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- Apr 1, 2011
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On a nondescript planet, in an unremarkable alleyway, a fire fight was taking place. The opposing sides huddled behind their bits of cover. A man clad in orange armor faced let loose a blistering hail of gun fire, effectively suppressing his enemies in place, giving him the chance to flee. Reaching behind him as he ran, he grabbed a small object clinging to his side. With it in hand he depressed a stud on one side and placed it against the wall as he continued to distance himself from his pursuers. He could hear them chasing after him.
After a few moments a light appeared on the small object he had left behind. Glancing behind him, he was able to watch as his enemies reached his surprise. An explosion ripped from the wall, killing them both instantly. Unfortunately, one of the men had an under slung grenade launcher on his rifle, and fired a round before the explosion could do its work. The grenade whistled through the air, bent on his destruction. Seeing his death approach, he did the only thing that could possible save him in this situation. He dove headfirst into a nearby depression. Having been fired inaccurately, the grenade sailed over him some distance. The concussive force of the blast knocked the breath out of him. The shrapnel released from the grenade flew erratically, and aside from a few pieces missed him.
Exhausted and bleeding his body gave out, and he passed out, bleeding in the gutter. An hour passes with him lying still, the blood from his wounds saturating his armor. A sudden groan announces his awakening, and he begins to stir. Slowly, and painfully, he forces himself into a sitting position. Pulling an applicator from his belt, he begins patching himself up. Every piece of shrapnel is pulled from his flesh, and the wound filled with a medical foam to close it. Replacing the applicator he pulls a different applicator and places it against his thigh. Pressing the button at the top he hisses as the adrenaline and pain suppressants surge through his system. As the suppressant takes hold, he gradually relaxes. Gingerly he gets to his feet, turns to look at the destruction behind him, and turns back to walk away.
Present
Zaeed was in a position that he had never been in before, and he still wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten there. He had stashed his armor and Jesse in a safe place while he figured out what he was going to do next. Clad in khakis and a hoody, he did his best to draw very little attention to himself. His only form of defense was his revolver James and a few knives secreted about his person. He was currently in a restaurant of some sort, eating a plate of what he assumed was some kind of steak and potatoes. He had carefully positioned himself so that he could watch the entrances and exits. Keeping one eye constantly looking around, he went to work on his food. With his mouth currently occupied he was free to try to make sense of the past few days.
Before he had come to this planet he had already been in a bit of trouble. His funds were low from lack of work, and had decided to accept a request for a bodyguard. It was supposed to be an easy job. He was really just there to look mean and tough, his employer had assured him that he had dealt with the clients before. He wasn't sure if a third party had somehow caught wind of the deal, but soon after they arrived things went to shit. Several snipers took out a majority of the others before anyone could react. The survivors dove for cover, but it proved futile when an armored vehicle showed up and finished the rest of them. During all of this mayhem, he had somehow been spared. At the time, he had just felt lucky to be overlooked, but after what happened afterwards it was apparent why they had left him. Someone had set him up as the fall guy. As was evident when he showed up at his employers headquarters, and the group tried to execute him.
He had since discovered a price on his head and his assets frozen. His first, and only, attempt to get some money had resulted in a group of men to hunt him down. While the limited contacts he had made during his time on the planet, let slip that he had a price on his head. So here he was, in a diner, eating a meal he couldn't pay for, out of options.
After a few moments a light appeared on the small object he had left behind. Glancing behind him, he was able to watch as his enemies reached his surprise. An explosion ripped from the wall, killing them both instantly. Unfortunately, one of the men had an under slung grenade launcher on his rifle, and fired a round before the explosion could do its work. The grenade whistled through the air, bent on his destruction. Seeing his death approach, he did the only thing that could possible save him in this situation. He dove headfirst into a nearby depression. Having been fired inaccurately, the grenade sailed over him some distance. The concussive force of the blast knocked the breath out of him. The shrapnel released from the grenade flew erratically, and aside from a few pieces missed him.
Exhausted and bleeding his body gave out, and he passed out, bleeding in the gutter. An hour passes with him lying still, the blood from his wounds saturating his armor. A sudden groan announces his awakening, and he begins to stir. Slowly, and painfully, he forces himself into a sitting position. Pulling an applicator from his belt, he begins patching himself up. Every piece of shrapnel is pulled from his flesh, and the wound filled with a medical foam to close it. Replacing the applicator he pulls a different applicator and places it against his thigh. Pressing the button at the top he hisses as the adrenaline and pain suppressants surge through his system. As the suppressant takes hold, he gradually relaxes. Gingerly he gets to his feet, turns to look at the destruction behind him, and turns back to walk away.
Present
Zaeed was in a position that he had never been in before, and he still wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten there. He had stashed his armor and Jesse in a safe place while he figured out what he was going to do next. Clad in khakis and a hoody, he did his best to draw very little attention to himself. His only form of defense was his revolver James and a few knives secreted about his person. He was currently in a restaurant of some sort, eating a plate of what he assumed was some kind of steak and potatoes. He had carefully positioned himself so that he could watch the entrances and exits. Keeping one eye constantly looking around, he went to work on his food. With his mouth currently occupied he was free to try to make sense of the past few days.
Before he had come to this planet he had already been in a bit of trouble. His funds were low from lack of work, and had decided to accept a request for a bodyguard. It was supposed to be an easy job. He was really just there to look mean and tough, his employer had assured him that he had dealt with the clients before. He wasn't sure if a third party had somehow caught wind of the deal, but soon after they arrived things went to shit. Several snipers took out a majority of the others before anyone could react. The survivors dove for cover, but it proved futile when an armored vehicle showed up and finished the rest of them. During all of this mayhem, he had somehow been spared. At the time, he had just felt lucky to be overlooked, but after what happened afterwards it was apparent why they had left him. Someone had set him up as the fall guy. As was evident when he showed up at his employers headquarters, and the group tried to execute him.
He had since discovered a price on his head and his assets frozen. His first, and only, attempt to get some money had resulted in a group of men to hunt him down. While the limited contacts he had made during his time on the planet, let slip that he had a price on his head. So here he was, in a diner, eating a meal he couldn't pay for, out of options.