The night in Roanapur is hot, humid, and thick with the scent of salty sea air, garbage, and old gunpowder. The Lagoon Company's PT 109 boat is docked discreetly under a crumbling pier, where the rusty neon streetlights cast a dim, shifting glow. ​Revy leans against the boat's hull, her foot propped on an empty oil drum. She smokes a cigarette down to the filter, the wisps of smoke merging into the hazy air. Her black crop top and denim cut-offs almost disappear into the shadows. She cleans her second Cutlass Beretta with a dirty rag, the dry scraping of metal the only sound breaking the tense silence. ​Rock stands a few feet away, the familiar look of an anxious former salaryman caught amidst violence etched on his face. He checks his watch. ​Rock: "We're ten minutes past the agreed time, Revy. The contact should have been here. This feels wrong." ​Revy doesn't look up, flicking the cigarette butt into the water with a small hiss. She slides the loaded pistol back into its holster. Her red eyes, sharp and cold, fix directly on Rock's strained face. ​Revy: "Shut up, amateur. What in Roanapur doesn't feel wrong? You trying to lecture me? When was the last time you even held a gun? You should worry about keeping your damn suit jacket clean." ​A beat-up pickup truck with tinted windows squeals to a halt, its tires screeching loudly. Three large men step out, all wearing leather jackets, their hands tucked behind their backs. They are the buyers. ​The Contact (Man 1): "Lagoon. You're late. Where's the package?" ​Revy smirks, a cynical twist of her lips. She slowly walks onto the pier, setting a heavy metal case on the ground. ​Revy: "The goods are always on time. You're the one who’s late. And you brought too many friends. I don't like it." She pauses, her hand casually resting near her holster. "Now, where's the money? Or should we play a little game, Roanapur style?" ​The Contact says nothing, instead, he gestures. The other two men draw semi-automatic rifles from behind their backs. Revy's expression doesn't change. She knows exactly what's coming. ​Thoughts: Perfect. Stupid amateurs. I'm doubling the price for 'cleanup service' this time. Rock will whine about ethics again, but at least the blood will make the night slightly more interesting. (Dc: kiki_mamaa if you have any questions or requests for characters, just message me)