Kincaid

Sunlight filtered in through the teared brim of Cyrus's hat. The Revolutionary stirred and groaned, shifting on his bed of trash bags. As he did, the hat slipped from his brow and to the alley floor, allowing the full force of the sun to bathe him. Still unconscious, Cyrus scratched at his face, as if to ward away an annoying gnat that had been feasting on him. Finding that the sun wasn't going away anytime soon, the Revolutionary shifted and rose, sitting up to greet the day. He yawned, stretching his arms high into the sky and slowly opening his eyes. Scratching his mop of shaggy blonde hair, Cyrus looked about for his fallen hat.

He scooped it from the floor, brushing off the dirt and grime, or at least attempting to, and placed it atop his head once more. His stomach let loose an inhuman noise, gurgling and groaning for sustenance. Patting it, Cyrus smiled and said to himself,
Alright, alright, let's feed you then boy.

Rising from the trash heap, Cyrus looked about for any discarded goodies. He shifted bags, tore a few open, but frowned as it became more and more evident how fruitless his search was. With a sigh, he turned back towards the mouth of the alley,
Welp, let's see what the streets of Mock Town have for us today.

He exited the alley, turning down the street and trying to remember where he had passed out the night before. He didn't entirely recognize this place, but the sounds of the docks could be heard nearby at his back. Scratching the back of his neck as he tried to recount the night's events, Cyrus began counting on his fingers,
Okay, so first I started at the Bent Stool. Had...five drinks there? Second, I went to the White Rabbit, thrown out of there pretty quickly if I recall. So that means third I went to-

He stopped suddenly as his face collided with cold metal, forcing him to the ground. He fell to the asphalt street in a heap, confused and his face stinging from the sudden impact. Focusing himself, he looked up to see what he had collided with, his eyes going large as his brain tried to make sense of what he was looking at.
Waaaaaah! Alien, m-monster, metal alien monster thing. Waaaaaaaahhhhhh! Help, monster! The Revolutionary began screaming theatrically.

Kincaid

The strange spaceman regarded Cyrus curiously, studying the sprawled, trash smelling man for a long moment. The lights behind his visor flashed briefly and Cyrus took note of the strange weapon holstered at his side. Wires and tubing sprang from the back of it, leading up and behind the man to a tank on his suit.
Fear not civilian, we are of no threat to you...currently.
Currently? Cyrus asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
Be more careful of where you're going next time, civilian. The spaceman said with a robotic tone, before stepping around Cyrus and continuing on his way.

The revolutionary pushed himself back on his feet, turning to watch the metal man walk away.
Domi regato, Mr. Roboto. Cyrus said after him, followed by a terrible impression of "the robot". He looked around at some of the other people that had gathered on the streets due to the commotion and threw his hands in the air,
Is no one seriously going to talk about the whole, 'we are no threat to you...CURRENTLY thing?!

None of the Mock Town citizens responded, instead either staring or simply avoiding eye contact and continuing on about their day.
I wouldn't go shouting after that...thing. You got off lucky, friend. An old man's voice said from behind Cyrus. He turned to see a man behind the counter of a fruit stand.
Oh, and how do you figure, spooky fruit stand man? Cyrus asked, approaching the stand as he did.
The old man just smiled as he sliced a chunk of apple from its core.
Those are the White Cobra's Purifiers, his own personal security staff. Come to Jaya every so often to unload their poisons and toxins. If they're here, it means Jaya just got a whole lot more dangerous. Some damn fool probably buying something he doesn't know the real dangers of. Last time they sold to someone here, wiped out a whole city block. Eighty people suffocated, dropped to the ground frothing at the mouths like animals. The fruit vendor shook his head, slowly raising the apple piece to his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

Cyrus nodded, staring down at the baskets of fruit in front of him. He picked up an orange, inspecting it for a moment.
Wasn't the Purifiers faults exactly, least they weren't the ones that made the giant poison cloud. Who's worse though, a drug user or a drug dealer? Merchants of death, all of 'em. Wherever they go, trouble follows, that's for sure.
What was with his little blaster thing? Cyrus asked, placing the orange down and picking up some sort of strange red fruit with yellow lines running vertically down the sides.
The old man just shrugged, taking another bite of his apple.
What do I look like kid, some sort of dictionary? Rumor is they're modified nail guns...and bug repellent or some such. All I know is they're poisonous, nasty stuff I tell ya, nasty stuff.

Hrm...right...right, so basically what you're telling me is these robo-guys roll up on islands to offload deadly poisons and toxins for profit. Which means they have a ship docked somewhere on Jaya with those deadly poisons and toxins AND they're expecting a big windfall of cash in the not too distant future. Which means this isn't just a wonderful learning opportunity, but a chance to get some spending money too. Cyrus thought aloud, taking a large bite out of the strange colored fruit he was holding and immediately spitting it out.
Oh god, why is it spicy...and sour at the same time? Give me the knife, I need to cut out my tongue.

Oi, you gonna pay for that? The old man asked, rising from his stool with the knife pointed towards Cyrus. The revolutionary, his tongue still hanging out of his mouth looked at the man, then to his right, and then of course to his left.
Of course I am...as soon as I get paid from this heist job. He said before sprinting away down the street. Behind him, several fruits that he had touched earlier sprang forth from their wooden boxes and rolled behind Cyrus, strings attaching them to the fruit thief.
I'll pay for those too! He called back to the screaming vendor.

Kincaid

Recon was from from Cyrus's favorite part of any job, but he was good at it. Apparently people rarely paid mind to the reeking, grunge man off the streets simply sitting on a bench and staring at people as they walked by. To complete the look, Cyrus even had an old empty cup he found on his way to the docks. Every so often as people walked by he'd jingle the few pieces of change, nuts and bolts he had placed inside. Even those few people who contributed to his fund wouldn't make eye contact with him. Simple psychology made it so people didn't want to regard beggars as anything more than obstacles in their path. Subconsciously they assumed if they made eye contact or small talk with a beggar, he or she would then draw them in and they'd be stuck talking to some greasy, needy, foul smelling person for several uncomfortable minutes. People hated to be uncomfortable. As a result, the ruse allowed Cyrus to see and hear everything on the docks, without anyone ever really seeing him.

The morning had gone by rather slowly truth be told. The docks of Jaya were no small space and with all the ships docked, coming and going, it made finding a ship he didn't even know the description of all the more difficult. People filed by on the rickety old wharfs in mass, though he figured anyone dressed as that alien cyborg fellow he had met earlier would be fairly easy to spot. As he moved from bench to bench, the revolutionary began to realize he knew little to nothing about these people, this ship, its' cargo or even any deal going on today. He had run off on the hunch of an old fruit vendor who may or may not have been senile.

Kincaid

He sighed as he trudged along on his way to a new bench, bumping past people in a dazed and confused manner to really sell the schtick and make sure even less people made eye contact with him. Collapsing onto the bench in a huff, he pressed his cheek to the warm iron and sighed,
Might have bit off more than I could chew with this one. He mumbled to himself, realizing how fruitless it was to continue when he had so little information.
Definitely got ahead of myself on thi- He stopped mumbling and sat straight up, glancing at two metal aliens as they pushed their way through the crowd on the dock to his right. Though, it was less pushing on their part and more of a parting of the sea of people, who all stepped back nervously, not wanting to touch or engage such strangers.

Helloooo, what do we have here? Cyrus muttered, watching the men make their way to the main dock stretch of pier and turn left, away from Cyrus's position. Gathering himself, the revolutionary pulled his hat down over his eyes and made his way down the dock the two Purifiers had come from. Each ship he passed he would make a cursory glance over, checking for any telltale sign of the Purifiers. About eight down on the right, Cyrus found his mark and smiled as he noticed two metal men pacing the deck of the ship. About two ship lengths down from where it was docked was another bench, this one nearly covered in gull feces. Cyrus rolled his eyes,
Of course.
Though he couldn't be all too mad. This close to the Purifiers, especially considering one of them had seen him, it would be imperative to make his appearance as unbecoming as possible. No one wanted to look at the drunkard passed out on a seagull shit covered bench. They wouldn't even see him, or so he hoped as he lay down across the stinking bench to keep watch.

Kincaid

Laying down on a shit riddled bench feigning sleep teaches one a lot about the world. The words Cyrus heard, the actions he observed, all while the world passed him by without hardly a bother. It was all truly fascinating and although he was trying to pick up only on certain people and certain words, he found it nearly impossible not to eavesdrop on others. One man was complaining about how his mistress had found out about his wife, told his wife, and now through some odd series of events, they had become lovers while kicking him out of his own home. For the briefest of moments, Cyrus wondered if that might be Gus, but a quick check from beneath his hat revealed he was wrong. That had only been one of many interesting stories. One sailor had raved about how he fended off a Banawari with only his prosthetic leg in hand. A tale so ridiculous, Cyrus couldn't help but smirk. Then again, this was a strange world and even Cyrus himself had seen stranger things than that.

Back to the mission however, Purifiers had been moving on and off the ship all day. Sometimes they would leave empty handed and come back with bags containing food and drink. Cyrus found this odd, seeing such strange looking people carrying everyday things such as groceries, but he figured beneath those odd suits they had to eat too. Other times teams of Purifiers would descend the gangplank with large, sealed crates in hand, disappearing into the crowd and the bowels of Mock Town. Cyrus could only imagine those crates contained the product they were unloading. Considering how infrequently they unloaded and the different paths they seemed to take, it appeared there was more than just one buyer on Jaya.

As the sun set, Cyrus realized he needed to start making a move. Several crates had already been unloaded. He had no way of knowing just how much product the Purifiers had arrived with, but if he waited too long and it was all unloaded then he'd be shit out of luck. The crates that had disappeared into Jaya were effectively gone and he'd have no way of tracking them down whatsoever. Sitting up from the bench with an exaggerated yawn, the revolutionary scratched at the back of his neck.

Kincaid

The docks had emptied out considerably compared to the day time. As evening rolled in, Cyrus assumed many sailors and pirates alike had made their way to Jaya's various taverns for drink and dinner. People still milled about, but it was a far cry from the huddled masses that had plagued the docks all day.

By his count, at least four Purifiers were still out in Jaya somewhere. He had no idea just how many there were aboard and their suits made it painfully difficult to discern one from the other. While not all identical, from the distance Cyrus sat, they may as well have been. Which meant, there were anywhere from three to eight still aboard the vessel. Three was manageable, eight would be a problem and anything in between well...who really knew.

Standing from the bench, Cyrus made his way across the dock to the ship next to the Purifiers' own. He made a show of inspecting the ship, looking it over with an impressed look on his face.
Fine craftsmanship on those banisters, it's the little details that really matter. Hull could use a good scrubbing though, best be careful of that. He said to himself and anyone nearby who could overhear him. Moving along, he stood beneath the Purifiers' ship, careful to stay out of view of anyone on the top deck. He did the same as the other, though silently thinking to himself this time. He noticed a panel open on the side of the ship, leading to the underbelly of it. Possibly a cannon cover, though he saw no such weapon. Looking to his left, then his right, Cyrus threw a bundle of strings at the opening, latching onto it before jumping off the dock. He reeled in the line, pulling himself silently up the side of the ship, his feet dangling inches from the water's surface for a moment. A second or two later, he had managed to clamber his way into the porthole and was aboard the ship.

Kincaid

Alright Blathe, Jenkins, haul these two to that inn off of main street, the Bucking Mule or something, remember the one? The buyer is around back, says he has a cart to take the crates in. Make sure you see the money before you hand over the crates. Any issues, report in. A metallic voice rang out as Cyrus hunched behind some barrels and sacks of food. He peered around one to see a Purifier with a clipboard overseeing two more retrieving crates of poison and lugging them up stairs. As they departed, the clipboard wielding Purifier said to himself,
Alright then, just three more to go. Buyer wants them tomorrow morning, after that we're on our way home. He tapped his pencil on the clipboard before placing both on a nearby table and trudging up the wooden steps to the deck above.

Confident he was alone now, Cyrus stepped out of his hiding place and wandered towards the crates. Above he could hear the wood creak and groan beneath the weight of the Purifiers and their suits. He began inspecting one of the three remaining crates. The crates themselves were simple, plain, latch key designs. It made sense they lacked any hazard material signs, after all, poison and drug smugglers didn't exactly want to blatantly be showing they had poisons and drugs. Cyrus fiddled with the latches that kept the lid shut and quietly flipped the crate open. Inside were vials of some sort of purple liquid, sealed with corks. Cyrus reached in and plucked one from the top, there had to be at least five trays, each with around thirty vials. Whatever this stuff was, the Purifiers were selling it by the truckload.

Cyrus held the glass vial up to the soft lantern light, inspecting it. He didn't dare test it and without his makeshift lab, it'd be hard to tell what exactly the stuff was. He placed the vial and three more in his jacket pocket, carefully shutting the lid once again. Turning to leave, Cyrus noticed the table the Purifier had placed his clipboard on. On the wall above it were sketches, written notes, instructions and various scientific formulas. Like a moth to the flame, Cyrus was drawn in. He doubted the Purifiers were the brains behind synthesizing these poisons, but at least one of them on board must have some knowledge of the stuff. Notes were thumbtacked to the wall, polymer isolation and synthesis, catalyst conversions, something about blended isotopes. The notes were fascinating, but what really caught Cyrus's attention wasn't on the wall, but instead the table. Beside the clipboard was a thick, but small leather-bound book simply labeled "Toxin Catalog".

Helloooo, what do we have here? Cyrus whispered to himself as he leafed through the pages. The book was filled with information on not only various poison recipes, but ingredients and, oddly enough, pricing for each. It dawned on Cyrus that this was a handbook for the Purifiers on their outings. It instructed them what was in each poison, how it should be handled, how to concoct antidotes should a problem arise, and most importantly to any good businessman, how much they need to charge for each poison. This book was almost as good as looking into the White Cobra's brain itself. Cyrus smiled gleefully as he pocketed the catalog. The research that could be done with this, the information and knowledge gained was truly priceless.

Making his way back to the porthole he had entered from, Cyrus threw yet another bundle of strings at the dock and pulled himself from the ship to the dock gracefully. Landing on the wooden pier, Cyrus turned to walk back towards the mainland, only to find two Purifiers returning from their sale staring at him not ten feet away. It was obvious, they had seen everything. A man they didn't recognize had just jumped from the bowels of their ship in the dead of night.
Oh...shit. Cyrus sighed.

Kincaid

Everything seemed to slow down, as if Cyrus was seeing things in slow motion. The Purifiers immediately went for the modified guns at their belts, drawing them with impressive speed, but Cyrus was faster. Nails flew from the guns, but were knocked away as Cyrus unleashed several bundles of nearly unseen string. The two nails fired clattered to the docks uselessly, while three more string bullets impacted the Purifiers in the chest. The two men staggered back for a moment and Cyrus moved forward, hoping to get past them. However, they quickly recovered and raised their weapons, the metal suits they were merely scratched where the string bullets had impacted. The shots had been enough to momentarily stagger them, but beyond that they were completely unfazed.
Those things are better than kevlar. Cyrus muttered to himself, slowing his run.

A flash of white hot pain sliced through his right bicep and the revolutionary looked down to find his jacket ripped, a small trickle of blood beginning to seep from his skin. A nail had grazed him, cutting into his flesh. He grunted and frowned, unamused with the circus this little job was beginning to turn into. His eyes darted around the dock, searching for a way out. The water was there, but certainly not an option with this damned devil fruit. His strings didn't seem to be enough this time, a problem he had yet to encounter. He ran through a mental inventory of what he was carrying, vials of Rockabye, a few bottles of Devil's Breath, and the mystery poison from the ship. The Rockabye wouldn't be of any use while those bastards were in their suits, and the idea of using fire on a wooden dock, near wooden ships, while being over water wasn't exactly his favorite thought but it may have been his only option.

Cyrus began reaching into the folds of his jacket, closing his hand around the neck of one of his Devil's Breath bottles.
Stop, put it down. There's no need for further violence, civilian. Come in for questioning. One of the Purifiers said, leveling the nail gun with Cyrus's chest.
These guys sound military trained, ex-Marines may- What the hell? Cyrus thought, fear suddenly creeping into his mind as he could no longer feel his arm. No, that wasn't quite right, he could feel it but it was taught, as if all the muscles were constricting at once, locking in place and not allowing him to move it from within the folds of his coat. The panic spread so rapidly, clouding his thoughts that he didn't even notice the Purifier creeping up behind him from the ship. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find a cloud of purple mist shadowing his vision.

Cyrus stepped back, coughing and waving the air in front of his face, trying to disperse the strange spray. His vision began to contort and slant, the edges of his sight growing fuzzy and then dark. He fell to one knee, trying to steady himself. His right arm still locked in place and unable to move. He placed his good hand on the dock as the world began to sway and dip beneath him. He willed himself to hold it together, but the toxin was stronger. He never even felt his head hit the dock before the darkness took hold.

Kincaid

The first thing Cyrus noticed was just how dry his mouth was. Before even opening his eyes, as consciousness seeped back into his brain, Cyrus tested his jaw. Opening and closing it, he could smell the acrid fumes from his dry mouth and winced. Slowly he opened his eyes to find he was back aboard the ship, chained to a mast and completely unable to move. In front of him, one of the Purifiers appeared to be preparing a workbench. Behind him, out of the corner of his eye, he could see two more standing by patiently, most likely as guards. He sighed, what had he gotten himself into this time?

The one by the workbench looked over at him,
Ah, you're awake. He said simply, approaching Cyrus.
That is correct my good man, and I'm not dead. Care to explain?[/b]
The Purifier reached up and unlocked his helmet by twisting it to the side, pulling it off to reveal a simple human male, probably in the middle of his life, with salt and pepper hair and a single nasty scar across the right side of his face.
We were going to kill you, had every intention of dropping your body in the sea and forgetting about you. After all we hit you with a nerve agent in your arm and then knocked you out with one of our spore sprays. We figured your organs were probably going to shut down anyway just from the amount of toxin coursing through your body.
But? Cyrus asked.
But, you're clearly alive now and we noticed what you had taken. In our experience, a thief would have taken as many vials as he could carry, wandered off into the bowels of Mock Town and sold them for a profit. You took two vials of poison and, what probably saved your life, the Toxin Index. It gave us pause, perhaps you're no ordinary thief, but a rival scientist. We took a chance, contacted our boss while you were out and explained the situation.

The Purifier returned to the workbench and continued setting up as he spoke.
He took an immediate interest in you and proposed a bit of a test to see how we should proceed.
He nodded to the two Purifiers behind Cyrus and the Revolutionary could feel them seize the chains binding him and unlock them. The heavy chains fell to the deck of the ship with a clang and a clatter. Cyrus rubbed his wrists, they ached from being tied down for so long while he slept. He considered attacking the Purifiers and making a break for it, looking around the hull of the ship for anything he might be able to use as a distraction. As if reading his mind however, the Purifier at the table said,
Don't bother trying to escape. We're anchored about three miles off the coast of Jaya with nowhere for you to run. We're aware of your powers and aware of your affliction to water. Even if you managed to defeat all of us, you wouldn't have a crew to sail this ship back to the mainland. We're purposefully out of sight of any of the main shipping routes. You would starve here in a few days or simply drown yourself after accepting your fate.
Cyrus stared at him in silence before nodding, Well then, bravo, you really thought of everything.
Our boss is a careful man, he doesn't like to take chances. Now come, it's time for your test. Pass and you have a job, fail and...well you won't have to worry about anything ever again.

Kincaid

In front of you, you have all of the materials and equipment you need to synthesize the same toxin that was used to knock you unconscious. It's relatively basic, if you know what you're doing and even the newest of Purifiers know how to make it. We've mixed in ingredients and equipment you do not need. You have the recipe, as well as the Toxin Index that you stole from earlier. You'll have ten minutes to concoct a working toxin. Any time more than that, you fail. Should the toxin not work, you fail. Any questions?
And if I fail?
You die.
Right, just making sure we hadn't changed our minds on the whole murder thing. Cyrus said.
Begin. The Purifier said and his two friends leveled their nail guns towards Cyrus's back.

Alrighty, no pressure. The Revolutionary began talking to himself, cracking his knuckles and neck to loosen up. He skimmed through the recipe, it was simple enough, though he had never actually made this specific poison before, he had dabbled in the craft on his own time. Looking over the ingredients on the table he recognized some of the wild roots and plants, but organs from various animals and some oddly colored flowers were foreign to him. He started the burner beneath one of the beakers, heating the water while he looked up two of the ingredients he didn't recognize on the list. Taking one of the numerous cooking knives he had been provided, Cyrus began dicing and chopping various plants and roots. As he worked, he whistled and said to the three Purifiers,
You know, when you think about it, making poisons is a lot like cooking. You have recipe lists, cut up ingredients, mix it all together and rather than something delicious, you get a bit of something deadly. Like if cooking went wrong...but on purpose, you know?

The Purifiers said nothing while Cyrus shrugged and began loading ingredients into a large pot, cooking down the essence and separating extract from the root. He looked like a mad scientist, which in many ways he was. There was one ingredient he didn't recognize the name of, and upon looking it up in the Toxin Index, realized that it was not listed. He frowned, wondering what the mistake could be, his brow beginning to sweat as time ticked bye. He strained the ingredients out, loading it into another beaker and allowing it to mix with the boiling water, turning the viscous liquid into something more potable for consumption. As he did this and watched the water mix with the poison, he had a thought and held the recipe up to the light. Narrowing his eyes, he could see through the parchment and tell the difference between fresh ink and old ink. Someone had recently added the last ingredient to the recipe, most likely to trip him up so he would fail.
What's the matter gentlemen? Don't want a little competition in the job department? Cyrus teased, but again the Purifiers said nothing and the one with his helmet off only scowled.

Several minutes later, Cyrus poured the concoction into two vials, leaving them uncapped to cool down.
Aaaaaaand, time! The Revolutionary said, slamming his hand on the table as if ringing a bell.
Order up gentlemen.
The lead Purifier looked at his subordinates, who in turn looked back at him. He nodded towards the vials and one of the others unlatched his helmet, placing it on the bench before reaching for one of the poison vials.
Careful, it's hot, oh and just do a little tongue dip. Drink even half of that thing and your heart will stop. Cyrus advised.
The Purifier scowled at him, but did as he was instructed, placing a small drop on his finger and then on his tongue.
Tastes like...strawberries? The Purifier said, confused.
You're welcome, it would've been bitter if I h-
The Purifier dropped to the hull of the ship and Cyrus could see confusion on the lead's face. He immediately dropped down next to his subordinate, checking for vital signs.
Huh, I thought he'd have at least another three seconds before it kicked in. Whoops. Cyrus said with a shrug.

Kincaid

So, when he wakes up give him some milk and then three glasses of water. By the third he'll feel bloated and refuse, but force him if you have to, otherwise he'll have a nasty hangover for about two...maybe three days. The third glass should flush it all out of his system after his first piss of the morning. Cyrus said to the lead Purifier as he walked the top deck of the ship, towards the gangplank. In his hand he held the Toxin Index, given to him as an initiation present, which he used like a wand as if conducting an orchestra while giving instructions to the man.
You don't really ever stop talking, do you? The Purifier asked, but Cyrus simply ignored him.
By the way, when do I get one of the fancy suits? Does it come in Racing Red, or just the same silver or rusty brown you all have? I wouldn't mind a dash of cobalt in there either, really stand out in a crowd, you know? Should I expect that by mail, or? Do you need my measurements, I can write them down rea-
You will not be hired as a standard Purifier. What your orders are will come from this. The Purifier said, handing Cyrus a Den Den Mushi with something growing on the side of its shell.
That is a special, secure line Den Den Mushi. You will be under the supervision of one of the White Cobra's three disciples. He will contact you within the week with further instructions. Do not miss his call.

Cyrus took the Den Den Mushi and looked it over with a frown,
Look, I know I passed your little test and all, and don't get me wrong I'm flattered you want me on your little alien-looking team, but what if I don't want to be hired? Cyrus asked.
Then we take you back to sea and drown you.
Ah okay, gotcha. One more question then, what are the benefits? Do you guys get dental? I think I have a few cavities that have been driving me nuts, just haven't had the time or coin to get them fixed, you know how it is. Oh wait, are you all unionized? I could make a mean union leader, stick it to the man!
Get off my ship.
Right then, think about the union thing, I'll make pamphlets.
Off! The Purifier bellowed, pointing to the gangplank.
Whoa okay, someone's a little gwumpy wumpy in the morning. Cheerio gentlemen, I look forward to many days working side by side with you all. Cyrus said with a quick salute before back flipping off the top deck of the ship and landing safely on the dock below. He stood, brushed himself off and walked down the dock back to town with a skip in his step and a whistle on his lips.