- Job Name:
1-2 D rank mages, dark mages only, 10 posts, 150 words per post
Type of job:
Theobold Thawn, an infamous thug that pressures small time businesses for protection money, has a serious problem. Namely, his two guards that often do his dirty work for him. Are laying in bed sick, having some sort of flue. Now it is up to you to help Theobold in the already overdue payments.
Go with Theobold, and bust up two shops so that he gets his money, naturally one of the shopkeepers will try to fight you. But that is okay, because some physical damage will surely put him back in place.
Doesn't have any real fighting skills, but since you are a new face around there. He seems to think he can take you. Be sure to teach him a good lesson.
Motor city. One of the places where John felt more at home with his mundane and mechanical nature. There were a few people here and there in this city with mechanical limbs and other such enhancements, though likely none to the extent John had them, and would get them. There were some mages, of course, and magical vehicles, but he couldn't care less about them at this point. His days of magic were over and done. What tiny potential he might have had after the deal he made had long since been shredded by the chrome he had put into his body, leaving his already damaged soul but a shredded husk of what it once was, but that didn't matter to him. The less of his soul left to go to the things after it when he dies, the better. Nevermind the fact that his humanity was being ripped away with it. He was already incapable of feeling remorse and had other emotions dulled. He'd probably be reduced to a shell of his former self, a somewhat fleshy robot with no emotion simply going around doing jobs to acquire resources to continue existing with no other purpose other than to continue said existence. But he'd still be technically alive, the best kind of alive. A rather grim outlook, but true. Still, that's better than whatever the hell awaited him after a normal death, so he had that going for him, which was... nice? Perhaps not the best word to describe his dilemma. Besides, this wasn't the time to be philosophical about the meaning and value of a meager existence with no emotion, friendship, or purpose. This was the time to be contacting someone who wanted some less than legal services performed in exchange for what was likely less than legally obtained cash, the best kind of cash. No wait, that wasn't really right. Legally obtained was a bit better, since you didn't have to worry about being arrested for using it, but again, that wasn't important right now. What was important was that he would soon have a job to do.
John stepped into the seedy, smokey bar, cigar in mouth. This rough and tumble kind of place was one that he was all too familiar with in his time as a freelancer. He disliked having to do this sort of work, but it paid the bills, and meant more money in his pocket to further enhance himself. He'd need it to face the things to come. But more importantly, he'd need allies, likely join a guild, but there were none that he knew of that would take him in that weren't either full of madmen or some strange cult. For now though, he was on his own, making what little he could through whatever means he could, and today, that meant being hired muscle.
The cybernetically modified burnout approached the bartender, pulling the cigar out of his mouth to speak. "Theobold Thawn here? I heard he's looking for some muscle."
The bartender, who was currently cleaning a dirty glass with a dirtier rag didn't even look at John, but rather just let out a grunt and jerked his shaved head in the direction of a door leading to one of the back rooms. John walked over to the door and knocked on it. Hearing a rough grunt from the other side that seemed to indicate the desire for him to enter, he opened the door to see a rather burly man with a multitude of tattoos visible on his arms and neck. At this point, John began making several assumptions about the man.
Number 1: This man was Theobold Thawn.
Number 2: Theobold Thawn was not the smartest man.
Number 3: Theobold Thawn, despite his relative lack of intelligence, was able to make up for his lack of brains through excessive use of his rather impressive brawn, without which he would likely not be in business.
"Theobold Thawn?" John asked.
"Yeaaahhhp." He let out, long, drawn out, and loud.
Assumption 1: Confirmed
"Yous lookin' to be my replacement muscle for the day?" He asked.
"Good. Mah boiz 'ave been sick an I needz muscle. Sum smarthinkin shopkeeps don't wanna pay up their dues! Deys might be smarter 'n me, but you an' me, we'll show 'em 'oo's tougher!"
Assumptions 2 and 3: Confirmed.
This job was no doubt going to be rather... unpleasant. And not because it involved being muscle, but because it involved working with this meathead of a buffoon. How the hell he hasn't been identified and arrested by the Rune Knights with all of his rather obvious and easily identifiable tattoos, John had no idea. It probably has something to do with the total lack of Knights in most areas, and the fact that they no longer seem to have any sort of leadership. He wondered briefly at the cause of this.
"Now den. I'llz be commin with ya ta help ya out with the shops."
"I don't think that will be necessary, mister Thrawn. I think we'd be better off splitting up. You obviously can handle one of the shops by yourself, and it'll be done in half the time if we both take on a different one."
"Heh, youz a smart one eh? Aaight, den you go over to Rick Handley's place an' get 'im to deliver the money 'e owes me an' I'll give you a cut of it. Ya might 'ave ta rough 'im up a bit, break some stuff, but 'ell give it to ya."
John just nodded in response. "Right, I'll be on my way then. Shall we meet up here in an hour?"
"If ya' think yer dat quick, then sure."
"I will be, I assure you." He said, forcing a curt smile before leaving once more. While still in the bar, he inquired about Rick Handley and found where the shop was. He could've asked Thrawn, but wanted to spend as little time as possible with the man. John was a professional, and Thrawn clearly was not.
John stepped out into the afternoon sun, squinting, cigar in mouth. This may be motor city, but John had no access to any motorized vehicle, something he should fix at some point. Still, at this point he only had one source of transportation, short of taking a bus or something, but public transportation seemed like a poor option considering the work he was about to do. Without any other option, he walked, eventually reaching Handley's place, so lovingly named "Handley's Handy Motor Repair". He stepped in to see a rather cheerful fellow sitting behind a wooden desk. The man looked to be in his early to mid thirties, just under a decade younger than John.
"Welcome to Handley's Handy Motor Repair! The name's Rick." He said, leaning forward. "Got a motor you need fixed? You seem the sort who'd enjoy a nice chopper."
"No, actually." John answered, striding up to the counter, pulling the cigar out of his mouth and putting it out on the desk, leaving a burn mark in the wood. "I'm here on the behalf of Thrawn. You owe him money, Mr. Handley. Money I intend to deliver to him."
Handley's welcoming smile instantly vanished. "Oh really? You're not one of his guys."
"I'll admit. I'm just a temp. But rest assured, I will be collecting this money."
Handley sighed, standing up. "Alright, fine. I don't have the money here, though, just let me go get it." He started to walk towards the back room. John hopped over the desk following. "Don't mind me. I'm just making sure you're not going to get any help." He smiled at the mechanic before gesturing to move on. "Go on. Let's see this money." He said. Handley lead on, not seeming impressed in the slightest.
The two walked into the back room where there was a safe in the wall. Handley subtly reached for a nearby crowbar, taking hold of it and whirling around to try to smack John in the face with it. John brought up his mechanical hand. A clang resonated through the room as metal struck metal. John grabbed hold of Handley's arm now, crushing it partially with the strength of his arm. He twisted the arm and Handley around, pushing him into the wall headfirst and forcing him to drop the crowbar. The bar never hit the floor, John catching it with unnatural quickness and agility. He walked up to the now dazed Handley who had just now turned around and swung it, raking the claw across Handley's face, leaving him with a nasty cut. The mechanic yelped and backed into the wall. John pressed the curved part of the crowbar against his throat, not chocking him, but still making it harder to breathe.
"Bad move chum. Now how about we stop fooling around and you give me the money you owe Thrawn, eh?"
"Y-yes sir." He said, fear now in his voice. John released the man and let him scurry to the safe, opening it and handing John a few wads of cash. It was tempting to just walk away with what he was given. It'd be more than what Thrawn would give him, but still, that wouldn't be the professional thing to do. "Smart choice, Mr. Handley." He said, taking the money and looking it over, making sure it was what Handley owed. Satisfied, he turned and walked out, swinging the crowbar to embed it in the wood of the desk. "I'll be taking my leave. I hope you learn to make your payments on time, Mr. Handley, else we might have to go through this again." He called back as he stepped out the door.
With that done, he returned to the bar and met with Thrawn again, much to his displeasure. Still, the job was done, and he had a bit more experience and cash under his belt. All in all, it wasn't a bad day's work.