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 Neptune's Bounty: Rapture Security Office

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Thuggish Splicer
Thuggish Splicer

Number of posts : 8
Registration date : 2009-04-06

PostSubject: Neptune's Bounty: Rapture Security Office   Thu Apr 09, 2009 4:31 am

[Closed RP]

((This is a post in reference to something AspiR and I discussed earlier. This event occured prior to the events of PL.))

Nate plopped down at his desk in the cluttered bullpen in the office of the Neptune's Bounty division of Rapture Security. He tossed his hat on the desk. The moisture from Nate's sweat and humidity from Neptune's Bounty made the hat give a wet smack as it hit the desk. Nate winced. Damn thing smells like the crack of Neptune's ass. Nate didn't smell so good himself. His uniform was soaked through and the soles of his boots were crusted with grime and fish entrails. He clicked on the electic fan on his desk and put his face up to it. The lukewarm air wasn't exactly as refreshing as meadow breeze, but it was just the ticket now. Nate leaned back in his desk chair and unbuttoned the top three buttons on his uniform shirt, letting the air from the fan hit his chest. Ahhh, now that's the ticket, Nate thought. Hell, the only thing he needed now was a beer. He deserved one after today's bullshit.

A reliable informant of Nate's gave him a tip on some incoming "shipments" into Fontaine Fisheries. Didn't say what it was or if Fontaine would be there himself, but it sounded promising. Seeing as Rapture Security had more leaks than Rapture itself, Nate only let his guys in on the raid, and only an hour beforehand. This reduced the chance of a tip off to Fontaine's crew, while still giving Nate's boys time to prep for the raid.

Nate leaned his head back, rubbing his hands over his face. He had him, dammit. He fucking had Fontaine. The crates weren't there, but there sure as hell was a lot of activity for that time of night. Nate saw some guys he recognized as Fontaine's meeting with some other hoods he didn't recognize. Probably from the surface bringing in the goods. They shot the breeze with each other a good bit. "C'mon," Nate said to himself. "Bring out the goods." The laughing and casual conversation between the goons stopped. Nate couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but the tone of the voices was more business-like. Nate nudge the officer to his right. "Here we go," he grinned.

Suddenly, a young man emerged from what seemed out of nowhere. Nate hadn't seen him earlier, but chalked it up to the guy probably standing off in the shadows or behind a stack of crates. The guy was unkempt, with dark hair and a dark blue coat. "Damn, kid," Nate muttered. "It's called a razor." The man strode up to the guy Nate recognized as one of Fontaine's dock foremen, whispering something into his ear. The foreman immediately started looking around frantically, twirling his hand in the air. All the hoods on the docks began to scatter. "DAMN IT!" Nate shouted, then to his officer's "Move in! Move in!"

The officer to his right looked over at him wide-eyed, "But the goods aren't there."

"They ain't gonna be," Nate replied. "We'll just have to take 'em in for allowing unauthorized personnel into the city!" The officer opened his mouth to say something else, but Nate was already running, making a B-line for the guy who tipped off the foreman. Someone ratted Nate's squad out, and he was going to find out who. Nate made eye contact with the man for a second before the guy broke off in a sprint towards the back of Fontaine Fisheries. Nate ran harder, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel his throat drying up and becoming hoarse from breathing hard. He nearly lost his balance several times weaving through the jungle of crates and piles of fish. Damn, this kid's fast, Nate thought. Then the kid turned down a hallway Nate knew from previous raids to be a dead end. Nate chuckled. "That's it for you speedy!" Nate slowed up, checking the corner carefully to make sure the kid hadn't turned back around, realizing his mistake. Then Nate heard a whooshing sound and turned the corner. He stopped, bewildered by what he saw.

The suspect wasn't there. Nate looked around the empty hallway. Maybe there was a vent, a crawl space, something he missed. Nothing. Except...rose petals? "What the hell?" Nate made his way back to his squad, who had rounded up 5 of the usual suspects. As usual, of course, none of them knew nothing, and if any of them did, they "weren't going to tell a Polish pig like Kowalski." They'd all be slapped with misdemeanor charges and released the next day. If only Nate had nabbed that guy with the blue coat.

Who was that guy? Nate had seen him before. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a book of mugshots of Fontaine's known associates. Nate rifled through the pages. A lot of mooks with no dress sense, but none of them were his guy. Then he found him. Dissheveled black hair, wrinkled, dirty clothes, and a detached look on a face that looked like it had been through hell. Nate read the name and got up. He walked over to the file cabinet behind his desk and began thumbing through the files. Finding the one he wanted, he pulled it out and slapped it down on his desk. The name on the file: Everett, Oliver.
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