Some adjustments

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Some adjustments Empty Some adjustments

Post  Mr. Gold on Fri Apr 16, 2010 11:17 pm

- Our official faction name is now The Royal Flush, although we may also be refered to as The Suits or The Men in Black.
- I am no longer Mr. Grey but Mr. Smith in character; I'll no longer be taking part in active operations like attacks, but my IC son -- "Harry" (Previously Mr. Red) will be in command of conducting the jobs. You will also be given his MSN address and OOC identity.
- The forum URL will soon be changed to:
- I've written our faction's history in a series of stories below, which will be included in our official faction application (which I'll be sending to Damian a long way in the future, I'm just preparing things now.)

Our Faction Story (Updated with real IG events):
- I am aware some of the names are messed up and may not be accurate portrayals of your character, but grant me a little artistic license, if you will.
- If you spot any bad spelling or something that dosn't make any sense, please point it out.


"Alright gents, shut up, daddy's got a few things to say."

Mr. Smith stood up after patting his son's shoulder, "Thank you Harold." He adjusted his spectacles while peering at the ten men seated around him. "It is not arduous to detect that you are the best in the business, that is incontrovertible." The men in black looked at eachother, barely comprehending Mr. Smith's words. "The best of the best. The Royal Flush. That is why you have been assembled."


Mr. Gold adjusted his tinted shades in the rear view mirror before exiting the FBI-rancher. "All I'm sayin' is, Batman's got gadgets."

"Eh, so fuckin' what?" Mr. Silver stepped out of the passenger seat and into the parking lot, casually scanning the area for hazards. "Superman's got powers, I mean, he can actually do things yeah, what can fuckin' Batman really do? Nothin'."

As they approached the double doors of the Montgomery Apartment Complex, Gold ducked down in a courtsey and opened them for Silver, accompanied with "My leige," in a mocking tone.

Instantly Harry's voice barked at them over their earpeices: "Will you fuckin' guys stop muckin' around, you're all like a bunch of kids, wait 'til daddy hears 'bout dis."

Instantly their apologies rained in through the channel. Harry grinned as he saw their faces through his bonoculars.

"Alright, sorry Harry, we're goin' in now."

They climbed the stairs until they'd reached the corridor at the top of the complex, there was already a large group of the Europeans there, with their attention focused on a pretty German woman. She was discussing something in depth with another woman; both stopped immediately upon Silver and Gold's entrance.

It was agreed Silver would do the talking. "Evenin' ladies, I come from Mr. Smith."

"Uhh, who?" the woman said, oblivious to who she was conversing with.


"Right... Bones..." She nudged her head towards one of the men, gesturing for him to remove the two suited men.

Silver rolled his eyes underneath his shades and continued to talk while Bones approached him and Gold. "In three days time, I'm gonna come back and you're gonna pay me two thousand bucks to not blow your fuckin' head off. Same goes the week after, and so on. You get the picture."

Bones stopped dead in his tracks, looking dumbfounded at Mr. Silver, "You tryin' to extort us? Seriously... US?" The woman raised her palm to Bones, signalling for him to be quiet and he reluctently obeyed. She stood up, withdrawing a concealed luger .45 and pointed it straight at Mr. Silver's forehead.

A message came over their earpieces from Harry, "We're hot outside boys, three fuckin' trucks full, padded up in SWAT gear." Silver grinned at the news.

Ignorant of the trouble awaiting her, the woman looked on puzzledly at his smirk, since Silver and Gold had seven pistols pointed at them.

"Why shouldn't I tell zhese men to blow your 'eads off?"

Straight away, shouts were heard downstairs in the lobby, "LS-PD, SWAT team, get on the floor with your hands where we can see 'em!" The woman looked angrily at Silver, whose smirk was unchanged.

Where as the Europeans fled into one of the apartments, the suited men headed straight for the
sound of boots on stone. Gold needed only to flash his government badge for them to be quickly waved past, unquestioned.


"Mr. White, you've got three of them outside the complex, just next to the door."

"Just three? What a pity." Mr. White said whilst sliding on black leather gloves. He had been appointed head of the attack by Mr. Smith, yet he was not nervous; everything was prepared. He was parked behind the Montgomery pizzastack. He turned to the other men in the sultan and stared at them through his shades. "Any questions? No? Good. See you later, gentlemen." And with that, he lept out from the vehicle and raced around the corner, quickly absorbed by the network of allyways.

The other occupants of the vehicle grinned and raced after Mr. White, unstrapping their M4's and moving stealthily towards the complex.

After just a few moments of sprinting they had reached their checkpoint; White was waiting for them, pressed against the wall. He had one finger pressed to his ear and was listening intently to the directions from the pilot of the maverick above them. He then spoke in a low tone to those present, "Pink's up there with the bazooka, he'll fire on my signal. There's two of them sitting next to the door, and one in a huntley. The rockets should cause enough confusion for us to take out the first two in no time; Mr. Green, follow the wall around until you're next to the car, the second you hear that RPG, you take out the guy in the four-by-four. All understood?"

"We got it, White."

"Alright then... take it away, Mr. Pink."

Instantly the building infront of them transformed into a tornado of fire; rubble spat down on those by the door. White popped up first, placing his M4 on the wall and opened fire at his foes. Green had already circled around the wall and taken out the man in the vehicle. It was all over in a matter of milliseconds.

A few survivors of the explosions came running out of the front entrance but were immediately filled with machine gun bullets. White congratulated the squad and led the sprint back to the sultan.


"In position, Mr. Cyan." Mr. Orange was nestled ontop of the Montgomery gas station which he assured himself must be the most comfortable roof he'd ever taken up a sniping position on - he'd sat on many roofs in his time.

When Mr. Cyan heard from Orange over his earpiece, he immediately ordered the maverick he was seated in into the air. He'd been charged with delivering a message to the European syndicate and had devised a suitably extravagant approach. In no time at all, the chopper was ontop of the newly re-constructed apartment complex and evoking a lot of intrest from the civilian pedestrians.

"What now, Cyan?"

"Now we wait. They'll be here."

And just as Mr. Cyan hypothesised, the European's soon approached the source of the fuss and glared up at the maverick. Cyan waved down at Nelly Nikitina, smiling politely. She looked furious, but was powerless to do anything with the large numbers of civilians around, and although she didn't know it, if she had even moved her hand to her hip, Mr. Orange would have put a sniper bullet inbetween her eyes.

"Good afternoon. I come from Mr. Smith." He threw down an envelope to her, which landed on the bonnet of her car. One of the other females with her quickly fetched it for her. As Nelly read the words on the document inside the envelope, rage begun to show in her expression.

Pay the good man in the suit his money please.

Sincerely, Mr. Smith

Whilst staring up at Cyan, she scrunched up the letter and tossed it outside of the window before speeding into the distance.

Mr. Cyan smiled, "Oooer, somebody's on their period. Let's get out of here, boys."


Mr. Cyan rubbed his sleep-craving eyes with his thumbs in a circular motion, whilst examining the painting opposite from him. It depicted a fishing boat amist giant waves, the mast straining in the stormy wind. The passangers of the boat were clearly afraid; all of them except for one, who was shining bright gold.

"It's Jesus." Mr. Smith said simply. Mr. Cyan flinched, startled by Smith's sudden presence. Mr. Smith was clutching a flute of wine in one hand, while surveying Cyan with an amused expression. "Do you know anything about art, Mr. Cyan?"

"Regretfully not, Mr. Smith."

Smith nodded his head curtly, "The most prominent art heist in the history of the United States occured in 1990 at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. Thieves in Boston successfully eluded federal agents with Rembrandt's 'The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.' Quite a feat, wouldn't you say?" Mr. Smith maintained a blank expression while carefully watching Cyan, whose forehead was trickling with sweat.

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Smith."

"Indubitably." He swirled the wine around in his glass before continueing, "I am a man of fine taste. If I see something and I like it, it's mine. You understand, I'm sure. Would you like to know what I like, Mr. Cyan?"

"What's that, Mr. Smith?"

"Two hundred thousand dollars. Assuming your presence is to inform me that our European consorts did not take kindly to my letter, then please, leave me in peace and do what the task requires."

Mr. Cyan bowed his head to Mr. Smith then walked towards the exit in silence.


"Listen to me, Ryker."

"P-p-ple-please.. I c-can't he-help you..."

"I said listen, now shut the fuck up."

"I'm new to the fo-force, p-p-..." Bang! The man named Ryker screamed.

"Did you think I was joking when I said shut up? Because I wasn't."

"What the fuck man?!"

Another bang! "Do you understand me now, motherfucker?"

"Alright! Alright! I understand!"

"Then shut the fuck up." Another bang! Mr. Violet stared at Ryker from behind tinted aviators, expecting another outburst, but Ryker managed to keep silent by clenching his teeth. "There's a good piggy. Purple, put the package on him."

Mr. Purple walked over to Officer Ryker Aadkins and kneeled down next to him. He lifted up Ryker's shirt and strapped a small package around his torso, then pulled the shirt back over it. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to take my associate here into the police precinct's armoury, you're going to smuggle out as many SWAT and regular uniforms as possible, then you're going to come back here with it all, without alerting anybody; any hiccups and that little package around your waist is going to explode. You got that, Ryker?"

Ryker looked nervously towards Mr. Violet as if asking for permission to speak, and Violet nodded slightly in response. "I-I g-g-got it, d-don't worr-worry."


The F.B.I. ranchers were moving quickly across the plains between Blueberry and Montgomery, their sirens wailing in the wind. They quickly approached the Oktoberfest Open House and screeched to a halt.

Instantly, eight men disguised as S.W.A.T. officers exited the vehicles, armed with M4's. They instructed those outside the bar to line up against the west facing wall, and once they had, the men and women were massacred in cold blood.

The 'officers' moved inside the bar and repeated the exercise; ruthlessly murdering those inside. Harry alerted the operatives over the radio that a code zero had already been called at the scene. They casually strode outside. Deputy Nick Brick of the Sherrif's Department was sitting inside his cruiser. He exited the vehicle and barely uttered a sound before he was mutilated by the merciless gunmen.

The men in black piled into the F.B.I. class ranchers and were delivered to various checkpoints; and from there to their respective houses to rest.


To be continued.

Mr. Gold

Posts : 168
Join date : 2010-04-06
Age : 24
Location : In the shadows

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