03:00, Local Time, Colombia.

The V-Tol engines of the black and red painted ”Eagle” dropship screamed as the transport skimmed the foilage of the trees. Underneath them, the jungle spread out in every direction like a green sea. Every now and then, small villages broke the rustling, massive canopy. Some of them abandoned, people favoring the cities and leaving their ancestral homes. Others still lively with farmers and the occasional tourist who didn't fear kidnapping or mosquitos.

Sitting wedged in between Jackal and Spectre, sat one 35 year old, grouchy looking Brazilian. He was called Armored Cheetah or just Cheetah by his peers. He wore a special made kevlar and plating suit. It was hotter then hell inside, and the man remembered why he preffered working for the Russians up north all of the sudden. He felt like he was going to melt into a puddle before they had even started. The display inside his helmet brought up the current humidity and he frowned.

”Allright” The voice of Baskerville cut trough static as everyones com-units were activated. ”We are in Cortez territory. Aside from being a really scary fucker with 20 years of FARC leadership under his belt, he also doesn't like foreign firepower on his turf. The guy we are hitting is Hao Nung, a Viatnamese national who defected. He has been heading Cortez latest venture into biochemistry. High End designer drugs from the sound of it. But there are murmering Hao Nung is actually a bioweapon specialist. His existence scares more then a few” Baskerville was a former SAS and RAF, a really oldschool type of soldier who taken to becoming a reliable source of airlifts and air support for Devils everywhere. The man, pushing 50, was one of the best pilots on the market. If their clients had payed for him to fly them in, the money was indeed covering up a tough operation.

”The Cortez Cartel have been moving north, likely shoring up for a conflict with the Mexicans. This has left gaps we can use. Nung is currently in one of Cortez compounds in this jungle. We know, becouse our client got a tracker smuggled in with equipment Nung bought for expanding the cartels production. It finally slowed down as it set down in a clearing. As its deadly payload dissembarked, Barskerville left a last message.

”Hit em hard. Hit em quick. The earlier you get out, the less we have to worry about Mr Cortez and his tendecies.” With that the Eagle lifted, and took to the skies. Leaving the mercenaries in a jungle full of possible ambushes and traps. Luckily for them, the Cortez Cartell had no way of knowing a crew of Devils were heading their way. The Eagle was state of the art, whatever radar or detection the Cartel used, it would not have detected the quick drop ship.

”Alright Devils. We know the drill.” Miguel said as he let his eyes sweep the tree line of the glade. The servos in his suit whirred as he strained to look around. Yeah, fuck the jungle, it was dense and full of terror. To many places for ambushes. He had made Europe his stomping ground for a reason, far away Colombia, Brazil and their bullshit Cartels and Favela gangs. ”Jackal. If you would take the front.” He turned to their resident Veteran. ”Hey Claymore." He said in a low tone. "How you wanna run this?"

Around them, the forest rusled with the life of local fauna.

Anthony had just woken from a small power nap towards the end of the briefing. The V-Tol was smoother than any airship he'd ever toured on and it lulled him to sleep quicker than any lullaby. He stretched luxuriously before smiling at his comrades, eager to begin the mission, and the pay off. Slapping his lean stomach a few times, the young Italiano popped to his feet and grabbed at one of the nylon hand-loops near the airlock. "Understood," he responded to Baskerville, a habit he'd yet to kick. He jumped up and down, shaking out his limbs to warm up for the hell to come.

"Just infiltrate a cartel compound, identify one man out of dozens, if not hundred or more people, and get out before everything goes FUBAR... Yea, just a regular day for the Devils, eh?" Anthony asked to no one in particular. This was just his own quirk, a way to work off the pre-deployment jitters. Pulling his cross from underneath his tactical gear, Specter kissed it, said his prayer and tucked it away. Whatever was out there for them, he was sure the team could handle it. They had some real seasoned types on this one and all were extremely lethal. The sniper couldn't ask for a better set of people if he tried.

Now they were on the ground in enemy territory with dense undergrowth. Throw in some of the most poisonous insects and snakes, a few apex predators, and all of those nasty surprises groups like the cartel liked to leave in the jungle, this was going to be one damn tense assignment. Specter activated his thermal imaging, his allies lighting up like Christmas trees. He tagged them with a mental command and they let off a light pulse, a marker for Specter's friendlies.

He dropped to a knee and drew his silenced sidearm. The element of surprise was the Devils' saving grace and he sure as shit wouldn't be the one to break the silence. He took position 45 degrees to Jackal's right side, he securing his sector of the perimeter and waited for Claymore's game plan. "Don't be loud, that's all I'm gonna say. I don't know about you, but I wanna enjoy this payday on mother earth, not up there with the angels and the Big Guy." Looking up, Specter raised the hand, two fingers extended, supporting his grip on his pistol briefly. "No offense, bless you." Then the loudmouth Italiano was back to business, scanning the trees and bushes for signs of life, other than the animali.

"Hey Jackal, does it feel like back home, amico?" Specter quipped, trying to get his friend's read on the situation.

Jungle...why did it have to be jungle? thought Alastair to himself from his seat in the 'Eagle', his eyes having not even blinked for at least five minutes as he let his mind run over the information that Baskerville - an old buddy from the SAS, and a damn good pilot to boot - was feeding them all. He would have been fine in sleet, rain, gales and fog, in mountains or urban environments, even in arctic conditions, but he hated jungles with all his Scottish heart! They were humid, buzzing with insects, and in spite of being involved in numerous jungle conflicts, he had never gotten used to them.

All around him were seated his comrades-in-arms, the Devils as they called themselves, five of the finest professional killers and mercenaries available this side of the Angel Protocols. He was the oldest of them, as if he needed further reminding by his own subconscious, but showed no outside signs of stopping any time soon - although inside his own mind, at least, it was a different story; one could only see so much war, death and ruin without it having some form of hold on you. It was thoughts such as these that he kept buried deep, deep, deep down inside, thoughts that might one day surface and send him into a spiral of self-destruction.

Without thinking he gave his load-out another perfunctory glance over, making sure each weapon was loaded and his knife was within easy reach. It was also at this point, dressed as he was in only jungle-pattern fatigues, a bush-hat, and without any armour whatsoever covering his body, that he was alerted once more to the fact that he was one of only two members of the Devils who forwent the use of any cybernetics or exo-suits to help in their duties of dealing death to their foes; the other member of the team in a similar boat was the not unattractive Magpie, their resident South African sharpshooter, although she seemed to do abhor cybernetics for differing reasons than he did.

Let's be honest, he knew he was a relic of bygone era, of a time when warfare was conducted without the need for such enhancements. Like the musket or the cavalryman, he was from a time when ones skill came from determined training, girt, and and endurance of the mind over the limitations of the body. His gear only helped with this image - his VIRTUS armour, for example, having been a new prototype over a decade before this current mission, now already taken out of service and replaced with better and more advanced forms of body armour.

Pffft, he grunted inside sod the lot of them.

”...hit em hard. Hit em quick. The earlier you get out, the less we have to worry about Mr Cortez and his tendencies."

Claymore raised his carbine to his shoulder, taking a knee in the soft earth of the jungle, as soon as they disembarked from the slowly shrinking transport. He focused down the optics and allowed himself time to become better acquainted with the surroundings, opening his ears and his nostrils more than his eyes, scanning every treeline and possible observation spot around them.

Not long after allowing himself to relax to a point of flexible alertness, his earpiece crackled and the voice of the seasoned Brazilian known as Cheetah filled the silence of the jungle.

”Hey Claymore." He said in a low tone. "How you wanna run this?"

"Don't be loud, that's all I'm gonna say. I don't know about you, but I wanna enjoy this payday on mother earth, not up there with the angels and the Big Guy."

The Scotsman gave another small sigh, only having so much patience for the loud-mouthed Italian and his quips, something he believed must be some form of nervous defense mechanism when it came to the young Devil.

"First we need to get a lock on that tracker," grunted the stoic soldier into the mic of his headset, "I'll leave that to one of your servo-heads and your fancy suits." He took a deep breath and pondered a moment longer, "Specter and Jackal, you're our forward scouts on this one, spread out, keep your eyes and ears open and your movements quiet. Me and Cheetah will bring up the centre, with the good Doctor at our side, and Magpie will act as rearguard and supporting fire."

It was a common enough 'play', one they had practiced and used before, and at least for the moment it did not hurt to do the familiar.

"Doctor," he directed at the Russian cyber genius, "if you feel like having one of your toy robots give us a birds-eye view, then please do by all means. Just make sure to keep it low and out of sight of potential threats. I'll leave the choice up to you, just don't get us all killed."

Falling back into silence, he waited for everyone to acknowledge that they had understood, and for someone to get to grips with the location of that tracking device and the apparent location of their quarry.

Jackal leaned back, preferring a more informal way of sitting within the V-TOL. He wasn't much for conversation, preferring to ready his mind for the mission at hand, taking out both his pistol and one of his knives. It was no seret that Jackal had a penchant for blades and other such "Classic" weaponry. He had known his comrades for a while now, not so much on a "BFF" level or anything, but he knew their specialties and their general personality traits. Cheetah was a survivor, though his intensity grated on Jackal's nerves for time to time. Magpie was a feisty crackshot, something he found humorous since many of the Snipers he had engaged with were of the rather bland pedigree. Dr Gorokhov was someone he had not spend much time with, but he did find his codename to be rather funny. Claymore was much of a soldier as Jackal could tell, much bigger than himself and more for "assaults" something Jackal didn't quite like himself. Specter, the italiano who's skills mirrored his own to some extent, aside from the "agressive flirting" Specter was often engaging. Jackal grinned at the notion. "What a bunch of misfits we are."

Colombia, a place Jackal had only once previously went on a mission, a rather bloody one at that. The Nobodies Unit was often sent in to get bloodbaths finished, many varying ways yet only one was effetive in most of their operations. "Identify a Cojones? make sure we don't get spot? Sounds like an easy job to me. Then again this could easily fail. but don't mind me at all" Jackal stated, still readying his tools and equipment. He was given his objective; scout ahead, make sure things go smoothly on his end. He just grinned as the orders were issued out. "No problem, This jackal will sniff around and howl back to you guys" He retorted, a tone of unprofessional-ism ringing true.

He looked at his Italian comrade, and just sighed. "I was expecting this from one of you. Colombia is definitely kinda like Cuba, only more troubled teens joining the ranks of Cartels instead of taking orphans and training them as child soldiers. I plan to make this place my retirement location." He snarked back at Specter, taking the front and slowly moving forward, making sure to catch anything out of the picture and rather strange, a keen eye on the look out for any kind of nasty wildlife around Colombia.

"Time for the Jackal to do his thing..."

Magpie hated flying, ironically enough. It was the lack of control that unsettled her, she told herself; the fact that she had no say in where she went, how quickly she got there, and how she would get there. It seemed to betray some vague sense of freedom that Magpie felt was her right to have, and so she hated it. In truth, the idea of plummeting ten thousand feet into the middle of nowhere made her heart sink, and drawing out that slow, inevitable demise by using a parachute only seemed to scare her further. She grimaced, and had been almost the entire flight, her expression hidden by the thick grey-brown cowl that covered her face and head, and as the Eagle touched down in a clearing in the thick South American jungle terrain she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She gripped her Winchester rifle tightly, stood up from her seat in the vehicle, and when she hopped out of the Eagle and heard her boots land on the dusty earth with a thud and a crunch her expression changed to a slight, comfortable smile, visible only by the slightest crinkle of the corner of her eyes, just about the only part of her visible beneath her clothing and armour. Magpie scanned the surrounding area eagerly, rusty brown eyes taking in the sights of the jungle terrain, and her perceptive senses picking up every sound and smell from around and outside of the group.

Although she had not visited South America before, Magpie knew this kind of terrain well. The trees were thick and obscured their view of anything more than a hundred feet away (and even then only in the best conditions available), which would cover their approach from those who might want to do them harm, but would also make it difficult to spot any kind of ambush or trap laid out before them that might have been organised by those very same people. They would have to be swift, silent, and constantly on their toes. Thankfully, Magpie thought that she was rather good at those things, and walked with an eager spring in her step. She patted the eagle on the side of its metal hull and stepped back as it rose into the sky, stranding them all here in the jungle. That was just rosy.

Claymore barked a few orders at the group, and Magpie was in no position to complain about his decisions. She fancied herself as something of a scout, but her skills put her neatly in the position of spotting and covering fire, the position of which she had been designated. She was the rear guard, and if anyone thought they could sneak up on the group with her there then they had what was coming to them, courtesy of Magpie’s increasingly itchy trigger finger. “Got it, boss,” she replied, a hint of playful sarcasm in her voice when she said the word ‘boss’. Devils had an interesting way of organising their groups and treated them more as messes of individuals rather than structured fire-teams. Because of this leadership could be quite fluid, even if everyone tended to find their niche in the group quite quickly.

Although naturally eager to rebel, Magpie was content to step back and follow the recommendations of her companions, and so with her Winchester rifle primed and ready, held up ever so slightly to fire at a moment’s notice, she followed.

“What’s the ETA to the compound?” Magpie asked, attempting to make ‘Are we there yet?’ sound a little more professional to befit her status as a mercenary as if that actually meant something. “Or are we just as clueless as I think we are?”

”What's the ETA” Magpies voice sounded in his audiounit and the breach expert answered. ”Not long. About 2 kilomoters trough one of the worlds most hostile territories.” He answered as the tracker lit up on his heads up display. Cheetah confirmed this with Jackal before continuing, sending him a the cordinates he was recieving to him. ”Our target is still at the compound. Then there was brief flicker on his screen and the tracker moved slightly. Targets on the move, not fast enough to be by car... Is he.. going by foot?”

The jungle crunched under their feet and bugs scuttered about around their boots. The humid air stuck to their skin in a instant, as vibrant green rose to be both a roof over their head, a floor under their feet and terribly poorly placed carpeting to hinder their passage. As Jackal and spectre took point, they would discover that there were plenty of suprises ahead. They had only made it a little short of hundred meters, before they found a rather freshly dug out foxhole. The hastily but well made improv fortification showed signs of recent use. A camoflauge netted, metal covering lay next to it. While unoccupied, it had a small stash of ammuntions neatly piled in a makeshift pocket at chest height. More noticibly, there lay a Gustav Recoiless Rifle in place and a whole lot of large packaged of white ”Bricks”. By all signs, whoever stationed this cashe spot had been here recently, most likely having forgotten to put the 'lid' back on.

As the good doctor sent his drones out, they would buzz and take to the air. One stuck to the roof of the canopy, well out of the way, and while partially covered, it afforded little vision itself. It did however, spot anything hiding in the trees. The second drone flew lower, keeping pace with the rear guard but covered their flanks as it buzzed back and forth. As the data streamed in, the man would get readings on everything around them. IT was due to this, they discovered another anomoly. Razor wire and trip wire riddles the forest in places. The entire area was full of it.

”Jesus.. They rigged the place.” Cheeta carefully stepped over a tripwire as he saw another net and lid. He hunched over and lifted it. ”Another installation. I am guessing this a emergency stash for a Cartel officer.” He said. ”Saw the same in Brazil. IF things go south, they scamper off, use the money and coke as liquid funds, take a little unit of loyal men and squat outside the hotzone.” He eyed the munition hidden underneath the lid. ”From the looks of it, these are freshly stocked. Maybe they are expecting the hammer to come down now that their boss grabbed someone really important.”

“So a real walk in the park, huh?” she responded, her lips curling into a small smirk, although once again the scarf shielded all that from view. “So half an hour, give or take a bit, depending on how much trouble we run into on the way up? No problem.”

Magpie briefly fell out of line of the sight from the group, moving into an area of slightly thicker foliage and moved along the side, still keeping far at the back of the group. She kept her footsteps light and walked on solid ground, keeping what tracks she might make to a minimum, and kept her eyes peeled. Enemies could be anywhere, and Magpie refused to let them get the drop on her team. What kind of rear guard would she be if she let someone sneak up behind them?

Travel was slow, perhaps slower than Magpie had expected it to be, but eventually they paused at a hastily dug out foxhole, void of people, but well stocked with ammunition and hefty bricks of some white substance. Drugs, no doubt. Magpie poked her head in curiously as the group came together, investigating the ammunition and the recoilless rifle that lay there, but found it ultimately underwhelming. Nothing of use for her, sure, but it meant that they were on the right track, and that they should be on their guard now more than ever. This place was far from abandoned, and whoever was manning this spot could be here any moment. She immediately twisted to the sounds of cracking branches, but found that it was only one of her companions taking off ahead of them. She let out a heavy sigh and returned to her position at the back of the group.

“So that means they’re going to be on guard, right?” Magpie asked, looking to Cheeta as she spoke. “If they’re expecting someone to pick them off then we might not have the element of surprise anymore. We should probably move though. We don’t want to be here if- when someone comes back to this spot.”

With the discovery of razor wire littering the forests, Magpie was forced to slow her movements and keep as observant as ever. She watched for the faint shimmer of wire as it caught the sunlight as the walk, keeping an eye for traps and tricks. If they were going to walk into any ambush in this forest, Magpie would catch it.

Specter was inwardly cursing the terrain and the painstakingly slow pace that he and Jackal had to take to avoid the various cunning traps that the cartel members had placed to dissuade hostile, and possibly internal, threats. He felt a toe nearly catch onto a snag, but his quick reflexes had his foot out and back under him before his overbalanced gait could make any noise to disturb wildlife or enemies alike. He huffed to himself, slightly embarrassed that he'd had such a near slip only half a kilometer away from the LZ. Jackal would never let him live that down and Anthony hoped he hadn't noticed. "Just trying to get a bead on the place, amico. Peace... save that aggression for the task at hand. Or maybe a little carousing in a local cantina, if we've the time." Specter winked at his almost friend, even though the man might be able to see the motion in the low moonlight and the little distance they'd taken from each other, the better to sweep the area.

"Where is he Jackal? What did Cheetah tell ya?" Anthony asked his ally, using the comms device around his tactical collar, barely above a whisper but easily caught on the sensitive microphone. Once again, he marveled at the little gadgets the Devils had at their disposal. He'd never get tired of being outfitted so well. The coordinates popped up on his own display, a small topographical map set to appear whenever Specter wished. These eyes were a life-saver, after all. The target wasn't moving fast, but why was he moving at all? Specter thought the leader would have holed up in a bunker to make Bin-Laden envious. There was no way he didn't suspect a direct attempt on his life any day now. "You're the lead right now, Jackal. Where do you want me? If we find some higher elevation and you scout out an intercept course, one shot from my lady," he jerked his head over his shoulder towards his rifle, "could take care of this mission, done and done."

He carefully circumvented another trap, looking into the rabbit hole with more than passing curiosity. What those drugs could go for at street value... Specter licked his lips in appreciation. He wasn't about to make a switch in professions at this point in the game however, no matter how profitable. He liked the work and disliked the stress that might come about after going from mercenary to drug dealer. However, he wouldn't mind dropping in there and maybe fetching one of those explosives rigged, if he could. Those might prove to be very useful if the situation warranted brash action. He sidestepped the installation, closing on Jackal's six and making their perimeter tighter as the landscape and traps closed in, limiting movement.

This was a shitty way to do business, that was for sure. He was glad his companion was more experienced in such places than he and had trusted in Jackal the moment he'd joined him on the forward scouting unit. He didn't like having to take his eyes from the edges of brush and tree to check his footing every other moment or so, the inability to keep his head on a constant swivel made him feel slightly insecure and trusted in the Doc's drones to spot out any incoming threats. "Don't fail me now, comrade," Specter thought to himself, thinking the last word in the man's own thick accent. That alleviated some of the Italiano's rising tension.

Sweat beaded the brow of the professional soldier, Alastair barely missing a tripwire and cursing as he scarcely got both his feet beneath him and regained his balance in time. God how he hated the fucking jungle! Nothing but bloody insects and sweltering heat, and now there was razor wire and the possibility of setting off a chain of explosives with every step they took as well.

“This day just keeps getting better,” he growled, caring not a bit if the others of his team were listening in, “any idea where that bastard is heading now? Won't get far on foot, but it seems he was expecting some form of company.”

Squatting down into a foxhole, the soil recently disturbed but with no sign of the former inhabitants, he took a quick glance at the weapons and clearly formed bricks of white powder. Ignoring these, and instead lifting his carbine to his shoulder, peering through the optic scope with short breaths coming from inside him, he tapped a small button on his mic and directed his questioning to the second oldest member of the Devils.

“Cheetah, any chance they knew we were coming?” he questioned, all business now and with a hint of irritation edging his voice, “if we've lost the element of surprise, well, then we're shafted nice and proper.”

Never one to miss the chance at rehydration, he plucked his canteen from his rigging and took a draught – truly the water, as it always did during missions such as this, tasted as if it had come from the gods above.

“I've got a few ideas,” continued the chatter to the Brazilian who had made the discovery of their current precarious position and situation, “but what is your take on things, how should we advance from here?”

"this is...rather peculiar for a Colombian cartel territory..." Jackal commented as he saw the varying razor wire traps littered about the place. Jackal moved carefully around the traps, he been used to this kind of work before, although mines would've been preferred for him personally. He examined the area, scouting out and finding a most peculiar "rabbit hole." He looked closely, seeing the stash of drugs, most likely some liquid funds for whoever dug this surprisingly well improvised foxhole. He chuckled to himself. "Somethings are just usually universally used. I've seen foxholes like this one back in Cuba."

Cheetah came through crystal clear. "Got it." just after he gotten the message, Specter spoke up. "Target is on the move, moving through the compound. The Target was still a long ways ahead. "Magpie, Whenever you can, try and look for higher ground to get your eyes on the field, we may need them if the target is expecting us." He stated. He didn't mean to sound so commanding. "Well, uuh, it's just a suggestion, it may help us." he retorted.

"As for you and me, Specter; We should move quickly, but also discreetly. We don't want to attract any unwanted cajones, no?" Jackal stated as he then moved forward. "Sounds like a plan. We both move closer to the compound. If we find some higher ground, you too head there. I'll plan a path to the target and lead him into your line of sight. I think you know how the rest of song goes right?" Jackal said as he moved in as quickly as he could move. "Everything sound good to you?" he asked Cheetah.

”I really don't think they made us. Whoever dug this would have cleared the stash. They might be expecting someone or something else” Cheetah shook his head as he surveyed the surroundings. ”He is back in the compound. But from the looks of it he just made suply run or something of that nature.” He lifted his combat shotgun to his shoulder and bit his lip inside the helmet. Then the idea of heavy firepower struck him and he hoisted the recoiless rifle onto his back..

”Forward. Our window is closing.” He started to creep forward again, noting that Jackal and Spectre picked up speed. He like everyone else was cursing the booby traps, but as they moved they began to clear. Likely they had been placed to guard the different stashes. Their progress were coming along faster and they made good time before they saw the first real telltales of a military compound. The jungle thickened but evidence of foot traffic became more and more apparent as they crossed well worn paths. Up ahead, the walls of the compound loomed afte a few hundred meters more. All in all, it had taken them only a three fifths of the projected timetable.

The sound of a truck could be heard heading into the compound. ”Eyes peeled. Doctor is getting movement on his western drone placement. Possibly two men, lightly armed, patrolling the west wall currently, moving towards the gate. Magpie, Spectre. I have an idea..” He could see the walls of the compound up ahead, far enough for them to still go unspotted among the dense trees. Cheetah tapped Claymores shoulder and pointed towards the direction of the incoming truck.

”Claymore. When those two on the wall go down, I'll blast the truck. I'll Draw their fire and attention to that side of the compound, moving eastbound to draw them away from where you guys are. I want you to set up our exit, blast a hole in that wall. Its shoddy craftmans ship, and you are our explosives guy. Magpie will pick them off and let them overstimate our numbers. Jackal get the fun task of infriltrating the compound. Spectre will hang back, work with Magpie to keep them guessing and pick off anyone trying to hightail or seek higher ground.” He paused, thought for a while longer then spoke once more. ”Spectre. Focus whatever heavies they got. Leave the light infantry to magpie.”

”If that truck is full of what I think it is, the fire and chaos will work to our benefit.” He grinned behind the helmet. He felt his system boot up and his legs began to disperse coolant for the sprint that was about to happen. The doctors drones were feeding more and more information as they took in the men on the walls, in the two lookout towers and the incoming truck. There were noticeble structural weaknesses along the wall as well. Cheetah moved with deceptive grace and crazy speed trough the bush now, before he slid to a halt and lay down in the buh. He heard the truck close in. He kept his head down as it passed

”On my signal, Magpie and Spectre, hit the sentries. Jackal. I am about to give you a way in. Use that stealth of yours to slip along the wall and in the main gates while they are busy with me, Claymore. The Second that exit is opened, lay down the hurt. I need to get close enough for effective range but I think between the two of us, we can see Jackal safely out. ” He made his display show a smiley at that.

After that we cover each other and move, keep up the fire and don't stop. We'll have to circumvent the boobytrapped area. Doctor, keep those drones circling.” He breathed in slow, and squeezed the trigger just as the truck stopped by the opening gates. The shell described a almost perfect arch before landing within the confines of the truck. There was a brief thud then the gate was turned into a inferno of exploding reagents and chemicalfires. As bullets began to hail his way he powered up from seating position into a hell of a sprint across the open road, to fast for the dazed guards to get a bead on him.