Owner	Pose
Jane Vasko	The five criminals sat in the outdoor seating area next to a food truck kiosk, where two competing trucks provided options. Tacos or chili dogs. The one who had been "Don Rickles" checked his watch. "Two minutes." "Bill Engvall" grinned. "Bet you lunch he's late." "Sucker bet." "Jeff Foxworthy" shook his head. "We wanted a pro. This guy's a pro. He'll be here." "Amy Schumer," the sole female of the group, yawned. "The food should be ready. I'll go grab it." She got up, then headed towards the SENOR TACO truck. "Thirty seconds." Bill was smiling wryly. "Eddie Murphy," in a contrast to his chosen comic, said nothing.
Floyd Lawton	Floyd pulls up in a slightly beat up Dodge Charger, the bullethole in the back window attesting to its recent usage. He's wearing a black Johnny Cash t-shirt over kevlar and a denim jacket, jeans and boots. He's got more guns on him than any of these people have lays. He takes a long drag on his cigarette, "Really, with the theme names? I guess I should be glad I'm not Mr. Pink," he says. "You can call me George Carlin," he says. "I'll take half the money now and pull the rest off their bodies if the job's as good as you say."
Jane Vasko	Bill grinned. "Prompt. We like prompt. Have a seat." Amy takes out a small cooler and opens it to reveal the down payment. Fifties and hundreds. "Count it," she says, her voice almost devoid of humor. "Actually," Bill continued, " you'll be taking the place of "Eddie" over there. We'll all be wearing the masks, so no one will know it's you. We give the word, you wipe out every last one of those Triads in there. We want to tell a nice story and we don't need any witnesses fucking up the narrative, do we?"
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton nods, "You don't need to explain anything to me but the plan. I'll kill who you need me to kill. Just make sure I get a good look at the masks first. Don't want to have any mix-ups when I start liquidating." He takes the money and counts it with rapidity, flicking through bills. He does it without looking too closely at them, his eyes always prepared to make sure he's not being double-crossed. "We're rightous."
Jane Vasko	Bill grins, handing Floyd a few pictures of themselves wearing the masks. He then hands Floyd a duplicate of the Eddie Murphy mask. "Yours. The dress code is black suit. The meet is in four hours. The go phrase is 'We're all good.'" Bill smiles as Amy returns with the food. "The Triads are fuckheads. We screw with them. You're OUR guy. Which means we don't screw with YOU, and we know you won't screw with us. See you then."
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton nods, "Triads don't usually hire white boys from Gotham anyway. Not cutting into my business any," he says. "I've got a suit in my trunk. No worries." He gets the details for the meet and will show up at the appointed time, probably about twenty minutes early, after a stopover at the nearest Wendy's. Mmmmmmmm, chili.
Jane Vasko	The gang is there, minus Eddie, of course. "Eddie's doing overwatch in case anyone of them try to make a run for it," Amy said placidly. She was actually much lovelier than the comedienne, but there was an icy coldness that served her well in this line of work. The group of five walked towards the warehouse. Rodney carried the silver briefcase, of course. When the group got inside, Floyd could see why they wanted him. There had to be about twenty Triad shooters, all of them armed and ready to commit at the drop of a hat. The bagman for the Triads, Mr. Sung, was standing at a table set up at the center of the warehouse. He was flanked by four guards. He was smiling his plastic smile as he saw them. "Gentlemen...and lady. So nice you could join us." "Well, when we sussed out what was in the cargo, we figured we'd make it right." Mr. Sung's plastic smile disappeared. "Selling my property back to me is not 'making it right.'" "Well, we could have just pulled up stakes and left you boys twisting in the wind when the Kingpin came to call. Call it the price of doing business."
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton doesn't try to use his mouth or intervene at all. He's just looking, gauging each of the Triad. He can easily determine who's armed and an approximation of with what. Who's an experienced soldier and who's wet behind the ears and hanging back from their first time at a big meet. Who's important enough to kill first and who's going to try to protect the ones you should kill first. He's also wary enough to know that having one of their 'team' missing means that he could be playing sniper somewhere and planning to clean up Floyd with the rest. He eyes useful cover for that just in case.
Jane Vasko	"Eddie" was, indeed, watching the place through a telescopic sight. He had picked the spot himself, and could cover all the exits. He was also listening through a radio, getting ready to warn the Comedians if anything happened. At least, he HAD been. Two minutes before they went in, he experienced a sudden and violent existence failure. And he would be only the first. Mr. Sung glared at Bill...and then sighed, beckoning to another man with one hand. "Show me." Rodney stepped forward, putting his case on the table and opening it. Mr. Sung frowned. "There were FOUR containers of Mutant Growth Hormone." "The moment we get the money, you'll get a text with a GPS marker showing where the rest of it is." Bill grinned as Rodney closed the case and a Triad goon stepped forward with a brown suitcase. The goon opened it to reveal what they were expecting. Bill chuckled. "All right. Let's do busi-" And that is when Rodney's head developed a third eye in the center of his forehead and his mind was abruptly "broadened"...spattering Amy and Jeff. For a moment, no one moved. Then Bill, his face darkening in anger, said icily, "IT'S ALL GOOD," before knocking the table over and taking cover behind it.
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton hadn't known they were dealing in MGH. Not that he personally gave a shit, but that kind of thing tended to draw superhuman flack down on your head. He would've charged more, at the very least. When Rodney's head explodes, Floyd reacts rapidly, crouching low and putting bodies between himself and the angle of the shot as he pulls his guns. With the distraction of the sniper, however, he figures he himself has been uncorked enough. Time to clean house. He comes up again firing, a gun in each hand as he starts to mow down triad goons left and right, "Look out, they're shooting at us," he shouts, just to confuse the issue.
Jane Vasko	The Comedians quickly find cover and begin shooting, as if they had been expecting a double-cross. Mr. Sung backpedaled to try and find cover but was killed by two through the chest. However, Floyd saw that he had been shot from BEHIND. The battlefield was less a united front than a Fortnite free-for-all. The Triads were shooting at Floyd and the Comedians, who were firing right back, but Floyd could feel some rogue element keeping everything off-center. He was not the only wolf in this henhouse. Even if all the hens had guns.
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton can tell when someone has skills and it was clear that somebody else with a talent for the trigger was helping to cut these people down. Someone who didn't necessarily have Floyd's best intentions in mind. So he works a bit more sparingly. Not that he's ever careful, really. He's got enough of a deathwish that living dangerously is just part of what he does. He frankly considered the Comedians hostiles at this point, once things got down to the nitty gritty. They had no allegiance to him and he felt none to them. Nobody could blame him professionally for cutting and running after this kind of clusterfuck. So fuck 'em.
Jane Vasko	A sudden explosion caught Floyd's attention as three Triad guys were tossed around like rag dolls. The air was thick with gunsmoke, the smell of cordite, the sharp coppery smell of blood. A glance to his left showed "Jeff" slumped over a crate, eyes half-open, staring sloe-eyed at nothing. The Triads were getting whittled down, by the remaining Comedians, by Floyd...and by someone else. Bill headed for the door they came through, only to catch a bullet the moment he opened the door. His body fell forward and the door closed again. By Floyd's count, there had to be five, six Triads at most... Than was when he saw her. A demon in skintight red, moving from shadow to shadow. He saw her raise one hand, and he saw the Desert Eagle .50 handgun, heard its roar as a Triad flew back against the far wall. It was almost like that scene from the movie MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH, with the uninvited guest cloaked in red moving among the guests in that mad revelry...
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton assesses the figure in red. Not Elektra, who he's heard wears red, but doesn't seem to favor the gun. Stupid woman, really. What kind of idiot doesn't like guns? Impulsively, he pulls his comedian mask and tosses it aside. His visage has been on enough wanted posters to be notorious, so much so that one of the last remaining Triads shouts "DEADSHOT!" in shock right before Floyd shoots him in the face. "No shit, Sherlock," Floyd adds. He reaches into his pocket and draws out his pack of cigarettes, lighting one as he watches the stranger work. If she comes for him, well, they'll settle that when the time comes. Might as well get his fix while he can.
Jane Vasko	The body count was rising as the active shooters were being pruned, one by one... And then the remaining three Triads bolted for the door on the other side of the warehouse. Amy was still alive, amazingly enough. She looked to Deadshot, then yelled at him, "SHOOT THEM, YOU PRICK!" before following her own advice and opening fire at the retreating Triads.
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton shrugs and then does as he's asked, his gun rising up on pure reflex to add to the hail of lead mowing them down. His gun smokes in the aftermath as he keeps it in hand, looking warily at the babe in red. "Vigilante, merc or just a random psycho?" he asks, keeping his own gun levelled in her direction. Just in case.
Jane Vasko	For a few moments, the place is eerily silent. Amy looks to Floyd, then hustles over to the table, hunting for both cases. "Shit! They're both gone. Let's get the rightous-" The roar of the pistol again and Amy's head rocks back and to the side as if the Invisible Man just right-crossed the life out of her. Silence again. Then the voice, hard and definitely female. "So...you're Deadshot." Off to the left, about 50 feet back, but still no visual confirmation. "And the answer to your question is...D. All of the Above. So, there's a case with 100 grand in it. Leave, and you can take what the Comedians gave you and come out ahead. Stay..." The voice turns playfully savage. "...and I'll change your name from Deadshot...to SHOT DEAD."
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton slides away one of his guns, "Now, not so long ago, I'd have probably taken you up on the latter offer. I burn through money pretty fast, so ain't never no such thing as enough," he admits. "But, I can see you're pretty dead to rights," he says, squatting down for a second. He flips open the head Triad's jacket, reaching in to take his wallet and fanning out some hundreds, "Mind if I keep a little loot? It don't gotta be all Deadwood at high noon here. I got no beef with you. This is just a job to me."
Jane Vasko	The voice is silent for a moment. "Fair enough...sein' as you have no clients left." The voice sounds a little pained, tinged with effort Then she steps into view...and Floyd can see why. Apparently the woman didn't get off scot-free. There are three bullet holes in her - one in the upper chest, one in the exposed belly...and one in the right cheek, just under the eye. Floyd has seen enough to know, definitively, that this woman should NOT be walking slowly, carefully into the open. She has no business BREATHING, let alone aiming the Desert Eagle at him. But the bullet holes that should be weeping blood still have stopped bleeding, and Floyd can see the blood in her right eye was draining slowly into white again. "You can..." She stops, coughs, coughs again, and something is ejecting from her mouth, landing on the pavement with the telltale clink of copper against concrete. Yep, she apparently just coughed up the bullet from her chest wound. "...You can leave the same way the Triads were going. No one's....ffffuck...is covering that door."
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton watches her spit out the bullet and raises an eyebrow as he takes a long, slow drag on his cigarette, "I won't pretend I actually give a fuck, but I'm just generally curious if you're gonna be okay. I figure you are, since you ain't exactly panicked. Man. I gotta get me one of those healing factors. They do seem like they help in a pinch," he shrugs. He folds the money from the old man's wallet and stuffs it in his pocket, "Out of curiosity, you got a name? One of the funny codenames would be just fine. I just like to know who the players are."
Jane Vasko	The redhead looks at him with a wery smile. "Don't be TOO envious." She reaches into a pocket in her coat to pull out a pill bottle, the kid without a childproof cap. She unscrews the cap with her thumb. "Wanna know why? Because...being shot in the kidney...heart...lung...and the cerebellum..." She shakes about seven pills into her mouth, swallowing them like candy. "...FEELS LIKE...BEING SHOT...IN THOSE PLACES." She shivers slightly, but her gun hand never wavers. "And you? You can call me Jane. Due to the unfiltered shit I have to deal with, some call me..." She holds up the white, unmarked bottle for Floyd to see. "...PAINKILLER Jane."
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton whistles, "Yowch. You're right, maybe I'll pass. Hope that's the good stuff. Looks a little out of the range of ibuprofen," he says. He slides on a pair of sunglasses and heads towards the door, "Don't be a stranger," he says. "Maybe we'll cross paths again sometime. Hope you got what you needed," he says, looking back over his shoulder and making a fingergun as a goodbye.
Jane Vasko	Jane smirks. "Hope we don't." She laughsd softly. "Although I'm sure you'd mean bedrest for a few weeks, I'm not THAT much of a masochist." She looks around. "You need a better class of client."
Floyd Lawton	Floyd Lawton nods, "I got 'em. Sometimes a little slummin' is fun. I'd be happy to show you a good time sometime to prove it," he winks. He pats the pocket full of money, "My treat."
Jane Vasko	Jane smirks. "We'll see, Deadshot. Right now the cops are on their way, and dead women have no business talking to cops." She walks back to where the cases are. "I'll take care of these. Just shag ass."