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Kella
Fire and Blood
4,089 posts
5 likes
Fire cannot kill a dragon.
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last online Oct 30, 2014 9:41:46 GMT -5
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Jul 22, 2010 22:01:52 GMT -5
Post by Kella on Jul 22, 2010 22:01:52 GMT -5
What exactly is a well-oiled machine?
A well-oiled machine was two Green Meadows assassins and a street-wise mercenary. They infiltrated like a virus, executing their mission command with perfect accuracy. Delta beat the odds here. It seemed that his devotion to Echo had lent him an extra degree of focus -- a variable that November had not quite given enough weight. She couldn't chide herself too much. No one could be expected to accurately predict emotions with so little exposure.
The security room was easy to find, and just as easy to infiltrate. Really, they needed cycling codes if they expected to keep out anything more than nosy housekeepers. It took November less than a minute to hook her interface into the security database, and exactly forty-nine point six-three seconds to crack the eighteen-bit encryption code. She was very, very satisfied with herself.
November revealed her gadgets had just as many tricks in store as herself, as she disconnected the two portions of her interface -- one end remained clamped to bared wires, hard-wired into the central system, while the second half was with her now. The two portions were connected wirelessly, allowing November to feed coding directly into the heart of the system.
Had she mentioned, very, very satisfied.
The house was, of course, fitted with all sorts of capabilities related to emergency situation management. Fire protocols, for instance, gave November control of every door, every vent, every window.
Power.
She wielded, in this house, incredible power.
So, so satisfied.
November stepped over an unconscious body on her way down the hall. Her poison had flooded the air, soaking through the nasal and lung membranes of her targets. Once dissolved in the blood stream, it had moved to the brain, inhibiting the production of acetylcholine, a neurotransmitter. It was like jamming a radio signal -- the target fell unconscious because nerve messages could no longer be transmitted effectively.
Not even the most highly trained combatant could take out three full levels of personel, without fatality, without being seen. But she could.
There was a smirk, a bona-fide, genuine smirk on her face when she opened the lift door. Maybe she could have actually pushed the button with her finger. But why that, when she could do so with the interface in her palm? It satisfied her so much. That satisfaction was like a drug, like an intoxicating poison that pounded in her veins and made her know that she could do anything, anything she wanted to. Like lock every door leading from the fourth level to the fifth, and all the vents from the third to the fourth.
The lift chimed, and the door slid slickly open to the fourth level.
Here, everyone's brains still buzzed with acetylcholine. They were aware, and certainly aware enough to be wary by now. November cocked her dart-gun and held it vertical at her shoulder. She stepped into the hall, and stepped aside.
She was the eyes in the walls, now.
These halls were Delta's domain.
Ready, Set, Go.
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last online Jul 11, 2018 23:15:20 GMT -5
Knight
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Jul 24, 2010 2:31:36 GMT -5
Post by Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice* on Jul 24, 2010 2:31:36 GMT -5
Terem had his gun trained on the opening doors, moving out swiftly decisively the second they opened, checking and double checking the hall for enemies. It was clear. November moved out, but stepped aside. This was Delta's show now, but Terem would be sure to give solid back-up.
The original plan, as November had described to them earlier, was to come up on two different entrances and for Terem and November to run distraction while Delta located Echo. They had come up together, so Terem wasn't sure who he should stick with at first. He kept his carbine at the ready, though, keeping a vigil at the different halls. He saw movement down one and stopped, placing his back against a corner and peering around.
Just down the hall, three guards were walking in a disoriented manner, the other direction, though. Terem turned back to Delta and November, using hand-signals to relay that there were three un-aware guards walking the opposite direction down a hall, and that he would follow and neutralize them. He didn't promise them he'd be quiet about it, that wasn't his specialty. His specialty was efficiency.
He turned down the hall, moving at a jogging pace, his boots making minimal noise as he crossed the hallway. Ahead, the three men turned the hall, passing by a room that lead to restroom facilities. Terem finished crossing the hall soon after. He stopped at the corner, pressing his back against the hall and turning slowly.
Unfortunately, one of the guards had decided they'd needed the bathroom. Terem turned and came face to face with the guard, whose eyes went wide with shock and surprise. He hardly uttered his scream before Terem whipped his carbine forward and put four rapid shots into the mans chest, downing him and finishing him. The two further down the hallway spun on their heels, readying their weapons.
Terem took a kneel to make himself a more difficult target, keeping half of his body behind the wall as cover, only the right side of his should, his right knee, and his face offering a viable target. He had already gotten a good aim and position by the time they realized what was going on and started firing back.
One of his own shots took one of the guards square in the face, dropping him instantly. Blaster fire scorched the air around Terem, but otherwise missed him, leaving a sulphuric taste in the air that he was familiar with. One shot ping'd into the wall only a few feet ahead of him, leaving a huge black scorch mark along the wall.
Terem rose to his feet and started back-stepping, rapid-firing his carbine as quickly as possible. Bolt after swift bolt shot down the hall in a frenzy, forcing his opponent to take cover and use dodging maneuvers. Terem back-stepped down another hall in the opposite direction of Delta and November; oh, he was sure he'd drawn attention, but when pursuit came, they'd be going away from his allies.
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Dire Wolf
So who's ready to help me sock ol Adolf on the jaw?!
2,894 posts
49 likes
Have dakka will travel
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last online May 6, 2020 18:55:51 GMT -5
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Jul 24, 2010 20:13:19 GMT -5
Post by Dire Wolf on Jul 24, 2010 20:13:19 GMT -5
Delta finished up with his explosives and stepped towards the elevator where November and Terem had been waiting. Not a single word was said to the two during the short transit up to the fourth floor. He was far too angry. His rage had stoked a fire deep in his heart, one that had been gradually building to the size of a bonfire since he had stepped off of the Deliverance. Its sweltering heat boiled the very blood within his veins, making it nigh impossible for him to stand still for any length of time.
The muscles that powered the big man's jaw flexed powerfully underneath the skin and black cloth of his balaclava, hoping to cool the heat until he could release it. It hardly worked, and he found himself simply wanting to roar out and slam his fist into the wall at the slightly-annoying chime of the lift as it passed another floor. Thankfully, his rage was held enough to stop him from damaging himself and the mission... but only just. The black-clad man stalked around the lift like some kind of predatory cat.
When the door finally opened, Delta stalked out of the lift with his gun in position of low ready and his upright and imposing. He paid no heed to the man or the woman as he stormed forwards, turning the opposite way that Terem did. It quickly became apparent that searching for Echo would be somewhat more... challenging... than he originally anticipated. His heart sank, and a sense of hopelessness nearly put out the wildfire within the cage of the man's chest.
His jaw clenched tight, the man strode forward towards the next corner in the naive hope that Echo still might be outside, or visible. The man barely reached the corner before a man about his age, or so he guessed, rounded the corner and ran right into Delta's massive chest.
The assassin's finger pressed the trigger of his rifle in, unleashing a single hypersonic tungsten-durasteel alloy slug into his knee. Delta moved the already pointed-down rifle over ever so slightly and did the same with to his other knee without even a blink or moment's hesitation. Before the man could cry out Delta dropped his rifle (allowing it to catch on his sling), and harshly grabbed the richly dressed man by the neck. Delta lifted the man off of his feet and slammed him into the wall with ease.
"Where is she," his angry voice was muffled beneath the gas mask. That hardly took away from the effect, however. "W-who?" The man barely had the time to utter the question before a fist was sent into his knee. The man tried to cry out in pain, but at that moment Delta squeezed on his throat... blocking the man's grunt or scream or whatever it was from being carried far. "Female. Red hair. Grey eyes. Five-foot-seven inches tall. Tell me where she is and I won't kill you."
Delta wasn't lieing: he wouldn't kill him. His new "cripple" status coupled with the fact that there was enough high explosives in the building to make a fairly large crater, however, would.
His eyes grew wide and his voice grew even more strained, "down that hallway. Fifth door from the stairs on the left." "Smart," Delta seethed to the rich looking man as he dropped him, and watched him collapse to the ground. "If its not the right room, I'll be back and we'll have a little 'talk'." He bent down and zip-tied the man's hands behind his back. Yup. The bomb would certainly get him.
The massive man strode down the hall, his eyes fixed on the fifth door from the corner on the left. It was a stare of fury, determination, and... desperation. If Echo wasn't within that room, he would likely go back and torture the man until he got his answer. Though he'd have to stop the timer.
He reached the door, grabbed his rifle, and opened it with the weapon leveled. What he saw when that door slid open with a silent "swoosh" was... wicked. It was twisted. It was... abhorrent. A man straddled Echo straddled between his legs, and Echo had her arms against his chest. She had an... odd... look in her eye. Almost as if she wasn't all there.
That sweltering heat within his chest rose up and bubbled out like a chemistry project gone horribly wrong until it reached the very limits of his control. Which it not only broke, but demolished. HIs rage spewed from his mind like a volcano erupting on a silent island village. And Delta... he moved like a pyroclastic flow. He ripped off his goggles, mask, and balaclava with one harsh motion and stormed over to the man who was ontop of Echo.
A pair of powerful hands wrapped around the man's shoulders and threw him off of the woman's smaller form. An intense pair of blue eyes glared out at the man who was still rolling backwards, spouting obscenities. Delta's only response was to shrug and shoot the man in the knee cap, and offer an evil smile as he cried out and fell to the ground. After waiting a few moments to listen to the lecher whimper, he put another round through the man's opposite shoulder. Then another through his foot as after he slumped backwards.
Delta dropped the rifle once more, allowing the sling to catch it halfway down to the ground. He walked up and sat on the man's stomach, glaring daggers at the evil, evil thing. The powerful assassin slid his combat knife out of its sheath and held it so that it was in a reverse grip. "And here I thought that I would have something to say to you."
He brought the knife down on into the hollow of the man's neck in a powerful stabbing motion, the sharpened piece of durasteel slid easily into the man's wind pipe. His muscles flexed as they ordered the knife to cut down towards his belly button, and then commanded it to saw up and down when it reached his collar bone. Through his sternum. Delta ignored the man's cries of agony and horror, and his vein attempts to throw the man off his his body.
It didn't take long for the man to pass out from shock, and once Delta's knife cleared his sternum it continued on just far enough to nick his intestines. Once that was accomplished, Delta pulled his knife from the man's body and wiped the deep crimson blood and brown matter off of the blade and onto the dead man's clothes before sheathing it.
His eyes softened and the rage within his heart was almost instantly extinguished and replaced with.... something. It was the polar opposite of anger. It was cool, calm, and made his heart thud heavily in his chest rather than beat so fast he felt it would explode. The emotion worked up a lump within his throat, making it hard to breathe and thick tears to prickle at the corner of his eyes.
"Echo..." he walked towards her, "what have they done to you?" Should she let him, he would kneel down net to her and cradle her... much like he did when she had her nightmares. "I...," it hurt to talk, "I missed you so..."
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Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
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last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
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Jul 26, 2010 5:26:41 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Jul 26, 2010 5:26:41 GMT -5
She’d resigned to the man’s whims, just as Gilana had said to. Her arms were still pressed to his chest in a sign of disapproval. It was the last gesture of refusal, but it was completely ignored as the man kissed and felt her. That little voice was simply too far to be heard. The sense of dread came and went. One fleeting second it was there, and the next it was gone. Feelings of disgust and feelings of relaxation also passed by as they pleased. Relaxation was the more frequent visitor and Echo was falling for a spell.
She didn’t realize the door open. She didn’t take heed in the man in the doorway. Neither did Harley. In fact, it didn’t register that someone else was there in the room until Harley was ripped off of her and a popping sound made her freeze. Her mind collected sluggishly as she heard the sound of a man shrieking and screaming wild curses. A second pop followed closely by a third finally helped Echo think a little faster.
Someone was in the room.
And that someone was hurting Harley.
Fear rose up immediately, with a strange sense of relief drifting from some outreach of her mind. Who was this person? Echo tried to sit up, but her vision smeared, running all the dark colors together and the light from the stand seemed grossly too bright. She was oddly not feeling sick, but her head was heavy, almost like her brain was made of lead.
That aided only in frightening her more. Instinct whispered that she wasn’t right. There was an issue, an obstacle, blocking her from perceiving correctly. Then it dropped away again, silent as if sucked out an airlock into open space. Echo was left with her fears, and that odd tingling sensation of relief. Why? This man was probably going to kill Harley, from the dreary, muffled sounds of it. Then he might continue what Harley stopped.
Tears blurred her vision more and Echo slid her hands up the bed to hide half her face. Those tears took the right weight and fell from her eyes and slid across her nose to the cheek nearest the bed, following gravity’s direction. She still held the flower in her hand. A sick squelch kissed her eardrum and Echo swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut and curling her legs closer to her. She sniffed and mewled softly to only herself, nuzzling her face into the bed. Fear and relief were still both prominent. Echo couldn’t make a decision between the two.
“Echo…”
She winced and squealed faintly, scrunching up into herself more, eyes shut so tight they almost hurt. No, no, no, nonononononono… Echo…
“What have they done to you?”
Done what to whom? Her slow thoughts chugged. ‘Echo’ struck familiarity, somewhere…
“I…”
The new man had said it like he knew. Had said it… like it belonged. So… somewhere…
I am… Serenity. And who done what?
“I missed you so…”
Echo opened an eye and gasped airily as she noticed how close the man was. She pushed herself back, alert and scared as a little forest animal. A very confused forest animal. Her thought train was momentarily halted and then it resumed as she sat there staring at the man with near blank eyes. Her head was heavy. Her eyes started to close. She wanted to sleep, but her pulse was so fast. She wanted to sleep, but first she had to… had to check…
Check what?
“Delta!” Now she remembered! She had to check on Delta! Her eyes lifted up and she saw the man. “Delta! A-and there’s Harley, a-and there’s, um…” Echo reached out over to him and her bind’s chain snapped tight. She’d forgotten and she held out her wrists before her, toward Delta and… Her head was swimming so much. “A-and sniffing and…” Tears of relief, and she knew why, poured from her eyes and made the make-up on her face run. “Help me,” she said in a small voice.
She’d crawled back over to where Delta knelt beside the bed and, in one huge movement which seemed to cost Echo a lot of effort, she looped her bound arms around his neck. Her weight thrown forward, her body slid off the bed and against Delta. She huddled against him and continued to cry silently.
“Need to get out.”
Behind his back, Echo dropped the flower.
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Kella
Fire and Blood
4,089 posts
5 likes
Fire cannot kill a dragon.
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last online Oct 30, 2014 9:41:46 GMT -5
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Jul 27, 2010 0:12:47 GMT -5
Post by Kella on Jul 27, 2010 0:12:47 GMT -5
Behind every reunion are the people who make it possible.
Today, those people were November, and the half-a-dozen men who lay on the floor, incapacitated by various gut-punches, round-kicks, and injections.
November's breathing and heartrate were slightly accelerated at the effort. Now that Delta had found Echo, she could lock down the upper level. She used a security protocol to lock all doors, but perhaps the designers of the mansion's system deserved some credit. The lock-down could be over-ridden manually, with a passcode. Now, November -- and Terem -- only had to deal with those personell who knew the passcode.
November's eyes told her the hall was clear for the moment, but her ears were on high alert to any anomaly. She glanced into the room where Echo had been detained, taking in the brutalized body, and Echo and Delta's respective positions en mass.
Two thoughts crossed her mind at that moment. One she did not understand, and one she did. The former was like a recoil, a sour pang, something inside of her did not like the other assassins' positions, expressions, or words. But without further processing, she couldn't know why.
The second thought involved mischief, something she never would have experienced, let alone indulged as an assassin. The thought overcame the sour pang so well as to even put a sneer of satisfaction on her lips.
She extracted the fourth mask from her bag, and threw it across the room, directly at Delta's head.
She was the perfect assassin, and he was distracted.
Of course she hit him.
November removed her own mask, only for a moment, so as to speak clearly to Delta.
"Get Echo ready. We leave opposite the way we came. Terem and I will clear the way, you follow our lead."
November skimmed the room one more time, an essential habit. The body on the floor once more caught her eye. Knees no more than shredded cartilage now, at the wrong angle. Blood pooled on the ground, spreading slowly like a Laboratory ink stain test. But most salient of all, the knife wound. Starting under the collarbone, the blade had been pulled with incredible strength through the sternum. It was not a clean cut. Skin and bodyparts were like wet paper, they didn't cut cleanly. They stuck together in places, tore in others, bunched, oozed. The cartilage of the sternum had been pushed down, aside, and beyond the pool of slick wet blood, November could see a glint of organs.
November's mind was blank for a moment. Empty.
Then her vision suddenly blacked out. Screeching filled her ears, the most awful, wretched sound. November felt like it would soon shatter her.
Underneath the screeching rose a series of pulses and pauses, garbled computer language, skiltering back and forth through November's mind.
Then it was over. Silence. Sound.
Sight, hearing, November's senses had returned. She realized she'd put a hand out to steady herself on the doorframe. She also realized she’d forgotten to breathe. November drew in a long lungfull. What... was that...
A moment of thought and the answer was obvious. Her chip must have shorted out again. This contrasted to the last time, in that today she'd remained conscious. Something had to trigger the short. Perhaps it was when the chip was overwhelmed. November cast an experimental glance at the body. Nausea swelled in her throat.
November left the room.
Curiosity beckoned to her. It overwhelmed any new concern she might have had for the probability of the success of the mission.
She filled her mind with concrete, tangible things. Anything to not doubt herself, to not give in to the dissatisfaction of another imperfection. The walls of the hall. The pack on her shoulder. The grenades on her belt. The woman.
November saw her, and she saw November, but November was the only danger here, so she remained still. There was an approximately 4.79899 percent chance that this woman would survive the next fifteen minutes. She looked scared. Puzzled. Shaken. If this were November's operation, she wouldn't have gone to the trouble of planting explosives. It wasn't about preventing collateral damage, it was about efficiency.
Two weeks ago, November wouldn't have hesitated a moment before killing indiscriminately, for the purpose of completing a mission. But what of this woman? Why, her curiosity wondered quietly. Why kill a woman who is no threat?
It wasn't really a second-guess, or a doubt, or a challenge. It was just a question.... Why?
What was death, anyway? What was the purpose of living? If there was no purpose to living, then what did killing matter?
November shook her head. These questions had never assailed her when she was at Green Meadows. Why now?
Oh these distractions were so frustrating!
Perhaps the woman caught the change in November’s expression, for she disappeared again, running quickly down the hall. November would need to gain better control over these new subconscious actions. She sighed, then caught herself. Point reinforced.
Enough thinking. Time to move.
November walked with purpose down the hall. As she passed an open door, she heard something. A small voice. Her eyes glanced into the room, and saw the child, crying frightened, hidden in a corner.
Why?
November forced herself to keep moving, tore herself away from the child, away from the question. Still it echoed gently, softly in her mind.
Why?
She reached a corner in the hall, turned her head, looked both ways.
“Clear!” she called down the hall, suddenly remembering to replace her mask. She’d been distracted by her chip, forgotten until now.
Every one of these imperfections increased the odds of failure. Her skills kept the odds in her favor, but still. How long until one of these imperfections cost her a mission?
How long?
Why?
November looked back down the hall, listening and looking for Delta, Echo and Terem. As soon as they were with her, she’d proceed to the back stairway. There was an exit at the bottom. The probability of meeting more resistance on the way was over seventy-five percent. November’s fingers drifted across the grenades at her belt.
Why?
How long?
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last online Jul 11, 2018 23:15:20 GMT -5
Knight
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Jul 27, 2010 20:18:05 GMT -5
Post by Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice* on Jul 27, 2010 20:18:05 GMT -5
Terem had fought off seven attackers, those first three he'd gotten by surprise and a firefight that he'd dragged around in a square throughout the halls of the upper complex, at one point cutting through a kitchen. The firefight had been short but intense. Luckily, his quick wit and superior firepower had rendered all of their makeshift cover ( especially in the kitchen! ) completely useless. He was just feeling proud of himself at his accomplishments ( who else could take out five attackers in a close quarters firefight without a scratch? ) when he rounded the corner to see November surrounded by eleven security personal, all incapacitated in various ways, and she had not a scratch on her.
Terem stared at her like an idiot for a few moments before he slowly came to, looking around awkwardly for a moment, inwardly cursing himself. Just when he thought he'd done something impressive, he'd been proven to be entirely inferior to them. There'd be no tales of his great glory. They probably could have done this just as flawlessly without him as with him. Almost any rat could have gotten them the information they'd required.
He took up a defensive position, and bitterly said, "7 more personel incapacitated."
He followed November's lead, but stayed outside when she'd gone into the room, keeping the perimeter clear while she distributed the gas mask. He caught one glimpse at the body inside and almost hurled, recoiling and turning away. He would much rather see the halls than look at another victim of Delta's most disgusting work of brutality. If he'd thought Zaeger was bad, this was a work of art...And Terem guessed that this man had been awake throughout most of it.
The anger swelled within him. Delta was no better than the slaver's themselves, in his opinion. The man deserved death, but not torture. Terem was no stranger to violence, but cruelty wasn't on his agenda. It almost sickened him that he'd helped Delta get here. But, he wasn't doing this for Delta. Well, he was, in a 'he has a gun against my head' kind of way, but the reason he was here to help Echo.
Echo suddenly seemed to go empty, moving her arm to hold her up against the door frame. A few moments later, she snapped too, thinking. Then she reacted to the sight of the dead body, as though she hadn't seen it before, turning away and moving out of the room. Terem was so focused on November, he hadn't noticed the woman appear.
Now he did. He quickly distinguished her as a non-threat, and lowered his instinctively raised weapon. She was staring at November, and November at the woman. For a moment, the fear kicked into him that perhaps November was going to attack this woman. A second later, the woman started to run.
Terem wasn't watching her though, he was staring at November, ready to interfere in case. The thought occured to him that the woman would never make it out of the building. If she went downstairs she'd be unconscious, and then when the gas cleared she'd be fine...
Except that Delta had placed explosives. He turned pale.
The group started moving. He hardly noticed, keeping pace with November, Delta and the package behind them. November gave the all clear, but as they approached the stair-way, a nagging thought kept hitting Terem. At first it was over that woman, but there was more to it...
A sudden thought jolted him to a realization, "Delta, between the explosives and the knockout gas...What's going to happen to all of the innocent slaves and non-combatant personel?"
Delta simply stared.
Underneath his mask, Terem turned bright red, "We need to go back and deactivate those charges right away. Those people don't deserve to lose their lives." After a few moments of silence, Terem compromised, "At least tell me how to deactivate them so I can do it myself!"
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Dire Wolf
So who's ready to help me sock ol Adolf on the jaw?!
2,894 posts
49 likes
Have dakka will travel
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last online May 6, 2020 18:55:51 GMT -5
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Jul 29, 2010 14:07:34 GMT -5
Post by Dire Wolf on Jul 29, 2010 14:07:34 GMT -5
A maelstrom of emotion whipped about inside the man's heart when Echo scooted away from him like a frightened rabbit would flee a fox. Everything. There was the heat of anger directed at the now dead man, and the cool rush of relief at the sight of her. There was the dull pain of hurt that caused his heart to thud in his chest because she fled, and then there was the shear joy of seeing that the woman wasn't hurt. It was confusing. Every emotion he felt was just as strong as the last, and if there was another emotion to feel... he didn't know it.
He simply watched her, those twin blue eyes glittering with tears, as she gazed back at him with a blank stare. Almost as if she didn't recognize him, either out of fear, confusion, or just... damage. It killed him. Delta's weight slumped back into his heels, and his gaze slowly drifted down into the sheets as if gravity itself struggled to pull it down. It was that particular moment that his mind warned him about the explosives he'd set. How this whole assault only took a few minutes, but would it would take a few minutes to get Echo down to the bike and ride off to get to a safe distance.
Delta didn't care. The man knew that he should: it defeated the purpose of his chasing after Echo like a man on fire. He knew that November and Terem certainly cared. He knew that Echo, were she in the right state of mind, would care as well. But he didn't.
“Delta! Delta! A-and there’s Harley, a-and there’s, um… A-and sniffing and… Help me,” she suddenly babbled out, the final two words sounding far too pathetic for any man, let alone Delta, to ignore. It was then that his gaze snapped back up to her, and then that she crawled back over to him and heavily slopped her arms around him. His arms went on auto-pilot, because his mind was in no position to order them around. They slowly wrapped around her smaller frame, hugging her close to his armored chest as she cried into him.
“Need to get out.”
Her voice was tiny, and cracked with tears. That was when his mind had a moment of clarity, of sorts. No longer was he locked in a prison of turbulent emotions, not able to do anything more than sit and cry, or have a pity party within his own mind. No longer was he confused at the myriads of feelings to flash across his senses. Everything was clear, and he slipped his arms out from around her. One moved to hook under her knees so that they could support them, and the other moved to support her back.
"Shh," he whispered into her ear as she cried, "I'll get you ou-ow!" Delta barely had the final word articulated when a gas mask came from the sky and hit him in the head. He glared back at where he guessed its source came from, only to see November stand there with her mask pulled up so she could speak clearly.
"Get Echo ready. We leave opposite the way we came. Terem and I will clear the way, you follow our lead."
"Then go do it! Unless you're going to throw things at me some more!" He seethed out at her, not entirely sure why he was so angry at the woman. Of course, no sooner did he say that then she shot her hand out to catch the door frame. What little concern came up within his mind was beaten out by the phantom irritation and anger, so he simply glared at her as she recovered and left.
Those harsh blue jewels set in Delta's head grew soft when they met Echo's stormy grey eyes, and his hand moved to pick up the gas mask that had been sent to him via airmail. "There's gas down there, Echo. It'll knock you out if you don't wear this," his hands slunk back only to try and slip the mask around her face. Should she let him, his hands would find their former positions and stay rigid as he stood up. If not, he'd just let her put it on. One way or another, however, she'd be wearing that gas mask.
She was so light, and couldn't help but notice how delicate she felt in his grasp. No matter how deadly a warrior she was, no matter how tough she tried to be, she was still delicate. That thought brought a slight smile to his face as he walked over to collect his equipment, and set her down only so that he could slip his own gas mask around his face once more.
He'd barely left the room when the merc came up to him and asked about the slaves and the non-combatants. In truth, the man thought about those consequences little before then. Delta simply shrugged mildly, "they'll die, I guess."
"At least tell me how to deactivate them so I can do it myself!"
"No," he spoke bluntly as he watched the man's angry face, "The non-combatants I have no sympathy for. They knew that they worked for slavers, and they should've worked somewhere else. The slaves are regrettable, but what would you have me do? What would you do? Carry each and every one out by yourself only to have the guards wake up, capture you and recapture the slaves, and then capture more slaves? And what happens when someone takes over this facility again? Do you honestly think that it will just lie here, decrepit, as the slave trade on this planet booms?"
He walked on, almost following November, but he stopped and turned around at the man, "your a fool if you think blowing this building up here and now is the wrong thing to do. People will die, yes, but it only means that there will be less people to be taken. Like Echo. Not everyone has... us... as friends. I won't help you disarm the bombs, or tell you how to do it. Now help us get away, or get out of the way." With that rather blunt justification, the man turned and followed November down the halls once more.
They had about five minutes to get back to the wall, haul Echo over and onto the bikes, and get a good distance away.
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Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
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last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
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Aug 5, 2010 0:32:13 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Aug 5, 2010 0:32:13 GMT -5
Her hands grasped opposite wrists as she clung to him. Her head was reeling and her mind phased in and out. For about half a second, she sensed panic as he wrapped strong arms about her. The moment he hugged her to him, that brief flash of terror vanished into her misty mind, not to be noticed any further. Instead, Echo felt safe, sheltered and protected by Delta, and she praised that within her mind. That, too, evaporated, and allowed her to relish in her relief, and leave teary smears of cosmetics on his armor.
His arms started to unfold and Echo clutched him tighter, thinking, nonono. Fear brushed against her heart once more and she could only let out a whimper, feeling her lip quiver. He couldn’t leave her! His arm slid under her legs and another held sturdy behind her back. Echo had the sense of being naked (and it didn’t help that she truly was half naked) without his arms firmly circled around her body. But she relaxed, shifting her own arms so that one drooped down his back and freeing room to comfortably rest her head against his shoulder. It was then she sat up straighter, briefly, to see the damage done to Harley. Anger flooded hot behind her eyes, boiling her tears before they straggled warmly down her cheeks.
It was, though, a wretched, terrible site, so Echo rested. Her head pounded and her nose was clogged. Eyes closed and ears listened to Delta murmur soothingly in her. Yes, he would carry her out of here, she knew, though that particular statement was cut off. She heard another voice, higher pitched, but it was muffled. Too far away. Echo allotted her brain to fall into a hazy nothingness, relying completely on Delta to deal with any opposition and possible perilous situations.
There’s gas down there…
“Kay,” she mumbled, noticing vaguely as his hands moved to slip the mask over her face. Her eyes opened and her dilated pupils widened further as the mask fitted to her face. There was a panic of claustrophobia and suffocation, but like everything else, it dispersed. The black slate of mind became clean, though chalky smears were still present.
When they started to move, Echo thought she was going to be ill. An ache crawled forth. When was the last time she’d been sick? How worthless was she right now? Without knowing, she released a small groan, knowing she was dizzy and the world was lurching without seeing it. It was almost more nauseating than looking. Echo curled up tightly.
Someone else speaking. Who was that? She couldn’t recognize it. She did recognize Delta speaking back, hearing mostly the rumbling through his armor. Did she care what he said? No… Yes? No… Did it matter? Maybe. Lurch. Bile. Swallow. Memory! Of an older woman! Echo suddenly moved, after Delta had finished speaking to… whomever.
“Delta…” she hissed. “Delta! Gilana! Where’s Gilana?! She’s here… some… where…” Blankness clouded her features. What was she talking about? Where… where did the memory go? What was she trying to do? “She…” Echo trailed off. Stormy gray became half shaded once more. Merely limp her body went. What? Her heart beat so fast. Opening her eyes had been a mistake. Her skull was being pierced by a white hot knife, from front to back. And she’d seen the world. Seen the bleary, spinning world. Softly turning… turning like… a carousel. Carousel? Where had that come from…? Where had she heard of a carousel before?
Nevermind. Get me out… get it out… it’s… “It’s confusing. Me. Bad out. Get it out…” Out. “Get out… Where? Gilana, Gilana… Serenity… Bad out. Baddie in. Here. He’s here. Hate… stone of hate… Blood of… of hate. Of bad. Baddies in. Around. Careful…” Echo wasn’t quite sure what she was saying. “And… Gilana! Lady!” Remembrance! “Nice lady who… my… my… say confusing things. Serenity, Serenity, Serenity. Who?” Me, Echo thought so loudly she was sure she’d said it out loud to Delta. “Out.”
“This is the correlation of salvation and love, Don’t drop your arms, Don’t drop your arms; I’ll guard your heart, With quiet words; I’ll lead you in” ~ The Unwinding Cable Car by Anberlin
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Kella
Fire and Blood
4,089 posts
5 likes
Fire cannot kill a dragon.
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last online Oct 30, 2014 9:41:46 GMT -5
Master
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Aug 5, 2010 13:50:34 GMT -5
Post by Kella on Aug 5, 2010 13:50:34 GMT -5
"Delta, between the explosives and the knockout gas...What's going to happen to all of the innocent slaves and non-combatant personnel?"
November knew the answer to that question. When the explosives were triggered, the shrapnel would kill many instantly. The explosives were likely to take out key structures in the building, which would result in collapse. This would kill more. Then finally would come the fire. A super-heated matter, it was a continued reaction by the combustion of fuel and the consumption of Oxygen. Flesh was fuel. Fire killed by either overheating the vital organs, over compromising the skin's ability to hold in fluids, causing massive dehydration.
And that is what would happen to the innocent slaves and non-combatant personnel.
Whether or not that mattered to November was the true question.
It mattered to Terem. Terem had an answer to his question. November had been a sort of slave to Green Meadows. She had not been given much option to choose, nor any realm to exercise her judgment outside of their carefully crafted care. Giving him the information would not hurt anything. And it would let him make his own choice. But did he deserve that?
She listened to Delta's vehement response. Echo was talking nonsense. They were both losing touch with their training. Slipping from the state of mind that made an operation successful. This cemented November's decision. Delta was being quite illogical. Or was he?
November let Delta and Echo slip by, just a stride or two. She turned to Terem, spoke so that Delta could not hear her.
There was a decision to be made. If she told him wrong, he'd explode same as the rest. If she told him right, his fate was his.
"Cut the blue wire."
Then she turned, and briskly reasserted herself ahead of Delta and Echo.
-+--+-
The mission. The operation. The objective.
It was unbiased. It was unemotional. It was clear. It was unchanging.
The means, the strategy, the technique might shift from paradigm to paradigm.
But the objective was always the objective.
Right now, the objective was to get out of the house with Delta and Echo, with as little bodily harm as possible.
She approached the staircase. The door was locked -- November had made sure of it -- and she could hear shuffling, muffled voices on the other side.
November opened the door with the interface in her left hand, while she pulled the key of the grenade in her right. It began to his and stream orange smoke, and she quickly hefted it up the stairs, past the three men who now looked very surprised.
The first and closest finally regained his mind, and lunged at her. November parried with a roundhouse kick to his chest, which knocked him back, just long enough.
Just long enough for the orange smoke to seep into his nostrils, and send him to the ground, like the other two.
Even without the explosion, these three wouldn't wake up.
But they were replaced by more from above.
November bent and snatched a blaster pistol from the closest man. It was a civilian model, something not very hard to get a permit for, but in the right hands, it was lethal.
November had the right hands.
"Delta, go," she said, signaling down the stairs with one hand, and leveling the blaster with the other. One, two shots. The approaching men ducked back around the corner of the stairwell, but they might not stay as such for long. It was a servants staircase, a fire-escape of sorts, with bare concrete steps and cold metal railings.
November fired two more shots.
"I'll bring up the rear."
Terem was on his own now. Why? Because she'd told him to cut the blue wire.
And she'd told him right.
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last online Jul 11, 2018 23:15:20 GMT -5
Knight
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Aug 10, 2010 21:35:03 GMT -5
Post by Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice* on Aug 10, 2010 21:35:03 GMT -5
Terem stared at November through his mask, trying to gauge her intentions. Cut the blue wire. His shocking green eyes stared straight through the clear blastic in front of his eyes, into November, reaching further than just her eyes. He was trying to stare at her soul. He saw nothing, either good or bad. November wasn't a woman led by great morals, nor was she filled with hate or selfishness. She was controlled only by her logic and desire to be the best at her trade, a satisfaction that she preferred to achieve through results rather than praise, for the most part. At least, in Terem's short-time with her, that's what he'd managed to figure.
A few more long moments passed by. Terem nodded his head at November in aknowledgement, not wasting a moment of his precious time lingering around for banter or bickering. The two parties parted in opposite directions. Terem's heavy steps clacked down the hall with haste and urgency; there was very little time left, and he could feel his heart sinking with each step he took.
The halls remained empty, with no guard contact along the way. Still, Terem's weapon was tightly pressed against his shoulder and ready to fire if he needed to aim and shoot fast. At this point, anything that popped out would be little more than a charred corpse, so the many years of stalking through dangerous missions had honed his skills. He'd executed many, many people; not all of them were combatants.
The hall ended only five feet ahead of him, where it turned around and lead to the elevators that he'd come in at. Spinning around the corner, Terem saw the elevator doors, only a bit away from him, "Excellent." He whispered to himself. Marching forward, he reached toward the call button, when he heard a loud, -ding-!
Snapping toward the elevator, he saw the doors slide open, and charged forward. On the other side, a man stood, his weapon ready. He hardly had time to register what was going on when Terem's fist slammed into his weapon, and then the body slam put him against the back wall of the elevator. The dazed and shocked guard, unarmed, hardly moved as Terem backed up a bit, lifting his carbine and smashing the butt hard against the guard's skull. He felt it crack, and saw a small spray of blood as the skin and parts of the bone fractured. The trauma had likely killed the guard. Terem had no moral quams with this.
He turned and pressed the button for the first floor, moving to a crouch and hugging his mask to his face.
The elevator ride was slow; Terem's heart was beating so quickly he could feel the throbs in his skull, a quick pulsation in the side of his head, like a water pump splashing against, ready to blow. His arms started shaking, but only for a moment, until Terem quelled the sensation. He must be strong for the sake of his new mission.
Ding. His heart jumped at the sound of that ding. He walked into the next area, and though he could not see any gas at all, he could feel November's deadly drug in the air. Nobody would be conscious. He'd spent about three minutes in getting her, which meant he had 7 minutes to dismantle all of the bombs. Most of them were in very obvious places, but some of them Delta had hidden.
Luckily, Terem was blessed with an excellent memory, and he'd seen Delta place each bomb. There was plenty of time to dimsantle them all.
Terem found the first bomb and drew near it. Slowly, he pulled out his knife, setting down his gun. He approached, cautiously looking at the device. He nudged it very carefully with his knife a few times, and searched all around the device. Finally, he found a spot where a few wires lay exposed, "Of course." He smiled.
He trusted November, so there was no amount of nervousness in him as he applied his knife to the blue wire, putting the tension on it and then pulling backward, snapping the wire in half. There was beep as the timer shut off. He sighed with relief. There was no visible timer, so he had to assume that it had shut off.
Terem rose to his feet and smirked, next bomb----
A blast shot suddenly whisked over, hitting him square in the chest. Terem was blasted back against the wall, the burning, sizzling bolt in his chest leaving his already black chest-piece a smoldering mess, the smell blocked out by the gas mask.
Ahead of him, Yorg stood with a blaster pistol aimed forward, and a gas mask ( of different quality ) of his own on his face, "So that's why you were acting so strange." He walked forward, "Now I end you."
He put the pistol to Terem's head, thinking Terem was completely defenseless. In truth, the blaster pistol wasn't strong enough to fully penetrate his armor, it had merely burned the top layer. "You disgust me." Yorg Te'can stated flatly.
Terem jammed his knife up, straight into Yorg's wrist, cutting through the bone and skin, from end to end. Yorg instantly dropped the blaster, and Terem leaped forward, tackling Yorg, "No you're the disgusting one!" He screamed, hopping on top of Yorg. He sat on top of him in a straddling fashion, rasing one fist after another and bringing it heavily down onto Yorg's face.
The collision of knuckle on soft cheeck flesh, hard bone, and complex muscle tissue, made several heavy slapping, thudding, and loud cracking noises. It didn't matter that it was Yorg!
No. It made all the difference. Yorg, at this moment, was the embodiment of everything he use to be. He was Terem. He was weak willed, greedy, selfish, constantly making excuses to justify his evil. Yorg was evil; Terem too, had been evil. The only way to truly become a new person, in some spiritual theologies, was to confront those parts of you which you wished to change; confront the old you...And defeat him.
At that moment, Terem manifested everything he use to be as Yorg Te'can, which was the last barrier between him and his redemption.
Yorg's fist swung up, slamming into Terem's face. Terem could feel his mask almost slip. A moment later, Yorg's two powerful arms were on Terem's chest, and pushing him backward, flinging him off onto his back.
Yorg and Terem both sprung to their feet. Yorg charged forward, and Terem reached foward, grabbing onto Yorg's shoulders in a grapple and transfering momentum to throw him down behind him, as hard as he could onto the floor. As Yorg flailed painfully on the floor, Terem ran across the room, picking up his Carbine. He turned, aimed, and shot four times into Yorg's body.
Slowly, he approached the new dead man, whose spastic movements had ceased. He looked down at the corpse, and couldn't help but visualize his own face on the corpse. His own death; a renewal in himself.
His wrist chronometer suddenly started beeping. He looked down, his eyes jumping up in surprise. One and a half minutes until the explosion! There...Simply wasn't enough time to deactivate all of the bombs. A lump rose in his throat...He had to leave, right then, or he'd be dead for real.
His feet started pounding as he charged out of the building, throwing his weapon along his back. There was nothing more that he could do.
He passed by the slave chambers, and stopped. Gritting his teeth, he looked between their chambers, and the exit. "Ah HELL!" He exclaimed, exasperation clear in his voice. He turned and kicked with all of his might, his foot blasting the door open. He stomped into the room, and looked around. There were many unconscious women all around the room. He couldn't decide at first.
In the corner, he saw something that instantly made his decision.
A little girl, about 9 or 10. Terem leaped across and over the other slaves, reaching her and picking her up. He held her fireman style, and turned to run.
Clearing the door, he darted to his left, moving as fast as his can, pumping his legs with near reckless abandon. He felt the air swoosh passed him as he moved. He turned a final hall and saw a door. He sped up, rushing forward, now faster than even before. He came out that same door that the group had come in through.
The imposing wall before him didn't even make him halt. Beside a different section of the wall, the great ventillation system lay. One section happened to be at waist height. With a single bound, he leaped up onto that section, feeling the soft metal bend only slightly under his feet. He rose up to full height and proceeded next to the wall. He lifted the young girl up to be seated along the top, then hopped up himself, using his arms to steady her.
He leaped to the ground, holding the girl tight in his grasp. From that point, he ran as quickly as he could, passed the wall. He made it maybe twenty yards before the timer on his watch started to beep.
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