Klub Navadniy, 08F.

A pair of guards drag the body away, a pool of blood trailing to a back door in the club. The three are looked upon with great curiosity and suspicion from the patrons. The guard nods once at them, pulling the red rope open for them. The elevator door opens and the guard follows them in. He briefs them quickly, in a very heavy accent. His cybernetic hand scratches at the back of his thick neck,"You pepples--you talk to boss like he your fucking boss. Mr. Navadniy very busy, so no fucky business. Talk fast, get it over with." The elevator dings and the door opens, the guard hands them three oxygen tanks. They enter the private club of Viktor Navadniy, the scene is much different from the last visitor. First off, it's completely empty. The guards are tensely gripping their weapons as a man babbles in Slavnok in front of Navadniy, who wields a pistol behind his back, pacing back and forth.

The man puts his two pathetic skeleton-looking cybernetic arms together and falls out of his chair onto his knees, beginning to sob. Navadniy seems disgusted, speaking up angrily and motioning to him with his pistol. One of the guards picks him up and shoves him back in his seat. On the table is various Zeleniyan ruble-bills spread out, a briefcase thrown across the room, and rubles strewn across the path it took.

Navadniy shakes his head,"Nyet.. nyet, mne Levinko. Ti obre t'smertz." Navadniy levels the pistol at the drugged up looking Zelenu, who screams out, raising his hands, but Navadniy shoots him in the skull. The Zelenu lets out a low, guttural groan and a rattling sigh as his last breathe leaves his body violently. He sits back in his chair, mouth agape. A hole where his left eye was. Bits of wires and microchips lay on the floor, mixed in with grey matter and the steely blue hue of Zelenu blood. Navadniy takes his left hand and brushes his hair back, carelessly tossing the pistol aside. He goes into a corner booth table and begins to smoke, as a guard drags the body away. The guard escorting the three then nods to them, seemingly a little tense of the short temper of his boss.

Navadniy has his back turned to the three, as he smokes a cigar. He exhales the smoke, turning his head halfway to the agent, then back to the table in front of him. He asks in a blank tone,"And you are?"

The mob bosses ring-adorned right hand took his cigar and twisted it into an ashtray and steepled his fingers. He motioned to the booth across from him,"Take a seat."
Once the agent sits, the mob boss looks him in the eye, his dark hair combed over to one side. "Some pirate captain, right? Small fish ever since his fleet was wiped out. Still lives, though. I've seen him here a couple of times, but so do most of those uncivilized rats." A young woman in a tight leather dress walks up, handing Navadniy a large PDA. He takes the pen off the top and taps on it,"Last I heard he tried his hand in the Zeleniyan sectors but he couldn't grease enough palms. Shame." He stops, raising his eyebrows,"Seems you're against the clock, Mr. Smith." He places the PDA down, a file of Jacta appearing. His finger taps a line of bold, red cyrllic slavnok, with an exclamation point on it. "Seems Zuzham-Xabir is already on it. Your friend has a bit of a bounty on him. I could tell you where he is, but it'd cost you a bit. The lizards are very territorial about their bounties."

Ordo would lean back in his chair eyeing the man carefully. His two bodyguards would remain nearby, observing their surroundings. 029 ponders the possibilities, and then begins to speak.

"How about a wager?"

Ordo leans forward folding his hands in the lap, while nodding towards the death match arena. He gave a slight smirk, his teeth showing slightly.

"You put me in the arena with any one of your fighters. I win, you give me his location. If you win, you can take my two friends here as payment."

The two bodyguards seemed unaware of the deal, however they heard 029 very clearly. After operating with Ordo for several years, the two had learned to trust Ordo's confidence and judgement. Ordo would then recline relaxed.

"What do you think?"

Navadniy shakes his head and chuckles, opening his hands,"It is not that simple my friend. Zuzham-Xabir is merely employed by me, I don't own them. They received this hit request from some rival pirate of his. But, lucky for you, the Sultan, their leader, is just the alpha-type to accept this deal. I'll just inform him of the deal.." Taps into his PDA, glancing up at the agent now and then,"I already know he'll gladly accept, so what do you want to do? Melee weapons, any weapons, or hand to hand? And I highly suggest not doing the primary or the latter, friend." The PDA bleeps, and he glances down,"Hm.. that was fast, usually he's a bit slow with technology. Say's he'll gladly crush you blah blah blah, you're going to fight some warrior of his with some great tribal hullabaloo about him." He waves his hand dismissively,"So, what'll it be?"

Two guards escort the man onto a separate elevator, quietly sitting on either side on him. The doors open and they seal their gasmasks over their faces, as oxygen rushes in. They enter a dimly lit storage room, and one of them hands him his weapon back, then points to the weapon rack on the wall. Several kalishnikovs, Scorpion SMGs, and GsHG pistols lie on it, with magazines under it,"Incase you want more. If you ready, go." He says in a blank, uninterested tone, clearly he's seen this too many times to care. He points to a blast door.

Once the Agent is ready, the door opens, and the two guards waltz back to the elevator. The roar of the crowd is heard, as an announcer reads off in Slavnok, English, Aranek'ii, and several other languages afterwards. "A newcomer challenges the Zuzham-Xabir tribe! A one Mr. Smith with take on Kzhchar the Gutter, a four time deathmatch winner!"

The Agent would see a sand-skinned, heavily scarred Aranek on the other end of the circular Arena. His head bares most of the scars, his left eye seemingly sown shut. He grips a large primitive shotgun with an external belt feed, bearing a large bayonet on the underside of it. His tribal arm is criss crossed by two shotgun shell belts, laden down on the back and sides with machetes and blades, and a large CFP six shooter on his hip. He snarls, his upper lip quivering as he growls and squints his eyes at the man. The towering lizard cocks the shotgun, standing erect.

If the agent to were look up he would see several balconies on the various party decks, hundreds of people screaming and crying out for blood. On the highest decks, Navadniy can be seen standing on a glass sealed balcony smoking, with his elegant wife by his side. He raises a drink and nods to someone across from him, a balcony opposite him. The deeply frowning Aranek tribe leader bows his head once to Navadniy.

Three lights below the jumbo screens light up, 2 red, 1 green. Several disc shaped drones are launched from the jumbo screens and circle the arena and the fighters, as a klaxon blares, the lights turn off. The Aranek keeps it's weapon lowered, merely glaring at the man with its one good eye. When only the green light remains, a high pitched beep is emitted, and suddenly several walls, ramps, and pieces of cover shoot out from the floor. If the Agent were able to tune out the several taunts and jeers of the audience,"Shoot him in the face! Shoot him in the fucking face!" "Eyes open, fresh meat, I've got 5k on you, fuckface!" "Keep eyes open, suka!"

He would be able to hear the clacking of the Aranek's talons as he began to quickly flank hard and fast to the left.[/i]