[center][h2][color=#FF7800]Boraro[/color]
Fireteam Poseidon[/h2][/center][hr][color=#FF7800]”I’ve never even met this one.”[/color] He verbally shrugged at Chuck’s comment. He never met her and she never met him, but they both knew the other. Okay, maybe she knew less than he thought since she mispronounced his callsign. But it was generally sound thinking to keep track of the competition in their line of work. He knew she was ruthless, he knew she was brutal for brutality’s sake, he knew she saw people as resources rather than a team, but he also knew she had a short fuse and an ego the size of Manhattan and durability of a soggy paper tissue.[color=#FF7800]”Wasn’t worth my time or good enough money. She’s just jealous of my reputation and record, that’s all.”[/color] He added, loud enough for Luisa to hear.

If the indignant Spanish screech was of any indication, it worked.

Luisa knew Ebrima was a mean son of a bitch in close quarters. She knew trying to tire him out was suicide. She knew he fought dirty and liked to keep his opponents off-balance and that he was used to being outgunned. But Artemis had eyes and ears everywhere, and through them she knew things few did. Not the whole story, but more than most, even if in disjointed pieces that were still sure to get him off balance when used at the right time.

The shoulder mount indeed kept the Cameroonian moving, from small dashes to leaping between catwalks, the micro missiles blasting them apart and sending them down below, hopefully away from the other two Raven operatives. Not like Chuck would even notice something like a piece of grating falling on his head, but Ban might struggle with that. He took a few pot shots back at her with his shotgun, the AP slugs harmlessly deflected away. Fortunately her gizmo wouldn’t protect her from one of mankind’s first scientific advancements as Ebrima switched to the M 25 - no, not an automatic grenade launcher, fire - launching two grenades at the apex of a flying cartwheel between an adjacent catwalk and the one Luisa was on. Luisa expected frags which she thought would be caught by the field generator, but some sixth sense compelled her to move anyway, however, and it ended up saving her life as the fireball didn’t engulf her unprotected face and respiratory system, but suddenly finding parts of herself on fire was enough to allow Ebrima to close in. Kukri drawn, Luisa just barely withstood a flurry of attacks against her face, shoulders and hands, her still-smoldering BDUs leaving faint smoke trails as she moved and only realizing many of his attacks were feints when the blade smacked the fingers of her right hand. The armored glove made sure she kept her fingers, but it hurt enough to make her drop her Pecheneg, the sling severed by one of the preceding attacks, Ebrima immediately sending the weapon clattering down among the catwalks with a kick. Luisa took advantage of that brief drop in his guard, grabbing a hold of the hand that wielded the curved blade. “That will make for a nice souvenir.” She hissed. Seeing the open-faced helmet Luisa wore, he smiled, ever so slightly, under his helmet and pulled the pin of one of his flashbangs while it was still in the pouch.

Ebrima patted out the burning grenade pouch, unaffected by the flashbang inside his armor, except a little sore under it where the grenade exploded, taking further advantage of proper choice of equipment and headbutting Luisa in the face. “Hijo de puta!” she growled through her now broken nose, intercepting the kukri clawing at her throat as her vision cleared up from the flashbang. She kicked the Cameroonian in the chest and stepped back to get enough distance between them to launch a micro missile volley and end it right there and then...

[code]LNCHR ERR[/code]
[code]CHCK SNSR[/code]

Both of the targeting cameras on her shoulders and the backup one on the side of her helmet had a spiderweb of cracks running across them, crippling the system. By the time she realized what he had done, she had just enough time to draw her machete before the relentless albino was upon her once again. Her blade was bigger and had a nasty spike on it, allowing for a nice bit of versatility with false edge strikes, but his was faster and more nimble. An external observer might have seen two figures in exosuits dueling with cold weapons and assumed two knights have warped into the future, even their fighting style matching that of people trying to deal with full plate armor. Realizing their weapons couldn’t penetrate directly, the fight devolved into trying to wrestle their opponent into a position where they could ram their knife into a weak spot, Ebrima’s weapon better suited to the task against Luisa’s roid rage and brute power. “I’m gonna make a fortune selling parts of you.” She hissed, “I wonder how much people made from your sister?”

It worked just as well as she thought. In that moment, the Cameroonian saw red. His attacks increased in frequency, but the execution suffered. Luisa did get hit, a strike drawing blood from her left arm, but it was well worth the opening she found. Feinting low to set herself up, Luisa switched back mid-swing, the spike finding its target in the shoulder joint of Ebrima’s exoskeleton, disabling that entire arm. This was starting to go South, somewhere around DRC, and although Ebrima had a brief excursion up to Sudan as he managed to nick her armpit and draw blood, Luisa quickly sent him back down to Antarctica when she stuck her machete between the exoskeleton and his right arm, physically immobilizing it for the time being and before he could wrench it free, she drew her sidearm, leveled it at his head and fired.

It felt like sticking his head into a metal bucket and having someone hit it with a bat. His HUD disappeared, there was a spider web of cracks across his field of view, something smelled like an electrical fire in the helmet and he found himself on the ground on his back all of a sudden with a killer headache. At least the machete fell out of his armor, a saving grace as the Colombian woman stood over him, his kukri in one hand, her Mateba Model 6 in the other ready for a Coup de grâce.

[b]Bang, bang.[/b]

Two shots rang out. The knife and revolver fell to the ground as Luisa stumbled backwards, holding onto her stomach where a blood stain was growing with both hands.

Ebrima held his Origin in one hand, pointing up from where he lay. Shooting at that range, the deflector field simply didn’t have enough time to alter the slugs’ trajectory in a meaningful way, and at less than two feet between the muzzle and the target she would have had to be wearing a hippo for a ballistic plate to withstand a double tap.

The Cameroonian picked himself up, disconnecting the shoulder servo to regain the use of his left arm. He was hoping the mission would wrap up fast, carrying the weight of the now-dead part of his exoskeleton on his arm would get tiresome quick and his head wasn’t feeling right either. At least he could consider the fact his face would have the color it was supposed to for a few hours a silver lining, until the bruise decided to change color from black to blue, green or some other color it fancied.

But first there was something else that had to be taken care of. Picking his knife back up, he caught up to Luisa who was stumbling along the catwalk, trying to get away. One swift kick that could have won the FIFA world cup downed the bleeding Colombian. “¡Eres un pedazo de mier-” A stomp on her neck cut her off, making a sound like breaking a few days old baguette.
Throwing his destroyed helmet aside, he hauled her body over to one of the others, using them as macabre sandbags as he switched to his rifle to provide covering fire to whoever needed it the most, taking a few seconds to steal a regular kevlar helmet from the dead Artemis rando and plug its headset into his radio. [color=#FF7800]”Boomer, Shimura, say status when able.”[/color]