Topic: Teian

Kakure-Kai

Date: 2011-06-02 11:58 EST
A Japanese man whose smile resembled a shark's and whose eyes did not hide the fact that he was nothing more than a thug dressed up in a three-piece suit waited patiently in the reception area of Batten Industries' Corporate Offices. He'd been told at least a dozen times in the hour and a half that he'd been waiting that Mr Batten was a very busy man and without an appointment, he would most likely not be able to see him.

The thug's command of English wasn't the best but he knew when he was getting the brush off, and his mood had slowly soured as he waited. Finally, after waiting for two hours to see the business man, he stood angrily and thrust the letter written by his oyabun at the first person who happened by. "Give this to Batten," he growled in broken English, and stalked off, leaving the offices behind and returning to the Organisation's headquarters in Dockside.

Should Mr Batten ever receive the letter, it would read:

Mr Edward Batten, CEO, Batten Industries:

My name is Mitsugu Ryu and I am the head of a charitable organisation, headquartered in Kyoto, Japan. Recently, my associates have learned of a plot to interrupt Batten Industries' productions, hurt employees, and even hijack shipments. We are prepared to offer our services in order to protect you from this threat. In exchange for a monthly stipend, we will ensure that your employees are safe from harm, your deliveries reach their destinations intact, and your facilities are free from sabotage.

I would like to call on you at your offices soon. Please courteously reply to this letter and inform me of a convenient time for us to meet. I would hate to see such a profitable business such as yours fall into ruin because you did not act right away.

Sincerely, 貢龍 Mitsugu Ryu

Leonidas Heracleides

Date: 2011-06-02 14:08 EST
The letter ends up getting thrust into the hands of a man whose unassuming look, in a suede jacket, t-shirt and jeans, make him unlikely to be anyone of immediate importance. His dark eyes follow the path of the man leaving, peering over the tops of his own dark sunglasses.

When you've done his line of work long enough, you know the look of a thug when you see one, no matter how prettied up they may be. And he's seen more than a few of that kind. Walking over to the receptionist's station, he leans over the low partition to eye the young blonde behind it, giving her a grin. "Say, Liv. Did you see this guy in the suit?"

She gives him a grin that can't seem to help itself right back, though her cool gaze and the ring on her finger make it plain that any attempts to charm his way into her skirt will probably fail. "That guy' He said he was here to see Mr. Batten. I told the guy that he was busy at the moment, and might be for a while...although honestly, I don't think the boss is in today. I've been here since six and I haven't seen him come in."

Not that that means much, he knows. Ed has other ways of coming and going the employees don't really know about, but then, Liv is one of those types that seems to hear everything. He'd bet money she's right on that call.

He taps the envelope sharply on the partition, giving Liv a wink. "Thanks, hun. I still owe you a cup of coffee sometime."

She laughs, not teasing or mocking but the kind of sweet laugh you can't get mad at. "Sure, sweetie. You don't mind if my fiance tags along while you're buying, do you?"

He chuckles as he walks away, rolling his eyes. He had to try, right"

Fifteen minutes later he's walking through the basement doors of the Manor and into the sublevel office, reading over the letter again with a chuckle.

Sure enough he finds Ed sitting behind his desk, looking over a file. "You're not going to believe this, Ed." Handing over the letter to his boss, he takes a seat across from him and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long before Ed chuckles, tossing the letter onto his desk. "Ah, ya gatta be kiddin' me. T'reats disguised b'hind gen'rosity." Batten chuckles again, shaking his head. "Ya gotta love de guys dat do t'ings ol' school." Looking up towards Leo with a sharp look, he sits back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "What d'ya t'ink we should do 'bout dis?"

Leo chuckles, a grin spreading across his own features. "Funny you should ask that, boss. I was thinking about that on my way over."

It takes him a half hour to outline his idea and reasoning, along with a few things his work has managed to uncover in the past couple of weeks. When he's done he sits back, waiting again.

Ed chuckles, nodding. "Ah like it, Leo. Hang on a sec an' ya c'n drop dis at de mailbox on yer way back to de office."

Mitsugu-san,

I thank you for your courteous letter and your kind offer of information. However, my security forces are more than sufficient to handle any problems that may come of this, certainly now that you have informed us of this impending problem, and therefore, while I thank you for your concern, I am in no need of extra 'protection.'

I do, however, appreciate the information you have supplied us, and welcome any further such donations in the future. Please make an appointment with my office manager to see me at your earliest convenience so that we may discuss the possibility of other elements of business to see if some agreement can be reached.

Sincerely,

Edward K. Batten Owner/CEO, Batten Industries

Edward Batten

Date: 2011-06-10 16:54 EST
Batten Industrial Complex Fabrication and Repair facility, 1:30 AM RST

Michael Petrov is the kind of guy most people might think of as a lummox at first - big, broad, with a vacant-looking expression and a slow, sometimes hesitant manner of speaking that most people mistook for being, just maybe, a bit on the slow side.

But therein lies the deception. Batten seems to have a lot of this kind of person around, deceptive in their appearance until it's time to go to work. Some look like hippie refugees from the sixties; others are short, fat, sort of dumpy; still others are of a variety of minority groups that most might not consider employing for the simple fact that they have little to no formal education, even if they happen to know the field they work in inside and out.

The boss has the ability to see past that sort of thing - such as in Big Mike's case. Mike had been locked in Fort Leavenworth for assaulting a senior officer during his time in the Army. That was a severe understatement of what actually happened - he had in fact beaten the man so severely that it had taken reconstructive surgery to put his face back together, not to mention the internal injuries and massive bleeding that had taken almost two pints out of the lieutenant colonel.

That sort of thing tends to get frowned upon by employers, who for the most part aren't interested in the why of the situation. After that, the only jobs you can get usually involve asking someone if they want that order in regular or large size.

Fortunately the boss wasn't the kind of close-minded person that couldn't look past a little thing like almost killing another man. The question had come up, of course, and while Mike wasn't at liberty to discuss the situation that led up to the assault, he did explain that it was mostly due to the fact that 'good men shouldn't be sent to their deaths like so many cattle.'

The boss had agreed with him, with a shrewd look that said he might know more than he was letting on.

Whatever. It was enough for Mike to know that he'd be working for a good man for once, rather than some @sshole bureaucrat with his own agenda.

And so here he is, walking his rounds past the Fabrication building, when he sees the flicker of light in one of the windows.

He doesn't hesitate so much as an instant. He's worked for Batten Industries Security for three years and knows that at this time of night, there shouldn't be a soul present on the grounds except for the small, ever-present security force that rotates on the site in their patrols. Nor should there be any equipment running, no lights, nothing. The buildings should be silent and still as the grave.

He pulls the communication unit - an ellipsoid disk about the size of a quarter - from his pocket and taps it once in the center, speaking in a whisper as he brings it up to his mouth, moving swiftly towards the building with surprising silence for someone so large. "Base, Petrov. Possible B&E in progress, Fabrication facility, number of intruders unknown. Send backup ASAP."

He slips it back into his pocket and pulls his pistol, an MP-443 Grach, and makes his way around to the employee entrance. A quick glance at the door reveals it hasn't been opened. Of course, if it had, an alarm should have gone off at the unauthorized access - they must have found another way in.

As he's been trained, he waits there for backup to arrive.

Leonidas Heracleides

Date: 2011-06-10 18:51 EST
Big Mike's not waiting very long. The supervisor on sight is none other than the chief himself, and as soon as he'd heard Big Mike's report, he'd been on his way out the door. On his way he grabs his light brown suede jacket, slipping into it. Under the leather shell is a layer of the same armor fabric that they'd shown to Alain a few days ago, and he calls to the other two men lounging in the lobby, both dressed in full-body suits of a slightly heavier version of the same. "Dwight, Pete, let's go."

Both men are on their feet in a flash - there's not a lot to do around here at night, aside from chasing away the odd graffiti artist or an errant wanderer from the grounds, so it's easy to become bored. Leo makes a point of running drills, but they know their chief - if it's a drill he'll say so, and he's not the kind of guy to put them to task by surprise.

It takes them all of a minute to get over to the entrance where Big Mike waits, none of them even out of breath by the time they get there. Leo speaks quietly now. "Sitrep."

Big Mike, for once, doesn't speak in his usual, slow droning manner. "Got an occasional flicker of light, boss. Quiet other than that."

Leo nods, looking over his shoulder and jerking his head towards the door. Like silent shadows the other two move towards the door, covering it, and Leo pulls his own comm device from his pocket, tapping it once and speaking into it quietly. "Diana, I need access to the Fabrication facility employee entrance."

There's a soft click from the door by way of response, and Leo slips the device into his pocket. Pulling his Desert Eagle from its holster and shouldering the now-unlocked door open, he slips inside, the other three right behind him.

The building inside is large, cavernous in fact, with various kinds of equipment that looms up and around them like strange monoliths in the darkness. His eyes make out the flicker of light near one of the machines - a wire drawer, if he remembers the layout right - and he motions to the other three to split up. they move off into the darkness as he moves forward, towards the flickering light, moving from shadow to shadow silently, his dark eyes picking out the subtle flashes ahead.

It's a gift he's never really acknowledged to himself, a sort of secondary sensory input he's always been aware of and used but never really thought of as anything special. Now, though, since being in Rhy'din and seeing some of the things other people here are capable of, he's found himself wondering.

As he closes on the light source, he halts in the shadow of a huge machine press, focusing his attention on the scene a few meters away.

Three of them, two keeping lookout, while a third works with something - a welding unit of some kind" - at the wire drawer, intent on his work, his hands and movements swift and skilled and efficient. The other two aren't as alert as they should be - no weapons in their hands, simply looking around without being expectant. He can sense the other three of his security team now, a rough semicircle that will effectively cut the trio off from going any direction but to the back of the facility, where there is only a single exit.

He brings the Desert Eagle up and ready, pointing towards a flickering silhouette in the darkness where he'd sensed one of the pair standing lookout, and speaks in a loud, clear voice. "You are trespassing on private property. Cease your-"

Whatever else, the lookouts and their skilled friend are good. There's a clatter and the light goes out a split second before he hears the distinctive sound of a hammer being thumbed back, followed in the same instant by a thunderous report and a muzzle flash.

The round smacks into his jacket, impacting the armor beneath, where its force is deflected and the bullet stopped. Even with the inertia-negating properties of the armor, though, it feels to him like he just got hit with a fastball thrown by Nolan Ryan.

It's just enough to knock off his point of aim, not enough to knock him down, but he drops to a knee fast enough to make a shock of pain travel up his thigh as other muzzle flashes appear. Aiming for one of them, he pulls the trigger of the Desert Eagle. The muzzle flash is nearly blinding in this darkness, but he pulls two more times as the other members of his team follow suit.

Sparks fly as the bullets impact heavy machinery, but at the same time the gunfire from that area stops. Yelling out over the echoes of gunfire, he calls out to the others to cease firing, cautiously moving forward towards the area.

Keeping the gun in front of him and ignoring the throb from his shoulder - whoever shot him must have had a cannon for a pistol - he rounds the machine, eyes searching the area, side to side, up then down.

he finds it empty save for the welding torch, a short knife of Oriental design, a few casings, and a trail of blood leading towards the back of the factory; not a smear to indicate a heavy wound, but whoever got hit is going to want a doctor in short order. He's about to send Dwight and Pete off to follow it when he hears the fire exit alarm blaring out its insistent dual-tone siren, and he shakes his head, turning to examine whatever it was they were doing.

The machine's maintenance panel has been pulled open, and something was being done in there, but damned if he knows what. Motioning to Dwight, he straightens. "Call Perry down here, tell him we had a break-in and it looks like someone might have been trying to sabotage the machinery. We'll need an inspection of every piece of equipment in the place - these bastards had an hour after everything was closed down, they may have done more damage around here."

——-

An hour later he's at Ed's house, making his report to the boss on the break-in as they stand at the bar on the first floor with a glass of whiskey each. Between them lies the wakazashi he'd found by the machine.

"Well, Leo, s'much fer yer idea. Shame...could've been a good source of intel."

Leo nods, shrugging. "You never know. I'm pretty sure no one was killed, though I don't have any way of confirming that. But still, it ought to send a message to these guys."

Ed nods again, yawning. "Yeah. Still t'ink we might wanna try usin' em fer an intel source, den?"

with another nod, Leo grins. "In my former line of work you have to know a bit about criminals...we get so many in Vegas. In my experience, if there's such a thing as an honorable criminal, the Japanese version comes closest."

With another nod, Ed drains his glass and sets it down, turning away from the bar to head for his room, speaking over his shoulder as he goes. "'Kay. O'course, now Ah'm not gonna pay 'em nearly s'well as Ah would've."

Leo grins, picking up his newest souvenir and turning for the door to head back to work. Along his way, he hears Ed call to him from just out of sight about telling Perry to have his report on his desk tomorrow.

"You got it, Ed," he shouts back as he's leaving.