the right computer and got what she wanted. That usually meant she knew where to find what she seeked, she was just kept away from it. An investigation was different. The
crime was as analogue as they got. The police had no clue. There was no suspect and even if there was ... he might not have anything on his computer that gave him away.

Then again, Laura could hardly be a coincidence.

Maybe she could use Albert and the little favor he needed to be done. If anything she had use for footsoldiers right now.

Tag: @Lawbreaker

 

Nicholas Anger
8 on Claymore ...

He remembered Singapore.

The hot humid nights and the loud music in Brix. He remembered Chaylin. He remembered many things. Not all of them worth remembering.

One would think it is not very surprising for someone to wake up where he fell asleep, yet it kinda was. He felt genuinely surprised. Surprised there was even a waking up. Had he not died? No, that was a dream too.

Slowly he opened his eyes and breathed in the cool air. It had rained. Didn't it always?

"Zao an." The voice to his right said and his head slowly turned. He blinked as he saw the beautiful face of a Chinese girl. Was she real? Was she a memory? Hard to say. He was to self aware of his own condition.

Sitting up he wordlessly left the bed and put the clothes on. The jeans, the hoodie. Really not what he was hoping for.

The girl said something. "**** up, bloody hell." He hissed and rubbed the palm of his head. "Leave." That was all she could say and she left right away, also protesting. He slipped into his shoes and sat back on the bed. It took only a minute for a young Asian man to appear and gesticulate wildly as he was swinging a knife through the air.

"A knife? Really?" He said and sighed. He stepped closer and raised his hands in a defensive position. "Want me to pay?" He smiled and the Chinese mastered English well enough to press or a "Yes". Nicholas smiled. Then his hand moved forward in one powerful move and crushed the man's throat and windpipe. The man gasped and probably never felt the hand at his elbow twisting his arm and ramming the knife into his stomach. Nicholas smiled gently as the man looked up in surprise. His left hand grabbed his head and hammered it against the wall. Once, twice. Then watched him collapse.

Nicholas looked at the blood spreading on the floor and gave a long, deep sigh. "What a damned mess." He said and kicked so hard the knife went all way into the man's body. A gasp of pain. Nothing but a long gasp before another kick hit his head and the Asian man's lights went out.

Slowly Nicholas knelt down and grabbed into the man's jacket. He drew a few hundred pounds out and raised his brows.

"Not your day, hm?" He sighed and grabbed the knife. He withdrew it and with one quick move stabbed the man's neck and leaped back. Blood began to spray from the wound and he wanted no blood on his clothes. He wiped the blade clean on the bed and moved the blade back into the hilt. He put the money and knife into his pocket and as if nothing had happened walked out of the room. Outside the Asian trembled and cowered into a corner. He looked down at her and winked.

"Zhifu." He said to her. I paid.

She nodded. He considered killing her too, but then decided against it. Instead he stepped closer to her, pointed at hisnown chest. "Wang." He said and looked at her. She nodded. Confused. But she had understood. "Wǒ shì guówáng." He repeated and she nodded again.

He smiled at her. "Good Girl." He said and turned to leave.


Not too long afterwards he ended up in the hotel, where his old friend had been detained. He knocked at the door and awaited a reunion. And what a reunion that would be ...

"Hail to the King." Robert Landau greeted him.

"Hail the the bloody King." Nicholas replied.

Tag: @LordTroepfchen, @Lawbreaker

 

Name: Nicolas Anger
Age: Unknown
Occupation: None, really

Appearance:


Equipment: a pack of davidoff menthol cigarettes. A knife. A few hundred pounds.

Bio: Nicolas history is shrouded both in legend and mystery. He is rumored to have escaped a mental asylum or prison at some point. Others say these are rumors and he truly has erased his history by killing everybody who knew him. Those rumors usually say he began with his own parents. Others again say he was a trained spy working for the Government as an operative before falling from grace. A former spook who went private. The most common rumor says he made a deal with the devil. If this is meant metaphorical or literal is up to anyone's guess.

Whoever he is and was and wherever he came from ... 15 years ago he arrived in London and began a reign of terror in the underworld. Within a few months he subdued even the most powerful players and earned his nickname. The King. He himself often referred to himself as The Fool though. He had no crew of his own and only few confidants, but almost unlimited resources. The origin of these resources is another topic of many legends. From secret Government funds he stole to a major capital market fraud ... nobody really knows.

Then he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared and was never heard of again ten years ago. What happened? Had he gotten bored? Had he died? Had his past caught up? Had he been killed? Some said the police got enough of his ways and found a way to get rid of him that was not bound to courts and interrogations. They maybe feared what he had to say.

Whatever it was, he is about return. The reasons are unknown and he has not yet made his return public. But the King is back.

 

Nicholas Anger and Robert Landau
Vauxhall Inn, Hotel Room

"Hail to the bloody king indeed." Nicholas grinned as he stood out there.

Robert looked at the man for who he had just opened the door and stepped aside to let him in. Nicholas walked past him, looking around. His confidence as always was ... commanding. A commanding presence. "What a crappy little hole they put you." He sighed.

"You should see the one they kept me the last ten years." Robert answered. Nicholas turned and they looked at each other.

"You look good." Robert finally said.

"You look like crap." Nicholas replied.

They both laughed. Robert more out of desperation than joy. Nicholas spread his arms and it wasn't to embrace him. It was to show his dominion of the world.

"So here we are, the masters of the universe. Beaten, belittled, betrayed, old and rotten and yet we are still here. Which brings me to the question of all questions. Why?" He lowered his arms and lay his head aside to muster Robert. "You have been hiding from me for ten long years. You betrayed our friendship. You betrayed everything we had build and yet you summoned me. Why? Why would you do that?" Nicholas stepped closer to Robert and hissed through his tears. "Why would you do something that stupid? Did your stay in Norway get boring? Oh I know where you have been. Do you know where I have been? Do you have any idea what the consequences of your actions were to me?" Robert shook his head.

"Someone killed Laura." Robert said and kept his eyes on the other man's chest. "Someone killed her brutally. Slaughtered her. Mutilated her."

Nicholas stared at him and then sighed. "Dammit." The words escaped his mouth.

"They let me come here for her funeral. But ... I am not here to bury her." Robert whispered almost. Nicholas nodded and stepped away again.

"Of course not. You are here to bury whoever did that to her, right?" He laughed at himself and then turned away. "You need my help. You need me to find whoever did that and then ... weakling that you are ... you need me to kill him for you."

Robert nodded. "It is because of the things we did. I can feel it. Revenge. Someone wanted revenge and she was the only thing of me left in this city."

Nicholas sighed. "Ten years after you left? Hm. Not so sure." He replied and put his hands into his pockets.

"Will you help me?" Robert now looked at him.

"Maybe." Nicholas replied and stepped back to Robert. "I have a few conditions."

Robert nodded. "I am not going back. We do it your way. I will leave once this is done and never come back?" Robert looked at Nicholas and the man laughed.

"Sounds good for starters." Nicholas replied and clapped his hands.

"Okay. Agreed." Robert admitted defeat and Nicholas nodded. "Where do we begin?"

"With our friends. Our enemies did not know about her. So if it was about the good old times ... it was one of our friends." Nicholas shrugged. "Whatever we called friends back in the days."

Robert gave him a nod. The thought had appeared to him, too. They had not left many enemies, but those very few hardly had the patience or knew about Laura. Some of their friends did. They did because Robert told them, because he had trusted them.

"I am to identify her. After that we ... I need to get rid of Dr. Clement. Without killing him!" Robert quickly added this last sentence.

"Still the old boring you. Where is the fun in that?" Nicholas laughed.

"We just always had different ideas about fun." Robert hissed. He knew what he had let loose here. There would be blood.

"You be careful. Remember the role the coppers played in our ... inconveniences. I take care of the Doc." Nicholas said and sat in the seat. Robert nodded in agreement. "Then it might be time to talk to the Russians." Robert looked up as Nicholas mentioned them. He could not trust Nicholas, he was very aware of that. Yet, he was the only person he trust. A different kind of trust. The Devil he knew ... was far better than the Devil he did not know. The Devil he knew would help him find and kill the Devil he did not know.

"Okay." Robert said and felt how tired he had become. Terribly tired. Withdrawal. It did that to you.

Tag: @LordTroepfchen (combined), @Lawbreaker

 

London Metropolitan Police, Major Crimes Unit, Scotland Yard

Crane brushed his beard with his hand as "the King" was mentioned. "Never spend a minute in court, that one." He mused and looked at the Sergant. "Maybe that murderer is enough to handle for now."

The report from the very busy coroner confirmed it was a stamp on Laura Landau's hand that indeed had the right color, also it was mostly washed off by now and her mobile connection data confirmed at least, that she had been near the Kingslayer. It was necessarily expected that anybody would be there that early though. They had an hour before Robert Landau would identify his daughter. Which was enough time to talk about the rumor that this Landau was indeed the infamous criminal mastermind called the King.

But before they could actually begin with their conversation CSI Miller burst into their office. "Is it true? Is Laura Landau's Dad coming in to identify her?" He demanded to know and looked Driscoll and then at Montrose, obviously wondering if he knew.

Miller had old connections to the King, having lead the task force that had investigated him for OC back in the days. It had also been Miller who had told Driscoll about the King's daughter, all those years ago when both men drowned their frustration over the King having vanished without ever being arrested in a few beer. "He is back?"

Tag: @HanSolo29, @Jerjerrod-Lennox


The London Underground and Coffee Fellows on Baker Street

Albert smiled. "Don't worry, she is really good. I did some rough jobs for her. Beating up people and stuff." He shrugged. "Nothing special. She paid well, but I also provided back-up for free a couple of times, so I guess she owes me."

The strolled down the busy Baker Street and easily found the Coffee Fellows. Jane probably saw Michael and Albert come in and Albert smiled at her. "The cute one over there." He said and passed the tables towards her.

"Hey Jane. That is Michael. Old friend of mine from the days of ... service. He needs your help with something."

Tag: @galactic-vagabond422, @SirakRomar



Bureau above the Kingslayer, King's Cross

Scott nodded. "I set up a meeting. Guess he wants to talk as much as we want." He was visibly irritated by his Boss enthusiasm.

"There is something else. You wanted to be informed about ... the Landau case. Her Dad seem to have arrived in town. He wasn't dead after all. Lindsay, I don't get the thing about the dead girl. That ... wasn't you, was it?" He leaned forward. "Cops get hell about the whole devil thing. If we were involved in any way ... we might not get an easy pass on that one. Not even with the Libanese business."

Meanwhile Lindsay got his answer on his encrypted phone. VISITORS COMING. COPS LOOK FOR A KILLER WHO MIGHT HAVE BEEN IN YOUR CLUB. PROCEED WITH THE BOYS.

Tag: @RachelTyrell



The Reds Headquarter, Downtown, London

The Club was mostly empty as Ivan entered it. Only the Reds were there. All seven members who had not been present at the meeting with Fjodor. The two Sergejs were sitting in a corner and Alexei and Andrej were sitting at the bar and Vitaly, Makan and Leonid were playing pool. Leonid immediately stopped playing and walked over to the boss. Leonid Fjodorejev was the most skilled murderer they had, a former Spezna who had lost any humanity long ago in the Tchetchenia. If Iosef was the right hand of Ivan organizing their business, Leonid was his left hand, executing the most dirty deeds with a calm indifference. He was not looking the most dangerous of them with his glasses and lean frame, but none of the other Reds were nearly as lethal as him.

It was unusual they were all present, so obviously Leonid had gathered them while Ivan met Fjodor.

"Pakhan," he addressed his Boss always by the Russian name for clan leader, "there is something we need to show you."

He nodded to Alexei and the bulky man stepped forth, taking his mobile out of his jacket and showed his boss a photo.

It showed a neon yellow graffiti on some grey industrial wall.

THE KING IS BACK!

"That one is all over town. We tracked a bunch of kids who were paid by a man to spray them there a few days ago." Leonid took the mobile from him and slided through the pictures. It showed half a dozen of those. "That one was at Lyle Christians house." He said. Lyle had been the lawyer of ... the King. The one structuring his international assets to distribute his assets. He had also been the one to keep the politicians happy back in the days. The Graffiti could have been a joke, but barely anyone outside the Kings inner circle knew about Lyle Christians.

Iosef had joined the gang later, but he heard a lot about the good old time. He was still carrying his laptop and sat down in a corner to keep on researching their newest victim. Soon Ivan would have all the info he needed. Mulligan was weak on security, carrying a gun for personal protection. He had two girls over town who he paid rent for. He visited one on Tuesdays after the gym and one was for the weekend. Both were from his "imports". Today was Tuesday. He would be at Chase Street in Whitechapel in a few hours.

Tag: @Master Vo'Un'Var

 

Jane Gray
Coffee Fellows, Baker Street

The coffee was cold as they finally made it there. Albert and another guy, looking suspiciously like another soldier. The way he carried himself gave that bit away.

"Hello Michael," She forced herself to smile as she closed her laptop. "Well friends of Al are friends of mine. Right Al?" She winked at the man. "Guess you can't afford my services like your pal here. But as always I am sure we can work something out. So what can I do for you?" She leaned back and yawned. She had barely slept and coffee was slowly loosing it's effect on her.

Actually she needed some legs. So these two were a gift. A true gift. Yet, she probably was as much of a gift to them. She wondered what it would be. Altering records? Money laundry through Crypto-assets? No. She had the feeling that guy had something ... particular in mind. Something a little more attuned to her special ability. Her super power. Bending the flow of information to her will.

Tag: @Lawbreaker, @galactic-vagabond422

 

Abelard Lindsay
The Kingslayer, Office

He looked at the encrypted mobile, deactivated it and put it back into the desk, locking the box it went into with his fingerprint.

He finally turned his attention back to Scott. Always frustrated Scott, who never got more told than necessary. Laura Landau was certainly nothing he had to know about.

"Don't worry. I got that one." He just said and then waved his right hand away. "Prepare Mike and the boys, they want us to move quickly on the Libanese." He yawned. "Put the Russians to the early evening, before we go clubbing." He raised his brows. "I will have visitors before that. Cops are coming." Leaning back he looked back at the computer, made a screenshot and then printed it. "There is a printout of one of Or guests coming from printer two downstairs. I'd like to know who that guy is." He already knew, but he needed to know who else knew.

He then waited until Scott was out and got his Glock 26, a gun build compact enough to be completely concealed when carried. He put it into his shoulder holster and put on his grey jacket again, completing his hand tailored suit. Then we stepped to the window, that was a one side view to the club and looked down. The Dad of Laura Landau was in town? How curious was that? He remembered talking to her and could not help if there was a connection.



"Mr. Lindsay, they say you have known the man they call the King personally? Is that true?" She had looked hot that day in her little black.

"Barely. Meet him once. But if you want me to confirm he existed? He actually did. Are you writing about him, Landau? If so you might get more trouble than you can handle."

"No, it is a personal matter. Something I just need to find out."



She had never told him what the personal matter had been. But that had not kept him from guessing, of course. As they grew closer his guess had become ... more and more educated.

So maybe he had returned indeed.

Pieces on a chess board. A game about to begin. It was all so exiting. He took out the mobile he used privately and send a message to the German. He might need his services now, that his troops had to prepare for the coming conflict with the Russians. Then he messaged his wife he would be late tonight.

Tag: @Lawbreaker

 

Michael Mcay
London

"Oh good, I can be hired muscle just what I always wanted to be." He grumbled, that was the reason he joined the service or more accurately was told to join the service. Getting involved with a rough crowd. Part of him disliked the thought of having to do that. To dirty his hands with such actions. Though his hands weren't really clean. Operation Panther's Claw, it was one of his many actions in his service record. He was part of a small group of Scots that took part in seizing canals to cut off the Talian. The sound of their Chinook's rotors still sounded in his head some nights, though that wasn't the hard part, it was holding the ground, setting up checkpoints...and taking action when it was necessary, or supposedly necessary.

He shook his head, now wasn't the time to remember that he had a mission to complete. Right a mission, that always made it easier, having a goal and moving towards it. Walking into the coffee shop he unconsciously checked the exits, checked his corners. He wasn't making entry so it wasn't obvious, but some habits were hard to leave behind once you left a warzone. He had to fight his urge to sit next to her. Not because she was cute, and he was looking at getting fresh...he just didn't like the idea of having his back to the door. He had to remind himself that he wasn't in the 'Stan, the SandBox as the yanks called it. He was back home, he was safe, or so he was told.

He extended his hand for a shake, but she was busy yawning. Pulling his hand back he rested it on the table.

"Very observant of you mam'," He guestered at his attire an old jacket, rugged pants and an Army shirt did not give the air of wealth He didn't know what she charged, but it was likely more than the few quid he had in his wallet. "I'm looking for someone." He reached into the pocket of his jacket pulling out the picture of his sister. "This is my sister." He continued sliding it over to her. "She left home a week back, with some guy named Scott. My parents are worried and I am too." Looking down to the picture he looked up to the keyboard jockey, "You can see why, what with a mad man about…" He let that hang not want to bring it up in too public a space. "I might not be able to pay you, but I can do other things. I'm sure Crow has told you some stories." His dark eyes look to Albert sitting next to him. "I'm sure someone of your talents needs some boots on the ground."

TAG: @SirakRomar @Lawbreaker

 

Ivan Morozov
The Reds Headquarter, Downtown, London

Ivan looked at the pictures on the mobile for a few moments in silence. He took the mobile and looked at them closer. His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened around the phone. This could just be coincidence...

No. It was never coincidence. Ivan shook his head, trying to keep a leash on his anger. 10 damn years the King had been gone, and the place had gone to ****. Was he really just going to waltz back to his throne? Ivan was skeptical. He put the phone down on one of the tables set up around the room, took out his .357 magnum and emptied its chamber into the phone. He had enough problems as it is, this could just complicate things to a completely different level.

Sliding his gun back into its concealed holster, he cracked his knuckles and went downstairs to the basement, entering the armory of the Reds. He closed the concealed door and leaned on it. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and then snapped. He flipped the center table over, scattering what papers and laptops were on it, and fell back onto his chair. He hated this. He felt sick. He felt trapped. He felt as though he was suffocating in this mess. He wanted it to end. Something in him wanted to spit back at all the other gangs and run rogue. The years of emotional suppression, and the wearing effect of murdering-for-hire were getting too great for Ivan. He ran his hands through his hair, shaking and shivering all the while.

Iosif entered the room shortly after Ivan had blasted the phone to smithereens. He was holding a folder in his hands with the information of Ivan's next target.

"Are you going to carry this out personally, Pakhan?" Iosif inquired.

Ivan nodded, reaching out for the folder, which Iosif handed to him, who glanced quickly to the flipped table, and scattered papers and laptops. Ivan scanned the folder and nodded slowly. He stood up, and took a suppressed 9mm pistol from the cases of pistols that lined some of the shelves of the room, a large combat knife that looked particularly lethal, and several other tools he used for breaking and entering and urban stealth missions. His garrote was already on his person, as he constantly carried a few weapons.

"Clean this up by the time I've gotten back," Ivan murmured, waving a hand towards the mess. "I shouldn't be too long."

He retrieved his mobile phone from his pocket and quickly took a few pictures of the most vital details from his folder.

"I'll be in Chase Street, Whitechapel, Iosif, but I'm sure you already knew that."

@Lawbreaker