what a man's gotta do [missions]

[Y]

SPOILER: Click to show

[ - - -]
Rank: C-rank
IIC Length: NA
Difficulty: Medium
Objective: Provide backup for a local alchemist turned dealer
Description: A deadbeat with chakra looking for employment can always find some. Ayumu is particularly good at getting to the bottom of a recreational hallucinogenic scene. As a result, he has done some poking around, and caught word of an individual looking to make his big break in the world of selling narcotics. However, this is a classic Poindexter alchemy type, looking to deal with the big-shot distributors. He needs somebody to keep him safe, and stop him from getting ripped.
Reward: 35,000 Ryo

After sitting a few too many hours dead to the world in bed, Ayumu rolled out with a headache. He always hated Tuesday – he had no real reason for this, except that everybody else always got to hate Mondays. When he hated life on Monday, he could find commiseration. On Tuesdays, there was some unspoken rule that he just had to roll with it, and not hate quite so much. It was kinda stupid, really. Why did people pick just one fucking day to be pissed off at, anyways?

It was time to do something about this run-down little manor. Ayumu had been broke and in need of cash before. Not like, build a fucking house levels of cash, but he knew how to grease the wills from time to time. Pulling his hat over his head, he was all dressed and ready to see what kind of employment he was looking at.

Walking down the street close to noon wasn't exactly Ayumu's scene, but he'd wandered the streets at dawn often enough to have some impression of what was going on here in Hitofuki. He walked down the main commercial street, glancing in windows of lux little cafes. Stopping to stretch his arms, he would peer into the window of one the place's Turkish Coffeeshops, and catch a familiar sight.

It could only be the very same man he'd seen - what, a week ago? - smoking something smelly outside the gate to the manor. And here he was, all dressed up in a coffeeshop, drinking some expensive Turkish brew with a foreign newspaper. Yes, this was the kind of man Ayumu needed to see. Somebody who existed between the two worlds he was working so hard to reconcile. A man who could appreciate Ayumu's talents. Further, Ayumu had made himself known to the guy, stepping out to share a cigarette and a chat, and a vague chat about how shit just plain sucks.

Using the 1000 Visages technique, Ayumu would shift his appearance to a more reasonable one. A dress shirt in the dessert-dweller's fashion. He would slide his beanie into his backpack with his knives, cups and scrolls, and let the illusion style his hair in a wind-swept manner, hiding the real greasy clump from the world. Finally, he would cast a minor figment, of a pencil and pen

Entering the store, he would sit next to the man. "Ah, if it isn't my old friend." The stranger would have the social grace to know better than to defy this. It was pure improv.

"Oh my! Imagine seeing you here."

"I didn't know you were a fan of fine coffee."

"Well then, you really must be new to Hitofuki. Here, everybody is a coffees snob."

"I concede – I am. Could a wisened old Chinook advise me?"

"Hell, I know one who could spot you for one." He waved two fingers, and a waitress briefly brought out another cup of the same thing. Ayumu took a sip, and had to admit, it was good.

After a few minutes of chit-chat, Ayumu would broach the real topic. "I can't remember exactly – didn't we discuss an employment opportunity? With the booming agricultural industry in these parts? You had a contact, didn't you?"

"We may have."

"Could I ask you to jot that down? I'm certainly looking to improve my fortunes."

"But of course." The man would jot down some details on the piece of paper Ayumu withdrew from his backpack. With that little scrap, he knew exactly what it was he was doing.

He left the coffeeshop some time later, still not knowing the man's name. But that didn't matter. Once people knew you were for hire, and saw your good work, there was money to be made. Ayumu began walking city boulevards, to the address he had been given.

[Y]

He arrived at the apartment complex of his potential employer. He had let the illusion lapse, and looked like his normal degenerate self once again. He did, however, bear his ring. The mark of Uchiha. The one thing that lent a cent of credibility to him. 

He rang the doorbell, and leaned back, waiting. He was answered in about a minute by a scrawny, bloat-faced individual, wearing an ugly navy sweatshirt over a white t-shirt and a pair of khakis. Ayumu sized this man up, and knew he was nothing special. But, upon taking a breath, Ayumu realized that his evaluation wasn't complete. He smelled shit - a lot of shit. More shit than he could identify. Drugs? Chemicals? Explosives? Regardless, there had to be some value to this fucker.

"I heard you're looking for assistance?"

The man looked befuddled by this statement. He was, in fact, but he wasn't really prepared to find what he was looking for. Looking left and right, with a nervous twitch to his nose, he invited Ayumu inside, leading him up the stairs with a swipe of a hand. Ayumu pressed the door closed behind him. 

"Alright, I'm glad you came. I'm going to need help tonight. I've been sitting on a rather large sample of activated Dragon's Tears. I'm going to need you to come with me, make sure things go smoothly."

"Hold on. Where are we going. Who is buying." Ayumu stated, rather than asked. He didn't really care what the answer was, but he needed to ensure that this fucker knew what he was doing.

"Oh, I recently was... approached by a handful of members of the Samir Cartel. They say they've heard about my... talents, and wondered if they couldn't be applied more profitably."

The plan seemed safe enough. Ayumu glanced around the apartment, and noticed tons of laboratory equipment, chemicals, and other disgusting implements. This man was no junkie, he was a real chemist. But, that didn't mean he was careful. No doubt, the police would be all over this place in a couple of weeks or a month, when somebody reported the smell. Resultantly, Ayumu carefully abstained from touching anything that would take a fingerprint. 

They arranged for a place to meet at night, and Ayumu left.

[Y]

They met together at the beginning of the long, cold desert night of Hitofuki. Both men wore the same clothes they had earlier in the day. This man looks like such a dweeb, such a ... Poindexter. Now, the man was carrying a large duffle bag, presumably filled to the brim with the Dragon's Tears that he had promised he would bring earlier. Yes, if that stuff was real, and pure, he would be looking to fetch a sizable fee for it. Really, it was a travesty that Ayumu was set for only 35,000, but he understood. In this city, the young Uchiha had no reputation. Not yet.

They walked three quarters of a mile to an abandoned lot outside of an old taqueria. As they went, they passed by the recently closed storefronts, and Poindexter made hushed conversation to his hired help. He was clearly new to this. "So, like, when I get there, what do I do?" He asked, his voice nearly cracking with fear.

"You're going to stick out your hand, and they're going to hand you an envelope. It's going to be full of cash. You're going to put the bag down, and count it. Then, if it's all there, you hand them the drugs, and we go our separate ways."

"That's it? But what if it isn't all there?"

"You ask them where it is. But most importantly, you don't give them the bag. That's the one key fucking piece. Got it?"

"Okay."

They finished their journey in silence, and arrived at the empty lot. Five minutes later, three burly looking men would arrive, on in front, and two taking up the tail. Ayumu looked at them carefully in the twilight and moonlight, and noticed a bulge under the lead man's jacket, and something shaped strangely on one of the other men's chest. An envelope, for cash, no doubt, and maybe a gun. In a way, this was good intel. Ayumu knew how a fight would go down. And, if somebody was carrying a fucking concealed pistol bow, they probably weren't a particularly talented ninjutsu user. Made things easier, in a way.

The three men walked along and stood ten feet from where Poindexter held his bag of illegal drugs. The transaction was about to begin.

[Y]

The leading man, who was bald, and surly, with an old tattered leather jacket, stepped out from his pack of hired help and guided Poindexter to turn away. They stood facing ninety degrees away from the rest of the men as the transaction went down. Ayumu watched his man visibly wince as the bald guy reached into his jacket, but sure enough it was just one of those yellow envelopes full of cash. He handed it over to the nerdy little alchemist, and let him leaf through, bill by bill, counting it painstakingly.

It was almost cringey to watch, but the young Uchiha let it happen, and was glad that it did. He didn't want to be associated with the type of people to get ripped off. And he knew his face would be the talk of the town at some point, so this one certainly had to go smoothly. The chemist confirmed – every Ryo is there. He began reaching to give the bag to the buyer, when suddenly, Ayumu caught sight of something he did not like.

The hired muscle on the other side was reaching for his pocket. Time seemed to slow down, as if reality had chosen this moment to carry more weight than any other. It was the man with the strange bulge, no doubt looking to grab his pistol and shoot the nerd, take the cash back. He wondered if the actual buyer was privy to this plan or not, but he had no time to try to acquire more information.

He saw that the other hired hand was looking at this movement, and wasn't upset by it. That was good to know. At least two of the fuckers were comfortable with the idea of a ripoff, and probably prepared for combat if shit went south. Ayumu's guy was in real danger, and he had to formulate a plan, and fast.

Alright man, these are fucking common thugs, but they know their way around the underground. It's a gamble, but if you can activate your Sharingan all subtle-like, while your man is looking away, you might be able to scare the shit out of them. Course, there's a chance they don't know what is they're looking at, in which case you got to paralyze the guy with the gun ASAP. Hit him with a gaze attack, buy yourself a second to get Mr. McChemist out of harm's way, and roll this transaction the right way.

[Y]

And... action.

Ayumu welled his chakra up inside of him, feeling it flow into his eyes. In a moment of cleansing lightness, he would blink, and feel his pupils transformed into the three tomoes of his ancestors. He noted that the other folks weren't exactly looking at his eyes though, and he needed some way to draw them in. Of course, folks don't like sudden movements, that how you get them antsy, but a sudden movement followed by a show of force brings real fucking respect. 

He shrugged his shoulders in a yawn, and dragged his ring across his face, as if wiping the sweat off his brow. Then, he massaged his temple with his hand in an awkward shape. The guy with the gun would catch him doing this, and take a quick look. He would notice that the man's hand was closed, except his middle finger, which stretched across his face towards his eye. Following that tell-tale sign of "Fuck you!" the man would see the strange, red eye of the Uchiha clan, and realize just what he was dealing with.

Ayumu watched the two hired hands as his man finished up the transaction, and handed over the bag. There wasn't going to be any robbery today. Just fair business. The thug with the pistol lowered his hands to his sides, taking on a neutral stance – a show of submission. He knew that there was something going on here. And his two-to-one advantage didn't seem so fucking huge anymore, now that he knew there was somebody real ready to fight him.

Poindexter turned back towards his hired hand. Ayumu gestured for him to walk away, and he did. The young Uchiha lingered just a moment, watching the other three men take their bag and glare at him. He would then run his hand across his stubbly chin. Finally, when Poindexter was reasonably out of range for an easy shot, he would run his palm up his throat and give one more flippant gesture of disdain. Then, he would crack the slightest smile, and turn to follow his man back to the road. 

The chemist was satisfied with his service, and handed him an envelope with the intended amount.