One more glass of that cheap liquor....whassit called? Welsh Dragon?! *Hic* Rack em and Stack em for Mr SWAT, I was a public servant once upon a time.....I'm here to....
Mack Yancy was in the swing of his nightly routine, he would do this every friday, although he was a quiet drunk for most of the week, only on fridays would he announce his status as an ex policeman. As he lost his job on a Friday and it would forever haunt him as the day he lost his identity. His slurred words were drenched in pain and sadness, the bartenders would tolerate his outbursts because they knew how he was hurting, the smugglers would pay him almost no mind. He was just a staggering has-been, they had nothing to worry about.
So much crime...bartender....so much fuggin crime....I lead some of the most successful *hic* drug busts....freakin, put those....poison pushers away for years...I kept people....safe....fug...*sniff*..ah crap.
Mack's bright blue eyes were beginning to well up with tears, the imagery was too strong, the nostalgia of doing his job right was too much of a pull on his heartstrings, he didn't want to be alive at this very moment, he wished the bottle of welsh dragon would overflow into his lungs and take him peacefully away into a drowned darkness, he blamed his parents for giving birth to him in the wrong era, a model policeman born into a world that didn't want police.......
The bar door began to creak open, a man with blue eyes as bright as Yancy's but of a Caucasian ethnicity, draped in a long coat stepped into the red raven, the music was low and heavy and seemed to be in time with the man's steady footsteps. He nodded to the bartender and pulled up a stool, right next to the sobbing Mack Yancy. He ordered an orange juice on the rocks and a black coffee. He smiled warmly and turned towards Mack who still had his head down.
Captain Michael Raymond Yancy, of the 32nd precinct Neo-Bay SWAT division, what the hell are you drinking today? Your commander back at the cadets would have suspended you for being anywhere near this cheap rat piss lager.
The man grinned and placed his hand on Mack's shoulder who was still gently weeping but began to slow down as he turned towards the man.
............I'm technically a...frickin lieutenant, Councilman. I never got my promotion ceremony when I was announced for captain, the precinct closed down the funds for that 4 days before I lost my job...*hich*..what's a goddamn politician like you doin here? *sniff* let me fuggin....die in peace here... will you?
The man adjusted his seat as he paid for the orange juice and coffee as it arrived and slid the black coffee over towards Mack next to his freshly opened bottle of 'Welsh Dragon' lager. He chuckled to himself as he sipped the orange juice and responded.
You can just call me Tim now Mack, I'm technically not a councilman anymore, I left office after that final fundraiser remember? The mayor said that I 'took my money and ran' which I didnt. Me and Hobbes didn't run anywhere, and now weve finally got everything all in place. But that all goes to shit if you end up dying drinking crap lager. Get some of that coffee in you Lieutenant, you'll be on duty soon.
As soon as Mack heard the word 'duty' he seemed to begin to rapidly sober up, his teary eyes became wide with puzzlement and his head snapped around to face the Ex-Councilman and looked deep into Tim's eyes.
What...*hic*...the fuck you talkin bout??! What do you mean.....duty?
Ex-Councilman Tim Taggart smiled warmly and grabbed 4 folders from inside his coat, and placed them on the bar counter.
Drink your coffee, and sober up Mack, we have a car coming to pick us up soon, those folders are dossiers, I need you to read over them, we are building a team. You'll be meeting them soon, I've gathered them all at my town house, Hobbes is briefing them as we speak, and they are all sober, hahah.
Mack was still puzzled, he began to open up the first dossier on the pile, and sipped on the black coffee, as his vision began to un-blur.
Tim Taggart and Mack Yancy had now left the Red Raven bar and were in the car on the way to Taggart & Hobbes townhouse. Mack was still out of it but was able to read the dossiers somewhat coherently on the drive, Neo-Bay's lights were drenching the street in a purple hue, it was somewhat relaxing. Mack still had a lot of questions and he was half sober enough to start asking them.
Counclima...er Tim, where exactly did you find these people? This is some high level operative stuff, way above my pay grade even when I was working...
Tim smiled as he shifted gears and the car began to enter on to a freeway.
Once you save up large sums of money, good employees seem to find you. They were interested in the salary and the cause, I did have to a little bit of scouting, but only because I needed to be sure of who I was working with...do you think you could work with them? Mack Yancy got annoyed, he felt like this was all being sprung on him, dragged into something he never signed up for.
Work with? I'm retired Tim. You think you could've given me notice before springing me out of the Red Raven to meet some random hired goons? You know how I feel about the freakin private security sector, why spend all that money, and bring me out here for nothing?
Tim, checked his GPS and sighed, they were almost at the townhouse and Mack didn't seem too convinced. He decided to come clean and began to explain the purpose of the new squad.
Combat Operate Private Service, Its not a firm, or a cartel, or a security branch. It's something new, something you could get on board with, Lieutenant Yancy. It abbreviates to C.O.P.S. which should give you a clue to what its about, after Hobbes moved in he had the idea that people miss the police force, but we cant bring it back, so we wanted to try a different version, a hard and effective squad to clean up the city without any of the red tape of the police commissioner or congress. We don't need to be anarchists to make a radical change. But we do need the most decorated and focused police officer who wasnt bought out by a private company, you're the only one who still wants to do the right thing, and once upon a time, before all this booze, you were extremely good at your job, we need you Mack Yancy.
Tim's words seemed to hit Mack like a shot of detox, this was crazy, a private service for the greater good? no red tape? A handpicked team? Seemed almost too ideal to be true, but Mack knew Tim Taggart was the type to pull off something this crazy and make it real. Mack burped loudly and grumbled a little under his breath as he began to flick through the dossiers.
hm....apart from this..Lily Martin these people dont have any police experience, they just seem to be mercenaries, you say they are in it for the cause? I only know a few people personally who would be willing to do such a radical job, no matter what the pay?
Tim Taggart was now back in his full on comfortable smile as he took a left into the residential district of Neo-Bay.
They may not all be cops, but they've all suffered because of this broken lawless system we find ourselves in, I can vouch for every one of them, Lily, Krauss, Lee and Jaime are the best of the best out of what I found. But this isnt a team of five, you mentioned you know a few people who be willing to do such a radical job? Well I know who all three of them are, and they are on their way to the townhouse, you're in for a surprise Mack.
Mack grabbed his head as it started to ache, what had he got himself into?
Craig Hobbes had just returned from the kitchen, he had ice water with him, and the 4 recruits had just arrived, sitting and making themselves comfortable in the somewhat messy townhouse/apartment. Lily, Lee, Jamie and Krauss had not spoken yet but were just finding places to sit. Craig looked at the four and chuckled as he served them the ice water. He spoke with an unfiltered British accent that had a curious tone.
I'm not sure how long they'll be now, but I've been given word that 3 more are on their way here too, apparently they have all met the 'famous' Mack Yancy in one way or another, should lead to an interesting dynamic. By the way, as you can see this place is a mess, I would say its because we want to keep a low profile but its more because Tim never cleans after coming home from work, and I'm nobodies housemaid. Feel free to chit-chat while we wait for Tim and Mack.
Craig Hobbes walked upstairs to feed his goldfish, humming the tune to his own theme song on the way.
Lee sat idly on the couch in front of the TV, the expression of boredom etched in his face. It was hard to get comfortable in a home that was not yours surrounded by people you were meeting for the first time. Despite that, he was sure that there was someone in the room who was most likely making himself very comfortable.
Lee glanced around the room, taking in the appearances of those who would be his comrades for the time being. They all seemed more than capable of holding thier own, they had to be able to join this program. Lily, a girl whom Lee assumed was Hispanic, was of interesting to him. He hadn't seen many women in this industry growing up, although, Lee attributed this to Chinese tradition. Jamie looked like the "All American boy" of the olden days, although he was fairly sure he was Norwegian, maybe Finnish. Finally there was Krauss, an old man who seemed to retain the light of the old world, or it could of been the hair, again , Lee was not yet sure.
Lee was the only operative here of Asian decent, giving him a small twinge of loneliness, he had been working with those of his own nationality for 8 years, this was a new experience for him.
Lee was clad in a black modern Mao suit with white trim with white low top sneakers. He would have added a white hat, but he felt that it may have been a bit much. He remained silent and to himself, even when he was given water, he refused to drink it, leaving it untouched on the table in front of him, choosing to focus on the News channel that played in front of him.
Lily took a sip of the water she had been offered. She sat on the end of the couch closest to the window, her mind still trying to get a handle on the irony surrounding her situation. It's not like she had been forced into joining this...squad, per se, but she faced much worse repercussions if she denied the offer. Nonetheless, Lily wasn't particularly tied to either side of the spectrum, she just enjoyed having the freedom to do whatever she wanted with her life. After all, she had been doing just that for so many years.
"Time for a real drink."
Lily wanted to quiet her mind by numbing her body, so she got up and headed to the kitchen in search of any available alcoholic beverage. It didn't take her much time to find a bottle and she poured herself a decent amount of whisky. Once she took her first sip, she leaned against the counter and rubbed her eyes in response to the strong drink. She figured she might as well make herself at home while she--and the rest of her teammates--waited for Tim and Mack.
He continued to trek his way down the streets of Neo-Bay City, as he made his way to the designated destination. The address he was given didn't exactly seem like something a new Organisation would have. In all honesty, the flashy buildings and underground storage bays that many of the Corporations leading the world have access too. However, with it only just being formed, it'd make more than enough sense to literally just pull out your Mate's flat and using that as the Secret-Hideout. It wasn't exactly going to be a giant Letter-Shaped Skyline that overlooked the City like an Overly-Protective mother to her infant in their cot. The thought of the corporations briefly, before trailing off from what he used to work for. Whatever this new job included, it hopefully won't lead to some sort of brutal massacre towards his former work colleagues. Though he would admit, many of them were in fact knob-heads with classy equipment, some he had managed to develop small bonds with using the little time he spent with each one. His tie-in with each of these PFs gave mixed feelings about the world. Yes, the government had fallen and it was a tragedy, even costing him his job once or twice. His dreams had already been ruined by the rise of these superiors, and yet he somehow felt rather comfortable with their presence, at least at some points in his life. Yet, that was all just a delusion he had to face every now and then...He kept walking, shaking his head as he approached the designated street he'd been sent too.
>A Few Days Ago...
"Mr Kennedy? I don't think we've met before, have we?" The figure came completely into view. A strong cigarette balanced between his lips, seeping ash from its bud. His suit was somewhat irregular, having a few creases every now and then. The colour was dull, as if he were mourning over the death of an individual. He had the right to be mourning...The Justice that once was in this city and world had died, along with the superior governments that had ruled the surface of the Earth for a Thousand Years non-stop. Greg eyed the man, slowly stepping into the faint alleyway light that the male stood in. They were around the side of a building, not too far from the current Industry he was training: Procutia Inc. Greg finally began to speak up, seeing the amber glow from his cigarette glimmer once more.
"Can't say we have...I also can't say this will be very important regarding the current business I'm doing..." A chuckle emerged from the lips as a half-smirk brought itself into view. It was slightly sinister, but friendly and mysterious all at the same time. It confused him slightly, concerning the Scotsman.
"Well...Guess it's my duty to make you think the other-way..." The man moved the cigarette from his lips, dabbing it a few times to tip the Ash emissions from the tip before letting it go. His foot slowly slid on top of it, grinding it into the ground. He had a file, a document, laid to his side, held by his right hand. "Let's start with the easy part...The person you are, Gregory...Scottish-Bred. Have parents, Drew and Angelina? Served with the 45th Commando Regiment...Based in Angus, Scotland...A Master in Close-Quarters action, breaching and crowd control through Peacekeeping exercises where terrorism was high...Then you served against Australia, having earned yourself two promotions...Lance Corporal, then Corporal. The war ended just before Australia had a chance to set their invasion upon British Soil...Smart move, eh? The Government fell not long after, your Unit, as most, was disbanded. Having only a few to follow, your superior immediately sent you off to Neo-Bay, where he ordered a place for you in their Police Force to ensure your abilities weren't wasted...Spent time with the Riot-Police, finding even more ways to improve on CQC and Armoured movement without Vehicular assistance. Drove yourself to the rank of Sergeant, not being far off the last and latest record for promotion speed. A Master, yet again, behind the Shield, using Batons, Metal Rods and Small Firearms at your decision. The Force was disbanded and the only last resort available was these petty companies, hindering your skills to improve whatever injustice they wish to serve...Oh, and you also like your Tea with Semi-Skinned Milk...How original?" Greg's eyes narrowed. How did this man know so much about him, without him knowing about the man? It seemed impossible...Improbable...But he said it. All he could do was nod slowly, taking it all in with some confusion, a large amount of caution taking place within his mind. This all seemed too innocent, but with information like that all he could do was play along. Who knew how much this figure knew about him, apart from himself obviously? "Before I get straight to the point...You remember a Mack? Michael Yancy? One of the Lieutenants at the Neo-Bay Police Force?" He thought for a while, before slowly developing a civil answer.
"I know of a Mack...From that description, at least...We didn't talk too much, had a few drinks together and chatted on some occasions...Guy disappeared from existence, seemingly, once the Force was disbanded."
"Huh...Well isn't that good news? You'll have time to catch up when we get together...Which brings me to this...I'd like to introduce you to a new programme...Something I can imagine your skills would fit in nicely. You're the first of the group that I've come to grab for the project. Mack'll be leading it, under my belt of course, with quite a few faces that have seen the combat, others that...Well...Haven't...But someone'll need that Shield to hide behind...Not these Private Forces that lay waste to what we used to call justice...You understand where I'm going with this? Because if so...Would you like to know more?" He stepped more into the light, letting out one final grin.
>Present Day...
Gregory came face-to-face with the door, looking at the handle. He shrugged to himself, seeing how Unfancy it looked to what other groups might be. But what matters there? Why have something technological and obvious when you could operate in the comfort of your own home. Taking a fist, with one knuckle sticking out, he knocked on the door. What greeted him was more than just a national neighbour. Highly English, something Greg always loved and was used to in his previous roles towards his country, the man was more than excited to see him. Welcoming him and leading him inside, he looked to his left, seeing four awkwardly-sat, and stood, individuals all huddled into the building. His eyes darted to each and everyone of them, all looking as if they originated from different ethnic groups. Finding this quite amusing, he smirked slightly, closing the door behind him. Greg's body build wasn't incredible strong, but it definitely was more than capable for the role he served. His strong accent broke the near-deafening silence that was present.
"Ey lads and Lasses...Looks like I got the right address, unless you are here for some sponsored silence event?"
Collin stepped out of his ramshackle apartment building, dressed in his usual jeans, t shirt and leather jacket. A faded baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, he bent his head down and cupped his palm, the sharp *shick* of flint on steel and the sudden burst of orange glow against his skin as he held the flame to a cigarette in his mouth. He put the lighter in his pocket, gray smoke puffing out his nostrils into the dim street lights as he just stood for a moment surveying the coming and going of headlights and pedestrians.
“Hey buddy, can you spare a light?” A voice to his left suddenly asked, making Collin turn and see a man in a ragged looking suit leaning against the wall of his building. Used to beggars and vagabonds asking for handouts, a simple light was no big deal, and Collin fished out his lighter and tossed it to the man, the metal glinting against the fluorescent glow of headlights as it spun through the air. The man caught it and deftly lit his own cigarette, and Collin took time to size him up. He was no older than any other bum he had met; his clothing told a story at first glance of someone recently out of work and looking for more. Still, the guy didn’t talk like a hobo. He was calm, confident, without the desperate stutter and pleading look in his eyes. He wasn’t that big either, didn’t have hand in his pocket around a gun and wasn’t leaning forward like he was about to swing. So Collin made the mental decision that the stranger did not pose an immediate threat.
Nodding, handing back the lighter, the stranger puffed on his cigarette next to Collin for a few moments, both of them just silent and standing in the street. Then he spoke, “I’m Tim Taggart, but you can just call me Tim,” Collin nodded, not saying a word. He didn’t really feel like striking up a conversation with a complete stranger on the side of the road. Tim started to chuckle. “I should’ve known you weren’t the social type Corporal McCreary.”
At the mention of his name, and his old rank, Collin turned his head and looked at Tim Taggart with narrowed eyes, about to open up his mouth and ask just who the fuck this guy thought he was. Tim spoke first. “Yes I know who you are McCreary, and know a lot more about you than just your name. A year in Boston, two in Neo-City, though I do find it amazing that no records exist of you actually graduating any type of formal police training. I did find out you have a significant problem with authority figures. Worked you way up to Sergeant…twice I think wasn’t it? First time busted down to just a patrolie for punching your Department supervisor, second time down to Corporal for only the suspiciously vague citation of ‘excessive violence during questioning.’ Care to elaborate?” Collin stood there, his mind reeling, not sure if he wanted to punch this Tim Taggart in the throat and leave him coughing in the gutter or hear him out. Tim just puffed on his cigarette again and shook his head.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. The few other records I could actually dig out from my government connections are more than enough to cement your position on the team. Plus, you won’t have to worry about citations for ‘excessive violence’ anymore.” Tim continued, ashing at his feet. Collin, took a drag on his own cigarette, his eyebrows rising a bit at the mention of a team. He finally got the chance to speak.
“What the fuck are you talking about old man?”
Tim chuckled again, and pulled file out of his jacket, handing it to Collin. “Everything you need to know is in here. Salary, job description, as well as a dossier of your teammates,” at Collins glowering look from his final word Tim smiled. "Yes McCreary, team mates. Non-negotiable. But before you immediately say no just take a look at the file. If you aren’t interested then so be it. If you are you’ll find instructions inside on where to be and when.”
Collin stepped out of the cab, sparking a cigarette as he walked down sidewalk. He had the driver drop him off a few blocks from the location, not wanting to get out right in front of the supposed headquarters to this mystery gig. He shouldered past people as he walked, ignoring the angry glances thrown over their shoulders at his back. He had looked at the file. Salary first, he didn’t want to waste his time on anything that wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Pay was decent, better than bouncing bars and clubs. The dossier concerned him. Only two names on the list had stuck out to him. Micheal Yancy was the first on the list, the only individual Collin actually knew remotely well. He and Yancy had partnered on a bust a long time ago, and after the department folded he saw the man from time to time drowning his sorrows over yet another empty bottle. Greg Kennedy he knew by reputation only, being one of the Riot guys in the force before the whole thing turned belly up. The other myriad names and histories on the list meant little to him. They didn’t have much experience outside of whatever had attracted Taggart, and Collin didn’t trust words on paper. The thought of working alongside other people irked him, and he had considered just tossing the whole file in the trash. Yet…here he was, standing outside the address given in the file.
Collin just stood there looking at the door for a long time. He leaned against the window of a parked car, just looking at the beat up wooden door and smoking. He finished his cigarette, lit another, and when that one was done he finally pushed up off the car and walked up to the door. He knocked once, his baseball cap pulled over his eyes, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket when the door cracked open. Hobbes, or at least that’s what the name attached to the picture in his file said, opened the door. Before he could speak and welcome Collin in he stepped past the man and into the house.
The place was a fucking mess. Empty take out containers, beer bottles, dozens of ashtrays filled with cigarette butts and ash. It smelled like a stale smokehouse. Collin felt right at home. He walked into the living room, heard the voices of other already gathered. He recognized all their faces from the files. Lee Allen, Jamie Packard, Krauss Helfer, and Lilly Martin were all there. He recognized Kennedy immediately. He was older than the last time they had met, which had just been in passing within the few times Collin was ever around the department. Collin rarely forgets a face. He did a quick mental count of people and made note of possible exits. It was an old habit that he had never been able to shake even all these years working civilian sector.
Without saying anything, Collin took a seat on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. He pulled an already overflowing ashtray towards him and lit another cigarette, puffing the gray smoke into the air.
I hope this shit is worth it, he mentally grumbled to himself as he took another heavy draw.
Lily immediately noticed the blue-eyed foreigner who decided to break the silence as soon as he stepped into the room. By his accent, she figured he was somewhere from western Europe, but she couldn't pinpoint the specific location at the moment.
"You're just in time for the event of the year."
She took another sip of her drink even though her fingertips were starting to tingle. She sometimes hated being a lightweight, but not tonight. The fact that tonight she had to meet a group of people made her somewhat nervous, especially since she was so used to being alone.
Not too long after blue eyes comes in, another person with similar features shows up. He wasn't as friendly as the first guy. In fact, he looked like he was going to kill someone any minute now.
"Would you like a drink?"
She directed the question at the grump who had just taken a seat on the other side of the counter across from where she was standing. Lily found it amusing the fact that he still towered over her even though he was the one sitting down. Oh well, can't do much about genetic shortcomings. She smirked at her own mental joke.
Finally, his words were praised by but a single response. Greg carried a new smirk on his face, rubbing his finger-tips on the brown stubble peppering his chin and surrounding his mouth. The bristling sound would've been bliss if one of these comrades happened to be a fan of ASMR. Nonetheless, he returned the conversation.
"Well, what can I say? Shifty bastard meets me in the alleyway, tells me my own lifestory and then offers me a twisted job with little time to think...Sounds like a job I'd take any day in this bloody country." He smirked once again to himself, wiping his feet on the doormat before entering more.
He was cut off by the door opening a second time, this time a familiar face bringing itself indoors. He remembered it, passing the man a few times in the corridors of the NB Police Department. They most likely hadn't spoken a few times, and Greg's mind sometimes clouded over the tagic events he so missed. Simply nodding to him the instant their eyes met, he moved to the kitchen area and leant against the counter.
"Would you like a drink?" He wasn't sure who she was asking, so he waited. There was a short silence, so his assumption was it being aimed at him, regardless if he was wrong or not.
"Nah...Brought my own." Greg pulled out a small canteen, a faded insignia bearing on its outer-shell. The eyes that would pay attention would recognise it as the RMC's one, now seeming as a mear-legend with the Military standings. His lips made contact with it as he let a small gulp seep out. He was polite, not too loud when he spoke. The general man to talk to when issues were faced. In fairness, he'd most likely had travelled the most out of the team due to the countless jobs and Operations he'd experienced. His eyes looked at Lily, who also was in the kitchen, before signalling that it was directed to everyone. "Come on, let's hear a bit about yourselves before I start boring you with my dull past."
As indicated earlier, those with the keen eyes and attention to detail would've figured that the last sentence was no more than a lie. It wasn't boring, but rather tragic when it came to war. Hiding it with humour was one way to go about living in public.
Collin glanced sideways at the question. Lily Martin stood near him, her small hands holding a glass filled with the unmistakably brown liquid of whiskey. Or rum maybe, Collin wasn’t sure what kind of drinker Taggart was. At her question he wordlessly reached over, and grabbed the bottle from where it was sitting next to her. Disregarding the glasses that were strewn about the counter, he held his cigarette between his index and middle finger of his right hand and brought the neck to his lips. The liquid burned as it passed his throat, warming its way down to his stomach were it settled and gave off a steady heat.
Yep, definitely whiskey. He swallowed another swig and set the bottle next to him, taking another pull on his cigarette before ashing in the tray. He blew the smoke out slowly, letting it curl around his face and the brim of his hat as he listened to Kennedy speak. The man briefly mentioned his past, and Collin kept his face impassive as he listened.
You can learn a lot about people by just sitting there watching and listening. He could tell Kennedy was trying to be sociable, as well as Miss Martin, but he frankly didn’t care too much about anyone’s backstory. He knew enough from their files anyway. Lily Martin, Cuban, 5 feet tall and about 100 pounds soaking wet. She had martial arts training, though the file had been pretty vague concerning her actual work experience. While he was curious to the reason she was here amongst the likes of himself and Kennedy, who both had long histories of police or military work behind them, he knew from reading the other members that there was some reason Taggart had selected her. As with all of them.
He glanced her way again, pulling on his cigarette and letting the ember glow hot and bright against his face. “Thanks,” he said in a rough voice, the Bostonian twang still evident even after years of living south of the city. He turned back to the bottle, taking another drink and listening to Hobbes making small talk with some of the other guests.
For the past few years, "Jay" Packard had operated as a freelance agent of sorts - taking jobs at his personal discretion and generally working under the salary from that alone. Before that, he'd been a dedicated agent for DynaCorp, one of the leading "private security" operators in the North American region, for upwards of a dozen years.
The company had a certain infamy about it, recognized only by those well-ingrained in the political world, in its habit of locking down and absorbing smaller business outfits. Part of this was to expand their range of influence, the other part served to intake supplies and workers with promise of better pay and treatment. For the most part it worked, legal and ethical concerns be damned; the puppet government didn't have enough power in their hands to refuse DynaCorp's questionable practices, and the other corporations that did were either paid for their silence or sent a 'message' to ensure they didn't speak up.
When he wasn't assassinating crime lords or covering drug-busting operations, Jay would occasionally find himself the 'courtier' for those certain latter instances. While DynaCorp did pay a handsome royalty to ensure the 'delivery' went as perfectly as it could, it didn't make the experiences any more desirable. Killing rabid junkies and lawless insurgents was easy and didn't need much induction - "These guys are plotting to overthrow the security of this sector, go put a stop to them," - political intrigue, meanwhile, proved much more difficult to swallow.
Fortunately, servicing a company for over a decade with excellent skill in your field allowed one to be less of a beggar and more of a chooser, so to speak. Gradually, Jamie formulated a certain business plan for his own devices, and began to phase away from DynaCorp in the span of a couple years. The process wasn't so much taking matters into his own hands, but rather working as an independent agent, doing the same terror-killing missions without the concerns of inter-company power struggles.
Of course, it was only a matter of time before DynaCorp themselves caught on, and at that point Jamie would be ready to defend his stake if it came to it. Rather than challenge him, however, the security agency recognized his intent and granted him that very political freedom- under several firm conditions, granted, but all the same in any case.
Until recently, Jay had been somewhat enjoying this free reign to take down the many different anarchist rings at his own order for a year or so. With no company requirements or political killings to keep quota, life became relatively more simple- as much at it could get, of course, for someone who effectively served as a hitman.
It was at this point that he came in contact with Councilman Tim Taggart. The man who recited all of this knowledge and more to Jamie, making quite clear his former governmental influence. Time presented the meeting as an opportunity for a soldier like Jay to make a real difference in the world again while doing the same job he'd just been doing. Jay himself interpreted as a threat to his well-being, a ransom to join this newly-founded anti-crime organization or have the secrets he was holding divulged. Who would the info go to? He couldn't know for sure; yet, Jamie was quite certain that there was more than one person (or company of persons) that would want the man dead if this knowledge was divulged to them. There was no cause driven greater than petty revenge, after all.
So here Jay sat now, lounging on the couch of some messy flat of the former young police captain who was supposed to be fielding this crew. And what a crew it was- back in the day, the racial diversity of this team might have been rather praised (or just as equally hated).
He was supposed to get along with this motley band of individuals? Well, it couldn't be the worst challenge of life.
Just looking at this meeting place told volumes about what C.O.P.S. had to work with compared to what the program meant to do. It put the whole thing in a slightly more understandable light for Jay, so that he didn't feel exactly like he was being dragged into this against his will.
Still, Jay couldn't shake off a certain feeling. Like a shirt with an itchy tag, the uncomfortable thought nagged at him. The idea that Taggart had approached him knowing everything there was to know about him didn't quite sit right in the brain. If the councilman knew all that himself, how many other people had Jay's life story recorded and up for grabs. Was this a ransom, or some secret chance for redemption?
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, the saying went. As Jamie chugged half a glass of water, he tried to resolve not to think too hard about whatever implications were at stake. This was just a less-than-fancy attempt to change the face of a city, after all.
Mack's eyes were bleary from the neon, he stepped out of retro vehicle that Tim was driving and struggled to get his mind focused. His mind was still dazed from the insane amount of drinking he had took part in before the councilman picked him up, but he was now at least speaking coherently.
This...is a nice house, you're saying the 4 mercenaries in the dossiers are here?, you trust them in your town house?
Tim smiled as he helped the wobbly Mack up the steps and in to the main room. The floor was all luxury velvet carpeting. The door was a sleek mahogany, it looked like a palace from the 20th century.
It's not just the 4, I believe some of the guests have arrived along with Craig Hobbes who is serving refreshments, you go on in ahead, I need a cigarette and Craig doesn't allow me to smoke inside. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Mack stepped into the somewhat messy but very large living area and looked around him to see 6 strangers in either in uncomfortable silence or sporadic conversation. The faces from the dossiers sprung to him immediately. Lee Zao was quietly watching the news, Mack was taken a back by how normal he looked, sitting down as if he was in a coffee shop. This was a notorious security officer that Mack had read about even before he saw the Dossier tonight. Many of the firms that became powerful after the closing down spoke of a 'Chinese Super-Martial' as if he was some sort of demon, and looking at his kill count and efficiency record, Mack couldn't blame them.
Krauss Helfer was also in the room, this man was a veteran of the Wolf Brigade, an EDC attack firm which was so notorious for their work that being targeted by them was know as being 'Thrown to the wolves'. When Mack was SWAT officer he used to wonder what kind of hyper competent agents were working in that group and now he had one in front of him.
Before Mack really had a chance to acknowledge Jaime and Lily he spotted not one, but two familiar faces in the room, he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
C-Colin?....What you...? How did they find you? I thought you went off the record after that most recent gang bust. I would have thought you were in danger with the underbosses looking for revenge....Tim got you involved in this, what does he want with us two?
Mack also acknowledged the tall scottish gentleman who was smiling and chatting with Lily, he seemed to be the only one in the room fully comfortable with his surroundings.
Sgt Kennedy? that is you isn't it? I never thought I'd see another Riot Officer from the force, I heard most of you were hired by the Japanese firms for their new buildings in the city...... Are you here as a mercenary? I'm so damn confused I need to sober up.
Mack clutched his head just as Craig Hobbes entered the room, now holding a glass of wine and dragging a very large lockbox with his right hand, it looked big enough to be holding a motor cycle and the somewhat skinny Hobbes was struggling with it.
Hnnnhhh...ahhh..thats bloody heavy, Master Yancy? that is you! Welcome to mine and Tim's house, we were just waiting on you to arrive, I'm still getting all the gear from our study room, but this box has a few useful trinkets
Craig chuckled to himself as Mack's eyes widened at the selection, knowing there were even more guns upstairs made his mouth drop. While the group started to crowd around the lockbox, Craig snuck next to Lily Martin discreetly.
Ms Martin, I take it youre aware but Mack Yancy is quite clearly still grappling with an alcohol problem, until he sobers up properly, you are acting commander of this squad, your SWAT experince makes you a capable leader and we will need that.
Craig quickly went into the kitchen and came back holding up a large sniper rifle and showed it to Jaime Packard.
What's your opinion Master Packard? we had this custom made just for you. Tim stole the schematics from the Japanese, we thought something like this would be better in your capable hands anyway.
>Days ago... Another day in the shop. Another car to fix, though this one was quite flashy. Probably some big city head checking out this father and daughter mechanic shop that he heard of. Not that Valeriya cared at all. Was just another customer. Just so long as he didn't enter the actual shop and see the 'goods' that was her. There had been a few like that. But she only focused on doing the check-up that the customer had asked for. Though she did find it odd that it was only a check-up and nothing more.
That's when she heard footsteps. The type you couldn't ignore. The type of footsteps that come from dress shoes. But kept her face buried in the car, she had a job to do afterall. "Come to check the 'goods'?" She asked in a very bitter fashion. "You flatter me, but no. I come with a proposition-" "Cutting straight to the marriage proposal?" she cut him off, again with a very bitter tone. "No again. Can I finish before you cut me off again?" Valeriya sighed, then nodded, not pulling her head away from the vehicle. "Alright then." The man cleared his throat. "You are Valeriya Ilyushin. Daughter of two immigrant parents, legal immigrants. You were born on Russian soil, and raised right here in Neo-Bay." Valeriya had frozen with what he had already said, but he kept talking. "For most of your early years, you had a pretty normal life as the daughter of a grease monkey. Even helping your father out in the shop. But shortly after your 16th birthday, your life was changed drastically. A boy attacked you, kidnapped you, and beat you near to death. To list a few things." Valeriya spun around quickly as he finished that sentence, a mix of shock and anger on her face "How do you know that about me?!" "Let me finish please. Continuing on. Police found you, many bruises and cuts. Left dozens of scars on your body, you've even got one on your forehead that you hide with your hair. After that event, you took some time to feel the psychological effects of his actions. Then you joined the Youth Army Cadets, the reasons you gave for joining were vague, but no one questioned it. You met Mack Yancy, conversed with him, one of the few that you conversed with while in the Cadets, never became friends, but were acquaintances. But only for a year, as he had graduated with honors. But you were a smart kid yourself, when you graduated, you got honors, and were valedictorian of your class."
He paused. He was taking a draw of his cigarette. But she was quite shocked at how much he knew. After he finished exhaling, he continued to speak his knowledge of her. "After your graduation though, you did not follow Mack into the Police force. Nor did you follow your peers into private firms. You came back here for about a year, until you joined up with the professional racing circuits. Well, that was your most public movement. Underneath that, you drive in underground circuits to further enhance your skill. Along with driving for private firms. You left the racing league after two and a half years, but kept yourself in the underground, and as a freelance driver for the private firms."
"What do you want then?" She asked in a less bitter tone. "I'd like you to join up with a small group of people I'm pulling together. With Mack Yancy as the team leader, though I will be the sort of 'top brass' of the group." He pulled a file out of his suit. "The name's Tim Taggart by the way, but do call me Tim. Here's a file with copies of everyone else involved, as I know you also like to read, so you'll have some new reading material for the next few hours. If you do decide to join up, there are instructions on where to go and when." She took the file and stared at it a bit confused before looking up to see him going through the door that connected the shop to the front desk. Valeriya took a few minutes to let it soak in before finishing her work so she could decide on what to do about this whole situation.
>Present
Dear god! Why was this place so damn far away?! Valeriya was sitting at a red light, looking at the address over and over again. "Well baby girl, lets show this city who owns the streets." She reached for the volume control for the stereo system and cranked it full. Then scrolled through a list of songs, and found a fitting song, and pressed play. All somehow timed well with a green light, and Valeriya floored it. The engine roared with hate. The rear wheels desperately working for traction as thick clouds of white smoke poured from them, along with a loud screeching. She knew she wouldn't have time for going slow. She'd be way too late, and the 'speed limits' were a joke anyway. As she drove, she blazed passed those that were going much slower, and the street lights whizzed by, causing colored pulses on the exterior of her car. Valeryia pushed well into triple digits on the speedometer, pulling high octane drifts around turns, and blazing through stop lights. Weaving through traffic, and squeezing her way through those stopping for red lights. She was the definition of a demon.
Along her path of demonic speeding she found herself rapidly approaching the location, along with a new song playing. "Work with momma on this one." She spoke to the car as she slammed the brakes, causing a very audible screeching from the tires along with smoke spewing from them due to the friction. Though due to her speeds, she slid past the location. So she threw the car into a drift, and slammed on the gas pedal to turn that momentum around. The car's engine was just as quiet as the tires are, in that they were as loud as they could possibly be. Anyone who was sleeping was no doubt abruptly awoken. Once she got the car going in the opposite direction, she drove back to the location, then pulled an unnecessary drift to put the car onto the correct side of the street to park, accompanied by a unneeded engine rev, letting the whole area know how angry her car was. Valeryia sat inside her car for a few seconds before turning it off and stepping out.
She entered the building, found the apartment number and knocked. Once Craig answered, she just pushed past. The smell didn't bother her. She'd inhaled worse. Same with the sights. Her work station at the shop wasn't the cleanest, and yet she worked better than most mechanics in a clean shop. Her face and clothes were fresh with the marks and smells of working on engines. So if anything, she just added to the mixture of smells. Valeryia spotted Mack, but that was the only familiar face.
”I thought you went off the record after that most recent gang bust. I would have thought you were in danger with the underbosses looking for revenge....Tim got you involved in this, what does he want with us two?”
Collin pushed the brim of his ballcap up a bit with one index finger, revealing more of his face. His green eyes fell on Yancy, and he gave a wry smile at the man’s slightly stuttering speech. By the sound, and smell, of him Yancy was either still drunk or just recently sobering up. Collin checked his watch, seeing it as just a bit before midnight. Yea, that sounds about right. Taggart had probably picked him up in the middle of another bender. Being Friday that usually meant lots of teary war stories. Hence why Collin avoided the Red Raven on Fridays.
As Mack continued to look around the room with a look of shock and disorientation Collin spoke up, for only the second time since entering the room. Blowing out a cloud of smoke from his nostrils he addressed the distressed ex-cop.
“I did go underground, and thought that I did a good job of it too. It’s been about 4 years, and yet still somehow that Taggart found me. I don’t like it, but the offer he gave was a little too good to just pass up without a second glace,” he finished, pulling on the cigarette again and noticing the ember was just about to the filter. He stubbed the butt out and watched as another person entered. That would make seven, and the small female that looked uncomfortable and shy could be none other than Miss Valeriya Ilyushin. Her file, like most of the others, was lacking in their background, but he knew that she was the driver of this group. She had a string of racing awards under her belt, as well as plenty of time under the hood of a car. His appraisal of the new arrival was interrupted by Hobbes pulling a gigantic trunk into the living space.
When the huge box was opened, even Collins stoic demeanor cracked as he gave a low whistle. Hobbes and Taggart had somehow smuggled what equated to a small arsenal inside the box. It was stuffed with weapons of all different types, and Hobbes hefted a long rifle towards Packard. The weapon looked mean and military grade, though Collin had absolutely no idea what it was. It didn’t look like anything he had seen on the streets before, let alone anything he had seen any of the various PMC forces carrying in Neo-Bay. His question was answered when Hobbes mentioned that the custom rifle had been stolen from the Japanese, meaning that it was likely a secret prototype the Japs had been developing. He took another sip of the whiskey, but set it down behind him in order to keep his body between the alcohol and Yancy. The guy didn’t look like he needed anything else to drink any time soon.
The glass was empty by this point, and Lily contemplated getting another drink of whisky. Just as she started to weigh the pros and cons of being even more intoxicated around all these strangers, in walked Craig dragging a container that was surely heavier than he was. She couldn't help but laugh a little at his struggle, although her smile didn't last long once she made out what was in the box. A little lump formed in her throat at the realization that things were becoming very real, rather fast. Her mind now cluttered with too many thoughts, Lily didn't notice someone approaching her until they were right behind her. Craig again...that sneaky bastard. He spoke to her in a hushed tone, and she got a racing pulse once some of his words registered.
"...you are acting commander of this squad..."
She muttered some nonsense reply when he was done talking, even though his words stayed with her. She watched him walk away as if this little announcement wasn't going to have an impact on everyone in the room. Lucky for her, she realized that it wasn't her decision to let the others know, so she kept her mouth shut and just stared in Mack's general direction.
You better sober up quick, she thought, because all this responsibility that was just dumped on me could end tragically for us all.
Most news was never good news, although it made sense that bad news was entertaining news. To be honest, the bad news was the only reason anyone looked to watch news. Lee scratched his head despondently, enjoying the knowledge that he gained from the anchors' monotonous voice.
Despite the unusual pleasure and enjoyment that Lee derived the news, he tore his eyes away from it, glancing at the arrival of Mack Yancey. He was a fairly tall African American man with blue eyes of all things, a rare occurrence, most likely a genetic mutation. Lee could only assume.
Despite Macks arrival, Lee remained in his seat. He leaned back further into the soft cushions of the couch and closed his eyes, letting the news anchors words and the word of the other operatives in the room wash over him, occasionally interrupting his meditation to drink from the glass of cold water that he had been given. He could hear the hustle and bustle and clinking of glass coming from the kitchen. He found it unusual how people could resort to drinking so quickly. These were supposed to be professionals, if the job was to hard and they needed to numb the pain that it caused, this wasn't the best line of work for them. Lee made no move to voice his opinions on the habits of killers though, he had no right to.
When the scraping of the weapon box that Craig carried stopped and was opened Lee couldn't help but smile from his place on the couch. Due to the comments of Craig, he was fairly sure that it was a box was full of weapons. He was also sure that there would be a weapon that he would find appropriate when the crowd that surrounded it left, trying to avoid having to leave his comfortable spot on the couch. Lee simply opted to listen to the conversations of those around him, get to know them before he took the time to actually speak with anyone. The power of observation was a powerful tool.
The middle aged man of the Wolf Brigade had remained oddly silent as his future team members arrived in the apartment. Perhaps he was keeping his cool, feeling out the situation. An experienced veteran of insurgent hunting and counter intelligence would know when to observe and when to act. Maybe he was deep in thought, planning already as to how he was going to perform in his role of the team, how each member of the team would either hold him back, or propel him further. No, the slight grimace on his face meant something more, something that only a seasoned warrior such as himself could know.
Krauss was experiencing jet lag.
It had been a long, nonstop flight from New Munich to Neo Bay as he had only just arrived state side yesterday. The experience was terrible for poor Krauss, as not only was he not really one for flying, but his flight had mistakenly put him in "Business" rather than first class, forcing him to sit behind the obnoxiously loud family, between the loud snoring old man and the fat lady, and in front of the five year old kicking his seat and generally being what Krauss called "A little shithead". So between a horrible flight and adjusting to the new timezone, Krauss was not in a particularly social mood at his point.
It wasn't too long ago when his company had been contacted by a certain councilman of Neo Bay. He had requested that one their own join this newly founded organization to help reestablish some sense of order and justice in the city, something right up the Wolf Brigade's ally. Kruass had volunteered, relishing in the challenge that such a foreign land would present. He had mainly operated in Europe both before and while working for the wolves, so the environment and the people were all very new to say the least.
His team seemed like an odd bunch of individuals, each with their own story to tell. Krauss wondered as to what that story was. With such a diverse team like this, he wondered how will they actually come together as one team, or how they will properly bond. A worrisome thought for another time, as just then the supposed leader of the group had entered this messy apartment. Michael Raymond Yancy, or simply known as "Mack Yancy". A former SWAT now turned.... well Krauss didn't need to even stand next to the man to smell the alcohol wafting off of him. From his briefing, Krauss had learned somewhat about how Neo Bay's police force had all been essentially disbanded, and it seemed this particular cop didn't take it too well.
Normally, one would be concerned about this. After all, this drunk, washout SWAT guy was to be his new acting team leader? However, the very fact that he had taking the disbanding of the police force so hard, the fact that he had shown up here, could not help but make Krauss smile a little. Mack Yancy was a man who stood for justice, and these actions made it obvious. Krauss sighed and got up from his chair, the feelings of air sickness and fatigue still fading. The man who had been hosting the group had dragged a large trunk into the room. Upon revealing it contents, Krauss nodded in approval at the selection, finally speaking up for the first time.
"Well..." he picked up on of the machine guns of the crate, holding it surprisingly lightly as he examined the weapon. "Hmm.... yes, just as I feared. These weapons, this stockpile, I fear that we might outclass our enemies quite a bit here. I was hoping for a challenge." He said with a smile.
Craig Hobbes had just sipped from the wine glass that he brought in and sat down at the table at the center of the room, he turned towards Krauss, Lee and Greg and pointed upstairs.
Master Helfer, Kennedy and Allen I realise you also use special equipment on top of conventional weapons, the riot shields, Assorted Explosives and Spy/Stealth equipment is in the upstairs bedroom. Also even further up is the attic, which has a lot of junk and a skylight window that peaks out over into the street. There is also the boiler room that has the house's fail safe computer but you can only enter that from outside near the dumpsters, nothing you have to really be concerned about.
Craig turned to Valeriya and threw her a set of keys.
Most impressive car Ms Ilyushin, but me and Tim have got a surprise for you down in the garage. We spent the last of the funding on a vehicle that will hold this entire team....
Craig Walked over to the window and looked out on to the street.
Master Yancy, did you see where Tim went for his cigarette, I see his car but hes not anywhere near.....
THHHWEEPPP!
Before Craig Hobbes could finish his sentence, a bullet passed through his chest as if he were made of jelly, the angle came from below on the street and Mack, Krauss and Lily who were nearest the window were sprayed with Craig's blood.
Mack fell down back towards the table and screamed in horror.
WHHHAAAATAT THE FUCK? WHO....? WHAT HAPPENED? CRAIG?! SOMEONE SHOT CRAIG.
A few more bullets cracked though the window and rattled across the room, the house was under fire, but Mack not dear look out the window at this point. He ran towards Craig who was lying on the floor and gasping for air.
Ah oh shitt, fuck, Mr Hobbes, what do I do? where are you hit? Shit, who shot you?
Craig began to cough as he turned to Lily Martin.
Ms Martin, keep the situation under control, when Mack is ready he will take over....*koff*...android synthetics..about 10 or more of them outside.....not very tough...but fast....weapons here will do the trick...get to the failsafe...roo...
Craig's mouth began to splutter with blood as he tried to force out more words, Mack instinctively tried to put pressure on the chest wound and turned to see the entire team now taking cover and scrambling for weapons, it was on now, and mack was too drunk and disorentated to act accordingly, he wanted to cry, but he knew that he could be dead any moment and wast going to go out weeping. He shouted across the room at Lee Zao.
Lee! its too hot with enemies to go outside, but... I think I know of another way to the failsafe console, Tim mentioned having to catch rats in the vents before they got to boiler room...could you crawl through the ventilation to get there?
BARAARRRAPAPAPAPAPAPA
More gunfire rattled into the room, there was broken glass everywhere, Mack turned to Lily Martin with a look on his face of fear and desperation, he didn't know what to do. Craig Hobbes was bleeding out fast, the synthetics were outside and mobilizing.
Two months ago, Archie was lying in an American Hospital Bed, hooked up to life support and about to be given sanctioned cybernetic implants to let him walk again. Scorched, unrecognisable, and missing both of his legs due to an RPG fired at his squadron in a Night Op gone terribly, terribly wrong. However, it seemed fate had a very different plan for Archie. Archie was kidnapped the night before his medical operation, absolutely helpless in the state he was in. The last words he heard before being "reborn" in his eyes was-
"We have plans for you..."
Now, he was half machine and half man. The perfect soldier in Archie's eyes. Rebirthed through metal, Archie felt a debt to those who gave him these clearly superior implants. However, Archie was aware of his... mental state. The cybernetics had made him as cold as the metal weaved into his body. Despite this, Archie liked it. The previous two months was spent training in this new body. He was faster, stronger and more agile than he ever was before he escaped death. Whoever gave him these implants were clearly keeping watch of their new test subject. Two days ago, Archie was given an address and a time by a mysterious stranger to come to today. Quite cautiously, he had decided to use the rooftops as his route to the building, even now testing the free running capabilities of the cybernetics. They were brilliant, he felt true power in this new form, a power unattainable until he was taken. He was clearly made for a new purpose, and without the SAS to go back to (which is now inscribed onto his shoulder), it was his only choice.
Archie was not sure what to do when he got their, so merely went down to street level next to his destination and walked into the target building.
Archie Smith's welcome party was a hooded teenager standing next to a burning van. His eyes were wild and hostile the lower part of his face were covered which made him more intimidating. You are the experiment, I can tell. Anon is waiting for you in the back, walk straight ahead and knock on the door when I tell you to, if you make any unplanned movements I'm gonna light you on fire. Capiche? lets go.
It was hard for anyone to believe this ancient crappy underground passageway lead to the Neo-City chapter of the most feared movement in modern history, Archie walked silently with the teenager as they passed many rooms and corridors leading to who knows what, it seemed like an hour before they actually got to the 'door' he was talking about, no words were spoken just occasionally the teen spitting on the floor.
We are here, that door leads to the outdoor training area, walk straight up to Anon and state your name, nothing smart or funny, there are snipers everywhere. Good Luck....Asshole.
Archie pushed the door open which lead to a massive urban circular 'ring' a ghetto coliseum. It was completley empty apart from the figure in the middle, who looked like a comic book character. Archie walked straight up to him and the figure turned around, as if he was interrupted doing something.
State your name and business please.
His voice was like ghost, detached and empty.
Archie stayed silent at the kid, barely nodding to his instructions. No way is he gonna waste time with some punk teenager. If Archie was going to be ordered about, then it better be from the head honcho. Archie walked with this boy, staying slightly behind him as he was lead through the passage way. It seemed a bit underwhelming. If these were the people who had provided the implants then why would they go through the trouble of having some sort of ancient tunnel? It didn't make sense to Archie. He did listen when the kid explained the situation and how this was going to go down. The door opened, and as Archie descended the stairs, he could see blinks of the red lasers that were no doubt pointing at him. Looked like whoever he was dealing with wanted total control over the situation, and he did a good job so far. The figure was hard to make out, even with his new sight. When he was asked for his name, Archie wasn't sure how to respond. Should he give the man his real name?
He came up with a better idea.
"Hornet," he replied, his voice sounding slightly mechanical, "I believe you wanted me here, so I'm not quite sure what my business is."
Ha...Hornet, OK, Mr Archibald Smith we will go with 'Hornet' for now. I take it you are adjusting to the new body? We spent a lot of money getting the best Bio-engineers in the country to rebuild you. Sadly while I hate the capitalist method, I'm afraid saving your body with a new one is going to come with a price.....
Anon's voice now had more life and colour, there was a strong surge of passion and duty in his tone, he began to walk towards 'Hornet' pulling out a data tablet from his coat.
I wont bore you with tales of political struggle and organisational conflict, you know who we are, and I'm sure you have a good idea of what we do. You are not one of us, at least not yet, but we are giving you a task and we want it done, you will be compensated if you succeed. There is no negotiation on that.
Anon's datapad lit up, the sky became grey and small droplets of rain began to fall around the two of them, drips and drops rattled against the metal ring coliseum.
Timothy Irwin Taggart, he popped on our radar when he decided to hack into a japanese security server and steal weapon's schematics, I was able to find out more about him after his proxys failed to mask him. Him and his partner Craig Lawrence Hobbes have been spending a lot of money lately, mainly on guns and equipment but mostly on team salary. They have assembled a squad.
Anon's eyes squinted with visible rage as he scrolled down the dossiers of the 2 men and then into the team folder.
This team is made up of some very dangerous individuals from around the world. A few who I thought were dead, such as the Boston thug Colin McCreary or that disgraced driver Valeriya Ilyushin, either way I would like to see all of them dead if possible, only Tim Taggart needs to be kept alive for questioning, that man is a wealth of information.
Anon put his hand on Hornet's shoulder as he closed the datapad, his eyes seemed to become more relaxed as the met the young man's.
Your skills and your new abilties will make you valuable weapon in this war, you will attack the townhouse they are meeting at tonight at midnight. Weve allowed you use of 12 of our synthetic android bots. Any questions Hornet?
Behind his helmet, Archie had a huge grin. New purpose. This may not be the right purpose, but it IS the purpose Archie knew he was meant for. From the information he could get from the tablet, it seemed he was dealing with Ex-Military personnel. When this Anon character said they were dangerous, he wanted to put confidence in his new employer. "Nothing I can't handle, sir." He declared. Archie paid close attention to all of the details, and eerily couldn't wait to start.
"Before I start, I need to look at the hardware, and my equipment."
Anon went silent and made a gesture with his hand. 3 hooded AA soldiers came running outside with a large black lockbox along with 12 marching synthetic bots.
Any 'Gadgets' you may need are built in to your suit. When you get to the townhouse, be sure to destroy the failsafe generator in the boiler room, it will trap them all inside. With only the front door for them to escape from.
Archie nodded. "I'll get it done. You gave me a body, I'll get you some bodies." Archie stated, matter of factly as he opened the box. He picked up the assault rifle and looked it over. It was a masterpiece of a weapon, and would hopefully be a sick joy to wield. Next were the revolvers which felt perfect. It almost seemed like these guns were tailored to Archie, which was creepy and fortunate at the same time. The most impressive weapon was the blade. Lightweight, sharp and despite that, seemingly durable. This was going to the most fun to use. Archie looked over at the robots that were escorted by the soldiers. They stood in a line as they marched just like clockwork. Perfect. He walked up to one, turning around it and looking over. He didn't know a whole lot about robots, but they were clearly top of the line. He pressed a button on his helmet, which linked to his HUD, that he discovered over. Registering the weapons and the robots, he turned to Anon.
"If you can send me the location, I'll get it on my HUD, and I'll get straight to work, sir."
Midnight, attack at the townhouse.
Hornet crouched at the ledge, looking at the target building. It didn't look like much, but he guessed inconspicuous was what they were going for. Across the street, a man walked outside and was smoking by a car. Hornet activated his facial recognition scanner, and identified the man as the HVT Tim Taggart. The man Anon wanted alive. Hornet radioed in to all the bots. "Hold positions." He ordered. The carefully placed synthetics lied in wait as Hornet went for the capture. The gadgets Anon spoke of was true, and Hornet merely had to think of what he wanted, and there it was, popping out of his forearm primed and ready. Hornet switched to his Shock Charge, a wrist mounted launcher that fired a projectile Taser shot, as he skilfully climbed down the building.
Sprinting, Hornet fired at Tim, who collapsed to the floor, spasming from the electricity. Catching his body as he fell, Hornet dragged the target alleyway and binded him with plastic ties. "Bot three, HVT secured, pickup now at point Echo Bravo." He ordered. He could already hear the mechanical whirr of the robot as Hornet moved away, making his way to the boiler room. A detailed scan pulled up the building schematics, and he could easily infiltrate it. "All combat robots, engage building."
Greg looked as more and more entered, filling the room with even more awkward faces. It wasn't of any actual intelligence that Greg knew these people, yet he was fully prepared for the man himself to stroll in. Mack Yancy strolled in, smelling of defeat and low-life material. It wasn't the most inspiring greeting he'd have the pleasure of experiencing, but nonetheless it was one he could get used to. The thick smell of alcohol was something he grew up knowing, even having a few pints himself at the Young-Adult age. Anyway, he smiled as the man was surprised of his presence. Greg leant off of the counter, holding his arms out as if showing himself.
"Alive and in the flesh, lad. And I'd prefer to not go by Mercenary...has a horrid tone to it, no offence guys." He spoke to everyone during the last subordinate clause, just in case his nice reputation took a massive dive and he appeard as a pompous prick. He let out another one of his known smirks, walking up to his alliance to shake his hand before being interrupted by the hauling of heavy material. He turned to the source, seeing the lively Brit trek in with a crate larger than many would suspect. Opening it, he glanced at the seemingly endless supply of weapons that upheaded the attention of literally everyone in the room. As eager hands began to rummage through the boxes, a well-mannered man started to return the specialised gifts he had in store. A Rifle was handed to the marksman, keys to some sort of unknown motor vehicle were handed to the female Greg had sort of spoken to, seemingly the only one who'd interacted with him. It was quite sad, seeing so many dull and uninterested hardasses ignore or disregard what he tried to say. Back in the Kingdom, any soldier wouldn't back down from a good conversation and a crate-load-of-banter. Well, the States had its own little flaws...Little.
The British brethren appointed himself and the other two where their gear was being held, allowing them to go retrieve it. He smirked as he went closer to the stair-well, getting ready to ascend towards his prize. Hearing more commotion, something caught him off. A whizz, a literal whizz. A ping and a splatter. He turned as glass and skin shattered through the impact of a round. Craig toppled onto the floor, falling back from the impact. Mack was instantly at his side, before a hellstorm of rounds and projectiles found themselves breaking into the building. He ducked quickly, before looking towards his companions. Everyone seemed to be doing what they could to avoid getting shot. Greg himself...Well he turned to Lilly, the appointed leader for temporary means.
"Holy...Shit! You! Fucking...I don't know...Oversee these lot! I'll be right b-back!" He could've sworn she'd said something in return, but the sound of gunfire and bullets impacting the walls and furniture seemed to make it difficult to pinpoint exact words and phrases. He took off up the stairs, stumbling as he left the room downstairs. As he reached the top, he leant himself against the wall in a sitting posture. His breath was long, dragging ahead as he heard the fire continue. This whole situation came as a shock, something he should've suspected. It all seemed too familiar...far too familiar. His eyes scanned for the bedroom, seeing a door that had been peppered with stray bullets. Taking a deep sigh, he raised himself to his feet, a whistle in the air as the window beside him cracked under fire. Greg ducked and weaved as he darted for his only hope for safety and possibility to be of some use. Everyone downstairs must be far more elite and capable, par the drunken Mack. He almost felt like a burden to the group, having nothing much to boast about apart from hiding behind a shield.
As the door cracked open, he ran inside to grab whatever he could. There was the gear that the possibly now dead individual had promised. And upon a rack by the window, four different Shields laid waiting for the picking. As he approached it, the projectile found a way to intercept the window. A crack and a sudden force made his legs go numb as he fell. A pain filled his shoulders, suddenly a flicker of blood flashed out into the carpet and staining both his face and clothing. A yelp and pain came from the room. The injury began to kick in, having those painful effects. Greg was right to think this was familiar...It was almost exactly like the Sydney Opera House raid. With barely enough strength, mainly wasted my the shock of the bullet, he reached an arm out-stretched. Glass chipping away from the window was plunged into him, cutting thin wounds into his cheeks and hands. Prevailing in his task, he grabbed the first shield. He staggered to his feet, moving out of the room and leaving a thin trail of blood behind him. Downstairs, the endless siege of gunfire reigned supreme, as he finally stumbled down the brutalised staircase. Returning to the scene, now having a deep blotch of oozing liquids, he brought himself into a dangerous stance. He practically set himself up for a clear shot, breathing heavily with the struggle. With the arm slung into the Shield's trigger, he noticed a button as bullets flew past his head. Without thinking, his thumb launched itself into it, as the bottom and side folds within the shield expanded. It popped out, revealing enough cover him him to basically stand up with protection. Greg staggered at the Shield's jolt, looking through the Letter-Box viewpoint. He had returned to the scene with whatever he could do. He felt the bullets begin go pepper themselves across the plating, combating the two forces. Greg began to stel forward, his left leg now trudging and dripping with the slow blood that seeped from his shoulder. He moved closer and closer to the front of the struggling group, holding an injured yet firm stance to the window that Craig had been shot from. Taking a pace in front of Mack, he made sure the coverage reached his body, himself Still at the controls. Greg let out a yell, both in pain and support.
The metallic taste of blood and the shower of bullets that soon followed were enough to get Lily to start thinking on her feet. Mack rushed to Craig's side who had been hit by the first bullet and was now inevitably bleeding to death as he laid in a pool of his own blood. He made it clear what they should do, and it was up to her and Mack to make sure everyone remained calm in order to get out of this ordeal alive. She looked up, only to see Greg rush upstairs.
"...wait!"
But he was already gone. Now they were down to six. Great. It took a few moments of quick thinking as she stood out of the line of fire, the bullets flying past her and further destroying the apartment, but Lily came up with a plan and the only thing left to do at this point was to set it in motion and hope like hell it worked.
"Lee you heard Mack, get to that boiling room and try not to get yourself killed on the way."
She was yelling, straining her voice so that she could be heard above all the chaos that was currently happening.
"You two," she pointed to Collin and the other man (Jamie) whose name escaped her, "get up top and use whatever sharpshooter skills you have to stop those androids." Lily rushed to grab a rifle and load it with ammunition as she spoke. "New girl, cover the second floor so no bots can enter from up there."
Lily then took some weapons and rushed to Greg, Mack, and Craig's side, staying low to the ground and praying to whatever god would help her that she would not get hit by a bullet.
"I need you guys to keep him alive. Greg, Mack, take these guns and cover the windows and front door."
She gave them a reassuring nod before leaving them to figure out how they would keep Craig alive. As she hurried past Krauss, she motioned for him to follow her.
"You, come with me. We're gonna go out into the hallway and take out any sons of bitches who try to come in."
