|
Post by NotAvailable on May 13, 2010 16:28:00 GMT -5
Clarissa nodded as she listened to Logan's proposal. She smiled a little and went to say thank you, but the loud sounds of barks and gunshots had swept away any settled nerves that she had. She'd found a couple of magazines under a counter, but some of them were only half full. Didn't matter, it was still ammo.
She quickly loaded a full clip into her gun and crouched down, peering over the car to see where the shots had come from. She couldn't really see much since the street lights had been all broken, some only flickered on and off every now and then. Thanks to the winter climate over the city, it was a little foggy too. This was gonna make alot of tonight's survival tougher than it has been.
"I think I have a flashlight in my backpack..hold on a sec.." she muttered, pulling ehr bag off of her back, dropping in the magazines into the side pouches and pulling a metal flashlight out from the bigger side. She hadn't turned it on yet, it was probably alot smarter to wait to see what or rather, whom had been out in the fog.
|
|
|
Post by Winters on May 13, 2010 17:07:55 GMT -5
Logan took cover with Clarissa at first, but he found himself jumping up and moving for the door. Peering through the glass, he tried to make out what was going on, until he heard a loud yell of somebody being mauled to death. Logan backed away from the window a few inches, there was no way he was going out there to see if the guy was alright, that would be a mistake. At that moment, the glass smashed toward his face, as he covered himself over with an arm. One of the infected dogs had stood behind the bars, its mouth snapping in a rage, trying to bite him. It couldnt get through the steel bars, but it forced itself between then, chocking it of at the neck.
Rearing back, Logan let his boot go forward, snapping the dogs skull off to the side until it fell limp. But as he didnt this, another dog rushed from behind, and clamped its teeth down onto his boot. Falling into the pile of glass, Logan could feet shards cutting into his backside upon impact. A gunshot rang off, Clarissa had acted fast enough to place a bullet into the dogs head, freeing Logan from getting his leg torn off. Prying open its jaws to let go of his boot, Logan sat up, tearing off his shirt and throwing it onto a nearby counter. Clarissa grabbed onto his arm to assist him up, but Logan shook off her arm and stood to his feet on his own. There, he felt the pain of about twenty or thirty large and small pieces of glass into his flesh. "Arg! F*ck you!" Logan kicked the mutts face several times before cooling off, and then ripping at a shard he could actually reach near his side.
Sweeping the glass across the floor with a violent kick, Logan cursed himself several time, leaning over the counter, hand on his shirt. Taking deep breaths to calm himself down, he finally looked up at Clarissa, and spoke out in a very angry tone. Not directly to her, but at the situation. "Son of a b*tch! Gah, just remove the glass before I lash out even more... Christ..."
|
|
|
Post by NotAvailable on May 13, 2010 22:10:17 GMT -5
Clarissa winced and flinched, watching Logan throw a fit of rage out because of the entire situation. Once she watched him rip his shirt off, she stepped back a bit and frowned. "Oookay..." she muttered before eying the glass that was stuck all in his side and arm. Logan yelled at her to take the glass out and tried to seat himself somewhere on the counters.
Clarissa raised a brow and walked over, tilting her head to look at the wounds. They were in pretty deep and some she could make out were kinda small so it'd be hard to get out with her fingers. Scratching her head, trying to figure out what to do, she went for a bigger shard near his back, wrapped her jacket sleeve over her palms and looked up at him.
"Hokay, big guy. Um, brace yourself for some f**kin' pain," she said, ripping it out and applying pressure onto the blood that seeped out. She went for another, grasped onto it, moved it side to side since it felt stuck on something, before pulling it out. Repeating the process atleast five times, she had to move on to the smaller wounds on his arms.
Those were gonna need a small tool like tweezer for them. She didn't have any and she doubted the gunshop would have any either. Sighing, she reached into her bag and pulled out some gauze, covering up his bleeding side and patting his shoulder.
"Well, the good news is, you're not gonna bleed to death so long as you've got something on it. The bad news is, it needs to be disinfected and your arm is gonna hafta keep some of that glass in it til we can get something to pry it out. It's so small and stuck in there that I can't pull out with my fingers..."
|
|
|
Post by Winters on May 13, 2010 23:38:19 GMT -5
Logan felt the glass coming out, and it was a relief of pain. He could handle the cuts, but they really needed to get to the hospital before anything else slowed him down. Grabbing the shirt, Logan slipped it on over himself loosely, it would keep the cold away from him for a least a little bit. But they would definitley now need to find something else for him to wear. He wanted to sputter out a thanks, but it just wasnt in him to do that. Without saying anything at all, Logan walked out the front door, and into the middle of the street. There was the shotgun laying on the ground next to the dead body, which had an arm missing, along with a trail of blood running east.
By this time, Clarissa was outside, and Logan pumped the shotgun to look at the remaining shells inside of it. Four left, and from the looks of it, no more on the body. However, there was a brown hoodie on the dead man, with the sleeves missing. Pulling it off of the corpse, he turned it inside out to check for any open stains of blood before slipping it on over himself. Sure it was probably the most dirty thing for him to do, but there would be no cross contamination, and it would keep in warm from the light snowfall. Turning back to Clarissa, who had been watching him, Logan finally fought himself until he spoke out something useful for a change. "Thanks kid... Now, I suggest we head to the Hospital..."
|
|
|
Post by NotAvailable on May 14, 2010 1:28:58 GMT -5
Clarissa nodded and pulled up her hoody, looking at the blood soaked mess of a jacket. She sighed and pulled it on, zipping it up to the top and pulling her hoody over her head. It was f**king freezing outside and the clouds hung low in the sky, she was sure it was gonna snow soon. She rubbed her hands together and blew her breath over her fingers. "No prob, Logan," she told him, referring to his appreciative gesture.
Finally they were gonna make it to the hospital where she'd be able to treat her own wounds as well. Her arm was scraped up badly and it was still bleeding. Wasn't that bad since she had it wrapped, but the bandages were already coming undone and were near useless.
As they walked away from the gunshop, Clarissa sighed, some light fog emitting from her mouth. She chuckled, amused and blew out again. Then again and then again. Mildly entertained, she coughed from the cold air. Rubbing her arms, she looked up and over at Logan. "Hey, Logan? You said you had a sister right?" she began, thinking about her father momentarily. He was looking for his sister too. That was their whole purpose to finding Raccoon City before he had been taken from her.
"My dad was looking for his sister too. He says she was coming here or something. She was a cop too, by the way. Do you think after the hospital, we could take a look around for her or possibly my dad?"
|
|
|
Post by Winters on May 14, 2010 23:35:06 GMT -5
The sky was dark, and the air was cold. There wasnt a single sound of anything but their own footsteps on the ground, and even that was enough to get on Logans nerves. As the two of them walked slowely down the street, there was a sense of forgottenness in his goals. Who knows how Lisa and the others were doing, or how Rey was doing at the hospital. Getting there would be a trip and a half, but he couldnt turn back now. Once he started something, he always finishes it.
As Clarissa spoke out, pretty much ruining the long string of quiet time, Logan jerked his head in annoyance. "Jesus, lady! Dont you ever-..." But, then he thought about what it would feel like if it was Lisa they were searching for. She was the only family left, and Logan would be heartbroken if she was suddenly lost in Raccoon City. The two of them, Clarissa and Logan, really had something in common. They were both holding onto a common goal, and thats being with their sister. Thinking back and then continueing his sentence, with a much friendly, understanding tone, Logan spoke to Clarissa, answering her question with a rare sense of emotion in his voice. "...Yeah... Sounds like a plan to me..."
|
|
|
Post by NotAvailable on May 15, 2010 0:29:36 GMT -5
Once Logan had jerked his head at her, his face distorted with anger and annoyance, he began raising his voice again, forcing Clarissa to whimper and cringe, squeezing one eye shut in an attempt to brace herself for a loud b*tch-out. When he suddenly stopped, she looked back up at him and saw his features soften a little.
Ah crap, he's lost it now!
He replied with a softer tone, telling her that he'd help her find the woman and possibly her father. She lifted her head up a bit, a smile reaching her face. He was gonna help her out and hopefully she wouldn't be left behind the way she was before. Things were turning up for a change. As fast as that happiness had came the sooner it drained away from the small teenager.
She'd informed herself mentally that Logan didn't want her opening her yap. The yelling and look of annoyance said it all. As hurtful as that was to her, she figured it was a good idea to just zip her mouth unless it was to warn him of something in the area, obviously. She frowned and looked down at her boots as they walked forward. She pulled her hands up to the straps of her backpack on each side, grasping onto them tightly.
There was some long, ackward silence while they began slipping farther and farther away from the gunshop. Sure it was nice to travel with someone, but it didn't matter much if they hated you for no real reason...
She kept her eyes down on the broken concrete, her mind drifting off to her father. She missed him so much and it was lonely without him there. By now they'd be talking about everything and laughing despite their situation. He'd be patting her on the head, reassuring her everything would be alright and that atleast they had eachother. Even then, she knew from all the nice storied about his sister, that if she had to stay with her, she'd be safe and cared about. In reality, Clarissa really just wanted a parental figure more than anything.
[Logan and Clarissa have left Guns Galore and have entered The Uptown Street System]
|
|
Lockwood
Alive
There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
Posts: 46
|
Post by Lockwood on Aug 14, 2011 10:10:33 GMT -5
The whole city was a mess, there didn’t seem to be any order left to Racoon city. He had managed to dodge the majority of the zeds so far on his way toward the old SSC station in the uptown area. Guns Galore, his current shelter was anything but what its name said anymore. Barren of any firearms and looted of any ammunition it was little more than another empty shell and minor barricade from the hordes of dead roaming about outside. It was hardly surprising and it had been a fleeting hope, his real purpose in the store had been to seek shelter and some noise cover while he transmitted his messages over the emergency frequency.
Not that there wasn’t a danger with using that particular frequency; it had often been known that outlaws and bandits had used it to lure in survivors to rob and sometimes kill.
”Specter Four Three to any friendlies, requesting regroup instructions. Do you copy?” The message was sent and Simon left it for a while, straining his ears to check his surroundings; extending his senses in case one of the zeds had managed to sneak its way in unnoticed.
” Say again, Specter Four Three to any friendly forces, requesting SITREP. Do you read?” It had been useless, the emergency frequency was only useful if anyone was listening and his previous experience told him that he would be lucky to receive a reply.
He would leave the radio on for a few more minutes, any longer and he risked wasting what battery it still had on nothing productive. There had been rumors that the US Military had been pushing into the city and establishing a greenzone near the downtown area. Regardless he had to link back up with any SSC operatives, in the flesh or via the static and get some new orders. SSC had fallen off the grid from Colorado to the West Coast and now with rumors of Washington overrun it wasn’t looking too rosy in the east either.
The Security & Strategy Corporation had been one of the leading PMCs in the rebuilding of the Western world and South America, deploying thousands of operatives across over the United Kingdom, USA and various South American nationalities. Its actions were split into that of a traditional PMC, providing security and strategy for the rebuilding projects and a unknown clandestine arm doing everything from traditional ‘wet work’ to high level bounty hunting. Task Force Specter; a black operations group that performed the companies’ clandestine operations, had been deployed in a direct capacity. Its mission was to identify the cause of the outbreak, neutralize, abduct or interrogate various targets along the way. Eliminating key opposition with extreme prejudice and ultimately neutralizing or detaining the individual or individuals responsible for the outbreak for transfer to secure NATO custody.
Simon Lockwood, Specter Four Three or ‘Toast’ as he was known on the squad comms net was probably the sanest of those involved in the group. A far cry from the sociopathic killers and the silent calculated assassins that made up the majority of the Specter Teams. When the outbreak hit the Comms Net had gone dark quickly, plunging the Spectre Teams into chaos and confusion. Codename Hotel had gone dark with them, leaving the teams without orders or any updates regarding the situation as it developed globally. Simon had been detached from the squad, tasked with providing advanced recon of the area around the believed Tricell secret facility in Raccoon City. So like the good soldier he was he had headed into the city full of the undead to continue the mission, believing that sooner or later his squad would regroup with him and EVAC the area and regroup with SSC command, if it even still existed.
First step was to establish his route to the SSC station that had gone dark. Then depending on what type of mess he found there he would assess his next steps. He turned his attention back to the Racoon city map he had pillaged from a local bus station. As his mind considered different options Simon couldn’t help but let part of his mind wander.
There had been times, missions that he had worked alone, but for the first time in his life he felt truly alone in this city of the dead.
|
|
|
Post by Rhinn on Aug 15, 2011 14:30:35 GMT -5
[Dalton arrives in Guns Galore in Uptown from Still Creek via Vegas]
“So here is your payment sir. Thank you for getting us here safe and sound.”
‘Mr. Gibson’ gestured back to where a pallet of food, gear, ammo and weapons that were sitting beside the truck. Dalton nodded, lucky for the job and the information. He had just made it in to Vegas, one of the last bastions of humanity that wasn’t touched by the infection, when he had received a call for his services. ‘Mr. Gibson’, wasn’t his real named, Dalton knew that. He was probably some sort of mob boss or kingpin or something or it could be that he just had enemies that he didn’t want to know he was traveling. At any rate, it was a good fare to Raccoon City. It would be him and his wife and they offered $5,000.00 in payment. Dalton was going to turn them down… outside of Vegas, money really wasn’t worth anything. So they had let him pick his payment. Knowing that the man had connections that were on the other side of what might be called “legal”, he offered them a ride for food, gear, ammo, weapons… and information.
He received enough MRE’s and water to last a typical person 3 months. With Dalton’s higher metabolism, it would probably only last 6 weeks. He also received 100 rounds of 9mm, 500 rounds of .22 caliber ammo, two rifles – a Ruger Police Carbine with 3 x 15 round magazines and a Integrally Suppressed Ruger 10/22 with a 4x scope on it. Rounding out the weapons were 2 x 25 round magazines and a 50 round drum for the 10/22. Most of the gear consistent of black commando clothes, boots, vests and such, but the best part was that ‘Mr. Gibson’ knew that a Tricell squad was working in the Raccoon City area. He had no idea what they were doing, but the information was credible, so Dalton agreed. All this other stuff was just gravy on top of it.
Dalton knew that this was probably not the group who had taken him, but he didn’t care at this point. Tricell had taken away 6 months of his life from his family… they might even be dead due to them. He would make them pay.
As they were leaving Vegas, ‘Mr. Gibson’ said that they would be part of a convoy heading to Raccoon City. He thought there would be safety in numbers. Dalton disagreed once he saw the vehicles. Sure there were some military HumVees escorting the convoy, but most were rigs pulling construction and demolition equipment for Raccoon City. Dalton pointed out it would be loud, slow and vulnerable to both attacks from the undead and marauders. If one truck broke down, then the whole convoy was immobile.
‘Mr. Gibson’ finally agreed and Dalton set out with them before the convoy. They all slept in the truck, which was twice as big as a Hummer2. There was a little bit of grumbling about sleeping in the truck and stopping for using the bathroom on the side of the road, but the chairs reclined fully for sleeping and for only two people it was spacious.
There were only two times where they were in any danger and one was marauders, but Dalton was able to outrun them and their small arms fire was ineffective against the armor. The other time was when they were mobbed by the undead. Ignoring the screaming in the back, Dalton plowed through them, crushing them with the power of the massive V-10 Engine. Down the road a bit, he stopped and cleaned off the dead body parts that were clinging to the truck.
They actually made it to the Raccoon City airport in mere day, instead of the 2 week time frame of the convoy. When they arrived, they heard that the convoy was attacked and had to retreat back to Vegas.
‘Mr. Gibson’ clapped Dalton on the back as the supplies were loaded into his truck. “Where are you going now, my boy?”
Dalton just smiled. Even with all the payment and information, the man grated on his nerves. “I’m heading into the thick of it. I have a fare that set up.”
It was almost a lie. He was headed into the Uptown Area, where the military and the PMC’s had the hardest time, but he had no fare. Nope, he was going after Tricell and the fewer people that knew about it the better.
Exchanging a handshake, Dalton left them at the Airport and headed out into Raccoon City. The first place he would look would be where the most undead were at. Tricell had a thing for Bioweapons and he knew that they would be studying them and trying to collect specimens. That’s where he would start.
It only took 30 minutes to get to the Uptown Area, so the first area he decided to check out was the Gun Store. He had been here before the 2nd out break so he knew the area well. Plus, they were known for their high quality guns. If they hadn’t all been looted then it was worth a look. Pulling up, he could see that it would probably be a waste of his time. The entire store looked like it had been stripped of everything useful, including toilet paper. Remembering how much the owner stocked, it was probably close to the truth.
He holstered his Jericho and grabbed his H&K MP5A2. Shucking a Kukri into its sheath he turned off the truck and rolled the window down just a crack. He sat there listening for a few moments… the sounds of moans drifting on the wind.
“Well I might as well go check it out.” He said, getting out of the truck. He locked it up and then went around to the side of the building. He found a drainpipe that seemed secure and pulled himself up it to the roof. Once up there, he found a hatch and opened it. Then he lowered himself down into the back office of the gun store. His eyes could see in the dark like most people could see in the daylight, so he kept his light off. He heard movement from the front and took his gun off safety and set it to semi auto. Then he crouched down behind a large metal safe that had been turned over on the floor. It would provide decent cover from anything up to a .50 caliber round.
And he waited.
|
|
Lockwood
Alive
There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
Posts: 46
|
Post by Lockwood on Aug 16, 2011 14:37:33 GMT -5
Simon cursed, there had been no reply on the radio. Either the rest of the squad were experiencing comms equipment failure, were MIA or worse……KIA. He packed up the radio and set about sorting out his things. That was when he heard it, the faint sounds of movement that came from the back office. He sunk to his knees, slipping the Cz-75b Handgun from the waistband beneath his lower back into his right hand. The right thumb moved, flicking off the safety as his left hand quickly searched for his flashlight. There was something in the back room, it was quiet, it certainly didn’t sound like your typical Zed.
Had he got sloppy? He had done a sweep and cleared the rooms before setting his gear down, the front door was secured and the only entrance at the back was the hatch to the fire escape. Zeds didn’t open hatches and drop in behind their prey. That was their only redeeming feature, that, and the fact that they moved slowly compared with your average human. Toast froze what if it was one of those BOWs that various reports had detailed, everything from huge mutated humanoids to huge four legged creatures with the head of dogs and teeth like a shark. There had been a few with the original Umbrella; files long closed had detailed how they had taken out squads of militia and even special ops teams. One report in particular stuck in his head; in London had taken a shot from a Challenger 1 battle tank to finally down.
No it wasn’t a ‘Tyrant’, nothing like the old Nemesis program that Umbrella had been rumored to run; you heard those coming from a klick off. This was more than likely one of the hybrids, an infected mutant or one of those with the long tongues. Simon tried to suppress a shudder at the thought of the latter, he had spoken to those who had survived encounters with ‘Lickers’, silently he thanked whoever was up there that he had only had to deal with large mutants at best. Lockwood contemplated staying in here, waiting for whatever it was to go away, hiding and hoping for the best, part of him screamed to run. To where? to a street full of Zeds that were just as hungry for his blood? The options were scant and as soon as he fired he would alert anything nearby within earshot, the store was a better base for a stand or escape than trying to retreat through the open streets. The zeds had a habit of swarming quickly and there was no EVAC this time, no chopper on the roof or armored convoy holding a perimeter to rendezvous with.
The silence was oppressive, the sound of a heart beating in his ears as he moved at a crouch to the doorway to the office at the back of the building. Simon moved like his job title, a Specter, as silent as he could, his booted feet avoiding any debris on the floor. There was a sudden urge to laugh, the BOWs had superior hearing on the whole, the only weakness and advantage was that if it was a Licker, and they were thought to have poor eyesight and reacted to sudden movements or loud noise to locate their prey spatially. The absurdity that he could soon be fighting one alone armed with only a 9mm handgun was not lost on him. Toast was as vain as the next man, perhaps more, but the thought of it was almost absurd in its egotistic nature.
He was at the doorway now, the door was gone, the space to the dark abyss beyond loomed, holding its unknown fear. Simon had seen enough men freeze at the entry point; it was often this hesitation which caused casualties, losing the element of surprise with hesitation. The fact was, if someone had a gun trained on the door then it was often not something you could do something about, if you knew that was the case then you wouldn’t be entering via the door. Even so any experienced operative knew to try and stick to the sides as you went through, minimizing the target area. The majority of people would point a weapon at the centre of the space, it was human nature and it was second nature to most soldiers. There were many reasons, accuracy dictated that you shot for the centre of mass, ensuring the highest hit chance, the same was true for spaces, and the eye is naturally drawn toward the centre. Of course this was nothing but academic if someone filled the whole doorway with lead.
His eyes strained into the darkness, feeling out with his senses for any shapes in the dark, even in the dim light there would be an area of increased darkness. There was nothing, the room was as silent and dead as a morgue. It was now or never. His left hand twisted and the flashlight sprung to life as the arm holding it swung up underneath the right. The right arm pointed outward, a slight bend in the elbow and the barrel of the CZ in a straight line with his right shoulder.
His body swung from left to right, sweeping the room before checking the ceiling, nothing. This was not what he had expected, and the feeling of dread grew at the silent menace that might be lurking.
Swallowing quickly he called out softly so as to not alert the zeds outside.
“Come out. Show yourself!”
|
|
|
Post by Rhinn on Aug 17, 2011 10:38:39 GMT -5
Dalton answered him with a low dry chuckle. "Says the man who just swung a gun into the room. Dalton had been laying on the ground behind the safe and angled in such a way that he could see the doorway between the side of the safe and the wall. He only saw one person and he was armed with a handgun. No one else had appeared and with Dalton's keen hearing, he hadn't heard anymore movement. Either these guys were extremely good... or this man was alone.
"In light of our situation, I say that we both put away our guns and behave like decent men... not that there are many of those left around."
Dalton waited for an answer and then he stood up. He made sure that his submachine gun and his Jericho were close if he needed it. He pulled his kukri out of its sheath and held it in his left hand. Then, with enhanced strength, he pulled the empty safe back up onto its base and opened the door. He held it in his right hand, ready to open the door and use it as a shield if the man on the other side opened fire.
|
|
Lockwood
Alive
There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
Posts: 46
|
Post by Lockwood on Aug 17, 2011 13:56:46 GMT -5
"Says the man who just swung a gun into the room.”
Simon heard the chuckle before the words, his flashlight moved with his weapon, settling on a fallen safe as the figure pulled himself from his prone position behind the safe, the light splashed across the area, illuminating some of his features. The man was armed but was not overtly hostile, indeed he seemed almost amused and Simon couldn’t help curse that he hadn’t seen the figure behind the fallen safe.
"In light of our situation, I say that we both put away our guns and behave like decent men... not that there are many of those left around."
Simon was about to reply when the man, British by the sounds of it, like him, perhaps even a Scot, stood and pulled out a kukri knife. What he did next made Toast stare in disbelief; the man hefted the large safe, righting it again. It would take even a large man to move it like that using both arms and his bodyweight. There was something abnormal about this....man. Simon swallowed silently and let his gun drop, he wouldn’t let his guard down right now, not with this freakishly strong human in front of him.
“An interesting proposition, especially when you’ve got a Gurkah in your hand. However, seeing you just do that I’m not so sure anymore. What the hell are you?”
Toast didn’t have to say the rest of what he was thinking. He could have asked why this strong man had entered the store via a fire escape hatch but he already knew. Any experienced operative or adept individual wouldn’t choose the front door over a back entrance. However, if you were unlucky it was the back way that was trapped and the straight forward way unguarded sometimes.
His mind raced, who was this superhuman? There was no way this man was that strong naturally, for his size he would be compact and possess a coiled strength but nothing along the lines of being able to move that weight with only one arm. Was he a mutant? He certainly didn’t look like a tyrant or the other mutants he had seen; he wasn’t anywhere near as large either. It was a sad state that few things surprised him when it came to this post infection world.
Perhaps he was a government creation, designed and built to fight the infection. There had been rumours of enough super soldier projects to make it far from an alien idea. More likely he, whatever he was, was linked with either umbrella or Tricell.
Something of immediate interest considering his mission.
|
|
|
Post by Rhinn on Aug 17, 2011 15:30:06 GMT -5
Dalton actually shot him a grin at this point. "I said decent... not stupid. I have no idea who you are, so self preservation always is a priority, but seeing how this might go..."
Dalton shrugged and then tucked the Kukri back into it's sheath. He moved out from behind the safe and leaned back on the edge of the desk... as if he was greeting someone who had walked into his office.
He answered the man's question but there was an undertone of anger in it. "Let's just say, that I was made the way I was against my will and soon I will have my revenge."
He also recognized the man's accent. "Am I addressing a citizen of the crown?" It was weird that someone from England would be here. Then again, he was here.
"Name is Dalton. I'm a professional bodyguard who is inbetween contracts right now. Who might you be?"
He wasn't going to reveal anything else about himself until he had a good grasp of who he was talking to.
|
|
|
Post by Caliber on Aug 18, 2011 3:00:59 GMT -5
[Celeste has entered Uptown, "Guns Galore"] [/color]
Cel let up on the gas as the Stryker drew closer to her destination. Pressing on the brake, the APC came to a complete stop in front of the sidewalk adjacent to the gun store. Standing up from her seat, she stepped into the back of the APC and began preparation.
Reaching toward the left-most gun rack, which was mounted on the interior walls of the Stryker, Cel pulled down an AKS-74U Carbine, equipped with an integrated picatinny rail system, a taclight, and an AN/PEQ Laser Box. She pressed in on the magazine release, catching the mag in her hand. It was filled to the brim with thirty rounds of 5.45x39mm ammunition. Shoving the full mag in her back pocket, Cel reached below one of the passenger seats, dragging out a plastic bin full of various types of ammunition and magazines. Shoving the rifle under her arm, Cel dug through the bin, retrieving two rust-colored AK-74 magazines. Keeping the rifle under her arm, and holding a magazine in each hand, Cel fetched a double mag clamp from a second bin. She attached the two thirty-round magazines together, leaving the third in her back pocket, then shoved one of the paired mags into the magwell of the AKS-74U, allowing the second to straddle the left side of the receiver, then slung the rifle over her shoulder, allowing it to hang at her side.
Cel slamming her fist against the red button on the interior door control panel, adjacent to the gun racks. The Stryker's door lowered to the outside ground, creating a ramp down to the street. Rifle on her back, Cel trotted out into the street. Scoping out the area, she took note of the densities of the small pockets of infected that were roaming the surrounding streets. They wouldn't be a problem, unless they began to gather.
Allowing her rifle to briefly hang at her side, Cel held a small remote in the direction of the Stryker with an outstretched arm. Pressing a small button, the ramp raised, closing off the Stryker from anyone that may try to enter. Turning back toward the gun store, Cel gazed at the front doors. They originally had central glass paneling, but both panes had been shattered, leaving giant rectangular holes in the center of each door. She aimed her Krinkov forward, flicking on the taclight and laser, then approached the front doors.
Using one of her feet, she propped the front entrance open. She pointed the rifle around the room, following the beam of the taclight with her eyes. Walking inside, the door closed behind her. She continued to scan the room, when she heard the voice of a man.
|
|
|
Post by Mikey on Aug 18, 2011 8:07:53 GMT -5
Quicksilver was grateful to get out of the Stryker. He’d been in there, invisible to anyone who would have been looking inside for hours. The whole time she had been at the checkpoint. And the whole ride there. And the whole ride here. God, he was board. And Cel wasn’t the biggest talker in the world. At least, not right now. Maybe she’d open up eventually. He badly wanted to be able to have a conversation with someone. Even if he had to write notes to the person he was conversing with. It was just nice to be near someone who didn’t want to kill him.
Stepping into the broken out window of the shop, he grabbed the top of the rectangular hole in the wall and easily listed himself. Flipping over to get his feet to the ceiling, he swung forward and stuck his hands to the ceiling as well. Taking a look at Cel as if to tell her that he was here as backup and she should watch her fire, he looked back to the source of the voices. He could make out what they were saying, but none of it seemed noteworthy to him at the moment.
Staying still for a moment, he soon disappeared from sight as his cloaking kicked in, and he made no noise as he started to move deeper into the building while crawling along the ceiling.
|
|