William walked into his apartment, the pain in his trunk having subsided with that in his heart, he stooped low retreiving the decanters' stopper. Tossing it into the air and then catching it, he walked across the living area to the armchair in the corner. He lifted the decanter from the table to his lips, the sweet rum flowed down his throat like water to a parched man. He wiped his mouth on his hand, recapped the bottle and place it back upon the table top.
William's mind drifted back many months, before he left England, to the words Vidal had spoken to him. The words continually rolling over in his mind as he stripped and then ran a shower. The power and the passion behind the words striking him as did each of the warm beads of water streaming from the shower head. Running his hands through his short black hair, he felt a calm realisation sweep over him over him as now he knew what he was and he knew what he had to do.
Exiting the shower he truely felt alive again, the melon-collie that had for so long plagued him was gone and he was once more the hard hitting dependable brother was told Vidal he was.

(( Very nice post once again babe!

The following day went quickly as William made the nessecery arrangements. Associates were called, timings arranged, equipment sourced and players rounded up.
William checked his watch, sunset was only minutes away, thats when the games would begin, thats when his life was gonna change, the bullshit but behind him, an empire about to be born. He couldn't help but to smile as he sat in his car watching his associates drive into the compound, each one a professional in their chosen trade.
Micky was the first to arrive, a 37yr old English man, 6'3" tall, built like a battle tank and guarenteed to pack just as much fire power. Once a loyal soldier, sworn to queen and country and now an independent contractor, his services available to anyone who'll pay. Tonight he was Will's.
The next cat to arrive was Remmi. 5'6" built like a bulldog, he had the temprement and face to match. His true name, like much of his past, is unknown, but someone somewhere dubbed him remmi on account of the remmington 12-gauge he favoured.
Parking in the compounds centre he walked at a casual pace towards Micky. Looking up from his paper Mickey saw Remmi making his way across. Standing to his full height he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted,
"Run along son-ny, you should be in school by now."
Micky let out a hearty laugh as the old friends shook hand and began to catch up on all the goss since their last job together.
Will remained in his car, a half smoked cigarette hanging from his lip, his sunglasses protecting his eyes from the fading sun. Taking another drag from his cigarette he flicked the remainder out the window, the smoke escaping his lips in a series of rings.
It was another 15 minutes until the last player arrived, a devil yellow Ducatti 996, kicking up a trail of dust as it made it's way through the gravel compound signaled their arrival.
The team assembled, it was time to run through the plan, kit up and get ready, physically and mentally.

((Yep nice posts man :smile:))

10...
Breathing deeply, cool night air tickling lungs as they expanded.
9...
Clenching fist, muscles contracting and relaxing, each in turn.
8...
Checking pouches, each secure, their cargo intact.
7...
Checking mag, locked and loaded, safety off.
6...
Door charges, custom made, perfect fit, clacker in hand, almost time.
5...
Secure net, earpiece crackling, radio silence in place.
4...
Oakley goggles, zero subsitutes, black in colour.
3...
3 fingers, black gloved, raised in air.
2...
Stand by, stand by.
1...
Eyes sharp, scanning kill zone, showing my fear...

Slamming my fist down hard on the clacker three times I could feel the fear rising up inside me, I felt physically ill but composed myself as best I could. Thinking back, I realised just how long it had been since I carried out a job of this nature, actualy being the guy at the sharp end, the guy whose brains could be painting the walls at any moment.
The door beside me disappeared behind a cloud of smoke, shards of timber flying in all direction, it was all I could do to stop myself from turning around and fleeing to the safety of my apartment.
Remmi didn't freeze like I did. His previous experience and rock hard nerves gave him strength and a will of iron, he had a job to do and he was going to make sure it got done. In one hand he held his shotgun, matt black from muzzle to stock, and with the other hand he hefted a grenade into the building.
"Grenade!"
His extrodinary lung bellowing out a warning to me his comrade whilst his legs acted like springs throwing him clear of the doorway. I dropped the clacker and crouched against the wall with one eye closed in preperation of the explosion, which was not as I expected. A dull "pzfff" followed by a blood curdling scream filled the air. In turn it was quickly followed by the sound of Remmi's shotgun unleashing a salvo of buckshots into the killzone.
I leapt to my feet on instinct, gripping the MP-5 that hang by my side from its sling, my thumb doule checking the safety catch as I bounded into the room in Remmi's wake.
The scene inside was horrific, the white phosphorous grenade ending the lives of the two doormen, their skin melted from their flesh, their suits hardly recognisable.
Charging forward at full pace I passed by Remmi.
"Coming through."
I continued through the room, halting at the base of a large staircase and dropping to one knee. I held my weapon at high prone, my eyes tracing slightly infront of the laser dot as I scanned the second floor for any movement. Remmi now joined me, his sweep of the adjoining room finding nothing, a voice over the radio confirming his findings.
"Ground floor clear. Four bad guys at the top of the stairs, 2x2 cover formation. Hold position, wait out."
Micky's voice cold and without emmotion.

I was begining to lose the feeling in my fingers, my right hand too tense upon the pistol grip. In, two, three, out, two, three. I couldn't control my breathing for all my efforts, my training unable to shake the fear, making my uneasieness grow with the thought of cocking up.
The plaster cracked and shattered, entire bricks erupting into deadly flak as .50 cal rounds penetrated the wall in search of their human targets. Micky continued to lay down controled and unrelenting three round bursts, each with a grouping of 60mm or less. His eye unblinking surveyed the carnage through the infra-red scope of his Defensive Fire Support Weapon.
No escape was possible, those who remained where they were, torn assunder by the rounds coming from an adjacent building, those who fled down the stairs were met by a volley of 9mm rounds from my sub-machine gun. I looked into the eyes of one lost soul, his pistol coming to bear upon me as I fired a controled double tap into his sternum. His look of fear and shock vanished as the rounds opened his back, the exit wounds the size of tennis balls, and yet, he kept coming. His eyes narrowed, his mouth becoming a ricious grin, he kept on coming, his legs giving up and collapsing under his weight but still he brought his weapon to bear. Depressing the trigger I let rip with all my magazine could give, my foes chest and vital organs laying the stairs with a filament of blood and gore and still he came.
Remmi charged, barking as he did, his shotgun mere inches away from its target, he whom wished me dead.
The headless corpse slid down the last few steps coming to rest infront of me, a pink mist hovering in the still air, all firing ceased.
"Stairs secure, Blue team hold position, Red team enroute..."

((It doesn't matter how you play the game, the only important thing, is whether you win or lose. Winner's are those whom have pages in history written about them, loser's are forgotten, their whinging echo about doing their best or trying their hardest outlives these poor retched wannabes.
It is in this truth that we can find source for the setting of our next scene:
An upstairs room, dimmly lit, an elder gentlemen kneeling upon the floor, his hands behind his head.

Remmi stood guard over the prisoner, his shotgunheld ready to fire should the lord of the domain attempt to flee.
"Where the hell is it? It should be here. Master bedroom, beside cabinet, top draw. All I see is some type of ledger and a handfull of what looks to be human incisors."
William picked up the contents of the draw and continued his search of the rooms cabinets and cupboard.
Stepping out of the shadows the mystery companions features were hidden from view by the tinted visor of their motorbike helmet.
"Give me the book."
Will tossed the book to the them and continued to search for valubles, cash and or drugs.
"Now hand me the teeth."
Again William complied without question as such things were of no value to him.
"Now I do depart. Please ensure you leave no lose ends my dear friend."
William waved his hand without looking up from the draw he was searching. He understood what he was to do, as did Remmi who let loose a single round from his shotgun slaying the prisoner.
"Micky, you wanna escort our companion off-site?"
William called over the radio to his companion still standing watch outside.
"Yeah copy that Will. I've got him now exiting the complex. He's heading south without shadow. Yeah he's away safe."
Micky didn't change position, merely altering his firing position in case of ambush.
Remmi reloaded his shotgun, the empty cartridges falling to the ground with smoke still seaping from the barrel.
"We rich yet Will?"
Looking up from the draw will tossed 6 bundles of cash to Remmi.
"That takes care of you and Micky. I'll call if I require your services further."
With a sly grin Remmi walked out the door and down the stairs. Stuffing the remainder of the cash into his carry-all Will turn on his heels and headed out into the night.