Considering his current rifle was a poorly built and maintained piece of scrap, Ulver was particularly thankful that the Peacekeepers of Aspin had loaned him a long range rifle with a scope. Ulver was sat on top of the tallest building in the residential district. Around him were 3 other spotter teams of Peacekeepers, each watching their own directions, shifting side to side. The effort to catch the bandit, who the public had nicknamed ‘The Red Robber’, was very apparent, with the streets nearly empty, with a small amount of people quickly walking through the streets, careful not to look too long at the squad of snipers on the building. From the streets, the snipers were nearly invisible, if not for the minor glow of their night vision scope shining on their faces, but even those with cat eyes would find that near impossible to see. They remained mostly still, the spotters and snipers holding their own personal conversations in whispers, occasionally calling positions of suspicious looking people to their partners and then squadmates.
Ulver watched silently on his appointed section of town, which was where a majority of the crimes had happened. Those streets were especially dead, with not a single desert soul out and about. All the inhabitants were nestled in their houses, sheltered from the bitter cold of desert nights, and the possible armed bandit roaming streets. Ulver and his spotter didn’t speak much, as the spotter was particularly nervous around the Immortal. When they were coming up to the roof, the young spotter, named Jonze, flinched at nearly every sudden move Ulver made, and looked particularly horrified when the Quartermaster handed Ulver a sniper rifle. He didn’t hold it against the young man, though. He’d probably be terrified, were he in the spotter’s shoes.
With one foot on top of his helmet and his rifle in arms, Ulver stared out at the empty streets through his scope, his old AK set on the wall beside him. Jonze, standing a distance farther than the most of the teams were away from Ulver, was watching and scanning just as intently, suspicious of any waking movement or shifting shadow. The street lights across the city gave everything a dull yellow glow showering every street corner, with the spaces between almost pitch black where the light didn't reach.
“Hey, Jonz-”
The spotter jumped at the mere sound of Ulver talking “Wh-what?” He spouted out, half irritated, half terrified.
“Just keep your eyes peeled for a second, gotta get something out of my bag.” Ulver said, trying his hardest not to laugh.
“Yeah, yeah, got ya.” Jonze said, staring back out at the city.
Ulver smirked at Jonze when he turned back around, and proceeded to set his rifle against the knee-high wall in front of him. He slid his backpack off, and unzipped it, extracting the beauty of a tequila bottle that he had acquired earlier, setting it on the wall and putting his backpack back on.
The young spotter heard the tink of the bottle hitting the brick, and turned, amazed by what he saw.
“Uh. I don’t think you should be drinking on a job like this, dude.”
“Look, without me, there wouldn’t be much of a job to do, considering no one before me could get it done. I’ll do the fuck I want.” He said, a dead pan face solidifying his point.
Jonze swallowed and didn’t respond, simply nodding in agreement and turning around. Ulver broke into a chuckle, before being hushed and told to shut the fuck up by the other teams. He kept his smile and bumped Jonze on the shoulder, another action that made the spotter jump in fright. He motioned the bottle toward him, and smiled. “Take sip, kid. You need it.”
Hesitating at first, Jonze ended up taking the bottle, and took a deep swig, before handing it back. Ulver pat Jonze on the back, before taking a suitable swing for himself, and setting the bottle on the wall, picking his rifle back up.
Ulver peered back through his scope, scanning the dark streets again. Jonze perked up, his voice a complete opposite as before.
“We got a fast mover, right of the general store, moving leftwards.”
Ulver quickly lowered his rifle, found the general store, and brought his rifle back up, taking a moment, before finding the man that Jonze alerted them to. He was of a medium height, but that’s all Ulver could tell, as the man was covered nearly head to toe in a large dark trenchcoat, hat and facial mask. (Similar to
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The man moved almost alarmingly fast, as if he were sprinting down the street. Even in the windless night, the tail of his trenchcoat flared and fluttered as the man sped down the street.
“Whoa, holy shit, we got another fast one.” Jonze said. “In front of the first, down the street. Mohawk.”
Ulver quickly jerked his rifle to the left, seeing the other man moving towards the first. This man wasn’t as heavily dressed, even underdressed in a sleeveless shirt. He had a large mohawk jutting from his head, something rare nowadays, with hair gel being scarce. The two men finally met, with the man in the trench coat passing something off with lightening speed to the mohawked man. A molotov cocktail.
“Ho-ly shit. Mohawk’s got a molotov. Get the fucking teams out now, tell them to catch trenchcoat.” Ulver said. The team captain responded by grabbing his radio, and harshly whispering. “Alpha and Charlie teams, we have a contact, red trench coat, medium height, hat and mask, moving north on Pinter street. He’s moving fast, catch and detain him. Take him alive for questioning. “
The men began to move out of the bulding below the sniper teams, their flashlights illuminating the streets in front of them. Ulver’s scope was focused on mohawk, as his paced had slowed, as if he was nearing his objective. Finally, he made his move. He walked up to the storefront, and pulled his arm back, taking a whopping punch at the front glass, shaterring it in a single blow, and he moved in.
“Fuck, Mohawk just broke into the store. Do the owners live in there?” Ulver saked Jonze.
“Shit, yeah they do.” He said, scared. “Wait, did you say he broke into the store? That’s fucking plate glass, holy shit. You need to get down there, dude.”
“Right.” Ulver said, switching his rifle for this AK, and rushing to the elevator that led to the ground floor. Before the door on the elvator closed, he looked at the sniper teams.
“Keep me posted, and keep me covered.” He said, nodding once, flipping the safety on his rifle off. The men nodded at him, and then the elevator doors shut.
---
Ulver sprinted up up to the corner of a brick wall. Right around the corner, was the store front that was currently being ravaged. A few Peacekeepers fell in behind Ulver in a tactical fashion, and waited for his lead. Soon, he was off the corner, approaching the store front, his rifle fixed on the hole in the glass. A few cautious steps forward, and into the glass hole, mohawk was in Ulver’s iron sights, the entire storefront lit by the flashlights behind him..
“
FREEZE, SHITBIRD!” Ulver shouted, the Peacekeepers taking positions behind him. Mohawk was positioned behind the front counter tearing through the register. His gaze slowly found its way up, facing the men.”[b]GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND![b]” A Peacekeeper shouted, getting closer, alongside Ulver.
Mohawk simply stared at the men, a crazed look filling his purple eyes. Ulver’s train of thought was completely derailed the moment he saw mohawk’s eyes. This was no mere bandit. This was an Immortal.
His hand shot up, his fist clenching, as bottles flew from one side of the room into the other, slamming into Ulver’s right side, shattering loudly, glass showering the men. A few shards found their way and burrowed into Ulver’s arms and face, sending him down to the ground on his left side. A man behind him scremed in pain, and rolled around the ground, as the two Peacekeepers behind them began to open fire. The Immortal pulled his fist up, and thousands of shards of glass from all over came and formed a makeshift shield in front of him. Bullets tinged and flinged off, bouncing off the floor and walls, no longer lethal. Ulver couldn’t do much but hide his face, and try to crawl behind a shelf to find shelter from the storm of bullets and glass shards.
“
YOU CAN’T HIDE SANDMAN!” Mohawk screamed in a shrill, insane voice. A glass shard flew through the shelf, striking Ulver in the back of his shoulder. Ulver responded with a loud bellow of pain, pitching forward onto his stomach, trying to crawl away from the storm of glass shards soaring through the weak wooden shelves.
Ulver rolled over what little he could, pointed his rifle at the shelves, and began emptying his entire magazine into the shelves and room behind it. He could hear the Immortal shriek in pain, a loud thump. It was then that the two peacekeepers had been incapacitated for the time being, crawling away from the store front, while the third laid dead on the ground near where Ulver had stood mere seconds before.
It was suddenly silent, and Ulver could hear shuffling in the direction of the register. He tossed his rilfe aside, and slowly but surely pulled out Roger from his sheathe, cocking it with his left hand, then tossing it up and cathing the handle in the same hand. He found his shaky way up to his feet, and began limping towards the register. With each step he dragged forward, the crawling Immortal came more and more into view. His knee and chest had both been shot a few times, leaving him rather immobilized. Ulver sighed, and slowly shuffled around the counter, towards mohawk.
The two injured men carried on their injured pace, a stripe of crimson on the floor to mark the path they took. One shuffled on his sore and painful legs, with shards of jagged glass jutting from his body in numerous places. The other dragged his way across a dirty and trash covered floor, using his one good leg to push himself a few feet at a time. Ulver finally caught up to the escaping bandit, pressing a boot down firmly on his wounded knee. A pained groan rose out of the man, and he squirmed and struggled to escape Ulver’s grasp.
“Wh-what the fuck do you want from me?!?” Mohawk cried, in great pain.
“Who do you work for?” Ulver said, his finger sliding along Roger’s cold, metal trigger guard.
“I don’t work for fucking anybody man, just let me go!” Mohawk pleaded.
“Bullshit, no regular bandit would attack a capital city like this. I know you fucking savages, I was one of you.” Ulver said, his rough voice growing impatient.
“No, no, man, I swear, I don’t have anything to do those guys! I’m just trying to stay alive!”
“Starving bandits don’t usually murder the people they rob, asshole, don’t you bullshit me.” He ground his boot deeper into the bandits wound, a yell of pain escpaing the bandit’s mouth.
The bandit panted in pain.”Alright! Alright! I’m fucking Forsaken! Oh fuck, they’re going to fucking kill me, man, c’mon just kill me. They’re not going to make it easy on me.”
“No, no, no, you don’t get out that easy, asshole. What do they want in Apsin?”
“I don’t fucking know man! Th-they just got a bunch of us, Immortals like you and I. They were giving everyone assignements, and they told me to come and just wreak havoc here in Aspin. Asides from that, I- I don’t know anything else.”
“Are you telling me The Forsaken Order has a group of Immortals under their command?” Ulver said, quieter now, stunned.
“I- I don’t know, it seemed like some petty shit to me, but I know they had a few. Past the orders they gave me, I- I don’t know anything else! Please, kill me!” The bandit pleaded, beginning to sob.
Ulver stared at the back of the man’s head, mostly in disbelief.
What kinda crazy shit could the Forsaken be doing with a group of Immortals? That can’t mean anything other than bad for the rest of us.
“Come on, let’s get you to a hospital, asshole.” Ulver saidm beginning to pull the man off the ground.
“
NO!” The man screeched, his arms flexing and his fist clenching.
Ulver heard something move in the room behind him, but before he could react, a few small glass shards stabbed him in the back. Ulver dropped the man, and stumbled to the side in pain. The bandit was able to hop up on one leg, and started trying to limp out of the back door, falling along the way. Ulver rushed forward, shotgun in hands, and shot the bandit. A shower of crimon flew as blood spewed from the gaping wound in the man’s soulder. The red paint was accompanied with a scream, and other shot, disabling his other arm. Ulver ran over and delivered a sharp kick to the bandit’s chest, a final blow landing on the bandit’s face, finally tipping him off the cliff of consciousness into the abyss of a comatose unconciousness.
Another team of Peacekeepers rushed in securing the scene, rushing away the nearly dead bandit, with a few carrying off the body of their fallen comrade. Most ignored Ulver completely, until walked out and grabbed a paramedic by the collar and made a convincing enough death threat to receive medical attention. As he sat, the medics pulling glass fragments out of his cheek, he chuckled.
“Shoulda worn my fucking helmet.”
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