Ugh, New York. What a freakin' dump. Seems like wherever you look you see a billboard or poster announcing some company's grand opening or clearance sale or somethin'. It's all a bunch of crap, that's what it is. You never see that junk plastered around London's streets. Heck, you don't see that kind of crap in any country in Europe. America, the land of commercialism and annoying amounts of propaganda.

Chip Robinson rested his chin on his gloved hand as he sat on a rooftop that was overlooking one of New York's many subway stations, "Man, those guys better hurry up and show their faces soon. I really wanna get outta this stinkin' country."

Vehicles of all sorts passed by the subway station that Chip was watching. He was clad in the same outfit he always wore. A red un-buttoned vest over-top a plain white t-shirt. Not one of those big poofy vests, he despised those. He also had on baggy red sweat pants, the most under-rated article of clothing there was. No one seemed to wear sweat pants in public, which was too bad for them; sweat pants were really comfortable. And lastly one couldn't forget his brown leather biker gloves that were cut-off at the knuckle and his bright red bandana that covered his short, blonde crew-cut.

That incessant honking, would it ever stop?

That's another thing Chip would never understand about America. The cars. And the trucks, and the SUVs, and the wagons, and the whatever else there was. Back in London, people never used the things. Most people just walked to where they needed to be, or they rode a bike. America, land of laziness and even more laziness.

A man wearing a brimmed hat followed by a man in an orange...something and another large guy in a business suit walked into the subway station.

Bingo!

Borrah threw the big red bean-bag chair they had just bought from a nearby Ikea onto the floor and plopped his fat butt down in it. He was breathing heavily as he loosened his necktie, "Whew, it sure is hot out there, huh guys? It hasn't been this hot around here in like...years."

Jettaron, who had sprawled out on his back, was fanning himself with his hat, "I hear ya on that one, big guy. Good thing this place has got a draft goin' through it. If it didn't I swear I think I'd be dead right about now."

Guy sat on one of the "natural chairs" the cave had provided and leaned the back of his head against the wall with his eyes closed. Yeah, it was hot. But what would complaining about it do? It's not as if some god or goddess in the sky was going to hear your cries of discomfort and magically change the weather to suit your needs or something, so might as well be quiet and deal with it. Besides, he had heard that talking added more heat to the air anyway. That made sense, considering the temperature of the human mouth was something like ninety-eight point six degrees.

"I say it's about time we invested in a fan. I think I saw some on sale back at that Ikea place," Jettaron said.

Guy looked down at his floor-ridden friend, "And use what outlet?"

"I dunno. I'm sure they make battery-powered fans or something of that nature, right?"

"Wait," Guy stood up like a startled rabbit and looked around cautiously. He had gotten that feeling again, that feeling he always got when something bad was about to happen. "I think someone's coming."

Borrah, who knew from experience that Guy was normally right about these types of things, stood up and faced the open cave mouth that was the entrance to their home with his fists clenched and ready to fly. Jettaron also knew to take Guy seriously in these situations. He got up as he removed his revolver from it's holster at his hip and pointed it in the direction all three were now facing.

A voice came from out of the shadows, "Whoa there, cowboy. I'm not here to hurt you, calm down and put that thing away before you hurt somebody."

"Who are you?" Jettaron replied to the mysterious voice.

"Well if you put that gun away maybe I can come in there and tell you all. But until you do that, I don't think either of us are gettin' anywhere."

"How about you show us your face first, then I'll put the gun down."

"Ha! Yeah, right. Look, I'm not exactly in the mood to get my head blown off today all right? So could you please just put it away and hear me out for a sec?"

Jettaron looked over at his two friends with the words "What do you think?" painting all over his expression. Guy shrugged, "Whatever. Seems harmless enough."

"Let's just hear what he's got to say. It sounds like he's alone so if he does try anything he won't get very far against the three of us," Borrah said. All though it was rather obvious that he was concerned, he was transparent like that.

"So are you guys gonna let me in or what?"

Jettaron put his revolver back in it's leather holster, "Yeah, yeah, you can come in. But slowly! And I want to be able to see both of your hands at all times. If you even think about trying to pull anything you'll be dead before you can count to two, got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," a young man, probably in his late twenties, walked in gradually, taking each step one at a time with two gloved hands raised in the air. He was wearing a red bandanna and a matching red light-weight vest.

"You can stop right about there," the man had barely gotten three feet into the cave before receiving Jettaron's order. "Now, you just keep reaching up for the ceiling there and answer my questions without beating around the bush at all. You got a problem with that?"

The stranger shrugged, "Not at all. If that's how you wanna do this then that's a-okay with me."

"Good," Jettaron said with a satisfied nod. "Now tell us your name."

"Well that's not exactly a question, now is it?"

Ouch. That was a bad move on his party. Guy knew how Jettaron felt about being getting witty with him.

"So we've got a genuine-fucking-comedian on our hands, do we? Normally I'd probably beat the snot out of you for that little remark, but I'm curious about what you're doing in our home."

Borrah nodded, deciding to back-up his friend's claim, "He's not kidding, y'know. I've helped him do it!"

"Heh. All right, all right. No more smart-aleck comments, I'll just answer your questions straight. The name's Chip Robinson, pleased to meet ya."

"Charmed I'm sure," Jettaron said with a smirk. "Next on the list, how'd you find us?"

"Oh, that part was easy. We've been watching you guys, following you around and taking notes and such for a while now. Once we figured out you got to your little hideout through this subway station, all I had to do was follow you in, through the caves and eventually to here. And might I add that this cave was a pretty good idea for a home. You gotta take a whole lotta twists and turns to get here."

Guy decided to jump in and add a question on his own, "You keep saying we...who's we?"

Chip seemed to have been waiting for that question, because once Guy asked it as broad, almost snickering grin appeared upon his lips, "I thought you'd never ask. See, now we're getting to the good stuff. That 'we' I keep referring to is called the Red Hammer Society. We're a mercenary guild that's based in London..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up a sec here," Jettaron interrupted. "Did you say London? As in London, England?"

"Yup, that's right."

The gunman chuckled, "So what the hell are you doing here in New York?"

"Hmm...maybe I should've added in there that we're a global mercenary guild stationed in London. We've got members from Japan to Brazil to Canada, you name it."

"I see...so lemme guess. You came all the way over here just to recruit us three bums to your fancy little guild?" Jettaron's tone showed that he wasn't buying it. And quite frankly, neither was Guy. It was all just a tad too convenient.

"Yup, that's pretty much the gist of it."

Jettaron froze for a moment, just staring blankly at Chip. He then burst into all-out, knee slapping laughter, "Look Chipper, that's a great little story and all, but let's be realistic here! Even if we did trust you, which I'm pretty sure that none of us do, what makes you think we can just pack up and move to Europe! We've got lives here, you know."

"Yeah, we figured you'd react that way. That's why Ms. Clemer told me to give you guys a little something for your troubles," Chip indicated towards his vest pocket by nodding. "May I?"

"Sure, if you don't mind me pointing my gun at your head."

"That's fair enough," with the cannon of Jettaron's revolver staring at his every motion, Robinson carefully reached into his inside pocket and removed a little white envelope. He then proceeded to tear it open and emptied it's contents out onto the coffee table a few feet in front of him. "That right there is forty-grand in cash...for each of you. Go ahead and count it if you like. You can keep all of that just for coming and paying us a visit, whether you decide to join or not is up to you."

There was yet another moment of silence, however this one lingered quite a bit longer, as the three partners stared wide-eyed at the wads of beautiful, green bills that were laid out in front of them.

Jettaron broke the silence, but didn't remove his gaze from the cash, "Well, uh...maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to at least check it out..."

Chip smirked. His job was done. All mercs were the same, just show em' the green stuff and they'd agree to anything, "I've got a personal jet waiting for us down at the airport. I'm ready when you are."

So there they were. Soaring over the Atlantic Ocean in a small, red plane on their way to London to meet some guy they had never heard of before. It didn't sound at all that different from what they normally did, right?

Wrong.

First of all, this Chip Robinson fellow. He wasn't to be trusted, Guy could just tell. He had these dark, hazel eyes. The kind that could hold a stare for hours on end without blinking once. Now, Guy wasn't one to blink either, but he bet that if the two of them were to have a staring contest, Chip would definitely win.

Secondly the fact that this place was in London was just...bizarre. If it was located somewhere along the east coast of America then it would've made sense as to how they located Guy and his friends. See, the three of them tended to keep a pretty low profile. No, not pretty low. Very low. They mainly only operated out of New York, and occasionally did a job in Pennsylvania, but other than that...

God, it was quiet in that plane. All you could hear was the dull hum of the jet's engine. Well, that and the occasional grating sound effect of Borrah's Game Boy Advanced. While Guy loathed electronics, especially video games, he had to admit that that thing was a neat little toy.

Anyway, back to what he was thinking about. Yeah, this sucked. It was definitely a really bad idea. Too bad Guy didn't have the nerve to speak-up earlier, maybe he could've gotten them out of this mess.

The Bushin looked over at Jettaron who was caressing the edges of his money while grinning like some sort of maniacal rat.

...Or maybe it was best that Guy didn't say anything. Borrah seemed happy enough with it, and Jettaron was like...having some sort of religious economical orgasm or something so why should Guy worry? Why should he be the pessimist?

Why? Because sadly, that's just the way he was.

Chip popped his head through the maroon curtains, "All right, boys, we're starting our descent down now. We'll prolly touch ground in about ten minutes or so."

Borrah clicked off his game and looked up, "Wow, we haven't been to Europe since the days with Avie, huh J?"

"Borrah!" Jettaron snapped around and stuffed the cash in his pant's pocket. "Come on, man, your memory can't be that bad!"

"Eep! Sorry about that, J. It just kinda slipped..." the paunchy man blushed and looked around nervously for something to change the subject on. When he realized that there wasn't much to point out in a plane, he clicked his game back on a just kept his eyes down at the screen.

The two of them never did explain to Guy why Jettaron didn't like it when the name Avelle, or 'Avie' as Borrah called her, was mentioned. All he knew was that they used to work with some group led by a woman named Avelle before the Bushin had ever met them. Something pretty serious must've happened to make Jettaron react that way, though.

After about ten more minutes of really, really awkward silence, they felt the tires of the plane touch the ground and the vehicle bounced up and down slightly to the momentum.

Guy got out of his seat as the plane came to a full halt and sighed, This better go well...

Borrah, Jettaron, and Guy each stepped out of the plane and onto the grass one by one. Each was expecting to see a building somewhere around them. However as each of them spun around to look at their surroundings, all they saw was miles upon miles of endless grass. Robinson had taken them to a desolate field where no one could see them, and no one could hear them...that could be bad.

Chip stepped out of the door and hopped down to the ground, "I know, I know. You're about to say 'Where the hell did you take us?', right? Well, have a bit of patience and maybe you'll find out, eh?"

The young mercenary walked about five steps away and knelt down in the grass, "Come here and have a look at this."

Guy and his friends walked over to where Chip was kneeling, and saw that he was pointing at a small, black door handle. He grabbed the handle with one of his gloved hands and yanked what apparently was a hatchway built into the ground. Behind, or...underneath, the door was a flight of stone stairs leading down into the ground, "Pretty neat, huh?"

"Wow, Chip, that's really cool! I wish we had thought of something like that before we moved into our cave!" Borrah exclaimed. He seemed to be very fascinated by the idea.

Chip laughed, "Well thank you but I'm afraid I can't take the credit for it. This thing's been here for decades, ever since Red Hammer was first started. Well...shall we?"

The four mercs walked down the stairs in the dark hallway towards a cold, steel door. It got even darker when the pilot shut the hatchway behind them. If it wasn't for the light shining through the single window in the steel door, it would have been pitch black.

Chip knocked on the door, "Heya Chuck, it's me. I've got some friends here with me."

"Oh? New recruits?" replied the voice behind the door. Sounds really seemed to echo in the tiny stairwell.

"Well, sorta. They're just scoping the place out a bit first before they decide."

"All right. I un-locked it, so come on in."

"Okay fellas, here we go," Chip turned the silver knob and pushed the door open. When they stepped inside they saw a large room with an oak wood finish, and a hallway that branched off to the left, and a single wooden door in the back. In the center was a television, which was facing away from the entrance and towards a large, beige couch where a kid with spiked blonde hair and glasses was lounging. Off to the right a bit was a round table where two people sat playing a game of chess.

"All right, guy--ack!" Chip was interrupted and grabbed in a playful headlock by the man who was guarding the door, Chuck. He was a huge, muscular black man with a face that reminded Guy of a teddy bear. He was wearing a tight white t-shirt tucked into a pair of green cargo pants. "Ack! Chuck--er...can't breath, man!"

Chuck laughed heartily and released his hold on Chip, "Haha! Sorry about that, Chip. But I couldn't just let you walk on by without properly introducing me."

The large man turned to face Borrah and held out his hand, "Hi there. The name's Chuck, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Borrah happily took the man's hand and shook it, "Well it's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Chuck. My name's Borrah, and the little guy with the hat's name is Jettaron, and the quiet one there is Guy."

"Well it's nice to meet you all. Say...Borrah, you've got quite a grip there. You arm wrestle at all?"

"Do I ever!!" Borrah's eyes lit up like a child's at Christmas time.

Jettaron sighed and rolled his eyes, "Oh great, now you've got him started. I'm tellin' ya, once you get him going he won't want to stop, he's like a puppy or somethin'."

Chuck laughed again, "Well it'll certainly be nice to have a challenge around here for once. That is, if you decide to stick around of course."

"Come on fellas, I want you to meet some of the other members," Chip led them over to the beige couch where the boy was watching television. He was wearing a blue t-shirt and grey shorts. "This here's Jacob Allister. He's only sixteen, but he's one heckuva genius with computers and such. Hey Jacob, this is Guy, Jettaron, and Borrah. They might be joining us."

"Hey guys, nice to meetcha. I'd get up and shake your hands and all that, but I'm kinda in the middle of the news here. It's pretty funny, actually. Some cop from Interpol burned down some old guy's farm in China. Haha, I swear those cops get dumber and dumber by the minute."

"Y'see," Chip explained as they began walking away from the couch and towards the table with the chess players. "His father was arrested and thrown in jail by Interpol agents for hacking. Problem is, Jason was the one hacking; not his dad. And of course, when Jason said this in court, they didn't believe him. They thought he was just a kid who was trying to protect his father. So, he pretty much hates cops now as a result of that."

"Yeah, who doesn't?" Jettaron muttered to no one in particular.

"Checkmate," a woman wearing a white turtle-neck sweater and black slacks said as she smiled and brushed her short purple hair out of her eyes.

"Damnit, Myra. Beat me again, that's the third time in a row..." the owner of that harsh, raspy voice was the most interesting looking out of the ones they had met thus far. He was wearing a very expensive black tuxedo, little bow-tie and all. But that wasn't the part Guy found interesting. His skin, it was completely pale. As pale as a ghost, one could say. And his hair, which was combed straight back using hair-gel of some sort, was white as well. Only not quite as stark white as his skin, it was more like an off white. While the paleness was fascinating, it was his eyes that really intrigued the Bushin. They were literally red.

"Haha! She kick your ass again, Steven?" Chip asked, seemingly not surprised.

"Yes...it seems that way. Who're these people?" the albino replied. His voice was really, really rough.

"The big one's name is Borrah, and the one with the hat is Jettaron, and the guy in the orange is...well, Guy."

"Hello, there," the woman with the purple hair got up and approached the orange clad ninja. "my name's Myra, it's so nice to meet you."

"Uh..." well that was awkward. "I'm Guy."

Myra pouted and looked over at Chip, "He's not a very sociable fellow, is he?"

"Uh, no, it doesn't seem like it. Come on you three, let's get you introduced to the boss," Chip then led them to the door that was in the back and he knocked on it. "Ms. Clemer? It's me, Chip. I brought those mercs you ordered."

"Ah, excellent. Bring them in here."

Chip grabbed the bronze door knob and before turning it he said, "Hey guys, there's no need to be nervous or anything like that. Ms. Clemer's a good gal, she'll make you feel nice and comfortable, so just relax."

He then turned the doorknob and opened the door. Revealed within was a large office with an oak wood finish just like the previous room. In the center was a desk with a small grey laptop, a lamp, and a black plastic inbox with various papers and documents in it. On either side of the desk were two tall bookcases that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. They looked like two hulking sentries, standing parallel to each other, protecting the tiny woman that sat at the desk between them.

"Guy, Jettaron, and Borrah I presume?"

"That's right," Jettaron replied. "And you're Ms. Clemer, I presume?"

Ms. Clemer smiled, "That is correct. Um, Chip? Would you mind excusing us for a moment?"

"You're the boss," Chip said with a little mock-salute as he left the office.

"He's a good man, Chip is. A little tough to control sometimes but a good man none the less. Please, have a seat and make yourselves comfortable," Ms. Clemer smiled warmly as she gestured towards the chairs in front of the desk. She had a very business woman-like look about her. Her red button down business jacket and matching red business skirt, and her blonde hair neatly tied back in a pony-tail, it all looked very...professional.

"Now I'm sure you three have a lot of questions you'd like to ask, so I'm going to go ahead and let you ask them now."

"I have one," Guy said, his arms folded across his chest as always. "how'd you find us?"

"That's usually the question most people ask first, it seems. Well, to start off, the Red Hammer Society has ties or...connections, you might call them, around the globe. So things tend to get around to us, especially things that involve mercenary activity. Now, I am aware that you three keep a low profile, and we actually never would've known about you if it weren't for Jettaron and Borrah's past partners. You two used to work for Avelle's Hunter group, correct?"

Jettaron looked down, "Yeah, we did..."

"Well, that group wasn't exactly quite as low profile. Pretty much every global organization out there knows about them."

The gunman nodded, trying not to show that thinking about that was causing him pain, "Yup, we were the best of the best, that's for sure..."

"That's right. Anyway, after Avelle's tragic death the group split up and basically went their separate ways. We, of course, tracked them in--"

"Excuse me, Ms. Clemer, I don't mean to be rude but I...uh, I gotta go to the bathroom or somethin'," placing his hat back on his head, Jettaron got up and hastily walked out of the office.

Ms. Clemer looked at the gaping door, a bit surprised at the gunman's reaction, "Did I say something wrong? Oh, I hope I didn't offend him at all. Should we wait until he gets back?"

Borrah reached over and patted her petite hand with his own enormous paw, "He'll be okay. It's just that Avie's death is kind of a sensitive subject for him."

"Well could someone go talk to him for me? Really, I feel absolutely terrible. I should know that death of a friend is always a rough topic to discuss."

"Yeah, I'll go find him. Guy, you don't mind waiting here with Ms. Clemer while I go talk to J?" Guy shrugged, he just wanted to know why the heck Jettaron acted so dramatic about her. "Okay, thanks buddy." Borrah patted the Bushin's shoulder as he left the room in search of his friend.

Damnit, Jett, get a hold of yourself here. It's been like more than a year now, she can't still be gettin' to you like this...

The gunman was sitting down on the restroom floor, leaning his back against the wall. A couple of tears had way their way down his rough, un-shaven face as he looked down at a picture in his wallet. A picture of the one woman he ever loved...Avelle.

God, she was beautiful. It was like she was too beautiful or something. Every time he thought about those big, gorgeous eyes of hers he sweats he felt his heart doing somersaults and his stomach filling up with butterflies.

But it wasn't just her heavenly looks that made him love her so damn much. It wasn't just her smooth, pink hair that bounced slightly when she would move. It wasn't just her slender yet muscular body that looked so damn good in that black suit of hers. It wasn't just her emerald green eyes that could penetrate even the toughest man's soul. No, none of that outer-crap made a difference at all. It was her that made him love her. Her personality, her...her soul. The way she would give the group orders and not take any shit from anyone. The way she congratulated everyone on a job well done after each successful mission, and made everybody cheer up with her pep-talk after each one they fucked up...

Yeah...she was perfect.

"Heya J. You feelin' any better?"

"Wha? Aw, shit Borrah. You know I hate it when anyone sees me like this..."

"I know," Borrah walked over and plopped down next to his friend. "But I ain't just 'anyone', I'm your best buddy, remember?"

"Aw...shucks, big guy," Jettaron leaned over and buried his head into Borrah's chest as if he was a big plush animal. "Thanks man. You're the best, you know that? It...it's just hard for me to talk about her knowing that I never got to tell her how a felt...how I feel I mean."

Borrah patted the saddened man's back, "I know, J. It's hard for me to talk about her too sometimes, you know? All of us miss Avie a whole lot. You, me, Folken, Terrance, Jonas...the whole group thinks about her all the time, I'm sure of it."

"Yeah...I know. It' just...I wish I could've told her, man. I just wish she knew that I...that I loved her before she...before she..."

"You don't have to say it, buddy, you don't even need to explain yourself or nothin'. All we have to worry about now is going back and talking to Ms. Clemer."

Jettaron looked up and covered his mouth, "Oh shit, I prolly just made a real big ass of myself back there, huh? Hope I didn't cost us the job cause I'm actually starting to like this place..."

Borrah laughed and stood up. He then reached down and helped Jettaron up, "Heehee! Don't worry about it, J. Ms. Clemer's a really nice lady, she actually asked me to come down here and check on you. She says she feels real bad and that she wants to apologize to you."

"Ugh...this is gonna be embarrassing," the gunman started walking back towards the door. "Oh and Borrah?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks, man. I couldn't have asked for a better best friend."

Borrah giggled and blushed like he always did when he received a compliment, "Aww, thanks. Now I'm the one that's embarrassed! Heehee!"