wack
Rebel Simp???
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2022
- Messages
- 29
- Thread Author
- #1
RYAN 'KENNY' REYES
BASIC INFORMATION
FULL NAME: Ryan Reyes
ALIAS: Kenny
CID: [REDACTED]
GENDER: Male
AGE: 40
DOB: 16/2/1978
BORN: Philadelphia, PA (Kensington)
CURRENT LOCATION: CITY 24
PAST LOCATIONS: CITY 17 INDUSTRIAL ZONE
EDUCATION: B.S. - Security Risk Analysis | Pennsylvania State University
OCCUPATION: Indigent Affiliate - The Nest
FAMILY
Sally Reyes - Mother - Dead
Dominic Reyes - Father - Dead
PERSONALITY
Ryan is patient and cunning. He is purposefully slow to form bonds with others and is incredibly methodical with who he decides to trust. His generally open-minded attitude, however, falls victim to some of his more rigid political ideas. His involvement in both the drug and arms trade has made him desensitized to most forms of violence. His speech, while riddled with north-east American slang, is simultaneously punctuated with intellectually driven rhetoric. Any sophisticated talking points, however, are often misunderstood by the Slum’s inhabitants. Oddly, he appears to be both where he belongs and out of place, perhaps perceived as a better fit for the Union’s upper-class.
LIKES AND INTERESTS
POLITICAL SCIENCE
FIREARMS
RAP MUSIC
CANNABIS
INTELLIGENCE GATHERING
ACTIVISM
INTELLECTUALLY DRIVEN CONVERSATIONS
DISLIKES AND AVOIDANCE
SNITCHES
STATISTS
OPIOID USE
IMPULSIVE DECISION MAKING
LETHARGY AND WEAKNESS
PEOPLE WHO CAN’T KEEP TIGHT LIDS ON INFORMATION
POLITICAL COMPASS
RELATIONSHIPSHonestly unsure if I really want to do these. For now, enjoy the story.
** BZZZZZ **
** BZZZZZ **
** 1 NEW MESSAGE: CLYDE **
** BZZZZZ **
** BZZZZZ **
** BZZZZZ **
Instinctively, Ryan stuffs his hand clad in a purple nitrile glove into his right pocket and digs for his flip phone. His hand grips the plastic
sides of the device as it vibrates, promptly pulling it out and viewing the front screen.** 1 NEW MESSAGE: CLYDE **
He falters for a moment, looking around the busy room. A bright yellow Gadsden flag sits pinned at the top of the back wall. Underneath it,
multiple gray vented lockers stand lined against the wall, filled with body armor, carrying rigs, helmets, guns, and a plethora of ammunition. Six white, fold-out tables are spread evenly apart in the middle of the room. An ammo press sits in the middle of each table, with a bucket underneath. Next to the presses are boxes of primers, neatly aligned shell casings, bullets, and boxes full of explosive grains. Hired workers, most of questionable citizenship, sit at each of the six tables alone, working idly. All except Ryan are clad in white personal protective gear and similar purple nitrile gloves. The chunk of each ammo press adds to the otherwise non-existent ambient noise of the room. Diligently, they work at filling the large bucket at their station with fresh ammunition. Three old incandescent lights hang from the ceiling spread out evenly. They weakly cast an orange-yellow light, doing just enough to effectively illuminate the area.An adjacent wall houses a large, complex workbench with a multitude of tools hanging from above. A variety of small and large blue hook-on
bins line the top of the workbench, filled with a variety of metal parts and labeled accordingly. At first glance, the room appears to be staging grounds for militants. However, the opposite wall of the workbench is lined with three fold-out tables, piled with large packs of marijuana. A single worker sits in the middle, labeling each bag and stuffing it into a large cardboard storage box. The facility sits tucked secretively in the back of a hardware store in Kensington, Philadelphia, owned by his partner Ricky who suddenly barges in through the steel door to the room.Ryan, shocked by the sudden entry, lowers his phone and meets his friend with an apprehensive look. His friend, wearing his department
store regalia looks back with an equally apprehensive gaze as he begins briskly past the tables and over to Ryan. “Where’s Don-”“Dontay hasn’t shown up.” Ricky blurts over him. They both pause, only the ammo presses making any noise. The quiet air between the two
seems to feed them both the same realization. Ryan starts with a tentative,“Y’don’t think he-”
“I don’t know, yo. He was supposed to slide by over an hour ago. Dontay’s never been late.” Ricky blurts skittishly again, almost jumbling over
his words and cutting Ryan off. Ryan purses his lips, pondering over his racing thoughts for a second before a moment of clarity kicks in and he decides to finally flick open his phone and read the message from Clyde.Dontay folded.
Ryan stares at the screen, wide-eyed. The shocking revelation loosens his grip and the phone enters a free fall to the floor. Ricky, brimming
with anxiety, races to the phone, flicking it back open and reading the now cracked LCD panel himself.** BZZZZZ **
** BZZZZZ **
Ryan quickly snatches the phone from Ricky, reading the new message, again from Clyde.
B there in 2
However, no sooner than he read that message did four crisp beeps emit from the other side of the steel door and a metal mechanism
indicates it’s unlocking. A powerful force slams the door open, Clyde’s Irish voice roars from the door with a commanding tone, “Get th’fuck in there ya prick!” At the same time, an African American male stumbles face-first into the room, black dreadlocks kicking around everywhere as he lands on the ground, belly down. His black NY hat slides off his head onto the linoleum floor upside-down. The man is Dontay, appearing heavily disheveled with hands behind his back restrained by a zip-tie. Ricky’s deeply perturbed as he races out the door, sidestepping around Dontay and calling back, “I’m closing up shop!”Ryan shouts something in Spanish and all of the workers promptly stop, filing out of the room. They seem unfazed to whatever is going on
as they all nonchalantly leave the store while disrobing from their gear. Ryan swiftly walks over to the two, Clyde already in the midst of dragging Dontay by the collar further into the room, his other hand clasping a Glock. Without intervening Ryan pierces the air inquisitively, “What th’fuck happened, yo? We were supposed to meet for the drop an hour ago!” Clyde gives a contemptful snarl as he huffs to drag Dontay further into the room by another few feet,“This fuckin’ kid..” He starts, shaking his head. “I caught this kid on 34th street talking to Andre.”
Ryan looks bewildered at him, he hopes the connection in his head he just made deceives him, “K&A?” Painfully, he watches Clyde nod his head.
Dontay grumbles as he slowly rotates onto his back, wide-eyed like a deer caught in headlights. He begins to plead,“Naw, no man. You know I ain’t frontin’ on you, Clyde..? Ryan?”
The two other men stare back at him candidly. With purpose, Ryan struts over to Dontay, kneeling over him and grabbing a fistful of his shirt’s
collar, meeting Dontay with a penetrative look. In a disquietingly calm manner he whispers,“Oh, yeah? You ain’t frontin’, huh? Then what the fuck are doing around K&A?” His retort is accompanied by a rough shove of Dontay’s chest,
back onto the floor. Dontay looks up at the two defeatedly, but makes one last pleading attempt,“Look man.. Business has been good, ‘ion even know those du-”
His sentence is cut short with a violent pistol whip to the face. Dontay’s entire body tenses and his head whips back, blood pouring from the
corner of his eye as Clyde’s menacingly glaring face meets Dontay’s, close to one another. Dontay finally rests his head back, giving up. Clyde stands back up, peering over at Ryan who’s now walked over to one of the metal vented lockers, swinging it open and pulling out his own Glock which he slides into the back of his waistband.As Ryan moves Clyde lets out an apprehensive, “We 'ave to move, lad. I already 'ave word Andre's mobilizing. I ‘ave a truck runnin’ out front.”
Ryan instead turns back to the locker beside his. “Get over here, then.” He spits, taking out various gear and equipment and handing them over to Clyde who’s shuffled his way over. Ryan takes out his own gear, pulling a kevlar vest and chest rig over him, slinging an AR-15 around himself and a MOLLE carrying bag. Finally, he straps some sort of combat helmet over his head, connecting the two ends. Clyde now dons a similar uniform. Ricky walks back into the room briskly, putting on his own gear from a third locker.“Shops closed, where th'fuck we goin’?” Ricky inquires as he finishes strapping on his helmet. Clyde and Ryan are already now by the steel door.
Clyde begins to answer,“Headed north. I ‘ave a lad who can get us across the-” however he's cut off abruptly by Ryan who snaps,
“We’re gonna have a ‘lil meet up with K&A first. Y’dig? Let’s fuckin’ go.” Ricky and Clyde briefly look at each other before they briskly make their
way out to the parking lot. Ryan stops in the room for a minute, peering around one last time. He suddenly realizes his clouded mind completely ignored the fact that Dontay is still there on the floor, half of his face caked in blood and soaking up his wife-beater t-shirt. A deep sigh emits from Ryan as he slowly unholsters the Glock from his waistband. Promptly but effortlessly he raises his arm, the barrel pointing directly at Dontay’s head. Dontay only begins to shake his head to plead for his life before a loud bark from the gun thunders throughout the room, instantly illuminating the surroundings from the bright muzzle flash. Dontay’s lifeless body collapses back, eerily still. Ryan appears apathetic as he takes his leave for the truck.CLYDE, RYAN, AND RICKY ENGAGE IN A SHOOTOUT WITH THE K&A GANG, KILLING MOST OF THEM. RICKY, HOWEVER, MEETS A SIMILAR DEMISE. THE COMBINE INVADE WHILE ON THEIR WAY TO CANADA.
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