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Description
(Contains strong language, violence, and anthropomorphic animals. Stay the heckity heck away if any of this bugs you)

The Mason’s Clubhouse. Just another run-down pit-stop on the edge of Blumberg. A hot spot of drug deals, un-marked firearms sales, and organized hits. If it wasn’t for the heavy biker presence, the place would have been shut down for the food hygiene inspections alone. But its clientele kept it in business, for better or worse.
But today, business had been slow. 2pm and Joe, the rhino barkeep, had barely made 20 bucks in drinks, all to a pair of Blumberg Brute enforcers and their female counterpart. One of them sat opposite her in a booth, and the other sat up at the bar, facing the pair. Joe had kept an eye on her for the last 3 hours as she sat and conversed with the other two, a mysterious air about her drawing his attention. None of their small talk was particularly important or even interesting though – discussions about stock prices, new housing projects going up in the wealthier parts of Blumberg, and a string of recent disappearances from all over the city. It wasn’t the sort of discussion that he’d normally overhear, but then again she wasn’t their typical acquaintance. She adjusted her sitting position, adjusting her well-tailored business suit, blonde hair tied into a neat ponytail at the back showing off her tan skin and confident expression, as well as the deep red of her eyes.
A soft buzz could be heard coming from the blonde’s pocket, she reached in and retrieved a small cell phone, reading the screen and putting it back away.

“Bloody finally, guess it’s time we got started then” she mused “Tell me Bill, this little bar you’ve got carved out here, not even Gaunts will touch it because of the reputation you guys have for… how shall we say, breaking the rules?”

“Heh, that’s one way to put it” Bill grunted “A more accurate way would be to say that they know we’d gun any of those racist shits down before they even got in the door. There’s a modicum of respect that goes either way because of that – they don’t mess around with what we do out here, and we don’t go screwing things up for them in Blumberg for shits and giggles.”

“I’m sure the generous donations from Packers helps sweeten that deal” The blonde quipped, catching Bill off guard.

“How… how in fuck’s name do you know about that?” he snarled, the somewhat tense atmosphere that had been building close to boiling over. “Serena, who squealed?”

“No-one hun, but if we’re going to do business I need to know all about what loyalties you hold” The blonde retorted, as calm as she had been for the last few hours.
“Right, speaking of which, why the hell have we been sitting here for about 3 hours now? I don’t mind sitting staring at your rack but if this takes much longer I’m gonna start undressing you.” Bill sat back, calming but still trying to push across a domineering attitude.

“What do you know about Malebrache?” Serena asked “Well, more specifically, what has Namco paid you to dig up about them?”

“Sweet fuck-all for the most part, hell If it weren’t for the last warehouse we hit having a tangible link to them I would’ve told you they were a myth. Still, no idea about what kinda crew they’ve got, but I can tell you they’re running with some sweeeeeet equipment. Crying shame that most of it went off to Packers.”

“But I assume a gentleman of your intelligence would have found ways to fix the books so to speak, keep some of that gear for yourself. Would fetch a rather nice profit on the open market wouldn’t it?” Serena asked with a smirk.

“Or a closed one.” Bill said bluntly.
Let’s skip the foreplay babe, make me an offer.”

“Tell me what the offer’s for first.” Serena said, her grin thinning slightly.

Bill took a sip of his drink before answering.
“Body armour, Assault rifles, machine guns, enough ammunition to start a small war and a Haug-6 Personal missile system.”

Serena’s smile came back in full force now, hearing the loot.
“throw in a club jacket as well and you can name your price”

“Shit ain’t gonna be cheap, you’re looking at a cool five mil if you want the lot.” Bill stated matter of factly.

“Twice the price it’s worth.” Serena said in an unamused tone, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah well you’re not gonna get them at cost considering the risk, if it’s too much you’re free to walk away.” Bill said, setting his glass down before getting a devilish smirk.
“You can have the jacket off my back if I see you in my bed though.”

Serena seemed to think on the offer a bit, though already knew in her head what she’d do.
“Five mil will do.” She finally answered.
“Have your lackey grab the case at the end of the bar”

Without prompt the lackey got up from his seat, picking up a silver metal briefcase from the far end of the bar and bringing it over to the pair, a look of distaste directed at Serena by him as he did so.
Bill swung the case around, unlocking the clasps at the top and lifting the lid up to see a full load of stacked and counted 100 dollar bills. Smiling he pulled one of the bundles out, fanning it to check the contents.
“Pleasure doing business with you. I’ll send word to my boys, you know where the clubhouse is?” Bill asked.

Serena smiled coolly.
“Of course”

“Meet them there, we’ll get you loaded up.” As if on cue there was a loud thump at the clubhouse door, followed by a second and a third. The lackey, bartender, and Bill all looked to the door.
“…not expecting anyone, are we?” Bill queried, reaching behind his back to pull out a pistol.

“Are we?” Serena asked, leaning back in her seat.

Bill nodded to his associate, who had withdrawn a compact submachine gun from his jacket, clasping it in his hand as he slowly advanced on the door. Whoever was behind it had stopped knocking, but that did little to alleviate the worries of those in attendance. Except for Serena, who just sat calmly in her seat, shaking the ice around in her glass.

Bill’s associate now stood directly in front of the bar door, weapon raised at his hip. Joe the bartender had frozen, waiting for something to happen. But several seconds passed… and there was nothing.

Bill’s associate turned to his employer.
“Would you like me to check outside, s…”

The man never even got to finish his sentence as the door, as if broken in with a battering ram, flew off its hinges into the bar. It slammed into Bill’s associate, who managed to only let off a small burst from his weapon into the air as he collapsed under the heavy metal door.
Bill himself let off a shot as soon as the one responsible for throwing the door of its hinges stepped into view. But his pitiful handgun stood no chance against the culprit.
A large, imposing polar bear wearing a full body suit of thick Kevlar armor stood in the doorway, flinching only slightly as the round collided with him. In retaliation, he levelled his own weapon, a shotgun styled like a long barreled revolver, letting loose a shot. It hit Bill square in the chest, throwing him back into his seat.
The polar bear gave the cylinder of his shotgun a spin, his attention turning towards the door that now rested on the floor, Bill’s associate pinned underneath it. Grunting, the polar bear levelled his gun at the door, letting loose another shot that blew right threw it into the associate, embedding shards of metal mixed with buckshot into the poor soul trapped underneath, killing him.
Joe the rhino stood there in shock, recognizing the polar bear who had frequented his bar before. His eyes followed the armored anthro as he stepped towards Serena’s table, gun held loosely in his hands.

“W-Wendigo?” Joe said, addressing the bear by name.

Wendigo stopped, eyeing the barkeep out of the corner of his eyes.

“I… I won’t tell anyone about this.” Joe stuttered.
“You know I won’t.”

“Just like how you didn’t snitch on the make of my bike to those investigators? I had to ditch that bike because of you. And I liked that bike.” Wendigo grumbled.
In a fluid motion, he flipped his gun up into firing stance, and let off a shot right into the barkeep, who collapsed behind the counter without even a whimper.
And all the while, Serena sipped on her drink.
“You showed up.” She stated with an amused smirk on her face.

Wendigo moved over opposite of her in the booth, giving Bill’s body a shove to make room.

“Of course.” He chuckled, opening the cylinder to remove the empty shells from his modified shotgun.
“You always pay well, Purgatori.”

Serena, or rather Purgatori, chuckled.
“You think the table scraps I give out to the help is good pay? Damn, you’re even thicker skulled than you look.”

“There a reason why you wanted me to meet here aside from killing these two for you?” Wendigo asked, taking Bill’s half empty glass and gulping a swig.

“Drinking from a dead man’s glass. Tsk tsk tsk.” Purgatori said, shaking her head.
“But actually, no. That wasn’t the only reason I called you here. Have a job that I could use some muscle on.”

“You have muscle, don’t you?” Wendigo asked, guzzling the entire glass at once.

“There’s a difference between carrying some hot ass over your shoulder and carrying a minigun in each hand.” Purgatori smirked devilishly.
“Qui’s waiting at my temporary HQ. She’ll brief you on the details.”

“Then why the fuck did you call me here…?” Wendigo grumbled as he stood up, taking the whole liquor bottle in his big paw.
“Same place as last time you were around here?”

Purgatori nodded, downing her own drink.

“Then I’ll see you there.”
Wendigo stepped out of bar, leaving Purgatori alone to finish her drink. She just chuckled to herself.
She had her muscle. Now she just needed to get herself a weasel to wiggle into places. And she knew just who to get for that job.
She reached into her pocket, drawing out her phone. A phone she intended to ditch once this job was done with.
She dialed in a number, holding the phone next to her ear as the dial tone resounded in the now quiet, empty bar.
“Qui? Wendigo’s on his way. Get him briefed, geared up, then meet me at Farkman street downtown. Because I’ve fucking been here before, that’s how I know. Just get your ass down there.”
Purgatori hung up on her partner, rising up from the table herself. She picked up Bill’s abandoned handgun, emptying the magazine into the liquor rack behind the bar. The liquid splashed all over the floor and the dead barkeep. Perfect.
Pulling a box of matches from her pocket, Purgatori lit one up and tossed it behind the counter, igniting the alcohol.
The best way to get rid of the evidence was to get rid of everything, in her mind.
She sauntered out of the bar, which would be up in flames in a matter of hours.
Purgatori got on her bike and sped off to her next destination. She knew just where to find the weasel she needed. And she knew someone like him wouldn’t be willing to turn down her offer.

Description
(Contains strong language, violence, and anthropomorphic animals. Stay the heckity heck away if any of this bugs you)

The Mason’s Clubhouse. Just another run-down pit-stop on the edge of Blumberg. A hot spot of drug deals, un-marked firearms sales, and organized hits. If it wasn’t for the heavy biker presence, the place would have been shut down for the food hygiene inspections alone. But its clientele kept it in business, for better or worse.
But today, business had been slow. 2pm and Joe, the rhino barkeep, had barely made 20 bucks in drinks, all to a pair of Blumberg Brute enforcers and their female counterpart. One of them sat opposite her in a booth, and the other sat up at the bar, facing the pair. Joe had kept an eye on her for the last 3 hours as she sat and conversed with the other two, a mysterious air about her drawing his attention. None of their small talk was particularly important or even interesting though – discussions about stock prices, new housing projects going up in the wealthier parts of Blumberg, and a string of recent disappearances from all over the city. It wasn’t the sort of discussion that he’d normally overhear, but then again she wasn’t their typical acquaintance. She adjusted her sitting position, adjusting her well-tailored business suit, blonde hair tied into a neat ponytail at the back showing off her tan skin and confident expression, as well as the deep red of her eyes.
A soft buzz could be heard coming from the blonde’s pocket, she reached in and retrieved a small cell phone, reading the screen and putting it back away.

“Bloody finally, guess it’s time we got started then” she mused “Tell me Bill, this little bar you’ve got carved out here, not even Gaunts will touch it because of the reputation you guys have for… how shall we say, breaking the rules?”

“Heh, that’s one way to put it” Bill grunted “A more accurate way would be to say that they know we’d gun any of those racist shits down before they even got in the door. There’s a modicum of respect that goes either way because of that – they don’t mess around with what we do out here, and we don’t go screwing things up for them in Blumberg for shits and giggles.”

“I’m sure the generous donations from Packers helps sweeten that deal” The blonde quipped, catching Bill off guard.

“How… how in fuck’s name do you know about that?” he snarled, the somewhat tense atmosphere that had been building close to boiling over. “Serena, who squealed?”

“No-one hun, but if we’re going to do business I need to know all about what loyalties you hold” The blonde retorted, as calm as she had been for the last few hours.
“Right, speaking of which, why the hell have we been sitting here for about 3 hours now? I don’t mind sitting staring at your rack but if this takes much longer I’m gonna start undressing you.” Bill sat back, calming but still trying to push across a domineering attitude.

“What do you know about Malebrache?” Serena asked “Well, more specifically, what has Namco paid you to dig up about them?”

“Sweet fuck-all for the most part, hell If it weren’t for the last warehouse we hit having a tangible link to them I would’ve told you they were a myth. Still, no idea about what kinda crew they’ve got, but I can tell you they’re running with some sweeeeeet equipment. Crying shame that most of it went off to Packers.”

“But I assume a gentleman of your intelligence would have found ways to fix the books so to speak, keep some of that gear for yourself. Would fetch a rather nice profit on the open market wouldn’t it?” Serena asked with a smirk.

“Or a closed one.” Bill said bluntly.
Let’s skip the foreplay babe, make me an offer.”

“Tell me what the offer’s for first.” Serena said, her grin thinning slightly.

Bill took a sip of his drink before answering.
“Body armour, Assault rifles, machine guns, enough ammunition to start a small war and a Haug-6 Personal missile system.”

Serena’s smile came back in full force now, hearing the loot.
“throw in a club jacket as well and you can name your price”

“Shit ain’t gonna be cheap, you’re looking at a cool five mil if you want the lot.” Bill stated matter of factly.

“Twice the price it’s worth.” Serena said in an unamused tone, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah well you’re not gonna get them at cost considering the risk, if it’s too much you’re free to walk away.” Bill said, setting his glass down before getting a devilish smirk.
“You can have the jacket off my back if I see you in my bed though.”

Serena seemed to think on the offer a bit, though already knew in her head what she’d do.
“Five mil will do.” She finally answered.
“Have your lackey grab the case at the end of the bar”

Without prompt the lackey got up from his seat, picking up a silver metal briefcase from the far end of the bar and bringing it over to the pair, a look of distaste directed at Serena by him as he did so.
Bill swung the case around, unlocking the clasps at the top and lifting the lid up to see a full load of stacked and counted 100 dollar bills. Smiling he pulled one of the bundles out, fanning it to check the contents.
“Pleasure doing business with you. I’ll send word to my boys, you know where the clubhouse is?” Bill asked.

Serena smiled coolly.
“Of course”

“Meet them there, we’ll get you loaded up.” As if on cue there was a loud thump at the clubhouse door, followed by a second and a third. The lackey, bartender, and Bill all looked to the door.
“…not expecting anyone, are we?” Bill queried, reaching behind his back to pull out a pistol.

“Are we?” Serena asked, leaning back in her seat.

Bill nodded to his associate, who had withdrawn a compact submachine gun from his jacket, clasping it in his hand as he slowly advanced on the door. Whoever was behind it had stopped knocking, but that did little to alleviate the worries of those in attendance. Except for Serena, who just sat calmly in her seat, shaking the ice around in her glass.

Bill’s associate now stood directly in front of the bar door, weapon raised at his hip. Joe the bartender had frozen, waiting for something to happen. But several seconds passed… and there was nothing.

Bill’s associate turned to his employer.
“Would you like me to check outside, s…”

The man never even got to finish his sentence as the door, as if broken in with a battering ram, flew off its hinges into the bar. It slammed into Bill’s associate, who managed to only let off a small burst from his weapon into the air as he collapsed under the heavy metal door.
Bill himself let off a shot as soon as the one responsible for throwing the door of its hinges stepped into view. But his pitiful handgun stood no chance against the culprit.
A large, imposing polar bear wearing a full body suit of thick Kevlar armor stood in the doorway, flinching only slightly as the round collided with him. In retaliation, he levelled his own weapon, a shotgun styled like a long barreled revolver, letting loose a shot. It hit Bill square in the chest, throwing him back into his seat.
The polar bear gave the cylinder of his shotgun a spin, his attention turning towards the door that now rested on the floor, Bill’s associate pinned underneath it. Grunting, the polar bear levelled his gun at the door, letting loose another shot that blew right threw it into the associate, embedding shards of metal mixed with buckshot into the poor soul trapped underneath, killing him.
Joe the rhino stood there in shock, recognizing the polar bear who had frequented his bar before. His eyes followed the armored anthro as he stepped towards Serena’s table, gun held loosely in his hands.

“W-Wendigo?” Joe said, addressing the bear by name.

Wendigo stopped, eyeing the barkeep out of the corner of his eyes.

“I… I won’t tell anyone about this.” Joe stuttered.
“You know I won’t.”

“Just like how you didn’t snitch on the make of my bike to those investigators? I had to ditch that bike because of you. And I liked that bike.” Wendigo grumbled.
In a fluid motion, he flipped his gun up into firing stance, and let off a shot right into the barkeep, who collapsed behind the counter without even a whimper.
And all the while, Serena sipped on her drink.
“You showed up.” She stated with an amused smirk on her face.

Wendigo moved over opposite of her in the booth, giving Bill’s body a shove to make room.

“Of course.” He chuckled, opening the cylinder to remove the empty shells from his modified shotgun.
“You always pay well, Purgatori.”

Serena, or rather Purgatori, chuckled.
“You think the table scraps I give out to the help is good pay? Damn, you’re even thicker skulled than you look.”

“There a reason why you wanted me to meet here aside from killing these two for you?” Wendigo asked, taking Bill’s half empty glass and gulping a swig.

“Drinking from a dead man’s glass. Tsk tsk tsk.” Purgatori said, shaking her head.
“But actually, no. That wasn’t the only reason I called you here. Have a job that I could use some muscle on.”

“You have muscle, don’t you?” Wendigo asked, guzzling the entire glass at once.

“There’s a difference between carrying some hot ass over your shoulder and carrying a minigun in each hand.” Purgatori smirked devilishly.
“Qui’s waiting at my temporary HQ. She’ll brief you on the details.”

“Then why the fuck did you call me here…?” Wendigo grumbled as he stood up, taking the whole liquor bottle in his big paw.
“Same place as last time you were around here?”

Purgatori nodded, downing her own drink.

“Then I’ll see you there.”
Wendigo stepped out of bar, leaving Purgatori alone to finish her drink. She just chuckled to herself.
She had her muscle. Now she just needed to get herself a weasel to wiggle into places. And she knew just who to get for that job.
She reached into her pocket, drawing out her phone. A phone she intended to ditch once this job was done with.
She dialed in a number, holding the phone next to her ear as the dial tone resounded in the now quiet, empty bar.
“Qui? Wendigo’s on his way. Get him briefed, geared up, then meet me at Farkman street downtown. Because I’ve fucking been here before, that’s how I know. Just get your ass down there.”
Purgatori hung up on her partner, rising up from the table herself. She picked up Bill’s abandoned handgun, emptying the magazine into the liquor rack behind the bar. The liquid splashed all over the floor and the dead barkeep. Perfect.
Pulling a box of matches from her pocket, Purgatori lit one up and tossed it behind the counter, igniting the alcohol.
The best way to get rid of the evidence was to get rid of everything, in her mind.
She sauntered out of the bar, which would be up in flames in a matter of hours.
Purgatori got on her bike and sped off to her next destination. She knew just where to find the weasel she needed. And she knew someone like him wouldn’t be willing to turn down her offer.