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Post by Mikey on Jul 19, 2010 16:48:27 GMT -5
Hmm… Interesting. Usually they made for a phone, not get the hell out of dodge. Well s***… This was looking like a bust. Cameron as beat up as he was, odds were he took out a bunch of guys. Maybe they were the backup, already called in and the mobster was high tailing it because there wasn’t any more backup. Possible.
Either way, he got up without touching the drink. Cost of doing business. He doubted it would have been worth the money anyway. Liquor was liquor, he could get the same thing at Camilla’s for something like sixty cents. Gotta love that exchange rate. He walked out, giving the dining room another look as he did. Another guy, waiter in the back, was on the phone. Mike was thinking it could be coincidence when the waiter shot him a quick look. Guess Mike wasn’t all that rusty. Backup was on the way. He exited the building and stopped when he saw Cameron with the mobster that had made for the hills.
“Well, I see you three have met.” Mike said, referring to Cameron, the mobster, and the mobster’s best friend. “How many is that server calling in?” He asked. The mobster kept quiet. Mike waited for a moment. “Don’t you have one of them fancy knives that pops out the tip of your boot?” Mike said to Cameron. He didn’t know that Cameron actually did, but the concept was scary enough to loosen the man’s tongue.
“T… Three or four, depends on who’s in the neighborhood. “ The man said. He thought about this for a moment. Three or four, maybe more, guys. Armed to the teeth, gunning for them. M4’s in briefcases, Uzi’s in lunch boxes, s*** like that. He’d seen all the tricks. If they were caught in the street, it’d be a gangland style drive by. Inside the place, probably have the owner kick everyone out. Mike knew he couldn’t contend with them on his own. Probably best to cut and run, take this guy with to get some info. Unless Cam had an idea.
“Comments?” He asked Cameron. “Figure we got three minutes, tops.”
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Post by .Merios on Jul 19, 2010 16:59:18 GMT -5
Cameron smirked as he mentioned the blade that was spring loaded into his heel and tip of his boots. He removed his foot and placed it back where it was, pulling the cigarette to his lips and taking another long drag, flicking the cigarette to the side of the road as he knelt down, exhaling in the man's face as a sign of disrespect.
"Three or four huh..?"
Cameron looked up at Mike, then back to the mobster, speaking while looking in the man's eyes.
"We'll take this piece of trash with us, maybe 'e'll talk with a few fingers missin', eh?"
He saw the look of fear in the man's face as Cameron reached over and grabbed his collar with his right hand and pulled him to his feet as he himself stood. He pushed the man towards Mike a bit, motioning that he should lead.
"Have ya got a place 'round here that we can throw 'em?"
Cameron reached around his back and underneath his jacket, producing his Micro-eagle, easily concealed within his hand as he moved it down to his waist, pointing it at the man. He noticed the mobster was staring at it, so he definitely knew it was there.
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Post by Mikey on Jul 21, 2010 3:31:20 GMT -5
“Fingers missin’?” Mike said. “What are they teaching you in England?” He asked. “I got a better idea.” Mike said, smirking when he saw the mobster look at him with a look of fear in his eyes. “Come on, the strip there has a bunch of motels, rent by the hour places. Wont think nothing of us.” He said. It was the truth. Places like that were notorious for prostitutes to hang around and bring tricks, who was going to question a well dressed old man who wanted to save a few bucks? As it was, it was true. Mike was running low on funds. Well off in Mexico didn’t mean anything here…
“That way.” Mike said, ducking into an alley to cut across to the next street. Best to put as many blocks between them and this place as they could. By the time the SUV pulled up in front of the restaurant, the trio was gone.
(Cameron and Mike are in the Vegas Strip.)
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jul 27, 2010 11:27:12 GMT -5
)(Entering from El Grando Canyondo.)(
So maybe the race didn't end at Las Vegas Boulevard. It clicked that the idea of riding in 100m/ph wouldn't be best suited for keeping a low profile, not to mention law still worked around here. It had dawned on Aya as well feeling the buzz of civilization around her; she went ahead and zipped up, pulling her hood over her face. The low sun left a nice shadow over her eyes.
As much as law still worked the concept of carrying your own firepower was more or less a right, opposed to a privelage. Cops would have their hands full. In truth it were the PMC's which kept the peace, 'I count about 6 LAV's on the way in. Get on anyones gushy side and I'll have to deal with them on the way out,' not to mention the 35 or so personnel. It was a new PMC, one Aya didn't recognise; likely formed from two companies banding together and working under a new name. Not maintaining ties meant she couldn't be all buddy-buddy with a commander of a unit unfortunately, 'No VIP entry this time. It'd been great being saluted whenever I entered a room,' she looked at mercs turning heads in their convoy's direction, 'Held respect, and trust,'
This wasn't the time to be noticed though; as much as the Ivory girl had enjoyed the leadership role. A lot over the road provided decent spots for them to park up, crowded with cars for people gambling; Luna was Aya's gem, but that sort of thing was generally passed up for the sharper looking Borghini.
Springfield drawn from scabbard, the trio grouped up, "I suggest we grab some sort of means to communicate while we're at it," she threw the option out there. It would make her job easier to let Matt and Ty know when there was an obstruction further up the road.
Crossing the street ended up being far more uncomfortable than Aya had previously simulated. Stares. She shivvered even, "Uh, f*cks sake," pulling her hood down. It didn't work in so much colour, this was how disconnected she had become, 'Nothing I can't work on,' she flicked her hair, strengthed her stride, strutting; you made it look like you were important and had to be somewhere... and you were late.
Summary: People in the CBD and Casino's revolved around that template; everyone just figured you were full of yourself, not worth their time.
Honestly Aya just wanted to get the f*ck into the shop and breathe, "Righto, we'll meet back here. Don't forget to grab a radio or something..." she leaned a little looking up at the selection, 'Guns,' calming down, 'Least I know you guys won't hold anything against me,' considering inanimate objects weren't the type to judge.
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Post by Mikey on Jul 27, 2010 18:45:11 GMT -5
Tyson had been a bit disappointed. Aya had crapped out on the race as they were coming into town, and he had just been about to pass her. Sure, her bike had some speed, his truck was bigger and clumsier, but he could push that thing pretty fast. No telling how Matthew fared on their half of a race… He’d lost track of him, thinking of the Luna as a bigger threat than the Impala.
They pulled up, a huge building in front of them with plain lettering that labeled it a gun shop. Judging by the look of it, it would probably have what he needed, more than that as well. He just nodded when Aya mentioned picking up some communication equipment. Couple two way radios, on one frequency, it’d work for their needs.
He walked into the shop, smiling as he did. Place was a goldmine. He could already spot some things he needed. Keeping with the promise of only taking ten minutes, he made a beeline for a counter stocked with ammo. He saw a couple of guys moseying about, probably guards, most likely armed. Some of the firearms were free for a customer to pick up and check out, see if they liked them. If the same could be said for ammo, this place could get ugly quick. He walked to the counter and set his hands on it, more of a practice to put the other guys at ease. They could see his hands, knew that if he was armed he didn’t have a plan of doing anything.
“Whatcha need?” The guy behind the counter asked. He was old and grizzled, a thick grey beard lined his face. He didn’t have to be nice, this was a place of business. If Tyson didn’t buy anything, someone else would. He did some looking around, and right about then decided he’d be footing the bill for Aya and Matt. He had money to burn, and maybe it’d help Matt’s disposition. And Aya, she was just a friend. And he couldn’t picture her carrying around a good deal of cash if she had been living like she had the last few days.
“Need some six point five Grendel, twelve gauge shells, forty fours, three fifty sevens, seven sixty two by fifty one, and nine mils. You carry all that?” Tyson asked.
The mans eyebrows raised. That was a wide variety, was this guy really packing all of them guns around? “I can do that, how many?” He said.
“Need a thousand of the six point five, two hundred shotgun shells, three hundred nine mils, a hundred of the rest.” He said.
“God almighty, boy, you planning on going to war?” The guy asked. “Never mind, don’t tell me.” He said. He didn’t want to know.
“I got some friends.” He added. “Can you do all that?” He asked.
“Ya, I got that in stock. If you got the cash.” He said. “Better part of six grand for that.” He said. It came to five thousand and six hundred something.
“You stock radios here? Short range, twenty, thirty mile range?” He asked. Basic high end two way radios.
“Ya, we got some of them. Three hundred each.” He said.
“Three of them.” He said. The man snapped his finger and pointed, one of the guards who seemed to double as employees went off to grab what Tyson needed. He pulled out the bundle of money and tossed it on the counter. “Need some magazine’s too.” He said.
“What kind?” The man asked, quite interested now that he saw Tyson actually had the cash to pay for everything.
“Got any C drums for a six point five AR fifteen model?” He asked. The man nodded. “Glock thirty three mags?” He asked. The man nodded again. “Five of each.” He said. The man just nodded again, adding to the stack that was now growing on the counter. Boxes of rounds, magazines, now the radios. “MRE’s and water?” He asked. The man nodded again. “That makes you a preferred customer, their on the house.” He said, trying to sweeten the deal and make Tyson come back. Tyson knew if he ever did come back, it wouldn’t be in the near future. But he didn’t let this guy in on that. Tyson picked up some, not minding what flavors. They were all the same, crap food that was better to eat quickly and avoid the taste.
“That’d be it.” Tyson said. The man nodded and reached for an empty vinyl bag. He loaded everything inside and handed it to Tyson. Tyson nodded, the man nodded back, and he picked it up and walked away.
He noticed Aya looking around and stopped near her, pretending to look at a rack near her. He didn’t know what kind of folks hung around, best to pretend they weren’t together for the moment.
“See anything you like?” He said quietly, looking at a rack of big bore revolvers that was a few feet from what she was looking at.
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Post by .Merios on Jul 27, 2010 22:14:31 GMT -5
The bell tolled on the door as Matthew stepped in, the door shutting behind him. He had gotten rid of his cap, his over jacket and his dress shirt, leaving his black t-shirt covering his torso. He had his shoulder harness still secured over his chest with his Coach 12-Gauge double-barrel still fastened tightly in it's leather holster underneath his right armpit. His Mateba was also still on his right side, attached to his hip and belt due to it's girth, and was strapped in by two leather buckles into it's open-sided holster. He didn't want to conceal his weapons- he'd had problems with that in the past.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and casually strolled about the store, his eyes scanning the cases and walls. He noticed the men inside took a gander in his direction and he could feel eyes on him- paranoia wasn't sitting in, but he knew that they weren't going to start anything. Matthew moved towards the front desk and moved to lean down on it, crossing his arms on the glass as if he owned the place. The cashier took a step back as he approached.
"A pair of Stoeger Cougars, rails, two slide compensators and two under-barrel 'green-lights."
He glanced around the shop and then glanced back at the older man- he hadn't moved yet. Matthew lifted an eyebrow at him. The grizzled cashier moved about and gathered the pistols. He turned to lean on the counter with his elbows, looking over at Mikey and Aya. They were looking about some sort of display- or at least trying to. The shop keeper set the two pistols down on the glass and turned around to gather the other items. Matthew moved to grab the pistols in each hand, lifting them but not gripping them. He felt their weight a little bit- they were both black chrome, which complemented each other but he could tell that the right one was worn due to an array of scratches on the slide and a knick on the grip.
"Pre-owned?"
The shop owner turned to glance at Matthew holding the guns and then turned back around, gathering the items he requested.
"Yeah.. Got 'em in a set last month, full mags too. Must've salvaged them after a swarm."
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jul 28, 2010 8:30:18 GMT -5
"Nah," Aya quickly responded, hefting an Automag in her hands, "Well... there's plenty I like," her yellow eyes glowed at this, the soldier in her speaking, "I just don't need it," she glanced at Tyson, "Efficiency sorta thing too. I noticed you getting the radios though. Mind if you could switch mine for a headset? Hands free would help a lot is all," looking back to the high caliber rack, "It's not like I have the balance of four wheels. I got a little cash on me, if, y'know," having your equipment shouted was nice; Aya was grateful, no doubt there; she simply always felt iffy when someone paid for her.
Her hand wrapped around a Mk.V Trooper, pulling it down from its resting place. A magnificent looking revolver, all black with a dark olive drab grip, "And maybe..." she'd gestured the gun to Tyson. The little heart of a shopper beating in her chest; she wanted to go on a spree like other girls, piling up the clothing list. Only in firearms terms, "No..." she hooked it back up, "I don't need it," placing it back on the rack, "I just don't need it!" her hands went to her hips. A vacation with zilch to spend.
"I'll just grab my ammo," even though she didn't need it, it would seem suspicious if she didn't walk out with what she claimed to need. She stepped back from the display patting Ty on the shoulder before heading towards the counter. The guy serving seemed young, 'An apprentice maybe, newbie taking on the trade. We'll need that kind of person in the future,'
He beamed, "What canna do ya for?" poor choice of words, but it was obviously colloquial, plus his accent stood out.
"A box of Thirty-ought-..." the girl quickly spotted her blunder, "Sorry. A 50 pack of 7.62 by 51 please,"
He scrambled off for the ammo, slamming it down not long after, "Yer travelin' kinda light there. Most folks get a decent bulk... not the kinda bulk like that last fella, but ya see what I'm sayin',"
"Yeah," Aya pulled the box towards her, "I just never need a lot. I never miss the weak spot," she hightailed from the counter before the young man could retort. Good looks coupled with a preference to firearms always made guys... clucky; and Aya could count on one hand the number of females in the store. Being talked up wasn't uncommon; she just broke it loose before anyone got the impression they had a chance, 'Right... got my ammo. Just meet Matt and Ty back at the entrance,'
Aya had opened the box looking over each round when it had happened. She'd been waiting about five or so minutes for Tyson and Matthew to regroup.
It sounded like a shockwave. Aya had been around enough tech for it to sound akin to EMP, that gentle buzz it left in your ear; yet it felt focused. It had dazed her too strangly enough so that when the Landrover came crashing through the front of the gun shop she had nearly missed it. The underside blocked light as the vehicle wrapped around her.
7.62 rounds scattered on the floor, Aya's hands shook from the impact. She hadn't been ready for it. The feeling of your body being squished... or maybe when Bugs Bunny fell off a cliff and crumpled down into an accordion. Yeah, it felt something like that. The last rifle round dropped from her hand as it clenched into a fist.
'C-calm...' shaking the blur from her vision, 'Breathe...' an urge to boot the 4x4 back the way it had come was suppressed, she was in deep enough sh*t as it were.
Not to mention when her hearing returned to hear the candid gun fire sputtering outside. When one firearm rattled off though, it was quickly cut from where it stood by another shockwave sound. Aya stepped around the Rover to see the massive hole where the front entrance had been, a smear mark of a victim which had gotten in the way. Blue flashes of light coursed from outside, further down the street.
Aya leaned out spotting a single man donning odd gear, definitely some sort of armor; Aya couldn't spot his weapon but whatever it was, it did damage. A trigger pull meant waves of PMC dogs flew off into the air, or another car was sent crashing into an adjacent shop.
Pressing her back against the wall, Aya started her breathing technique. This meant one thing.
Silent orders were made out as Aya signalled for Tyson to make it across the street and into cover. She knew he'd be watching. In the meantime she observed the black clad soldier with his vorpal weapon in the reflection of the pranged front door hanging from its hinge.
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Post by Mikey on Jul 30, 2010 4:09:29 GMT -5
Tyson smirked as he heard Aya say she wanted quite a bit, but didn’t need any of it. She’d always liked firearms. And he could see the look on her face shine through every once in a while, see the kid in a candy store gaze as her eyes spotted something she liked. As if trying to will away the temptation, she walked away and to a counter to purchase some ammo. He didn’t bother telling her he had already gotten her a hundred rounds. Just a bigger stock for her in the end, a hundred and fifty plus rounds.
He examined an eight inch .44 Colt Anaconda, picking it up and sighting in at an empty wall as Aya walked off. He liked this thing. Had a nice heft, a barrel weight to cut down on muzzle rise. He checked the price tag, it was just over a thousand dollars. He was thinking of buying it, just to have, when he heard the crashing noise. Something fairly small, a car crash outside. Nothing to get his shorts in a wad about. It was the next noise that got him worked up.
The crashing noise of the SUV being thrown through the wall filled his ears, more so than the static type noise that filled the ears of the others in the shop. Ever since the explosion that gave him the scar on his face, he had always had a problem hearing high pitched tones or noises. He’d never been sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
The thing that filled his eyes, at first caused horror. He saw Aya, the vehicle rammed into her. Surly she was dead, the mangled hunk of metal that hit her dead on was unforgiving in every sense of the word. He went down low and made his way to the wall, having dropped the revolver he had been admiring and drawing his own weapon. The Glock 18C he’d stolen at the island, compact firepower. He used it for close quarters, where his rifle was a bit too unwieldy. People who had seen his rifle knew how unwieldy it was, how difficult it would be to use in an area like a doorway, a hallway, s*** that had become quite common in his increasingly urban area’s of operation.
He held the pistol up and tried to get a look to see who had done this, his first thought a BOW. A Tyrant picking up a car and throwing it, that wasn’t a stretch. He’d seen it happen more than once, and the impact it had hit the gun shop with was about right. Not too fast, not so slow it drug a part on the ground as it went. He couldn’t hear any of the sounds a Tyrant made, instead heard for the first time the energy output of the weapon the armored assailant used. He silently wondered what in god’s name that thing was when his gaze went back to Aya. She was ok. Quivering, shaking, like she was trying to hold herself together. Perhaps literally, after an impact like that. It seemed a stab through the chest wasn’t the limit on her healing capabilities.
She gave him a silent order, and just like old times, he nodded and pointed to his own truck. She had to know what he was getting at. He’d get to it, use it as cover for a moment, and then get into the bed to open up his case. Open it up and get the big guns out. Literally and figuratively.
He heard gunfire, a lot of it. Everyone and their dogs were trying to take this f**ker out, and judging by the continued sound of the energy weapon he was using, it didn’t seem to be working. Tyson peeked out, saw the assailant turned away from him. He spun out and ran as quick as his legs would carry him, which happened to be pretty damn quick for a man of his size. The six foot seven former Army Ranger turned Private Military Contractor stopped moving, slid his feet to the side, and let his top half bend back. He ended up in a slide on the street, ending up just behind his truck. He went low and looked for the man causing havoc from underneath, saw him with his back still turned. Tyson knew that in situations like this, if you hesitated you’d lose any chance you used to have and probably die in the process. He shot up and over the tail gate, crawling into the bed and to the case. He worked the latches, having left it unlocked, and flipped it open. His AR-15, a hybrid of parts from all model of AR model rifles, almost seemed eager to get out of the case. He hefted it in his hands, struggling with the weight for a moment as he kicked the case closed with his foot. It had the lower receiver of an M16A3 for Full-Semi-Safe fire, the upper receiver of the M16A4 for its sheer superiority. The fixed fore grip had a cover over it that ran the entire barrel. Attached were the Masterkey breeching shotgun system, and a metal shield that gave him some portable cover in firefight situations. The scope on top was a standard ACOG with a five times magnification. And right now, he was peering down that scope. The cross hair lined up with the guy causing havoc. Tyson jerked the charging handle back, he flipped the selector switch from safe to semi, and he fired off a 6.5 Grendel round. All the power of the 7.62, all the accuracy of the 5.56. Tyson he’d shot people through cars with this thing, the bullet still having the energy to pierce the military grade body armor they wore.
The only thing he could hope for when he pulled the trigger was that the body armor the man was wearing wasn’t as advanced as the weapon he was using.
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Post by .Merios on Jul 30, 2010 16:40:03 GMT -5
Matthew finished eying the guns and he sat them on the counter, the shop keeper turned to him and set the rest of the items he ordered into what looked like a black plastic case including the two cougars. He slid it over to Matthew, turning to what looked like a piece of paper behind the counter and then turned back. Matthew noticed the man staring off in the distance behind him. He turned around just as the SUV collided with the front of the door, destroying the windows and the double-doors and knocking over a long display case. The store's contents were jostled and around the SUV, a lot of weapons clattered to the floor. Matthew quickly grabbed the case just as the SUV smashed into Aya, pinning her against the wall. She slid out as the door to the SUV opened, a man in heavy body armor stepped out and was now in the street.
The store owner had ran into the back and locked the door and the remaining two men in the gun shop ran outside to add a few more guns to the mix. Matthew took this opportunity and pulled himself over the counter, sliding over the glass and landing on the other side. He looked down and noticed a rather large dufflebag just bunched in a shelf. He pulled it out and unzipped it, holding it open as he turned around, grasping what looked like a M1 carbine and stuffing it in the bag- he pulled another rifle off the wall- an M40- and slid it into the bag. He pressed the bag up against the display case and drove his right elbow into the glass, shattering it. He reached in and brushed away the glass from the ammunition boxes and ran his arm along, dumping an array of 9mm's, 7.62's, .45 ACP's, and what looked like a few boxes of .12 gauge shells. He turned and moved back around the counter- he could hear gunfire outside, but it didn't bother him. He just wanted to get what he needed and move.
He noticed a box of MRE's lying just behind the counter as he passed them. Matthew reached down and dumped a good portion of the olive drab food pouches into the dufflebag and turned to the pistol display case. There were so many weapons, he couldn't pick and choose. Once again, he brought his elbow down and shattered the glass with ease. He reached in a scooped up an array of semi-automatics and revolvers. The next case over was hunting gear- that would really come in handy for some of the larger creatures he'd faced before. The case was unlocked this time, so he slid it open and reach in, grasping what looked like a revolver- only twice as big. He heaved it into the dufflebag and scooped up two more large revolvers and one other large pistol magnum- he believed it was a Desert Eagle, but he didn't have the time to collect information.
By now, everyone was in the street- he wasn't paying attention at the time when a heavily armored man stepped inside the store, wielding a shotgun. Matthew turned around just in time for the man to squeeze the trigger, the slug soared right past his left ear, smashing into a display case behind him, showering Matthew with an array of pamphlets and assorted keychains. With a grunt, Matthew dropped the dufflebag and charged the man- he dropped his elbow and ducked just as the man lifted the shotgun for another shot- his head was close to the barrel when the slug exploded out and hit the front counter, exploding glass and ammunition poured out like a fountain.
Matthew quickly slid to the man's left, grasping the shotgun's pump with his left hand and his right hand gripping the area just above the trigger. He wrestled for control over the weapon with the man, spinning around slightly. Within mere seconds, Matthew pulled and then let go, the man's pulling action made him stumble against the SUV and hit the car door. Using this momentum, Matthew rocked back and then forward, rushing in with his left elbow to the man's chest. Just as the soldier was recovering from the smack against the SUV, Matthew's elbow collided with his chest, he felt the soldier's rib cage collapse under his strength and a spray of blood was pumped out of the man's throat and mouth, spraying into Matthew's face with a streak of crimson.
Matthew stepped back and let him slide down the SUV, dropping into a seated position and stare off in the distance, life fleeting from his body. Matthew sighed and moved his hand to his face, wiping the blood from his face and slinging it to the ground. Matthew moved back over to the dufflebag and picked it up. A mass of gun accessories were strewn about the ground, so he took the opportunity to grab an arm full and stuff them into the dufflebag with haste. He zipped the bag up and slung it around his torso. His right hand reached down to his side and grasped the grip of his Mateba and pulled it out, walking out of the gun store with it at his side.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jul 30, 2010 21:15:14 GMT -5
As Tyson roadie ran for his truck Aya ducked out of her spot and headed further up the road finding a break in the buildings. When her back met the wall her Springfield unslung and loaded. Looking over at the parking lot, Ty was already in the bed of the Ford and setting up his old friendly. Aya peared down her scope to get a good look of the gear the hostile sported, 'Nothing I've seen before,' observing as more mercs flew into the air, 'Blue running lights, looks like that thing is supposed to survive a Nuclear holocaust,'
Noise behind her. Aya turned to spot another, less armor covered hostile duck into the gunshop and engage whoever was inside. Concern. Tyson had a good view back into the shop, he could take him down in his own time. Rather, a burst from his AR-15 was sent downwind at the priority target.
Aya looked back down her scope, she had to see this. The bullets embedded into the armor, seemingly making a dent at least. Then the plates began to glow blue, the air around the soldier rippled; it seemed all of the oxygen was sucked in. For a moment the impression that nothing was going to happen was a plausible one before the same bullets Tyson fired off where zapped out of the armor and back in their direction. A Grendel round spacked the sign next to her, flinching.
A new signal, cut throat. Aya swiped her hand against her neck insinuating [Cut it out] to Tyson. She made another one, something a little more obvious; her thumb and little finger out and up to her ear [Need the phone]
She braced herself as the hulk pitched her a radio, flying over the open road. Arm stretched out to catch, "D'joo see that?" Aya called over screams around her, "Until we find a weak spot hold back on shooting, could be hazardous for us and civvies," she poked her head out, assessing the situation, "Actually..." she was about to contradict herself, a bad habit she had brought onboard recently, "Give me covering fire. Get his attention but don't hit him. I'ma try and yank his helmet off,"
Tucking the radio into her back pocket, Springfield back over her shoulder. While progressing between cover sprays of Ty's AR spewed down the street, a hell of a lot more effective than anything the PMC crew were throwing at it, 'It's just a matter of time before they bring in some real armor,' Aya could imagine a tank rolling in, potentially being mangled by the energy weapon.
As mentioned, the 6.5 Grendels did well. Slowly it dawned upon the clad soldier that there was a hell of a lot more resistance behind him than in front and turned to engage, looking in Tyson's direction. Aya leaned out, readying up just as a PMC soldier appeared from his own cover screaming; brandishing a grenade launcher. The 40mm jettisoned, about to slam into the glowing plates.
It exploded before impact and sprayed all of the contents back at the PMC tearing him to shreds, 'blink of an eye' style, 'I've had enough,' Aya sprinted out of her cover, "Come'ere!" her voice boomed as she Locomotive leaped at the hostile.
Even with the force she applied he remained standing, her shoes on his chest and her hands gripping the helmet tight. All she could see in the soldier's mask was her own reflection, no face to identify. Slowly the muscles in Aya's arms grew as the metal helmet crinkled, giving more and more each passing second.
Her mind hadn't been thinking about opposing possibilities thought, the clad soldier had managed to get his energy weapon up and pointing at Aya's stomach, the muzzle looking more like a curved iron plate, 'This'll hurt,' her insight changed as the full force of the weapon blasted her into the air.
The stomachache wasn't as bad as first predicted; it was slamming through a 5th story apartment window which had stung. Even after impact Aya still flew across the room, carried by inertia, crashing through another wall and into the bathroom, "Urgh..." a little wet now after snapping the tap over the sink. The headache definitely overruled the stomachache at this stage.
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Post by Mikey on Aug 1, 2010 6:14:16 GMT -5
Tyson hadn’t been sure what was happening. He had to think it was a trick of the light, a trick his mind was playing on him. Maybe some jerk off wasn’t watching his fire. s***, maybe Matt had dosed the oranges he’d given to Tyson an hour or so earlier. A lot of s*** could be happening, but one that that wasn’t possible was the fact that this f**ker was eating bullets and spitting them back out.
A round came back at Tyson, hitting the windshield of the truck. It cracked a bit, a small bubble of impact that ran cracks along for a foot or so. Ya… this f**ker was taking rounds and ricocheting them. Now he’d seen it all…
He kept up the fire, for a reason unknown to him. Something like that, it had to take a lot of energy. Maybe the battery would run out? Fat f**king chance… He crouched down and hid as best he could when he saw Aya give him her first motion. She had a better view, she saw better than he did what exactly was going on. Her second motion, he got into the bag that had still been on his shoulder for the run to the truck and took out a radio. He threw it to her, a perfect throw. He’d always liked to play football on base, anywhere they could. He got damn good at throwing. He picked up another radio and listened.
“Ya, I saw it, I did it!” He yelled into the radio. “What the f**k do we do now?” He asked her, looking at the man in the weird ass armor as he decimated a mercenary with his own grenade. This was getting bad…
“Ten four.” He said when she told him to get his attention. Tyson got back up, a clear target, and fired off several more rounds around the mans feet mainly. The only thing that hit him were chunks of the asphalt that were kicked up by the powerful rounds. Cutting off the fire when Aya entered the picture, he saw her leap from her position and land directly on the man. He watched as she ripped at his helmet, trying to get it off so Tyson had a clear shot. Things seemed to be going well, the helmet seemed to be giving when the armored man did something that made Tyson scream out at Aya. The discharge of the weapon cut it out, and Aya was gone.
“Motherf**ker!” Tyson yelled in anger, lining up and firing. He knew full well it didn’t work, but something in him was ripe with rage. He’d done this before, not for a long time. Anyone who saw it would probably just say he snapped. Standing there, open for anyone to pick off, rifle set to full auto, spitting rounds from the muzzle and brass from the side, face contorted in anger. He watched as the attacker turned back to its intended target, maybe musing that all of the fire had been coming from one source as he lined up the weapon. Tyson saw this, jumping from the bed to the top of the cab and then to the ground painfully as the truck was swept from its place and thrown into a building that it was parked in front of.
Tyson lifted his head, a ringing in his ears. All he could hear over it was his breathing. Gunfire, explosions, people screaming or yelling, nothing got through to him. He looked around in a daze for a moment, standing up and stumbling. He stared around blankly for a moment, just then remembering what was going on. He saw in a haze, his vision blurry and tinted grey. He could hardly feel his body, worked on instinct to move. He saw the man in the black armor, stumbling for a moment before he caught his footing and began toward him. Guns didn’t work, so maybe something a bit more personal would. Aya’d had some luck, he just had to finish what she started.
He made his way to the man, his right hand drawing the long bladed knife from its sheath on his belt. He held it with his thumb and index finger, letting it fall and snatching it in a grip that allowed for easy stabbing. He made it to the man, who had turned away and was busy decimating other PMC members who tried to resist. Some of them saw Tyson, saw what he was going to do, and stopped firing to go to cover and watch, see if the giant of a man had any luck.
He got close, close enough to touch the man, wrapped his left arm around the face of the helmet. Using his body weight, he spun and jerked, a motion that would probably break someone’s neck. The man’s spine held, but the damaged helmet didn’t. As the man found himself airborne from the hip throw, Tyson held fast to the helmet. The motion, the weight of the man pulling against the near unflinching counter weight of Tyson, caused the helmet to separate. As the man tried a hasty recovery, Tyson lashed out, throwing the helmet. The fairly weighty piece of armor collided with his skull. Skin split and blood poured from a scalp laceration, and the man felt woozy, Tyson knew the look. Kicking the rifle from the mans grip, Tyson grabbed at the ledge between the neck of the armor and where the helmet had connected, and put all of his strength into the stab. It entered the mans cheek, past the tongue, buried into the fibers of his spinal cord, and exited the back of his neck. The blade twisted, the razor sharp edge cutting fiber of the spine and flesh. Blood spurted, covering Tyson with the crimson liquid of the torn jugular vein.
On one motion, he had killed a man and made sure he was dead two more ways. And just like that, his haze lifted. He saw clearly, he felt the warm blood still spurting from the man's wound, he heard the ereeie silence. And he felt... Peaceful.
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Post by .Merios on Aug 1, 2010 12:01:47 GMT -5
Matthew casually stepped out of the gun shop but quickly halted his stride, watching the events go down- the man with the odd body armor was taken out by Tyson, which was a rather impressive yet albiet gory display. Bringing the dufflebag up to his torso, he wrapped it around his body so it wouldn't be slung over one shoulder. He looked down at his Mateba and sheathed it, knowing that a .357 would bounce off just as easy as a 6.5. His Impala was a block away, and he wanted to get to it before it got demolished by the PMC. There were a few stores down the street that had streams of civilians pouring into the streets- he could use them as cover, as bad as that sounded.
He started to jog to the right, heading towards his parked car when he felt an odd sensation- first it felt like a cool blast of freezing air, but when he felt pressure on his back, he knew what it was- the same weapon that sent Aya soaring. It clicked in his mind just as his feet left the ground; the world seemed to be moving in slow motion as he fell forward and was propelled forward horizontal and snapped towards the ground, face first. His head and chest hit the ground like an anvil, cracking the pavement as he skidded on his right cheek a few feet before dropping his lower body onto the ground. Riot control weapons? All he could do was think- he didn't quite have the time to act, seeing as he was immobilized at the moment.
He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and through the blaring ring in his ears, he could hear footsteps approaching him like it was amplified. He turned his head and lifted it up slightly, the world still blurry as the armored man approached, lifting his weapon directly at Matthew. His vision cleared up just to see the man aim down the sights and pull the trigger once more. Another shockwave ripped through Matthew's body and he could feel bones breaking in his chest. His body was lifted up and thrown to the side, his arms and legs going limp as he soared towards the brick wall of a sandwich restaurant. He felt another jolt as the force of the blast propelled him through the bricks, spraying debris inside the room and he finally stopped when it came to the second interior wall. He hit what felt like metal and he let out a loud and jagged cough as his back and shoulders hit the cold aluminum, denting a cavity inside the metallic wall and resting there, unable to move. His right cheek had the skin almost peeled off the muscle, pouring blood onto his collar and crimson was slowly dripping out of his mouth. The price to pay for not paying attention.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Aug 1, 2010 14:18:45 GMT -5
'Thank god the people living here flush,' a limber foot kicked away the piece of resting toilet bowl. For comical purposes Aya used the door to exit the bathroom rather than the mamoth hole she'd made beside it; holding her head. Quick check, "All in one piece," her hand shot for her Springfield; it too remained intact.
Crossing the appartment floor, covered in debris; front door was open indicating the residents had fled; whether that was before or after Aya had made her entrance was uncertain. Leaning out of the window/hole, she was given an excellent view of the area; specifically the clad soldier.
Even more specifically of how Tyson approached him, peeling off his helmet like a bottle cap and finishing the job. Aya smiled, laughing at this, switching on her radio, "Way to steal my thunder," she leaned against the wall, "Nice job, Ty," stuffing the two-way in her jumper pocket, 'So long as we get through the shell, they're vulnerable,'[/b]
The television in the room crackled; it hadn't really been registered that it was on earlier as the broadcast signal had been stuck on the multicoloured, 'programme will continue shortly' screen. Now a stage with the American flag was displaying.
Aya watched the box like a zombie, sans dropped jaw and drooling; something about it had screamed inconsistant. A masked figure walked on, balaclava, dark military fatigues, 'Is he with a PMC?' and manned the microphone at the centre, 'No patch...'
"Las Vegas!" his voice nearly roared, definitely far better quality than what the television should have offered, "The City of Sin!" definitely too good a quality, Aya poised an ear at her entrance hole, "The undead plague is scattered across the world, yet somehow this city is left standing," something in Vegas was supporting his voice; it wasn't just being broadcast but put on loudspeaker for the entirel capital to hear, "Can anyone tell me why this is the case?" he had come across as bit of a dictator before that line, charisma suddenly flowing from him.
Another two men joined him on stage dressed in the same fatigues, carried between them was another individual linked via arms with a bag over his head, unlike the others he wore a simple business suit, "The greatest bastion of remaining civilization, in the hands of greed,"
Aya rolled her eyes, 'You've made your point,' if he didn't wriggle on with his speech she was changing the channel.
"I think this place needs a little cleansing of all its corruption," it seemed a bit of a rough call claiming all of Las Vegas were corrupt; Aya could personally vouch that it had become a mecca for crime, but this guy spoke of it as a single body.
That was the hook, the 'single body'; Aya was interested now, "Even the most pure of mind can be tainted," his hand reached for the bag over the mans head, "Even a leader," pulling it off. The camera zoomed in.
The face would be recognizable by anyone. Along with the seconds the President of the Remaining United States had of air time several still shots were editted in, same man personally involved with what were clearly unlawful acts; most likely 'do it yourself' scenarios with a gun in hand and gag-bound victim at the other end, "Your leader is a criminal!" as if to defy the 'Airbrush!' retort, proper video footage was displayed along side.
Between Las Vegas and Jacksonville, the former was the chosen home site for El Presidente. A multitude of reasons. Resources for one. The majority of Americans rested here too. Jacksonville acted as more of a HUB for military opposed to civilian life; it was why you only saw PMC's drawling around Nevada. Choice of home town wasn't helping in this regard.
The sound of a slide catch being released snapped Aya out of her thought, the head character had drawn his sidearm, "We need to start somewhere," no remorse was shown as the muzzle pressed against the President's head and a hollow point pulled everything inside - outside.
A moment of silence was spent for the body to go limp and drop. Aya could swear she heard the collective of the city scream. Her own heart skipped a beat.
Sh*t just got real.
"Tear yourselves apart," the masked man came closer to the camera, "While there's still something left," and the screen went black.
A hand to her head; unconciously Aya had taken a seat, "A little too obvious there's some profound meaning in that last bit," she wiped her face, "Guess that was what he aimed for," standing, groaning.
More sounds of the energy weapon from before could be heard; Aya returned to the hole in the wall looking down Tyson's way. He was fine. Down the other end of the street was another high tech soldier firing blue light like candy.
Quick descent. Aya reached for the drain pipe and skidded down, gripping tighter towards the bottom to soften the landing. A lightbulb had popped around the third floor giving her a grand idea, "Ty!" she shouted while catching up with the man of the hour, skidding to a halt, "Oh... a bit of limelight," not particularly noticing the onlookers before reaching him, "Where's Matt?" looking about, was he still in the shop?
Shaking her head. Too many thoughts at once. Aya looked to the dead clad soldier, more specifically the knife jutting out of his head. She kneeled down and jimmied it free, "C'mon champ," she replied gracefully to his craftsmanship, wiping blood from his rage ridden face, "There's more of'em," returning the blade to his grip, "And I wouldn't mind trying some fire against fire,"
The energy weapon was quite heavy; curvey too. The similarities between it and typical weapon design ended at the stock and pistol grip. After that it exploded out into some sort of cylinder mechanism, capcitors or some sh*t sticking out of it and the curved metal plate Aya had come face to face with before; electricity seemed to bounce between it and the receiver... err... 'body' of the firearm. For simplicities sake Aya called it the EBR, or Energy Blast Rifle.
She huffed it up while turning on her heal; theories running wild; her target in sight. He had moved a ways down the street and still continued to blast people into ragdoll status. As soon as Aya was in range she returned the gift pulling the trigger in his direction. The soldier barely felt it though, doing no more than stumbling while paper and rubbish flung into the air, 'It's got to be the suit!' he turned to face her.
There was little in the way of asking to be launched through the air again. A little animated image of two block magnets pulling away from each other played out in Aya's head, straight away a fearless attitude filled her. She would need it.
Both her and the clad soldier fired at the same time, the blue energy colliding and acting in a catalyst. Being front and centre gave the Ivory girl a good look at the small ball just before it expanded into a massive dome covering the street. She left the ground again, the EBR leaving her grip.
The landing had been a lot less kind than before. How far Aya had gone was lost to her. Pulling free of the SUV she had landed on top of showed ground zero two or so blocks; further observation made Tyson close by. For the first time in a while Aya admitted she actually felt genuinely dazed.
Summary: the weapons being fired at each other had left a remarkable crater 40 or so metres wide reaching into the adjacent store and over the nearby parking lot; scorch marks even climbed up the wall of the building front. Clad soldier? He wasn't moving. Good kill. Enough excitement of that variety for one day.
"Sure," Aya croaked, "Like this peaceful moment will last longer than a minute in these odds," sitting up on the hood of the SUV, the sounds of war all around Las Vegas echoing, 'Pressing issues,' they had pulled into a hornets nest. Too lazy to shout or walk over, Aya slipped her radio from her pocket; testing it, "I reckon it's about time we found out if Dragonfly is in town," she called to Tyson; annoyance in her voice. They both knew how much 'fun' that could turn out to be.
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Post by Mikey on Aug 2, 2010 1:25:46 GMT -5
The radio squawked in his pocket, Aya kidding about Tyson taking the kill. He picked the radio from his pocket and hit the call button.
“Well, someone has to clean up the messes you leave half done. Watch yourself up there, Goldilocks.” He said, referencing the Three Bears. He looked around when he hard the voice, a booming male voice. He sounded like a prick, condescending and arrogant. Tyson caught the scene’s being played in the TV of a nearby shop, knocked to the ground but still working. Tyson watched intently, not moving from his spot. As the broadcast went on, he felt something like fear take hold of him. Disgust at the execution. Odd, how it effected him after what he had just done. The fear… That was quite understandable. Were there really that many of these f**kers out there? One of them had just decimated buildings and people alike, could there really be enough to take hold of the broadcasting system of Las Vegas, film this, send it out into the TV system, all of that? Jesus… Things were going from bad to worse.
Tyson felt Aya at his side, looking down at the man he had just killed. He was missing a sense of remorse, a sense of doubt, a sense of anything. Anything that made a human being right in the head in such a situation. Sure, instinct could take over and anyone could be capable of things that seemed barbaric to people still in their right mind, but a lot of the time, the normal people felt something afterwards. And what most would consider worst, he was angry. He didn’t give two s***s about this guy, he gave two s***s about the others just like him. Total dicks with that kind of gear, that kind of potential to do that kind of damage… God help them.
He felt her wipe blood away from his face, smirking and batting her hand away like a child would his mother doing the same thing. He was always an advocate of enjoying something while you could, because who knew what was around that next corner?
“I don’t know where he is.” Tyson answered a bit late, taking his knife and looked to where she indicated. Another one… He liked it. Another chance to hurt these boys. He sure hoped they were the family oriented kind of group, thought of each other like brothers and sisters. It made killing them all the more sweeter.
The whole way, Tyson was at Aya’s side. She picked up the odd weapon, he watched her back and sides. She tried to fire at the next armored man, he cursed when the blast did nothing. And when she got the idea in her head, to do something that was probably nine kinds of crazy, he stood by her all the same. As he flew through the air, he almost had an inkling of regret. When they landed, he was starting to wish he’d have run.
Tyson, just like Aya, had been thrown like a rag doll by the force of the… Was it an explosion? He didn’t know if it could be called that, he’d never seen anything like what just happened. All the same, he ended up on the hood of the same SUV, his back crashing into the windshield and almost buckling it under both his weight and the incredible force he had been hit with. He sat up, cracking his neck and rotating his shoulders to try and get rid of the slight pressure in his shoulder blades. He continued to stretch, moving his right shoulder foreword and down, stopping with a sharp inhale when he felt a stabbing pain in his ribs. Great. Probably broken bones.
“Told you not to cross the streams.” He said with a raspy voice. He couldn’t help but smirk through the pain, sliding off the hood and suppressing a grunt from the shockwave of pain that went through his torso. He stood very still and straight for a moment, daring not to move until he was ready for it. He eyed the dead man with the helmet on, and then to the dead one with the helmet off, lying in a pool of blood. “We do good work.” He said, the same thing he’d said to her in Louisiana. Louisiana… More and more he was wishing they’d have stayed there. At least they’d have caught the end of this and not the explosive beginning. But then they wouldn’t have taken out two of them. And the two of them had caused enough damage already, imagine if they hadn’t been around to stop the further damage.
He winced when he heard her talk about finding a PMCD outpost. He had a special dislike for the company. He didn’t quite hate it, but they’d f**ked Aya over pretty well, the old administration being crooked as a Virginia fence. Sure, Clay was in charge now, but history was full of honorable men who did a heel turn and turned into rotten pricks. Hell, as it was, Clay wouldn’t have much control. To add to the fact that he was all the way in the Middle East, in this kind of chaos things could happen and no one would be the wiser.
But… they were going to need some backup. Three people, maybe two, he couldn’t see Matt anywhere, against whoever these guys were? He didn’t know how far her powers would help her, and he was only human. Enemy of my enemy, seemed about right for the time being. He made his way to his truck, picked up the case that survived the impact with a fair amount of ease, and then his rifle. As expected, the case survived the equivilant of a sixty or so mile per hour car crash with ease. The rifle... It was twisted and snapped in places, bent in others. It'd been caught by the magnetic blast... "f**k." He said, dissapointed more than anything. He'd had this same rifle for years...
“Don’t expect tea and biscuits…” Tyson muttered, bitter from both the loss of his rifle and the fact that they'd need to work with PMC-D again. He didn’t know his standing with the company, but he was an ex member without any strikes against him. Did that count for anything?
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Post by .Merios on Aug 2, 2010 12:46:43 GMT -5
Consciousness returned with a loud ringing and blurriness accompanied by screams of the restaurant patrons and the business outside. Being unconscious for a few minutes meant he missed the broadcast, which meant he was a bit behind. He lifted his head up from his chest and looked around, feeling starting to tingle back to his extremities as he finally realized where exactly he was. Quite literally, he was in a wall- the metal crunched around him like aluminum foil and he was sitting in the caved-in section that he made. He attempted to lean forward and get out, but immediately he felt pressure on his chest, almost as if something was pushing him- holding him back.
He had forgotten about the dufflebag he was carrying, which was now lying on the floor in front of him, the strap snapped off but otherwise intact. There was a tightness in his chest, which he recognized as bones pressing against his sternum- he had broken at least three. He coughed hard once and pushed himself away from the wall with a shove, he dropped to the floor and landed in a heap on his left side. He let out a short grunt as his torso hit the hard tile. He had to move- he had to get up, that soldier would be back any second. He slowly pulled himself to his knees, checking his side for his revolver- check. He then looked down to his left, seeing if his sawn-off was still in place- check. He breathed a sigh of relief, which sent a wave of pain down his right side. He let out a jagged cough and moved to stand up, straightening his back with a few loud pops.
He bent down and wrapped his right fist around the duffle bag's broken strap, lifting it and slinging it over his shoulder, holding onto the nylon fabric. He limped out of the restaurant, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He breached the doorway and his eyes focused on the light outside- there was the soldier he just had a run-in with, and he was incapacitated. He looked to the left, over at Aya and Tyson, who were now near an SUV. It was a little blurry but he lifted his left arm in a wave but quickly winced and dropped to a knee, the dufflebag hitting the ground. He moved his right arm to hold his left bicep- he had a dislocated shoulder. The right side of his face was still covered in blood but the crimson around his lips had dried. With a grunt and a shove, he twisted his left arm while holding onto the bicep with his right hand. A small 'pop' and a jolt of pain reassured him that it was now in it's proper position.
He looked up at the two once more, then to the right further on down the street- his Impala. The crowd was dissipating and he could see it was still untouched- albeit a little dusty. He bent down and scooped up the dufflebag and held it in his right arm as he limped towards the Chevy. As he approached it, he fished around in his left pocket for the keys. Within moments, he had the trunk opened and he tossed the dufflebag full of weaponry right inside. He slammed the trunk shut and turned around to lean on it, breathing heavily as he stuffed the keys back into his left pocket. He wasn't sure if the area was still hostile or not, either way, he was still a target, and still unarmed against these high-tech thugs.
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