Keith looked around at the small clearing before him, at least fifty men, each of them well-trained and armed with specialized weapons. The assorted crew standing around bore members from every big name Retrieval Guild in the country, and a few up-and-coming guilds as well.
He recognized a few of the men and even a couple of the Guild Insignias on their clothing and armour, but nothing special really came to mind. This was a job and a good paycheck, nothing more. No emotions could even begin to interfere with this. One moment of doubt or remorse would spell the end for him, the guilt that might tear through him much less painful than swords, bullets and knives that would follow.
Like many of the men who shared his profession, Keith had learned how to drown out everything but the adrenaline from such encounters. Whether it was to drink oneself into oblivion after or before the job, ritual bloodletting, writing (at this Keith grins and thinks *stupid faggy bastards*), or lots of rampant sex, there was always a way to get over the emotions.
For Keith, it was the trusty iPod in his pocket and his overly expensive headphones blaring his favorite, high-octane songs while he delivered wholesale slaughter to those in his way on any retrieval operation.
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