Incline 29: Heiya

"So... How close are we to this actually going anywhere?" I ask, pretty sure that we're getting closed to or past the agreed upon time. Certainly going to be an interesting customer service complaint when you're standing up someone like Pops. No phone call, no sternly worded letter. Just a face full of bullets and blood splatters as far as I can pitch.

The radio crackles and whatever Hrurim is saying to Pops is not all that clear, "They're late."

"Wonderful." I scoff, Pops' words repeating to me again and again. I shake my head, emptying it of the noise, and I fiddle with my gun. I've been out here for a short while, keeping an eye on this place. I was bored an hour into it. I'm nothing but frustrated now. I've seen every speck of rust and every loose, broken brick there is to see. Even been counting the latter as I try and get some sleep...

"What exactly is the plan if they stand us up? Do I get a holiday or something?" I ask my father as I take a break from having an eye up against the scope. Whatever circle I've dug into my fur and flesh pushes out. The lingering feeling makes me uncomfortable and I shuffle about with uncertainty. A click breaks my mouth open.

There's nothing I can do to keep myself alert about an oncoming car or anything. I'm in as advantageous a point I can be without needlessly exposing myself. A hard ask given the location. But, I'm making do. One of my best traits, making do with what I have. Making do with this one utter mess of a life.

"We force the meeting." Pops answers and I shrug with little care for it. At least a firefight is something that might reward us. Me sitting on my front, back and sides offers nothing but cramps and aches. An irresistible urge to keep on moving and never stay the same. The life of a nomad, all to escape boredom. What a world, what a world indeed.

"Any of you two up for a game?" I ask, rattling my teeth with various clicks and fidgets. I find a broken washer by my side and throw it far. The sounds of distant traffic continue to echo towards me. I mind the stares up at my sniper spot and frown. Too much to be aware of. Too much.

"Game- shut up?" Hrurim barely gets through the radio.

"No talking unless you're holding!" I bark, sending out some of the boredom with needless snappiness. I catch onto his laughter and Pops lets out a firm cough.

"Remember, Heiya. They're not going to be coming the route we took in." Pops reminds me and an image of his gut goes through my vision. Guess he's getting those feelings again. That inexplicit moment of there being too much not happening when it should do so. I see something move.

"Possible contact." I warn the pair, or trio, rather. Much as I don't want to care for that damn osibindah, Nin is our ticket to getting the money we need. Human-eyed creature with all the capacity of thought that any mortal has. All packaged in a bug's body. A one-of-a-kind prize that will no doubt find a seller for.

I blink and watch the same spot move. The sounds of Pops and Hrurim preparing their guns reach me through the radio static. My hand moves up, adjusting my sights, and I look around some more. All the points there might be snipers are empty.

"Nothing behind, either..." I mutter, keeping a quick glance on my exit strategy. Who knows who is worming about this place. It might not even be the people we're here to deal with. Gods and goddesses above will that be annoying... Some junkies or even deadbeat wannabe street gangs. Clueless, temperamental messes with too loose of a trigger finger. 

Car noises stick out above all the others and I shift around. The first car of many comes rolling in along with an aligned assortment of thugs. Gangsters robed up in coats and hats, weapons drawn. The front two cars of the convoy park ahead, their doors remaining oddly open.

"Pops, this is... A little much." I remark, slinking away into the shadows to make sure no side-eyes will catch a sniff of me.

"Hold steady." Pops warns and I turn my barrel towards the gilded limousine as it makes a careful stop. What must be former military or something moves close to it, opening the treasure chest up. The crown jewel of this whole meeting steps out, a young man decked in rings and more. A studded cane in his grip.

"This the don?" I ask, not sure why someone so young is in charge of the Vyacvan family. Can't possibly be true, but no harm in trying and putting the thoughts out there. If it's true, anyway, we can hurt the Vyacvan's irreplacably. One pushing finger, one bullet to the head.

"No. Too lightly guarded." Pops says, his tone oddly nostalgic for what we have to deal with. My finger slips away, my prior thoughts taking that bullet instead.

"Should I shoot him first, anyway?" I ask, already feeling the urge as the utterly pretentious entitlement of the snot becomes clear. Nose's so upturned all I can see is the mess and hairs in the nostrils. Can smell the backend gasses from here.

"Target the guards. No tricks. Just shoot when the time is right." Pops reminds me, his voice carrying all the reassurances of his physical touch. I nod, and, although he cannot see it, I know he knows I'm doing it.

"Got it, Pops." I answer, steadying my breathing as I look over what I have to deal with. Handguns and submachine guns. Nothing particularly heavy or standoffish. Quite out of line with what a gangster needs to be. Inconspicuous. 

Their leader ain't quite the same, however, with the lavish fur coat and hideous abomination of a gun. Studded in gems and plated in precious metals. A grip precisely carved out of some poor animal's ivory. Even a few random strips of emerald cloth... Feeling so cocky, you messed with the people of the surface, huh?

Well, try me, Vyacvan Heir or whoever you are. Try me and my father and I promise that coat will be nothing more than a crimson sponge. The gangsters fan out and I grit my teeth. Even if they don't know I'm here, they have the numbers to set themselves up in a pre-emptive manner. I need to focus... Eugh, dammit.