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Warmonger

The Kitchen

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The Kitchen: In Freedom City there is always a need for things to be done that the authorities don’t have the guts to do, or because the heroes are too moral. For the dirty jobs people call up the Kitchen. This place is a hangout spot for mercenaries and contract killers. It has been cleaned out or raided numerous times by heroes and the authorities but they simply pack up and move to another part of the city. If someone is looking for quick work, and a little mayhem they can find it here. The Kitchen's current incarnation is an abandoned theater in the Fens.

Mary: A hard bitten, alcoholic, chain smoking old lady Mary runs the kitchen. She hands out the assignments and handles all requests. In her youth she was the infamous Bloody Mary a woman known for getting the job done in the most destructive manner she could. Her legendary temper has died down but knuckle headed mercs can expect to have her two hulking sons, Chad and Hughes, teach them some manners.

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The Kitchen: In Freedom City there is always a need for things to be done that the authorities don’t have the guts to do, or because the heroes are too moral. For the dirty jobs people call up the Kitchen. This place is a hangout spot for mercenaries and contract killers. It has been cleaned out or raided numerous times by heroes and the authorities but they simply pack up and move to another part of the city. If someone is looking for quick work, and a little mayhem they can find it here. The Kitchen's current incarnation is an abandoned theater in the Fens.

Mary: A hard bitten, alcoholic, chain smoking old lady Mary runs the kitchen. She hands out the assignments and handles all requests. In her youth she was the infamous Bloody Mary a woman known for getting the job done in the most destructive manner she could. Her legendary temper has died down but knuckle headed mercs can expect to have her two hulking sons, Chad and Hughes, teach them some manners.

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Mary leaned back in her chairbooted feet resting on the table as she polished of the last bottle of rum. Two abnormally large men stood watching her apprehensivley. By the way they exchanged glances it wasn't difficult to see that they shared a brain. Finally one of th the two identical men spoke in a slow drawling voice.

"Mama," He managed to turn his slur into a whine. "Doctor Ali said you not supposed to drink so-" The empty bottle sailed through the air to crash against his dull face. The big man blicked broken glass out of his eyes but seemed unharmed. The woman slurred back drunkenly.

"You shut your damn mouth boy, and mind your mama. I was drinking before I was knocked up with you two monkeys and it aint done me no harm." The two brothers looked at each other and fiddled with the massive hands. A loud clang sounded in the room followed by a hum as the old lift came to life. Mary didn't shift her eyes but her hand went to her shot gun underneath the table. The two slabs of men turned to face the cage where the lift would stop. The heros had been trying to shut them down for years, for all they knew it could be another raid.

When the lift stopped and the cage door opened the one man who cmae out made them relax. Which was odd considering he was armed to the teeth. The hilt of sword stuck outover his broad shoulders and he was covered from crown to toe in black and blue body armor, or what was left of it. He had clearly seen better days. Large holes covered his armor looking as if they had been melted clean through. Though the flesh underneath seemed to be fine. In one hand the man carreid a futuristic looking rifle in the other a large sack.

As he got closer to Mary she noticed that the bag was filled and seemd to be leaking. The man came up to her and thumped the bag down on the table. She could tell from the sound that it had a couple of things in it.

"Double." The man said simply. Mary didn't look at him but reached for another flask.

"Nope." She replied without inflection.

"Double Mary," He repeated. "The Carbano brothers, they weren't triplets they were one guy with three bodies." He gestured at burnt holes in his armour. "And hey, guess what his other power was. Go Ahead, guess. Wasn't in the contract you hag, I want double." He said testily. Mary finally looked up at the sack he had put on the table then at him. She sighed, then started twisting open the bottle of scotch.

"One and a half," She finished before taking a drink.

"What? They're worth at least-" He began.

"Take it or leave it." She cut him off. She could feel his glare but she prettended not to notice. Finaly he let out a long breath.

"Fine." He said. He spun on his heels and began to stalk back to the lift. Mary took another drink.

"Mama, Doctor Ali said..." Her hulking son began again.

"Let her get drunk, I'd take to the bottle if I had to look at you two all day too." Ronin cut in. He opened the cage and stepped in the lift. "I'm gonna go freshen up but I want another job by the weekend." She waved he bottle at him, which was the most acknowledgement she gave anyone.

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Mary leaned back in her chairbooted feet resting on the table as she polished of the last bottle of rum. Two abnormally large men stood watching her apprehensivley. By the way they exchanged glances it wasn't difficult to see that they shared a brain. Finally one of th the two identical men spoke in a slow drawling voice.

"Mama," He managed to turn his slur into a whine. "Doctor Ali said you not supposed to drink so-" The empty bottle sailed through the air to crash against his dull face. The big man blicked broken glass out of his eyes but seemed unharmed. The woman slurred back drunkenly.

"You shut your damn mouth boy, and mind your mama. I was drinking before I was knocked up with you two monkeys and it aint done me no harm." The two brothers looked at each other and fiddled with the massive hands. A loud clang sounded in the room followed by a hum as the old lift came to life. Mary didn't shift her eyes but her hand went to her shot gun underneath the table. The two slabs of men turned to face the cage where the lift would stop. The heros had been trying to shut them down for years, for all they knew it could be another raid.

When the lift stopped and the cage door opened the one man who cmae out made them relax. Which was odd considering he was armed to the teeth. The hilt of sword stuck outover his broad shoulders and he was covered from crown to toe in black and blue body armor, or what was left of it. He had clearly seen better days. Large holes covered his armor looking as if they had been melted clean through. Though the flesh underneath seemed to be fine. In one hand the man carreid a futuristic looking rifle in the other a large sack.

As he got closer to Mary she noticed that the bag was filled and seemd to be leaking. The man came up to her and thumped the bag down on the table. She could tell from the sound that it had a couple of things in it.

"Double." The man said simply. Mary didn't look at him but reached for another flask.

"Nope." She replied without inflection.

"Double Mary," He repeated. "The Carbano brothers, they weren't triplets they were one guy with three bodies." He gestured at burnt holes in his armour. "And hey, guess what his other power was. Go Ahead, guess. Wasn't in the contract you hag, I want double." He said testily. Mary finally looked up at the sack he had put on the table then at him. She sighed, then started twisting open the bottle of scotch.

"One and a half," She finished before taking a drink.

"What? They're worth at least-" He began.

"Take it or leave it." She cut him off. She could feel his glare but she prettended not to notice. Finaly he let out a long breath.

"Fine." He said. He spun on his heels and began to stalk back to the lift. Mary took another drink.

"Mama, Doctor Ali said..." Her hulking son began again.

"Let her get drunk, I'd take to the bottle if I had to look at you two all day too." Ronin cut in. He opened the cage and stepped in the lift. "I'm gonna go freshen up but I want another job by the weekend." She waved he bottle at him, which was the most acknowledgement she gave anyone.

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Ronin headed up the elevator and outside to head back to his place to crash. Once on the street he almost immediately passed a tall man in a dark suit and dark coat. The man walked by him without a word and headed inside the theater. The man nodded at Ronin as he passed, and Ronin got a good look at his face. He was black, with very dark skin, probably of West African decent, and he had a long scar on his cheek. His features were hard but attractive. He looked like a warrior.

The man disappeared inside the theater.

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Ronin headed up the elevator and outside to head back to his place to crash. Once on the street he almost immediately passed a tall man in a dark suit and dark coat. The man walked by him without a word and headed inside the theater. The man nodded at Ronin as he passed, and Ronin got a good look at his face. He was black, with very dark skin, probably of West African decent, and he had a long scar on his cheek. His features were hard but attractive. He looked like a warrior.

The man disappeared inside the theater.

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Ronin spared the man a quick but appraising glance. In his business it didn't pay to be nosey. He didn't look any stranger than any other merc, which if he was going into the Kitchen he likely was, Ronin had ever seen.

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Ronin spared the man a quick but appraising glance. In his business it didn't pay to be nosey. He didn't look any stranger than any other merc, which if he was going into the Kitchen he likely was, Ronin had ever seen.

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It was obvious to Ronin's trained eye that the man in the black coat was a warrior. Everything about him reeked of it. The way he carried himself. The way he relaxed his arms (ready to fly into action) just before passing Ronin on the street. The way he studied Ronin as he approached the theater . . . without actually looking at him at all. The coat that the man wore was entirely forgettable, except for the fact that to the expert gaze it was just a little too thick for a normal coat, and it didn't hand exactly right around his shoulders. There was more under that coat than just the man . . .

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It was obvious to Ronin's trained eye that the man in the black coat was a warrior. Everything about him reeked of it. The way he carried himself. The way he relaxed his arms (ready to fly into action) just before passing Ronin on the street. The way he studied Ronin as he approached the theater . . . without actually looking at him at all. The coat that the man wore was entirely forgettable, except for the fact that to the expert gaze it was just a little too thick for a normal coat, and it didn't hand exactly right around his shoulders. There was more under that coat than just the man . . .

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Ronin nods to himself. Yep. Mercenary. Though Ronin didn't remember meeting him before. It was none of his business so Ronin kept walking headed home. If he was lucky maybe some mugger would make his night.

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Ronin nods to himself. Yep. Mercenary. Though Ronin didn't remember meeting him before. It was none of his business so Ronin kept walking headed home. If he was lucky maybe some mugger would make his night.

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As the African stepped into the elevator, he smiled.

"He should do nicely . . ."

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As the African stepped into the elevator, he smiled.

"He should do nicely . . ."

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