[Metal Joe d20 Modern] No Rest for the Nameless [PG-17]

[Krizzel]

September 2nd, 2015
0556 hours, Washington time
Pacific Ocean, 500 miles off the coast of Peru...

Thirty-thousand feet above the ground a C-130S heavy military hauler streamed past above the clouds. Advanced radar-deflecting skin had given the aging aircraft a fair modicum of stealthiness, which, when combined with its lofty altitude, made it quite hard to spot indeed. Which was fortunate, as officially the plane wasn’t there at all – even unofficially, only a scant handful of people knew it was there, and why.

And they would never admit it, if anyone ever thought to ask.

In the rear cargo bay of the aircraft several soldiers milled about, checking over the large parachute packs they each wore harnessed over black wetsuits. A couple of them made the final once over of four large, waterproof, buoyant equipment cases, each strapped with a parachute of its own.

An airman stood by the controls of the rear cargo ramp, small box above his head glowing a steady red as he watched the silent military men. Who they were he wasn’t sure – none of the crew was. Special forces, probably, but what they’d be doing out here, and on what mission, he had no idea. But orders were orders, whether they were official or not.

And then the light suddenly began to blink an urgent amber...

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OOC - This is the IC thread for Metal Joe. If you aren't a player, please don't post here - you can comment in the OOC thread. We'd love to hear from you there.

Shadow Wolf, your first post if you please

Everyone else, hang on for a moment. But if you want to start writing up your posts offline, I'm going to need whatever your characters are doing at home, around midnight on your day off. Check the OOC thread for some info on the current situation.

 

[KitanaVorr]

Kai's Theme

This is my rifle.
There are many like it, but this one is MINE.
My rifle is my best friend.
It is my life.
I must master it as I must master my life.
My rifle without me is useless.
Without my rifle, I am useless.
I must fire my rifle true.
I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me.
I must shoot him before he shoots me.
I will...
My rifle and myself know that what counts in war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our bursts, nor the smoke we make.
We know it is the hits that count.
We will hit...
My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life.
Thus, I will learn it as a sister.
I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, its sights, and its barrel.
I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage.
I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready.
We will become part of each other.
We will...
Before my country I swear this creed.
My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country.
We are the masters of our enemy.
We are the saviors of my life.
So be it,
until there is no enemy,
but PEACE.

August 31st, 2015
2105 hours Eastern Time Zone
USS Delgado, Classified Location

In a tiny cramped room on the USS Delgado a long lean young woman fastened the straps on her waterproof backpack. Shorn of everything but her wetsuit, the glistening material outlined every curve of her slim athletic frame. Her beautiful black hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, the gold highlights that danced upon it in the light seemed muted by the gravity of the situation.

It was time now.

Slinging the backpack securely on both her shoulders, she made her way along the cramped corridors of the submarine. Men and women quickly moved aside to let her pass, staring as she did so with looks of mixed awe and plenty of fear.

135 confirmed kills.

The whisper followed her wherever she went, more prominent than a medal, more frightening, a boogey man loose upon the tight confines of a submarine. It didn’t bother her though. The more unnerved the people around her, the less likely they would speak to her. Conversation was an art she rarely practiced and had no desire to learn.

Toward the torpedo tubes she went where the lieutenant waited for her with the rest of her scuba equipment. The look on his face told her that he thought she was crazy to be doing this. And she probably was.

The metal was cold, but the ocean was colder. Arranging herself and her gear, she squeezed her tiny frame into the largest torpedo shaft. Immediately darkness overtook her as the hatch closed behind with an ominous clang.

17.7 kilometers through the cold water to shore with nothing but the ocean and silence.

 

[Krizzel]

On the C-130S…

The airman grabbed a handhold to steady himself, motioning for the troopers to get ready. They lined themselves up expertly, some dragging along the cases with tough lanyards.

Within thirty seconds, the amber light switched to a steady green, and the airman, holding tightly to his handhold, activated the loading ramp. Wind began to whip through the cargo hold as the rear of the plane opened like a giant maw, moonlight revealing clouds that floated past below.

One by one the soldiers ran forward fearlessly, simply stepping right off into the abyss, helmets and oxygen masks hiding their faces from view. Once all six were gone, one with the vapors, the airman closed the ramp, feeling glad that he wasn’t the one jumping out of a speeding plane, so high it was impossible to breath, with 75 pounds of gear strapped to his back and another 200 tied to his ankle.

It was always the guys without names who got stuck with the worst jobs.

 

[KitanaVorr]

Kai's Theme


August 31st, 2015
2230 hours Eastern Time Zone
Unknown island, Classfied Location

The moonlight shone across the island and the breaker waves, shadows dancing between the rocks and cliffs that dotted the shoreline and beautiful sandy beaches. Many night creatures lingered about, mixing their noises of mating with the soft pounding of the ocean surf.

Along those rocks, a shadowy form emerged from the waters, dragging along a more bulky shape. As the water began to slide off her hair, the moonlight caught the gold hints like little stars on a black velvet canvas. Strands of those inky black lengths clung to the curves of her body, in wet raven curls plastered to the wetsuit. The water continued to course over her body like the caress of an intimate lover before rejoining the ocean again.

Dragging the backpack to a dark shadowy recess along the sandy bank, the young woman paused only to carefully survey her surroundings, those sharp dark eyes with a gleam that was more than predatory.

Her fingers sought the plastic zipper of her wet suit, letting it ride down its long path, exposing warm skin to the cool night island air. With expert agility born of years first as a marine and then a Navy Seal, the woman slipped out of the constricting suit until nothing stood between her and the caress of a passing warm breeze.

Was that a sound? Her body paused for a long moment, ears straining to hear every nuance, every seeming breath. She could feel a rivulet of cold water from her wet hair sliding down her back and over every curve until it melted into the sand at her feet. Nearly several minutes passed before she was satisfied again that she was alone.

Stuffing the wetsuit carefully in the small niche she found, the woman pulled out military fatigues and a strange covering with many straps. Her fingers nimbly wove the local flora into her ghille suit until she was indistinguishable from her surroundings.

Finally, she pulled out something long, gleaming beautiful and as she did so her dark eyes alighted with a fierce love that no man had ever awoken in her. The Barrett Model 82A2 slipped so perfectly into her hands, into the crook of her arm that despite its weight and size, the gun looked as if it had been melded into the woman.

Soft pink lips kissed the tip of the gun lovingly before her thumb wiped away the affectionate residue.

Everything would be alright.

Slowly she began to disappear into the darkness of the trees.

 

[garyh]

September 1st, 2015
1934 hours Pacific Standard Time
San Francisco, California

Robert was enjoying his day off, visiting his folks in Chinatown. He didn't get to see them very often these days, and he had only recently begun to realize the importance of family. He sat with his parents in their Asian restaurant, the Pacific Noodle Co., enjoying the chow mein and sushi special.

"So, how's the place doin', Pop?" asked Robert.

"We're keeping busy, Robert," the older man replied. "With the tourist season, there's hardly an empty table these days."

"That's good to hear," said Robert.

As the conversation continued, Robert's thoughts drifted to questions he knew his parent's were unlikely to answer...

What happened to Uncle Tommy? How can you be a restauranteur when our family is so much more? Why...

"...aren't you eating your California roll, Robert?" asked his mother. "No good? Want me to get you something else?"

"No, ma," Robert replied. "it's fine. I was just thinking, is all."

 

[Jemal]

September 1st, 2015
1950 Hours Pacific Standard Time
Las Vegas, Nevada


Ben Smith smiled as he won again at the Casino del rio grande. THIS is what people should be doing with their spare time - Making money the easy way. Turning the the lovely lady with him, he laughed.
"See, missy, all you got to do is know the numbers, and bet'em." he said as he chomped on his cigar "That's where this comes in." He taps his forehead as he places another bet.

 

[perivas]

September 1st, 2015
2250 Hours Eastern Standard Time
Los Angeles, California

Squeak. Squeak. “HA!” “Brick!” Bong! Squeak! Men run sprint full speed down for the court. Squeak. Squeak. “To your left. To your left. Watch the screen.” “I’m open!”

“Foul! What the hell was that sh*t! That ain’t basketball,” says a lithe figure approximately 6’ 5” in height dressed. “I don’t know how you apes play in your little army camp, but that was what’s called a foul.”

“Well, coach Carlsson always said to play hard on D. It’s not my fault that you’re such a wimp,” replies a muscular figure with gorilla-like arms.

“That’s it, Drew. You’re about to be schooled.”

“Yeah, right.”

Fiercely, men are shoving each, jockeying for better positions. “Check.” “Ball in.”

 

[Ashrem Bayle]

September 1st, 2015
2250 Hours Eastern Standard Time
Washington State, Near the Canadian Border

Silence.

Snow fell gently onto an almost surreal landscape. Far from the light of any city, a pair of glowing green eyes surveyed the area before them. From their position in the trees, they watched patiently the snow blanketed clearing below.

The quiet of the night was suddenly broken by the mournful howl of a lone wolf in the distance. The wolf wasn't the only predator out tonight.

Suddenly the eyes where gone and a shadow stirred. Silently, it glided from its previous location. It made no sound, and blended flawlessly within the darkness of night. It was a ghost, a specter, a Wraith.

Jon David McConnell, codenamed Wraith, slid silently through the forest's undergrowth. He had caught the trail of his target. He had been tracking this one for a while, and he meant to take him tonight.

He paused a moment to size up the situation. Knelt in the snow, he flipped up the screen on his gauntlet. A few quick taps on its tiny keys brought up a typographic map of the area. There he fed in his most recent coordinates and overlaid them onto the map.

"Perfect" he thought. His target was following the same trail he had for the past four days. He would go through the valley to the north, and then turn and backtrack to the southwest around a large hill just west of his current position.

Wraith thought a moment. Judging by direction he had been going and his speed, he could cut directly south and be there waiting with the target arrived. It was settled then.

Shutting down the GPS system, Wraith turned and headed west. Silently and swiftly, he moved through the towering evergreens. Occasionally, his hand drafted back to touch the rifle hanging from his back, a KAC Stoner SR-25. The thing weighed a ton, with all the accessories he had added, but it was a veritable toybox for a professional killer.

Most of that was unnecessary here. He grinned to himself; he certainly didn't need the grenade launcher, or the frags, flashes, or smokers for that matter. It was a good idea to be familiar with your equipment however, and so they came along.

He topped the hill and immediately began searching for a proper location to set up. After a moment of searching, he found a fallen tree that he could lay down behind and oversee the small valley before him. He popped the clips on his pack, unshouldered his rifle, popped down the bipod supports, and waited.

The moon’s light was bright enough to move through, but Wraith preferred a clearer view. He reached up, and clicked on the scopes nightvision. Through the scope, he scanned the area. His target would be arriving soon.

Minutes passed. This little mission was personal. He had been stalking this target off and on for a few years now and he would take great pleasure in taking him down. He liked the control of working alone like this. No orders to stick to, no mission protocol.

A shadow stirred. His fingers clicked off the rifle safety. After a moment, his target walked cautiously out into the open. He stopped, still partially covered by a tree branch and began looking around. Perhaps he sensed danger.

Hesitantly, he took a few steps forward and stopped again. Blood pounded in Wraith’s ears. He still got a rush from the kill. It was the power he supposed. Taking a life was so simple when the victim was unaware. One minute you where alive and wondering about all the little insignificant details of life, the next, dead. Twenty-nine successful assassination missions had made him this way. He had killed far more people he was sure, but it was different killing in self-defense. When someone else is trying to kill you too, you do what you have to. That was just war. There was something that made an elimination mission different. Cold-blooded killing was his trade, but this was personal, and of course, it wasn’t an actual mission.

His finger slid over the weapon’s trigger. Peering through a world lit by a sickly green light, a little red dot came to rest on his victim’s heart. He would not get away again.

*POP!*

Like a marionette with severed strings, the target hit the snow-covered ground.

It was done. Wraith stared at his kill through the scope. No movement. It appeared to be a clean kill. He waited. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten.

The forest was silent. The suppressed rifle had made little noise.

Satisfied that the target was dead. Wraith made his way from cover to check his latest victim. As he drew closer, a grin appeared on his face. Oh yes, he had been after this one for a while.

Four, Six, Ten, Twelve, Fourteen! Laying in the snow ahead was the most beautiful fourteen point whitetail deer J.D. had ever seen.

Mission Accomplished.

 

[Krizzel]

September 1st, 2015
2007 Hours Pacific Standard Time
Las Vegas, Nevada

A baby-faced, blond-haired young man in Army greens stepped into the Casino Del Rio Grande, looking like nothing more than a mouse in a room full of salivating felines. He adjusted the dress cover on his head with an almost embarrassed nature, looking around the room wide-eyed, scanning every table as he started to walk in. In between each glance at a face, he looked down at a PDA in his hand, frowning with worried thought.

Finally, after almost ten minutes of making his way carefully through the casino, he stopped at Ben's table, looking down at the PDA again, then back up at Ben, and again twice more.

"Um...Sergeant Smith?" the young man - a lieutenant by his insignia - tried to state but it came out as more of a question. "Ma'am," he added belatedly as a greeting to the woman next to Ben, blushing slightly.

 

[Krizzel]

September 1st, 2015
1938 hours Pacific Standard Time
San Francisco, California

The low-pitched, whirring 'whup' of helicopter blades suddenly broke through the usual clamor of the Pacific Noodle Co. restaurant, causing all the diners and waitstaff to turn and look out the windows onto the wide boulevard out front. A large military chopper was forcing its way down onto the pavement, clearing a path with waving searchlights and a speaker that was broadcasting a barked commands to the motorists, leaving them a choice of either 'moving it' or having their vehicles become 'target practice.' The SOH-60e Black Hawk, externally indistinguishable from a dozen much more common, unremarkable models, set down without a major incident, and disgorged something major indeed from its already open side door.

"Keep it hot, Oney!" the man who emerged yelled back into the chopper before striding straight into the restaurant unconcerned by any of the irate drivers and pedestrians hovering a safe distance away. Sandy-brown hair ruffled its short but wild ends in the 'copter-generated cyclone, topping off a square-jawed face decorated with grizzly stubble and a pair of black, aviator-style sunglasses. He was wearing only an OD-tee and fatigue pants, with a .45 strapped to one hip and a PDA to the other. A brawler's physique was evident on what was visible of his arms.

Seeming to open the door wide with but a flick of his wrist, the military man moved into the restaurant with purpose, sweeping his gaze across the entire room without slowing his stride. A single look was all he needed, and he corrected his path right to one certain table in the back.

"Arashikage, Robert T.." There was definitely no question here. "On your feet, soldier! It's time to go."