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Post by Winters on Jun 19, 2012 6:44:11 GMT -5
Between the forests, high mountain tops, and the populated areas themselves, the surface of the province is a hunters playground. Since the infection hadnt been able to manage itself into the wildlife, nature still stuck around. Wolves and other dangers cross the tundra in search of food, and wont hesitate to kill a human given the opportunity. Best course of action is to set up shelter, and stay in groups, if you want to survive the night.
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Post by Winters on Jun 19, 2012 7:21:47 GMT -5
"Why are we even doing this in the first place, Griffin? Were both free men. Were not bound by anything but the lives we carry out, and our vices. Yet you choose to help these people? Gimme a break, your getting too old..." The free spirited man walked across the thick ice of the frozen lake, the orange glow fading away beyond the treetops miles away. He pondered in thought for the entire hike, and craved something a little more adventurous, even out here in the middle of Canadas Winter Wonderland. His partner spoke back to him in response to Hunters complaining. "Im doing it for answers. I believe Ascension knows something about us, where we come from. Call it a hunch, or just another case of me getting worked up over nothing, but it beats roaming around the United States. We dont have to deal with any infected up here."
Hunter closed his eyes, but kept along the same trail as his friend Griffin. He wouldve much rathered have been back in the cesspool that is Raccoon City, getting another fix of his daily routine. Here, it was like going through withdrawl. There was nothing to kill, nobody to eat. "People are boring here, theyre all convinced theyre safe, dont put up any fight. I got a hold of that bartender a few nights back, and- Griffin paused, and raised up his hand, ordering Hunter to shush and keep still. Not from disgust, even though he could only imagine how many pieces the lady was in, but it wasnt the time to be talking about that.
The sound of footsteps, more like pawprints, could be heard etching the ice. The banks on the outside of the lake had been high enough for the wolves to try and sneak up on them, but little did the hunters know, they would soon be the hunted. "Seven, I can feel their heartbeat. Four closing in from the east, three from the north." Griffin had pulled out his combat knife, while Hunter drew his machete. Both of them had been unarmed as far as firearms went, but they didnt need guns to take care of this situation.
Within the next minute, the wolves had circled the pair, and quickly began coming toward them. Hunter was already chopping away as they lunged for him, instinctively slicing them down as they pressed forward. Griffin, on the other hand, been slower, and the last wolf coming at him managed to bite down onto his leg. The blood seeped through he thick pants, and cakes the snow, a good chunk taken out of him. But a yelp was all that remained in the end, as the hound was put down by his blade. The remaining two backed off, and ran back across the tundra, fleeing in obvious terror. Hunter was already licking the blood from his machete, which Griffin kneeled down to check his wound. No infection, so it was able to heal rather quickly, or it would in about a half hour to and hours time. The blood stopped on its own in a matter of seconds, and he spoke out before his friend could say something out his recklessness.
"Im not as fast as I used to be, but theyre not carriers, ill be fine..." Hunter had been a bit too busy ripping through the corpses of the wolves, and didnt pay too much attention to what Griffin said. The taste of dogs blood was something he never got to enjoy in quite a long time, and was about to pass up the opportunity to scavenge the remains. Pulling out a hear from the dogs chest cavity, he squeezed it tightly in his hand, and spoke. "Youll heal fast if you eat, brother." Politely waving his hand, Griffin pulled out a small stainless steel flask from his back pocket, and took a long sip. "No thanks, im trying to quit." The alcohol had warmed his blood, which sped up the healing process, similar to what the blood would do but a little more civil in his opinion. "Again? How longs has it been since you last fed, then?
Thinking about it was almost too hard for him to manage. Quickly looking away, Griffin finished off the rest of his Brandy, and put the flask back into his pocket. "Too long to go back now. Lets keep moving, were clear from here to the target. I know you low light vision isnt as well adapted as mine, so the quicker we move, the less we have to spend walking in the darkness." The duo found themselves continuing on with their hike across the tundra, towards a log cabin on the edge of the treeline a couple miles east of their position. The temperature drop made it hard to tell if anything had been closing in on their position, but Griffin still had a good quarter miles range of awareness, especially with the alcohol in his system.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jun 28, 2012 23:02:16 GMT -5
The most comforting thing about the open outdoors is the range that you can have on your prey. Distance, Trees, Hills, and that subtle feeling of being alone was always in the favor of the hunter that was not yet noticed. The hunter could act as it wanted to, slow to the draw and savoring the moment before whatever contraption they desired sliced through the flesh and bone and left the prey confused and weak. To compromise your advantage over your enemy is to compromise the very thing that could prove useful to survival in situations such as these. The tundra had been a battleground, there and then. There would never be another chance to escape the situation without serious penalty, or better yet- without losing ones life completely.
Harold Waltz was not the type of guy to back down from a fight, but it seemed that the Ascension a**holes from earlier that were hidden in the snow weren’t the only ones that scouted this area these days. Dark eyes scanned over those that talked among themselves while taking in images of the broodier of the two feeding off the wolves. The joke about the Northern Provinces and Vampires crossed his mind more than once as he readied his strap on the holster. His finger guided the strap to the side, thus giving him the advantage of a proper quick draw technique without serious penalties involved. Harold was fast. Legendary in speed of light quickness and precision due to spending his entire life practicing his marksmanship as well as showmanship. Harold did not move a muscle as he blended in well with the tree line behind him. For all intents and purposes, he was nothing more than dead air in this extreme cold waiting to make his move on the meeting point.
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Five Days Earlier
Ascension had made their Power Play on the outlying areas of Yellowknife to ensure total obedience of civilian settlements. Ebony Squads had fanned out to retake the majority of the area that was lost to the civilian quells in previous disputes of Ascension Rule. Men, Women, and even Children were captured and lined up against specially dug ditches with each one given a dose of yellow liquid to ensure animation from T-Candidates was impossible before being shot in the head and pushed in to their final resting place. The process was well over in a matter of a day and the total kill count estimated around three hundred and eight. Those that had pledged allegiance to Ascension were left unscathed while those that followed “Old Values” were simply massacred without further questioning. There was hardly a fight due to the nature of the treason against humanity that Ascension had shown. Each man, woman, and child were dragged from their home before a fight could erupt and loaded into caged cargo trucks. Those trucks transferred them to the Killing Field, AKA The Tundra.
Harold Waltz was among the few ’Free Men’ that were able to flee the situation entirely, old values with Tricell seemed to be null and void when the majority of his squad was shot in the back by Ascension Loyalists. The stand-off was brutal and bloody but the final action taken had left Harold to question exactly what ’The Speaker’ was up to. These animals, these Ascension Loyalists did not ask questions, nor show mercy, nor demonstrate fair and balanced conflict. No, they simply made contact in the most barbaric of ways with high volleys of firepower raining upon their prey, killing and maiming anything that bled. Harold could account the reaction that was shown when the first Loyalist fell. There was no attachment. One fell and the rest simply left the body to be consumed by a beast on a later date. Death simply seemed to be something that these monsters had come to understand and tolerate.
Waltz had managed to flee the immediate area of effect in which the massacre took place. What was exactly two days time to the minute seemed like it lasted for years. The Betrayers, Men and Women that he had served with, ate with and even spent Poker Night with had deemed him as a traitor to Ascension. These Ascension Loyalists quite literally had broken the Cease Fire truce between Tricell and Umbrella Loyalists most likely had erased him from the Company Records. Knowing the hard-on that the former ‘Speaker’ of Tricell had for him it would only be a matter of time before they organize a search party to hunt him down like a wounded dog. Betrayal was something that he had become quite intimate with over the years, and if these bastards wanted a fight, he’d oblige.
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Harold Waltz knew that Ascension was not the average run of the mill boy scouts that were promoted in Umbrella and Tricell factions. These soldiers followed the ideals of one individual in particular but multiple individuals as a whole.
The metal that hung valiantly from his side was that of steel and gunpowder with inscribed images that littered it’s entirety. The weapons of choice for this little outing on terms of signature brands were Lady Luck, a Three Fifty Seven Revolver with a Vegas-style motif and Number Five, a Three Fifty Seven inscribed with the custom poetry- the words …With a Bullet inscribed promptly on the barrel. Each weapon was part of the collection that Harold Waltz had either custom made or acquired at one point or another. Lady Luck having been the promotional weapon issued during his stay at The Mirage a couple years back. One weapon was in training, the Lady and the other was a veteran of the craft. Each weapon could certainly pull their weight in armed combat and Harold Waltz was no stranger to either showmanship or the draw. Number Five had claimed close to seventy honorable kills while The Lady only seduced her way into six. Every shot was counted, not a bullet wasted once.
This was the time and place that Rebel Commander Isaac Ross had chosen to meet up with the rest of the unlucky bastards that weren’t shot in the back of the head during the initial betrayal. A dingy old cabin that was set in the backwoods-like area of the tundra. The damned thing must have been a half-way point for the old miners that flocked in and out of Yellowknife during it’s establishment. But now, the thing could burn to the ground without a problem and no one would most likely seem to care at all. It was filthy. It was run down. And it had corpses of who Harold was suppose to meet up with littered out front.
Out of the seventeen people that Harold could actively remember being part of the evading tactic, ten of them were stacked in a pile outside the cabin. The kills definitely looked recent and were estimated to be in the seven hour mark give or take a couple of hours. The uneasy filling of some jerk-off about to prematurely fire a round from some high powered rifle wore thin on Harold’s mind and evasive action was soon to be taken. There were no signs of a snipers perch or glimmering metal in the near area. Further observation of the outpost showed that his colleagues were not the only ones that had taken a bullet for the cause. Men dressed in Ascension-related fatigues were scattered throughout the inside of the cabin. Each one’s life was taken be close combat weaponry, namely the same weapon that was standard issue by Marlboro Enterprises Mercenary Corp. A Tactical Arch Slim Seven, a variation of the US Standard Special Field Operations Cutlery, was most likely boosted from one of the Ascension members and used to commit the murders. That- or the new version of the weapon was merely used BY one of the Mercenaries to aid the escape of the others. The kills were clean, some struggle involved, but otherwise perfectly executed with little movement being for naught.
Harold stood over one corpse in particular, Captain Christopher Seville of Formerly Tricell Special Forces. Harold had remembered the cup of coffee in the break room and the unheard of amount of tension Seville’s Personal Squad had shown in their eye movement. Even the dialogue shared seemed haughty and short. Nevertheless, the first tip to a ambush came in something the man had mentioned about “ Times are always changing. One minute everything seems perfect and the next moment change comes to smack you in the face. You got to be resilient.” That quote seemed like some wise man giving a lesson to a nubile student, but now that all of this had happened, it seemed the man was more or less tipping Harold off to the inevitable. It was then that Harold had noticed the killing blow was different in the factor of Seville’s death- the blade in question was not apparent, but instead a gunshot to the heart-area from his back stood out broader than hell. He was shot from behind by a small arms at skin-range. The kill was clean but obviously the process of dying took staggering minutes for him to bleed out. The look in his eyes spelled signs of betrayal.
The question was exactly who initiated the slaughter, who got the jump, and who the enemy really is. At this point and time their could be The Resistance, Ascension, and some Rogue Operatives all getting a slice of the killing field. Harold hated situations like this due to the nature of espionage in general. A man could sit in on every little second of a conversation, give you his life savings and then introduce a knife to your throat all at the same time. It was always the ones that ’ACTED’ generous that were really the wolves in sheep’s clothing. Harold had his run of having to play Mr. Nice Guy long enough to get close to a target, but the more he thought about the situation at hand, the sicker to his stomach he got.
Harold felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up before a familiar voice spoke in a smooth, assertive, feminine tone. The vocal chords gave off that sort of seductive deep appeal, but it was obvious that the woman was practicing strict business, “ Place your hands on top of your head, Waltz.”
The click of the pin achieving the rights to blow the head off the corpse examiner signified that a bullet was prepared to enter and exit his head in need be. Harold didn’t need to look at the woman to know she was Ellen Sutherland of Section Orange. He remembered that she was young, mid-twenties or so with naturally blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her skin tone was like a tanned peach and he height was somewhat a squat Five Foot Seven Inches. Her figure was deceptive, sleek and slender but right in feminine features. She was beautiful for all intents and purposes but that might be the reason why she was most likely one of the hardest females to graduate to a Officers Position in Tricell Mercenary Corps. Right her and now Harold had no choice but to let the woman call the shots, or suffer the consequences of another hole to decorate his facial features from behind.
Harold did as he was told and decided to go through the motions at this point and time.
“ You would think that a TRAITOR like you would get the hell out of Dodge City when those bullets started flying,” Ellen spoke as she kept the Glock Nine Millimeter trained heavy on the back of Harolds skull, her stance placed defensively to ensure that he could not power his way back and give opening for a counter-assault. She had him dead to rights, and she knew it. She continued with a slight mocking tone, “ Instead, here you are, not even out of Ascension Territory and still nosing around in business that does not quite belong to you. I applaud your admiration, Harold, but you should have really just disappeared.”
Harold cracked a smile, in a sarcastic sense he then practiced a hoity toity exaggeration to his words, “ Now why do you think I’d go and do that? Y’know, I liked you better when I could jus’ check you out from across the room. A little lady like you should saddle up with a REAL cowboy and not follow some money grubbin’ bigot like the oh so notorious Mister Marlboro.”
“ Marlboro is a Saint, Harold. His efforts have relocated what’s left of our families into Yellowknife, men, women and children all issued dwellings and given hopes of surviving this damned apocalypse,” Ellen spoke while grinding the barrel into the back of the mans head, each motion shifting his dark hair back and forth in the process.
“ Marlboro, a Saint? Las’ time I checked, Marlboro was busy collecting kids from Settlements to have his quack Scientist’s conduct some kind of new experimentation on em’. Ya’know, I’d-”
That’s when it came, a hail of bullets from the window that ricocheted off anything resilient and absorbed into everything else. The distraction paving the way for Harold the launch off his feet and directly into a standing table. The momentum and weight involved with the evade seemed to distribute onto the table directly causing it to collapse all four legs at once. For all intents and purposes, Harold was safe from view. A small number of gunmen with automatic assault weapons were ripping holes into Anna and it was almost obvious that those whom were in the immediate area could witness through sight or sound that the cabin was being riddled with bullets.
The gunmen are dug in and scattered to the direct left broadside of the cabin, making a move on them would prove useless at this point and time because there would most likely be others covering their position. At this point and time it is impossible to know if they work for Ascension or the Rogue Group that Harold suspects exists. Knowledge of this Rogue Group is not contemplated by any outside means and is most likely a way for Harold to understand the betrayal at the Cabin without actually understanding anything. If a man is spotted, they are wearing winterized combat fatigues with light riot armor. This armor is capable of protecting them against small arms fire and melee assault. Various automatic weapons are used for primary fire and secondary pistols are used for back-up fire. Each member stays in complete radio contact at all times, though the communications lines are silent until further notice. This group is sharp as a tack and various members have dug in all around the area.
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Post by Winters on Jun 29, 2012 2:58:50 GMT -5
The gunfire was easily heard, even a normal human would figure out where it came from, and that was the exact direction the two had been headed. Hunter and Griffin were on the move, getting close and close, keeping their senses keen for any signs of life. With the amount of gunfire, there wouldve had to be more than one, even two gunman, which meant these guys were heavily armed. A small range of calibers were identified, and with the scope in, close to a dozen living flesh scattered through the tundra near the cabin ahead. They were moving, and were calm as ever, protecting, they were watching for a signal.
"Think hes in there?" Hunter questioned, still not able to scope out exactly what they were up against. "Yeah, I do, and by the sounds of it, were not the only ones looking for him. But we need him alive, so if were going to do this, we have to eliminate the assaulters, preferably from a distance." But a distance wasnt going to happen, as either of them had a gun capable of hitting something at such a long rang, and even if they could get closer in undetected, it would be risky had they been keeping radio contact. Which they most likely were, these were just guys with guns, they were prepared for what came next. Or so they wouldve liked to think...
"One in back of the others, we take him out first, and then work our way inwards. Ill need your help if some of them have spotters, we need to take those ones out at the same time to avoid alerting the entire group. Quick and simple, dont stop to smell the roses, or in your case, the freshness of the blood." With a matter of seconds, the pair began to pick of the armed soldiers in complete stealth. But with each kill, Griffin had noticed that hunter had been getting a little more impatient.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jul 2, 2012 21:17:04 GMT -5
Each soldier that had happened to fall within scope was more than likely being messy to the fact that there would be more than one opposition. The shots that rang out to signal their execution were calm and collective, clean and calculative. Those that had not been caught in the crossfire quickly related to the bleeding effect that had came over their partners. Corpses or soon to be corpses were all that was left of the squads key Blitzkrieg Technicians. What was to be the usual ambush had quickly been shared three way with not one side deciding it was their time to go down in flames. The remaining men intended not to fall within the range of the mystery gunmen, their current movements became inhuman and evasive.
The air in which they had occupied quickly became filled with the black shadowy outline of their former selves. Dark twisting nether that resembled smoke slowly dissipated into empty air as visual probability decreased to below ten percent. Each and every one of them were either capable of using Superhuman Powers to hide their form, or using a Stealth Device that reflected the immediate area near perfectly to hide their locations. With the brambles of bushes and fallen tree it made the camouflage all the more effective. Sudden movements of the leaves could give away positions when paid attention to closely, but using that as a key point could also arise a sense of paranoia in the minds of the hunters. These men were capable of firing rounds, but more or less would be more prone to using machete-based and combat knife-based weaponry. Catching one off-guard in a situation such as this would be risky. But allowing them free run of the area with use of highly technological active camouflage would make them even more of a threat in the very near future.
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Waltz had watched the counter-assault take place through a shattered mirror opposite his position. The kills were quick and clean in comparison to those he had seen practiced by Freedom Fighters and the like. The people that had blasted away at the Cabin were quickly recognized as Tricell Elite Corps and were under the direct influence of ‘The Speaker’, or at least were… back in the day. These goons were highly trained, highly skilled, and overly equipped with technology that could easily be mistaken as something out of a science fiction book. Active Camouflage? Active Camouflage had to cost a pretty penny per unit, and here he had six dead people decked out in over a three million dollars worth of resources. What good did Active Camouflage serve them when they were firing round after round into the cabin?
The sad thing was that Harold knew better than to count just ten or twelve of these bad boys being around the immediate area. As far as Elite Squads go, this was most likely just the scouting party that had just so happened stumble across a priority target. If Tricell Elite had become self-governing it is almost a certain fact that they would want to wipe out ANYONE Marlboro’s Ascension would have a ’Take Alive’ notice on. Which meant one of two things, subject one- these guys were going to keep shooting until Harold was tired and slipped or subject two, Harold was going to go ahead and give himself up to Ascension. The second choice seemed hard to swallow but the fact that highly skilled gunmen with invisibility cloaks on could be lurking in every little corner of the wild- waiting on Harold to slip up- made the second choice a little more bearable in the end.
As soon as Harold lifted his head, another bullet skimmed past his left ear- fired from a running position no doubt- thus making the bullet miss it’s mark by a fraction of a hair. The heat of the steaming hot lead was enough to make Harold want to throw up in his own mouth, but instead he ducked for cover once more as the area of effect glimmered with the ghostly air of one of the hidden ones.
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Post by Winters on Jul 3, 2012 9:51:05 GMT -5
"Thats the last of the snipers..." Griffin wiped off the blood from his knife through the snow, and then placed it back into his sheath. The bodies of the men speckled the snowy banks, hiding them fairly well from a distance. But it was then that he realized Hunter had been off in the distance, the two hadnt met up yet since the soldiers were killed. Quickly tracking him down, Griffin found his brother feeding, gorging really, and had to get between it. "Come on, dont be stupid, youve had enough." Falling back onto the snow, Hunter licked his lips and relished in the high. The lone corpses chest had been ripped open, and organs all strewn about the snow. Clearly this was going to be tough out here where people were only few, Hunter was used to so much more.
Griffin couldnt blame him though, the two of them had different upbringings, and he himself was like him once. Those were dark times, but he learned to cope. As for his brother, not in the slightest, and he knew that he would never change. "Fine, you stay here, ill finish the mission..." Griffin knew that the man would find his way back on his own, and would just let him stay here for as long as he needed, for all the good it would do.
The gunfire ceased for a moment around the cabin, but before it could be a sign of calm, Griffin quickly realized it was just a reload. This was going to be impossible right now, and he would have to just wait it out. If the men outside wanted his target dead, he wouldve been dead already. This was a game of cat and mouse, intimidation even. When the time was right, Griffin would strike. Unlike his brother Hunter, he no angel of death, but one of life, and would make sure that he was the one to get to his target.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jul 4, 2012 22:43:30 GMT -5
The firing had ceased for nearly three minutes now and Harold was getting the creeping suspicion that the enemy from the blitzkrieg had infiltrated the cabin by means of stealth. Creaking boards indicated footsteps and the hushed sound of breathing was airing out down the hall. Harold needed a out by any means at his disposal. The creaking was like that of a phantom toying with the haunted. Brief moments of creaking followed by silence and then rinsed and repeated. There was no time like the present to make a exit. Playing along with a waiting game would prove to be useless when the last of his life was spewing out from the back of his head.
The last stand was made in a rather Wild West sort of manner.
Harold Waltz did not hesitate as he sprung to his feet with both pistol equally distributed in each palm. The grips of each weapon were slightly custom fit to match his distinctive palmed-style. Middle to pinky gripped the grain with the index finger supplied to force to fire from the trigger. Mild fanning could issued from the thumbs when needed but not with the speed and effect of a palm fan from his left hand. The weapons could be fired one to another from dual wield and in slight opposite directions as long as the target was within line of sight. Relying on sound had it’s own share of problems due to next to no visibility and the fact that odds of hitting a target you can‘t see made a single shot takedown difficult. Harold hated missing a clean shot more than he hated getting shot. This little romp with the invisible goon squad may just prove to be the combo breaker that he had hoped to avoid.
The revolvers smoothly made their way into choice firing position as Harold lifted his arms straight forward. A side step around from the flipped table to a crouched position placed his back against the wall. Now he was comfortably against the wall with a perfect vantage point to the hallway via the corner to his right. A deep breath was all he needed to begin to positioning that lead to his assault. His right revolver made the debut that was needed as it was held in ’blind fire’ around the corner. The gleam of the barrel obviously enough to make the intruders make the first move.
Three shots were ejected down the hallway into the darkness as the stumbling sound of the intruders was issued. The rapid fire of the Three Fifty-Seven rounds blindly reached two no target points and one on target point. The second shot had manage to find it’s final resting place in the throat of one of the invisible intruders. From the corner, Harold had witnessed the spew of red liquid jolting from mid-height and oozing from thin air onto the floor. The man had deactivated his camouflage in the thick of survival. Blood poured from his neck as his hand freed itself from his machine gun and clasped tightly over the wound. He hit the wall with a panicked leap and managed to fall into a sitting position in near shock. The others did not react to the scene at hand and most likely sought cover for the time being. It was more than obvious that if the man did not seek medical attention soon he would bleed out on his own. That wouldn’t even be the case here and now.
Another crack of the revolver placed a bullet in the direct left side of the wounded intruders head. Fiber material and skull fragments popped from his cranium like a firecracker exploding into smoke. Dark red liquid arrived on the scene in large amounts to indicate that the bullet had hit the target. Death was instantaneous and struck like lightening, no pain and no exaggeration. As the river of blood continued to pour from the targets skull the rest of the molten metal had pierced the other side and impaled itself into the wall behind it in a diagonal pattern. Gore spewed from the opposite side and added a new flair of brain matter and liquid life to the pre-drab setting. With the new graffiti of human remains and additional bullet holes from earlier, the place would definitely be in the process of a extreme make-over.
Harold shouted at the top of his lungs as the Tricell Elite Unit Member slumped into eternal slumber, “ You bastards think you’re safe with your High Tech gizmos?! Ya’ll better pray hard and fast to whatever god you serve, Cause yer’ about to dance with the damned devil, Son!”
Another movement was made from the hall and ten automatic shots were squeezed into the corner that Harold had been viewing from. A hard angle and to the second door on the left was the point of trajectory. Each shot was either absorbed by the corner or the dressers and deer head that lied in the corner across from it. The series of shots weren’t trained at all and seemed to be somewhat panicked in approach. These guys weren’t very keen on a outright takedown against one of the fastest sons-o’-b!tches ever to wield a revolver in Tricell. The damage done to the cabin was starting to make that point very clear with every fruitless shot fired.
“ That’s right, pansies!” Harold exclaimed in a holler. The weapons in both his right and left hands were brought around the corner with two shots coming from both, “ You’re better off leaving the gun fighting to professionals and going back to boot camp!”
The insults issued were corny and unneeded at beast, but the fired shots spoke for themselves as two more of the intruders were made visible after the cracks were issued. Each one had been hit and wounded. Three men were down with two injured and one killed. No other movements were made after that. Harold used that time to reload the weaponry and advance down the hall.
Each of those that were injured by the volley of gunfire were later gutted across the throat with a smooth slit. Each one was left to drown in a pool of their own blood as Harold stepped over the bodies. Then the most basic of things happened.
A radio had lost it’s silence and decided to activate on the fallen squad members, “Additional support is being rerouted to the Excalibur for evacuation proceedings. Counter-Strikes on Yellowknife have met hostile reaction on crucial levels, it is impossible for Tricell to recapture lost grounds. Ascension Loyalists have reclaimed the city under their banner and all Tricell Members have either defected to Ascension or are in the process of being executed or forcibly deported. I repeat. Tricell has lost Yellowknife and all remaining sections are to report to the Excalibur.”
Harold was at a loss for words as he stared down to the radio as it spewed the information. The Loyalist had betrayed the very company that had redeemed Yellowknife and allowed it to become the Trade Capitol that is was today. Even in the wreckage of the sprawling apocalypse, Canada had managed to save a few key points of interest. Yellowknife was one of the main points and was now in the hands of one of the most traitorous factions ever to raise from the murk from which they came. Every trade in the world would now know of two names, Yellowknife and Hammond Marlboro.
Harold seemed a little anxious as he placed the enemy radio on his belt with a snug snap. The information that might be spouted over it may prove useful in the near future. With the placement of the radio, he now was ready to make his way toward the closed door and patiently wait for the next wave of intruders to come marching along.
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Post by Winters on Jul 5, 2012 11:06:05 GMT -5
The target was fighting back, the sound of the large caliber ammunition firing off indicated there was a firefight. Either the guy was stupid, or his shooting had outmatched the assailants. Judging by the death all around and the sole heartbeat inside, the gunslinger won. It was clear he could handle himself, and just maybe assistance wasnt even needed.
Suddenly, the window pane smashed from the higher portion of the cabin, and glass shards fell onto the carpeting of the main room. The angel of life jumped down into the room, kneeling on the ground, completely unarmed except for the knife hidden under his coat behind him. Griffin knew that if he remained unarmed, his chances of getting shot were slim to none. Nobody would shoot an unarmed man, least not without asking questions first. Either way, Griffin wouldve appreciated if he didnt get shot, and not by a trigger happy gunslinger, so he called out. "Mr. Waltz, im here to get you out of this place." Looking up toward the dark hallway, Griffins glowing eyes peered through the hooded coat.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jul 5, 2012 21:35:24 GMT -5
Out of nowhere came a stranger with a death wish. The remnants of glass in which the man had plummeted into had exploded into fragments that sprinkled onto the ground. The quick evaluation of the man that had landed opposite of Harold’s location near the door had implied that the man was sporting nothing at the ready. The fact of the matter was that Harold Waltz was no stranger to a back stab, and the fact that this man was making a entry unarmed made him more of a threat than if he had come through guns blazing. With the way things were at this point and time, Harold refused to take any chances. The man was within view due to the reflective properties of a mirror around the corner but far enough from him that he could get a better evaluation of the complete situation at hand. The glass continued to rain down as the intruders feet hit the floor with a wild thud. Harold couldn’t help to think that the entry was a little dramatic at this time.
Hammers locked down on the three fifty sevens as they were returned to the holsters. A soft rattle of metallic materials attached to his belt holster paved a Western feel mixed in with the jingle of both spurs. The stance that he had prepared was that of a showdown with his hand rested in legal position above his right weapon. The left arm of the man had simply made it’s way to the brim of the cliché cowboy hat that he wore atop his head. Stern, dignified eyes surveyed the hallway ahead as his feet were planted firmly to the ground with a slight bend at the knees. This mode was definitely a form of quick draw and Harold Waltz was no stranger to dropping a man where he stood if need be.
Harold managed to lurch a fair distance in a quick amount of time to come face to face with the intruder and give himself some breathing room should he be ambushed by anyone else. His back was to a solid wall and his vision was focused on the man whom had entered. The same stance from before was resumed without even thinking about it before his voice spoke sternly, “ You apparently ain’t to bright, yeah? What in the Hell makes you think that I’m gonna go ANYWHERE with you?”
His hand moved in small circles over the weapon, ready to draw as he spoke, “ You better give me a DAMN good reason why I shouldn’t plug you right here and save myself the trouble of your tactics.”
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Post by Winters on Jul 8, 2012 11:46:18 GMT -5
From this point, Griffin knew that it wasnt going to be that easy, but proving himself was going to be impossible right now. Maybe he didnt need to prove himself, and just set up the ducks in a line so that it turns his favor towards getting out of this place the same way Griffin came in, without the need of a ladder that probably didnt exist anymore with all the gunfire. The skylight was the best out out, because if the soldiers advancing on the location, they had the entrances blocked. To a human, the skylight wasnt exactly an entrance, or an exit for that matter.
"If you were gonna shoot me, youd have done it the moment you pointed your gun at me. And if I was going to kill you, I wouldve done it long before you even realized I was here..." Griffin wasnt getting angry, or annoyed, because this was understandable. Waltz wasnt stupid, he was watching his own back. Honestly, Griffin wouldve gave gone with himself either, given the situation. But then, he removed his hood, exposing his glowing red eyes. Maybe with that realization, Waltz would change his mind. Or not. If it turned out he didnt know what Griffin was, then there was going to be a problem on trust, even more of a problem before.
It was then that Griffin seen the six shooters, 357 magnums, and drawn a very simple conclusion before Waltz could even respond to his previous statement. "Your shooting is perfect, youve got a real good trigger finger, I can tell by how your holding those guns. Youve seen more combat with those then anything else. Your going to run out of ammo, eventually, you cant hold out here before, and those soldiers outside arent going to stop coming until you dead, or vanished into thin air. The latter? I can make it happen, get you far away from here, they wont know how or where. My brother is outside, problem distracting the next wave now."
Idle chit chat was never part of his goal, but sometimes getting the words across was the better choice. If Griffins goal needed to be clarified, he wouldnt worry about secrets. Not at this stage of the game.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jul 9, 2012 23:50:59 GMT -5
Harold Waltz held his hand at the ready only a fair distance from the holster. His eyes gazed upon the stranger eager and steadfast without any form of hesitation to follow in suite. The time that it would take for the weapon to leave it’s holster- exchange a series of rounds into the stranger without remorse and then re-enter the holster was measured somewhere around a blink of a eye. Harold was fast. Harold is fast- damned fast. In the form of the quick draw, Greased Lightening did not hold a candle to how uncanny Waltz was with his sleight of hand and masterful trigger finger. The weapons that were patiently waiting for use would not be needed at this very point and time it seemed. Something was different. He decided to leave them where the were and fan out the fingers on his right hand to loosen the tension felt. Once the fingers stretched apart and wiggled a bit in wavering strands- they made a dense fist as his hand moved below his side. A stand-off wasn’t what the stranger wanted at all it seemed, Harold saw no valid point in shooting a unarmed man here and now.
Harold did not completely let off the stand-off. A old trick of the gunslinger from the “Manifest Destiny” days was that you loosened the tension of your right hand but kept your left hand ready. This was mostly notorious due to the fact that the majority of society was primarily right handed and did not fully cooperate well with slinging left handed. Harold Waltz was just as fast with his left hand as his right and had no problems operating from switch. The illusion of his stand-down was merely just that, a illusion as he spoke out to the man with the glowing red eyes, “ What? You think I’m suppose to give a damn because you’re some damn freak mutant? All that blood in your veins can’t save you from a bullet in your head pal, I‘ve dropped one of your kind before. Unless they managed to make your brain impervious to hot lead, you’d be noth’n more than a Multi-Million Dollar Corpse if you cross me.”
Harold didn’t give the man a chance to speak. Sure, the man was a Super Human and could move in a seconds time, but Harold could shoot in a fraction of a second. Being that Harold usually let the majority of people do the talking, this situation called for a little forefront vocal attitude to guide his words, “ You make a point, but I can almost guaran-damn-tee that whatever ’DEAL’ you’re try’n to work out with me will most likely be revoked the second you get me the hell out of here and on to your ‘Secret Clubhouse’. The way I look at it- you‘re word don‘t mean a damn thang‘ without substance. Now if you would ‘politely‘ hop back out that window you just leaped through and run along- I‘ll get out of your hair.”
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Post by Winters on Jul 10, 2012 0:37:17 GMT -5
The way Waltz spoke had been getting on his nerves, there was just no need of it. If he wanted to actually stay here and fight off these mercenaries or whatever they were, that was fine by him. But there was something else that kept Griffin from leaving, and that was when the man mentioned something about more of his kind. He knew there had been more Superhumans out there, but none were alike. Certainly not like him or his brother Hunter, they were much different then any others out there. The pair were unique, from an old world. One that Waltz wasnt ever a part of.
"I dont have anywhere to go, im a wanderer, maybe like yourself. I dont work for anybody, and everything me and my brother does is for survival. Not quite sure what your goal here is, but if youd rather stick around this place and play with your guns, then thats your business..." Turning away from the man, Griffin jumped back up and grabbed onto the wooden bean, and then hoisted himself up and out of the skylight. But after landing back down onto the outside of the cabin, he realized that there wasnt anybody around for miles. Nobody but him, his brother, and Waltz. So for now, he would just wait, see where the man was even going.
~~
Ripping off his winter jacket, Hunter wiped the blade off on his pants. The icy cold wind on his skin felt great, the mixture wasnt at all painful. The corpses of the third and final unit lay in the now red tinged snow, their body parts strewn about. Hunter hasnt been part of this much killing in a long, long time, and after the recent hiatus of his daily routine, was a good feeling. His satisfaction was reached, which is all that mattered. Not a single scratch on him. But there was just one more person left, and that was Griffins target, inside the cabin. It wasnt like Hunter to leave anybody alive, but this was for his brother. He needed the man alive, so Hunter would play nice for now. If he did want to play rough, however, then obviously he would make a decent snack for another time.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jul 11, 2012 20:13:23 GMT -5
“ Hold up a second,” Harold seemed to have his interest peaked, even if only for the time allowed. His hand moved from the ready and extended both palms as he stepped forward. Chances were that if he managed to make any sudden move, the “Half-Gen” would make a sudden move himself. Making moves ALWAYS led to negative consequences and Harold had decided to do nothing more than take his time. Step by step he kept in a half crouching position with his palms extended in a “Surrender” aspect. There was something definite about this man that stood out. Even though he could simply be ready to stab Harold in the back after they clear out, he was almost certain that these men would be more than willing to kill whomsoever was trying to kill him.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to point the blame of the momentary cease fire from the window on the man that stood before him. But, Harold also knew that the amount of gunfire originally issued from outside the window was no small amount. Bullets had rained into the location with enough force to easily label ten to eleven gunmen, and that is not counting the ones that were not participating. Whether or not the man had single handedly wiped out all of them was up in the air, but Harold had decided to question the logic of it all personally. Truth bearing eyes stared toward the man that resided outside the window and a calm southern twang escaped his mellow vocal chords. The question was a shot in the dark and nothing more, “ I take it that you are responsible for that hit squad biting the dust like they did? If you’re a shooter like that- why ask for cooperation when you could just demand it?”
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Post by Winters on Jul 12, 2012 1:51:32 GMT -5
When Waltz spoke, that was when Griffin knew that he was going to actually listen to him, and maybe even cooperate. Maybe being a strong thought here. Jumping down into the snow, he stood in the doorway, and spoke back in to his target. "Because unlike my brother, I still have some civility left inside me. Anybody can play hardass, but it gets boring after so many years. Slow down, learn to trust people. It wont get you killed if your careful enough. My brother just wants to kill, I want to learn. You seem like a very knowledgeable man, might even have some of those answers for me. Whether you know it or not."
Probably sounded really sketchy, or maybe it made perfect sense to Waltz. Either way, it didnt matter, because way out here in the middle of nowhere northern Canada, they didnt have a reason not to stick together. Unless Waltz was here for a reason, which, chances are he was. That reason wasnt his business, but chances are he he stuck around long enough, Griffin would figure it out eventually. Their goals probably werent mutual, or maybe they were. "If he doesnt have what your looking for, can I just kill him now then?", Hunter questioned, popping into the scene almost wreaking of death itself. "No, you get angry when you have to work for your food..." Griffin was thinking about how all of this sounded to Waltz. Probably unbearably sadistic, and completely out of the norm, even post-apocalypse norm.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jul 16, 2012 21:53:23 GMT -5
Harold did not have the patience from the blatant ignorance of the cannibal that was merely a dime a dozen in the back dropped setting of the ‘Truth’ of the world. His mood showed that of a serious grit. Harold didn’t flinch or even so much a show a bit of interest in what was to be said. Instead he merely replied, “ If we’re moving, we’d better move. Ascension Newbie Loyalists will shoot anything that moves and survey the situation later and Tricell Elite- well Tricell Elite will most likely throw their entire f*cking arms at hand to make sure I stay put in this grave they’ve so kindly dug for me.”
Harold managed to pull a radio that was set on repeat from his pocket and engage it with a flick of a switch. A dignified voice that sounded like that of Elite Command chimed over in a loop, “ This is Command. Priority Target is Harold James Waltz. This man is presumed to be extremely dangerous and capable of adapting to any environment or scenario of conflict with his conflict prowess. Do not openly engage target without reinforcements in tow. I repeat, Harold Waltz is our priority target. Zeta Wave will commence as 2400 Hours. This is our last ditch effort to flush the cowboy out in the open. If Waltz refuses to lay down his life- we will commence Hammer Down.”
It was then that another well-placed intercom- hardly noticeable behind a shattered planter spoke up. The voice was weasely and by all means overly posh due to circumstances provided, “ Blah. Blah. Blah. Can you honestly believe these guy? Oh- if we don’t get this Harold Waltz we’ll be forced to launch a assault on the freakin’ TUNDRA. I estimate that they have about a one in seventy percent chance to actually KILL you that way, but they have underestimated how QUICKLY Ascension is able to unscramble their code and seep into their lines. To be quite frank, you can expect light armored vehicles to be flanking your position at any time. Each armored transport will be dropping twelve plus Elite Soldiers per transport. You must DEFINITELY have something that Tricell is trying to hide, bo. Option A- Go with the Super Humans with Guns- and a slightly unnatural craving for human flesh or Option B. Get riddled with bullet holes and lie dead on the ground. They won’t even bury you. They will take your head though, they always do. This isn’t the OK Corral, cow poke. This is freakin’ WAR! You either be a good chap and play along, or these fine gentlemen will watch you die from a distance.”
Harold picked up the radio and then produced a scuff from his voice, “ Marlboro…”
The voice spoke up with the same obnoxious demeanor, “ Wrong ol‘ chap. Beta Nine at your service. I usually just decode enemy information- but the Serpent wanted me to go ahead and give you some pointers. Pointer One, follow the drifters. Pointer two- Don’t get killed. That’s all.”
Harold sighed, “ What the hell kind of information is that?”
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