Island of the dead. An mcd x oc collab story. ON HIATUS UNTIL FUTHER NOTICE!

Chapter 27: Deja vu of the delirious kind.

"Do not hide in lies. They will do you no good."
-Cerberus

"I am thou, thou art I. I am the son of Ragnarök and the wings of despair. I AM GRIMA!!!"
-Grima, son of Ragnarök.

Remnant 41, Vale, the ruins of Beacon

The ruins of Beacon had long become Spartan territory ever since the fall and the breach had occurred in rapid succession. A foothold, established by the mercenaries of Sparta when the government had refused to take responsibility for the fall, not that they really could blame them; the breach had caused enough chaos among much of Remnant and not much could be done. The last of the Grimm that had receded, like a dying infection,  in the ruins of the iconic tower had long been wiped out. The soldiers had some very explicit orders, if the government's forces marched upon them that they were to pull out immediately. But the government did not send their forces, occupied with what Nihil was doing. And so, the ramshackle camp had become a full blown military base shared by both Brotherhood of Steel and Spartan forces. The vertibirds touched the grounds with a metallic crunch as the rotors whirled to a stop as soldiers and survivors stepped off. Many of the teams had stayed behind to help with the recovery of Haven, not that any of the soldiers could understand. Though something to keep note of for the soldiers seemed to be that there were many shady people, not military personnel nor survivors, that seemed to be waiting in the shadows. All bearing the Crimson blood red mark of the Red Oroborus gang at some place on their body. Michael, ignoring the obvious threat, started ordering for others to check in with their senior officers and give in their combat reports and for the injured to be transported into the infirmary. Mitch started checking in with his squad as well, taking in both casualties and injures. Lanius stepped off the vertibird that he had been riding alongside several of the Butcher's cohort. He stepped into the base and was met with a slightly unsettling sight, for him at least. Ordering some of the soldiers, legendary spear in his right hand and helmet held underneath his left arm, around was Apollo Darkmane; his rival and annoying friend. He knew why he was probably here, he had gone off and pulled off some of the orders that had been set by him by his King. He let out a sigh as he approached Darkmane. The legendary tactician looked over at Lanius, a obvious scowl on his face as the bald man approached him.
"Look. I know I went off orders-" Lanius started off, trying to explain his actions.
"I'm not here for you idiot. But one of your contacts are." Apollo replied, arms folded.
"Which contact?" Lanius asked, very much confused. He unfortunately had too many for him to count.
"Not the brothel you hypocritical fool!" Darkmane shouted angrily, "Your 'criminal' contact!"
"Him? Gods...where is he?" He asked angrily, now knowing who he was talking about. He wasn't exactly happy what Apollo had just called out about his lifestyle choices.
"In your tent. Hurry up, he seemed impatient." Apollo replied, seemingly not caring about the butcher's anger.
Lanius just growled, pushing Apollo Darkmane aside as he marched over to his red/gold tent. Darkmane only rolled his eyes as he glanced over at the increasing number of shady figures that seemed to want to keep out of his eyesight. Like how shadows would cling onto the light source till the bitter end.

Lanius opened the flap of his tent, it was incredibly dark. Not surprisingly, since he had dampened the fireplace before he had left. But he could see the bright yellow illumination of some familiar claw weapons of one of his more familiar contacts. The male's single eye glinted in malice, clearly he had been waiting for quite awhile for Lanius to arrive and make his appearance. Lanius could feel a cold chill travel up his spine like a spark of electricity. Lanius struck a match and tossed it into the fireplace. It quickly roared to life, the male seemed to pull away from the fireplace for a second before he resumed leaning against the chair. The male was an african american, dark brown dreads reaching his shoulders, a sleeveless dark trenchcoat pulled over his strong muscular frame and a dark brown left eye. The right eye was covered by a eyepatch, two obvious slashes over it, his arms were crossed as his weapons glowed in the now brightening tent. His weapons were clawed gauntlets, dust infused into the armour and claws that glowed a dull yellow colour. Lanius looked at the man with contempt, knowing why he was here and what he wanted.
"Tyson. What do you want?" Lanius asked, trying in some form to keep his voice calm.
"You know why I'm here Butcher. I want my payment." Tyson replied, turning to face him. The red Templar cross hanging from his neck and glinting in the fire light.
"I told you. I had to delay due to technical problems."
"You promised my payment six months ago. Twenty two kilos of atlesian weaponry, forty five pounds of dust and sixty thousand lien later and still no payment for it. I still haven't been paid. And my men are getting itchy trigger fingers." Tyson replied, his eye and body posture calm but his voice was seeped with his increasing anger. Lanius knew how volatile Tyson's temper could be if kept unchecked and so spoke quickly without paying much attention to his words. "Why are you so eager for payment now?" He held his breath slightly, barely noticeable underneath his helmet's mask, upon realization of what he had just asked the leader of the red oroborus.