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OOC:
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Preparedness: 1d6+2=5. Hope that is enough for what I am going to try.
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Mace spares one last moment to glance towards Elena as she streaks further and further away. That intense glare of hatred and lust all mixed together was almost intoxicating, and for a moment he wondered if he filled himself with that he would feel something real again. Not something good, no definitely not good. But real. But the thought was fleeting. The spy turned his attention back to the last free parachute and angles himself towards. He dispossesses the dead henchman of his life-saver. Elena would have to wait.
But not for long.
FLASHBACK
Everything had gone horribly wrong. The Brits had botched the takedown of the IRA cell. Over two dozen people had died. Catriona had died. Her children had died. Mace Hunter had died, at least inside.
His wits had not entirely left him, even in his grief. Mace put together a disguise and chartered a small cargo plane to get him off the Isles. But somehow they had known. The plane was flying over the Irish Sea when they made their move.
There were four in total: two men who were supposedly cargo handlers and the two pilots, who had switched the flight controls to auto. They came at him pretty much all at once, and bereft of any weapons he was only able to kill one of them before being subdued, even with his superior hand to hand training. Then they opened the hatch and just tossed him right out into open air.
By rights he should have been killed when he hit the water, but the plane was flying low to obscure the drop and fate intervened. He woke up a week later in a tiny hospital on the Isle of Man. They told him that he had washed up on shore one morning, almost dead. Mace stayed there just long enough to recover, and then he left. The IRA must have thought he was dead, because he did not have any more trouble with them after that.
One thing was for certain though: that was the last time Mace Hunter got on a plane while on the job without some insurance.
END FLASHBACK
The camera is below Mace, looking up, zoomed in so that only the spy and the now liberated parachute are hanging in the air. Mace is spread out now to maximize wind resistance. Suddenly the pans to centre on the parachute, and then back to Mace. To the discerning observer it is immediately apparent that something is up, because the spy is not grabbing for it.
The camera zooms in slightly so that only Mace is visible. The spy quickly sheds his coat and his sweater before undoing his belt and kicking off his pants. Underneath he is wearing something else: a deep, deep red nylon suit of some kind. He then reaches off screen and pulls the parachute back into view, deftly slipping it on.
Mace looks up over to DeBois and says with a grim smile, "
I best not keep my date waiting." And then he reaches up to draw two pull cords on his chest. But they are not on the parachute, they are on the nylon suit. The spy stretches out his arms and legs and with a light swoosh nylon flaps spread out between his arms and body and between his legs, inflating slightly. Fortunately the bullet he took in the leg does not appear to have hit any vital working parts. And now Mace Hunter may not be a bird or a plane, but he is the next best thing after Superman: a super spy with a wingsuit.
