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Ryan Riley

Self-proclaimed weapons expert, gunrunner and dope dealer, at your service! The business card costs sixty, by the way ...

0 · 750 views · located in Terra

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by AzricanRepublic

So begins...

Ryan Riley's Story

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Ryan Riley yanked back the slide of the handgun, revealing the internals of the weapon before idly handing it to the young Terran gangbanger sitting across from him. Unloaded and inactive, the Scatterran sidearm was worth little more than it's weight in metal. Useless without the electrical battery charge that was often fixed in the base of the magazine, that was then loaded into the weapon, Riley smiled as several hundred dollars were placed into his hand; eagerly, his digits warped around the currency before the kid hopped away from the bar with the toy firearm. Thankfully, half of the dumbasses on this planet couldn't tell a battery from a dildo. As the disgruntled, impoverished teen stuffed the fake gun into his belt and vacated the bar, Riley's deal was ended as he pulled a PDA from one of the pockets of his jacket and idly tapped a string of commands into the device. Raising it to his ear, the Azrik leaned himself farther onto the countertop as he spoke.
"Thiiiiis is Ryan ... Oh sh --" Ryan grumbled as he tossed the device over the counter and shattered a bottle of whiskey with the sudden projectile, the bartender cursing toward the Azrik.
"Sorry ... uhh, wrong number."

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Ryan Riley leveled his hands to his shoulders in a shrug as the bartender shouted at him once more. Shaking his head nonchalantly, his eyes narrowed in frustration while he groaned loudly. The bartender continued to gibber away at him, even as he tried to explain himself.
" -- The fuck dude! You just threw a cellphone like it was a fucking baseball, were you raised in a barn?!" Ryan wagged a finger to the bartender at the insult, planting one hand on his chest to simulate a pained reception.
"I was raised -- in a barn, yes! That makes perfect sense! Listen, guy, I can replace the fucking whiskey -- Krast, look at it, there's fucking bugs in that thing!" Ryan's rejoinder forced the bartender to point at the spilled liquid.
"That's part of the drink, you fucking twat!" The Azrik waved one finger at the bartender.
"Now, sir, there is absolutely no reason to insult -- Words can hurt far more than fists, my gent -- What the fuck!" Ryan stepped back from the bar as the bartender threw the rag at him.
"Dude, do you have any clue where this has been? What if you cleaned up shit with this thing!" He shouted while ripping the article from his shoulder and tossing it on the ground.
"Good guess, dickwad, I cleaned a whole fucking nursery with that motherfucker!"
"Awwww, that's fucking nasty man!"

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Ryan Riley stepped back from the bar counter, partly to give that fucking bartender less of a target to hit, and remove that fucking shit-rag from his presence. As the voice called from the other side, Ryan pointed with one hand while the other motioned toward the cleaning rag on the ground.
"Your fuckin' tap-jockey here tossed that rag at me -- Now, I said I was sorry, and I was gonna' buy the whiskey -- which I'm certain fails inspection." As the Aschen mentioned his departure, however, the Azrik seemed to chuckle under his breath.
"Aaah, stuff the cop-cock ... " He returned before yanking the badge from his jacket pocket and revealing the stenciled emblem of Counter-Balance.
"Red Law, bucko'," Ryan spoke with a rather unimpressed tone; he appeared unarmed, and in much of the sense he was, but bringing a knife to a gunfight isn't the worst of strategies.
"I'll buy the whiskey, but these fuckers really gotta' start passing inspection ... Now who the fuck are you, Aschie?"

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Ryan Riley clapped his hands together and let his stance loosen before tossing a credit piece onto the counter and swinging one finger through the air. Turning away from the bar with a grunt, Riley planted his arms across his chest and seemed to stick his nose into the air for a moment. These fuckers didn't know dark-ops when they saw it, did they? Although, sneaking through the Coalition blockade with six tonnes of contraband, weapons artillery and heavy cannon, hadn't been the best of his ideas for rooting out the last of the Halo insurgents on the planet ... but he was sure making some money off it, though!
" ... 'Classified' for lack of a better term, and while this may be your bar, I do believe old Ronnie gave me a pretty clear indication of who's on the food chain." Pulling a cigarette from a pack of Scatterran blends, the Azrik plugged the little stick between his lips while his other hand formed a mouth.
"Meener meener meener 'Find the Halos' meener meener meener."

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Ryan Riley turned to face the conflict; in another time, he might have found this situation comical. As the cigarette dipped from his jowls for a brief second, Ryan drew one steady hand toward the left holster attached to the small of his back. The AP-50, an automatic capable of laying down a mean bullet hose in close areas, was the primary armament of the Dark-Ops gunrunner for the evening. His other hand moved toward the Aschen, as if to stop the man for a moment.
"Hold up, hold up -- Now, I don't wanna' sound like I'm some sick, twisted fuck that gets off to shit like this ... But if that chick really pops 'em, I'll just piss myself laughing ... " He said, noticing the Admiral continuing to step toward the group.
"Aww man, killin' my fun."

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Ryan Riley released his grasp on the automatic, one of two nestled tightly above rear, which was armored to a degree. As Riley stepped to the side and away from the Aschen, a light was drawn from his pocket and placed before igniting the end of the cigarette and taking a deep breath of the carcinogens ... mmm, carcinogens. A chuckle came from the Azrik as he watched another man step into the line of fire. Chivalry didn't appear to be dead after all.
"Whoa there now, little doggies -- 'bro' -- that's what you fuckers say, right?" He said, taking a step forward and injecting himself into the scuffle.
"I'm just going off the sides here, but lady, c'mon, treat the natives with some respect." He requested; his voice reflecting honest conviction, though he never so much as graced either the man, or woman, standing apart the Aschen.
"I mean, not like she's really going to get uppity when you point that fuckin' -- laser pointer in her face, right?"

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Ryan Riley pursed his lips as the woman indicated his mistreatment. Wrapping his lips tightly around the cigarette, the Azrik shifted the burning stick to the corner of his mouth before drooping his brow and turning toward the Security commander. Holding his arms out to shrug his shoulders, Ryan certainly felt mistreated after that little bar fiasco. Shit, why the hell did he even agree to pay for the whiskey!
"Hey -- yeah! Man, gimme' a fucking mint or something for that, I have no clue where that rag's been, what if I get herpes or something? They don't sell topical creams for that shit cheap, you know."

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Ryan Riley pointedly noticed that even Aschen deckhands were given firearms, someone put waaaaaay too much faith in their unskilled labor.
"Alright, I'll go ahead and throw this out there right now -- Navy personnel with sidearms is like giving a Somali an RPG and telling him to cleanse the world, you sure that holds up to inspection?" He retorted before plucking the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling the smoke from flared nostrils.
"Seriously though -- I get herpes from that rag, I'm pissing in the kitchen sink."

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Ryan Riley clapped his hands twice as the scuffle seemed to die away. Turning back toward the Aschen, however, Ryan appeared a much more serious man as he drew a small piece of equipment from a satchel at his side. Wielding the datapad with a lazy hand, the operator quickly tapped away at a holographic display beside him as the Counter-Balance insignia flashed to life on the screen, and he offered it to the Aschen.
" -- I lost contact with a Counter-Balance team operating planetside; ten man outfit, went dark about six days ago and haven't gotten a so much as a fuckin' fart over the radios yet." Ryan's voice had taken a more oppressive tone, as is he was revealing much to critical information to a Mall-Cop, of all people.
"I'm not saying they went rogue, or flipped the coin, but the equipment that team is authorized to use is ... let's just say a very big investment. People like us could retire off it and buy a fuckin' star system -- Personally, I was rollin' around in dough like that I'd build me a giant Slip 'n Slide, but ol' Ronnie has some other plans for it." He said, walking to his previous seat at the bar and planting his tuchus on the stool and giving himself a slight spin on the little chair.
"Truth be told, I'm a little pissed I got pulled from the Division and got slapped with deployment here -- moreso, I've got about six thousand Halos still on this planet, a portion of those guys with Savchenko -- Yuric, Savchenko."

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Ryan Riley burned away the last of the cigarette in a quick breath; holding it between his fingers, Riley quickly doused the embers in an ash tray as he ordered a glass of Mannten. As the bartender shot him the stink-eye, Riley puffed his chest out and bulged his eyes to the tender, daring that little bastard to try anything more.
"Wut -- bitch." He muttered to himself as the bartender trotted off while cursing under his breath. As Riley picked away a few pieces of ash from his fingers, his eyes casually fell on a doll situated at the far end of the bar. Quirking a brow, he made effort to return to the situation at hand.
"Good, more people we have looking for those boys, the less collateral they may cause. Division 2 isn't the most ... graceful of action teams. What I don't get, though," Ryan stalled as his ale was placed in front of him, running a finger along the head of the ale, he dabbed it away with a shake of his finger before taking a drink.
", Is the reports of ol' Zharkov on this dirtball again. Nikita rides in style -- penthouses and hotel suites, he's not some 'Soldier's General', at least not anymore. What Zharkov on this planet means, is the Halos are reachin' out from New Hadden."

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Ryan Riley tapped a soft beat into the counter as the bartender passed by once again. Turning his chin, Ryan glanced up to a television set and watched a music video for a brief moment. Unable to comprehend the gibberish, Ryan shook his head; at the mention of the profits from security of the bar, Ryan pulled a fresh cigarette from his pack and planted it between his lips, while preparing the lighter once again.
"Yeah yeah, I had a nickel for every time some shit-farmer said 'Zharkov ist on mein planet! Move him naow!' -- Well, I'd build that giant fuckin' Slip n' Slide I was talking about ... " His rejoinder came with a mocking tone while he ignited the cigarette once again, inhaling sharply as the Aschen's ... wife? approached the bar.
"I put about as much faith in Zharkov being on this planet as I do tryin' to pick up girls at funerals ... He's not on this planet, I'm pretty sure," He grumbled under himself before downing another portion of the ale.
"Though, the fuck a guy has to do for a room here? This hotel's got good rooms, right? I want a nice clean bed to sleep in, not some teen's prom room."

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Ryan Riley grumbled under the thick smoke before his credit piece was finally returned to him. Tucking the thing away in his wallet and placing it in his rear pocket, Ryan pointedly scheduled himself a room on the highest floor. He sure wasn't going to be staying in an Aschen establishment during his time on Terra -- that'd just be asking for a probing not even he could find appealing. Nodding in consideration, however, Ryan yawned loudly. Not that he wanted to be the third wheel, but he certainly didn't want to be around when these two started the horizontal monster mash.
"'Eh, oh I bet ... " Ryan finally replied as he slid himself off the stool and made his way for the stairs with a key card and a bottle of whiskey.
"Not to be a debbie downer, but I'm six steps from droppin' like a Priest at a Boy Scout convention. You send all those fancy words and shit to those eggheads. I'm ... Imma' go get drunk," Ryan smirked to himself while totting the bottle of whiskey in one hand and ascending the stairs.

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Ryan Riley came down the stairway as the gunshot bounded around in the building. If the Counter-Balance director knew anything that sounded out of the ordinary, it was that. Yanking the slide of the AP-50 and returning it into the holster at his hip, Ryan coughed into a gloved hand while he stepped off the landing and leaned against the bar. Behind the Confederate, Riley crossed his arms over his chest and shouted through the bar.
"Alright now, let's stop the silly horse shit. I don't want to come down for my cup of coffee and see blood everywhere."

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Ryan Riley rolled his eyes as he planted his elbows at the bar while eying the wolf rushing to the door. Making no movement for his weaponry, Ryan sighed as he stepped away from the bar and toward the Confederate. Though he wasn't here officially, the Counter-Balance badge could be seen on the soldier's vest.
"Just hold up 'nd let him leave, don't fight in the bars. Bad policy."

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Ryan Riley shrugs his shoulders and looks behind the counter for a moment.
"Did you pay for it?"

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Ryan Riley nodded quietly before seating himself at the bar. If the Confederate was bar security, Gambit's must have been preparing for heavy interference in the coming Terran sovereignty. Shrugging his shoulders, Ryan quickly pulled a card from his bag, along with a package of cigarettes, while ordering a cup of coffee from the holographic menu. Looking over his shoulder to see that the wolf had left, he nodded as someone spoke from the side.
"Tracking some bad arms deals in the city -- trying to see whether it's something more, or these Terrans are getting ballsy with their independence." He grinned as the cup of coffee was placed before him, and the Director placed his badge on the counter while pouring a package of sugar into the brew.
"Other than the corporations that are working Terra now, there are still several terrorist groups and independence movements on the planet."

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Ryan Riley pointed at the Confederate with the red stirring stick he had used to blend the coffee a moment before. With Coalition, Aschen and Hundred Lions weapons easy to come buy on the planet even after the factions had withdrawn, how Terran insurrectionists, revolutionaries and combatants came across advanced weaponry had raised suspicion in the inner divisions of Counter-Balance.
"Plenty a' shit like that. Either it's Terrans getting that hardware of people using Terrans. Shipping is mostly unregistered here, or horribly maintained. More guns come into this damn city alone than in many places in the entire region."

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Ryan Riley raised the cup to his mouth and took a quick drink before tapping at the holographic menu. Utilizing the networked feature of the menu, Ryan was capable of viewing a news feed and several broadcasted channels on the planet, or the galaxy as a whole. Though Terran political stability may have been in question, it's infrastructure wasn't; the advanced network that had been constructed by the numerous factions on the planet had been handed over without conflict to the new Terran domain.
"They have no damn clue what they're using -- half of their traffic mainframe is from the Coalition. Place is on the up-rise, though."

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Ryan Riley put the cup down and adjusted the stool. Looking over toward the Confederate, Ryan inspected the brief appearance of the Confederate weapon before looking toward the television screen mounted on the wall of the bar. Ordering a second cup of coffee, Ryan quickly grabbed up his badge and the credit card before returning them to a pocket on his vest.
"Place is just waitin' to go up, I tell ya'. I don't know who to shoot first or who to shoot later."

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Ryan Riley nodded at the Confederate. He would have been surprised if the other factions didn't have movements on Terra. With operations limited, the intelligence community of the Coalition was given exclusive clearance to Terra. When Ryan's second drink arrived, he looked away toward the door while he deactivated the holographic menu.
"I'm sure everyone has their eyes somewhere in this city."