The essence of this is, OV's going underground and all services are suspended, with the exception of small contracts for Asian, European, and South American branches. The rest here is some flavor text used to develop my Generals a bit more.
Francis Smith was working overtime, frantically calling and e-mailing every contact he had. Omnia Venena had pulled in a lot of heat in the last couple months, and he was tasked with dissipating it. It was his branch that caused most of the trouble, after all. As he was finishing up an e-mail, he hears a knock on the door.
"Come in!" He smiles as Alyona, his wife, walks in, plate of grilled cheese and soup in hand. "Do I smell food?"
"Yes," she says, smiling back. "Not sure what else could get you so excited."
"Suggesting that we give Genna and Greg a sibling might do it."
Alyona snorts, and puts the food down on the table. "How's the work going?"
"Stressful. We've gained a lot of heat very quickly. I'm calling in damn near half the favors I have so that we don't get hit too hard." Alyona knew what her husband did. There was no way she could not, what with her bother being the one who started his career. They share a quick kiss, and she turns to leave. "Aly," Francis calls, just as she reaches the door.
"Yes?" she turns and looks at him quizzically.
"Does it ever... bother you, knowing what Stas and I do?"
"It did at first. Then I saw that the income you brought in would let our children grow in comfort. And then I saw just how happy you were doing this work. So no, I'm not bothered. I'm simply glad that you can do something you enjoy."
Francis smiled gratefully. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear that. And Stas will be there for our anniversary dinner. I'll get to startle him with just how much you've improved my Russian."
Gerald Ritter packed away his knives, slightly irritated. His Branch had only just been formed, and now they had to go underground. The war was also officially over, so he wouldn't even be able to torture anyone to vent his frustration. The door slams open, and he turns to the man entering.
"Joao. What is it?"
"APC's here to pick us up. Just thought you should know."
And with that, one of his two Captains slips right out the door, hoping to avoid any lashing out Gerald does. What he doesn't realize, however, is that his message actually served to soften his anger.
I still have my cover job as the CEO of that PMC. And it's comprised of most of my subordinates. This won't be so boring after all.
Anastas Innokenti walks through one of his safehouses, directing his men. Because of the bullshit with the New York Alliance, the entire organization had to go underground. Fortunately for him, Asian Branch didn't need to go as deep. Saitou Tachibana, his protegee and infiltration specialist, jogs up to him, and starts off a conversation in Japanese.
"Hey, uh, Stas-san..."
"Whenever you use honorifics it means you want a favor. What is it?" Anastas replied in the same language. His English has improved considerably, but he still feels more comfortable in other languages.
"Well, it's a bit of advice..." Stas waited silently while Saitou worked out what he wanted to say. "You see," he finally said, "I've found this girl, and it's going well. But since we're going underground, I'm going to need to go back to Japan."
"And you want advice on what to do about it," Stas said, "Well, it just so happens I have a solution for you. Rei Fujita, her name was?" With the air of a magician conjuring a trick, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plane ticket. "I took the liberty of buying her a ticket on your flight, as well."
"Thank you very much, Stas-sama," Saitou said, bowing while Stas flushed. He hadn't realized just how much that girl meant to his subordinate.
As Saitou walked away, he waved over Richard Stark, one of the two lieutenants next in line for a promotion. "Hey Rick!"
"Yeah?"
"Once Ivan gets back, you two are in charge of this area. Radimir and Junko are taking care of their home regions, as is Minh. I want you two to hold down the fort up here."
"And where are you going off to?"
"My sister's 21st anniversary is next weekend. I've got to head over and startle both her and Francis with how good my English has gotten, and you two need to hold down the fort while I'm gone."
Adelaide Brandt moved through a whirlwind of activity, directing her men with efficiency. That blasted series of wars Lloyd planned out had put pressure on the entire organization. She was pulling a couple strings she had at Interpol to keep the heat off, but there wasn't a whole lot she could do.
She detected the stench of cigarette smoke. She had repeatedly told people not to smoke indoors. She looks around surreptitiously and spots the offender. Carefully making her way through the crowd, she comes face-to-face with him.
Without preamble, she throws a haymaker at his face and drives a knee into his crotch. As he staggers up, dazed, she picks up the cigarette that had fallen out of his mouth and grinds it out on the offender's forehead.
"I said no smoking. I meant it."
Yrian Abandonato looked through his spyglass at the Caribbean island near his yacht, Ancient Mariner. Unlike most of the other generals, a slowdown of operations actually helped his plans. There was a nice little bank on the island, but it was locked up tight. Several crime families had placed their money here.
The owner was too greedy, however. If Yrian took his time, he could get the man to slip up and lose his protection. He smiled; this task would be fun. For now, though, he had an orphanage to run. This lull in business would be very nice indeed.
Yrian turned his ship around and headed for home. One of the orphans had a birthday coming up, and he can't exactly miss that.
Ollie Lindon leans against the window of the car, drinking some whiskey straight from the bottle and anticipating a night of fun ahead. Jon and some of the other guys in his unit were taking him out to drink, eat, and just generally relax. The past two weeks had been trying, after all. As the car turned a corner, he saw that the street was empty save for them and one man. And that one man was part of the cause of his frustrations. Jack O'Leary, also known as Le Hound.
"Jon, pull over."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"Okay then..."
Before the car comes to a stop Ollie bursts out and sprints towards Le Hound, drawing one of his Derringers. Realizing who was after him, Jack moves to draw a weapon when he feels the hammer of Ollie's pistol whip smashing into his hand. Taken completely by surprise, Jack was only able to put up a feeble defense against the vicious barrage of kicks, punches, and pistol-whips thrown his way by the furious man assaulting him.
Eventually, bruised and battered, he sinks to the ground in a daze. Ollie aims another vicious kick to to the ribs and spits on the man. Realizing that the whiskey went straight to his bladder, he unzips his fly and relieves himself on his comrade-turned-enemy.
Zipping back up, he walks over to the car and gets back in.
This is a good start to the night...
OOC: Beast, this is an IC punishment for the way you have been butchering our characters to try and make your own look more badass and more ahead of the game than they actually are. Please try to stay a little more faithful to the characters next time, and please make yourself badass by actually being badass, not by trying to lower the bar.
Lloyd wrote carefully on the paper, trying not to make too much of a mess with his fountain pen. Finishing what he had written, he examines it to make sure there were no errors.
Muneca,
We have taken significantly more heat in this little game than anticipated. As a courtesy notice, we are going underground for a bit, and so won't be able to act on any large scale. Any plans involving us will have to wait a bit until we can act freely.
-Lloyd
He nodded, satisfied, and put it in an envelope with "Muneca" written in large letters on the front. He or she (Lloyd thought Muneca was a she, but he has no proof besides a hunch) took the time and effort to write any letters of correspondence by hand. He owed him/her the same courtesy.
A similar notice - that Omnia Venena was going underground - was posted on the Deep Web part of their website. What was not stated was the impressive amount of political favors called in to keep the heat on his group to a minimum. They wouldn't come out unscathed, but the rest of the former NYA were definitely going to get hit harder than they would.
Lloyd put the envelope into his jacket pocket, and leaves to make a short trip to the man he uses to contact El Plata Toro and Muneca. Checking the time, he sees that he should have just enough time before the meeting to make a pit stop and pre-order a game or two before the scheduled meeting.
Lloyd smiled. Yes, there's going to be a lot of heat, and yes, there's going to be a sizable delay in any plans, but Omnia Venena had made over six billion dollars in the past twelve days alone. That had to be some kind of record.