Captain Ian White walked into the command center of Fort Liberty. It was time to force the swine out of Ronto. He and his men would remove them, and destroy the scum that had spawned from them. "Aim the gun Sergeant. Today we begin the operation that will wipe Rontos filth from the face of the earth." There was a roar and the ground shook as the artillery emplacement fired and the shell impacted near an enemy trench.
"Squad, get ready for combat!" he said, and the men nodded and responded in union "Aye Sir!" The men mounted the humvee and its engine started with a cough. "Lets go boys!" The metal gates of Fort Liberty then opened and the jeep drove out.
A vodka bottle smashed against a giant Beavers head, Boris Kozlov still drunkenly singing "You Shook me all night long" while the rest of the folks in the bus was singing, no incoherently shouting, the song. It seemed most of the men in the bus were on different parts of the song, while the radio played it. Boris Kozlov had his Rapture Power Armor on, and stumbled towards the beavers corpse. He drew his Field Ripper and started to cut the fur off. In a few minutes, he was finished. He made a nice warm coat out of Beaver Flesh, and threw it back into the bus. One of the members was shivering the fuck out, something about not being used to "the coldness" of Canada. Fucker would die in Russia, but Boris was happy enough to get to kill something while drunk.
Jackson Upham was sitting in one of the seats of the bus, looking at several of his fellow squad mates. He had his gun faced downward, with it's barrel touching the ground. This way, as his Sarge said it, 'you won't fuck the whole bus up by firing a enitre clip off by mistake!'. A lot has changed since D.C. One, The Survivors did'nt really gain a whole lot of money, mainly due to budget cuts in order to stock up for this trip to someplace caleld Ronto, according to Boris, this was in a place called Canda before hand. The guy right next to him got a massive fur coat. Jackson also traded his Chinese Assualt Rifle a while ago for this new Ak-103. He still had to get used to it. Checking his Maginze's, Jackson leaned back and fell into a nice-steady sleep. The Bus bumbed around a little, but, nothing too major to wake him up.
A black Vertibird circled above Fort Liberty, sweeping low once, twice, three times, before spinning on its own axis as it began descent. The whump-whump of it's rotors turned heads all over the parade ground as soldiers performing drills scattered beneath its alighting bulk. Its landing gear slowly emerged from its body, extending slowly to embrace the ground beneath as the pilot skilfully timed full landin gear deployment with touch-down on the cobbled ground beneath. The rotors slowed, their beat gradually diminishing as the engine gradually stopped them. It was a transport bird, with it's fly-like fuselage and token armament. Although, it was only a token armament compared to an attack VTOL. It still had the Gatling Lasers, though it lacked the bomb bay.
The door opened slowly, with the low, almost inaudible hum and hiss of a hydraulic ram. Four power-armored feet stepped out. Clad in Tesla Power Armor, a pair of Enclave Elite soldiers stepped out, bearing the markings of the Third Special Forces Platoon. They were soon followed by another two pairs of Telsa Armored feet, forming up around the door. The all bore YK42B Pulse Rifles, eliciting curious, almost jealous stares from the Guardians who had gathered to watch as the newcomers deployed. Then, a figure of nightmare emerged. Wearing Oil Rig Era Advanced Power Armor MkII (the one from FO2, i.e. it kicks all your asses), a massive, dominating man stepped lightly from the Vertibird. Bearing the heraldry of the 3rd Special Forces Platoon, along with the markings of a Lieutenant-Colonel and the markings of a Special Agent, followed by another four Tesla Armored Spec-Ops with more YK42B's. That only meant one thing. The Butcher had arrived.
Lieutenant Colonel John Hale looked around, the blue-tinted HUD of his Secret Service Power Armor marking all of the people as life-signs and consigning them to the classification of docile life-forms. It amused Hale no end that he was looking at some mongrel Guardian dogs. He flexed his gauntletted fingers as he observed the gooley-eyed soldier-wannabes. They weren't even at the races compared to his GIs. Of course, GI was a catch-all term used for skilled Enclave soldier. These guys were all Special Agents. The Post-War equivalent of a unit of Delta Force ops, or CIA Special Operations agents. He had smiled as he watched Fort Liberty's artillery lob a shell into the crude trenches dug outside by insurgent forces. He smiled again as he reasserted the fact that as a Lieutenant Colonel, he was the highest ranking officer on-base. And with this letter he had brought with him, he was in a supervisory position.
While this meant he was essentially able to commandeer the base and assume control of the troops within, he didn't see the need. He wanted to document the Guardians. Maybe force them to fall under the overall command of the EAF, rather than stand as an autonomous group. That would put a fairly large, if under-trained and generally lacking in initiative and usefulness, resource directly at General Chase's fingertips, rather than having to listen to those bickering Senators. Hale so wished that the Committee would finally take the Senate's place. It would save so many lives and so much money. Hale mused on this as he crossed the parade ground, walking up to the officer he had seen give the command to fire the artillery.
"Captain White, I assume. I am Lieutenant-Colonel John Hale. The Senate has placed me in a supervisory position over this base and it's current operations. If you are not Captain White, please send for him. I'd like to intoduce myself to him first-hand," Hale said authoritatively. A Guardian stepped back behind another soldier as Hale watched White's Shock Trouper unit rearrange to accommodate real soldiers. Hale smiled inside his helmet as he saw this, and continued, pointing at the man as he hid behind his comrade, "It seems my reputation precedes me."
Boris kicked down the door, and shot a Raider point blank in the head. Probably the leader (or perhaps priest?} of the group, as he was adorned with the most gold. Him, and an elite mix of trained conscripts and a few assassins were there. They were going to pillage the store, and kill all the raiders in it. The group had clear orders, head shots only. If they hit the Jewelry, they would have to lose double that amount in their pay. "Think that's the last of em Comrades, loot the bodies. Jackson, go hack the terminal." The young recruit obeyed, dropping his Ak-103 on a crate before going to open it. Boris picked it up, and noted it was relatively colder then his weapon. Bastard was afraid to shoot unless he was positive he wouldn't miss, Boris was reminded of a young.... Fuck. Who the hell did he remind him of? Sarge? Kane? Bourne? Not important right now anyway. Jackson finished hacking the terminal at this moment, and Boris gently shoved him away and started reading. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Cool but no fucking way are we going to Mexico." Boris stopped abruptly. Whistling, he started to right down information. "Men, we're going to Canada."
Jackson quickly woke up, looking around. Everybody was still singing some song about something, expect for Kane. He was just sitting there smoking. Checking his ammo agian, Jackson leaned his head agasit the wall of the Bus. He did'nt even know this song, so why sing it? Jackson looked down to his holster. Boris made him get rid of his Auto-Revolor that served him faithfully for many years. Now, in its place, is a .45 Caliber M1911. Jackson found it soon after the Surivivors left the cave complex with Celerbal Jack. It's a nice pistol, for sure. But, its got a little bit of a kick.
"Hey, Buddy!" Jackson shouted, in order to be heard over the noise of the singing and the bus itself.
"What!" Repiled the G36C Armed Marine.
"Did ya hear!" was Jacksons reply/ question.
"About how were going to Ronto?!"
"All i know is that theres some Gold or something there! And we need to go find it!"
"You know what i heard about Ronto itself?"
"Theres these things called Plagued or something like that. There supposed to be like Feral Ghouls back down in D.C, but, there nastier."
"And easier to kill!"
That drew a little bit of nervous laughter from both the men, before they both went back to what they were doing. For the random Marine, it was singing. For Jackson, he went back to looking at the wall. Thats when he rembered he brought a book! It was a book called something like "Of Mice and Men" or something like that. Reading through it, word by word, Jackson became deeply buried with it. After all, what else was he going to do?
"Sir!".White snaped to atention.The Butcher himself had arived,White hadn't been expecting this but it wasn't in his nature to turn down help,Yet at the same time if hale was here it probebly ment that assehole General Chase wanted to make sure the guardians were doing his warped idea of a job.If hale inteaded to take over the base white would make it as hard as humanly posible for him.
"Sir can i ask what your here for?".Ian said
"I'm here in a supervisory position. I'm to observe and report on your acts, and those of your conscripts. I can't tell you any more than that without risking the objectivity of the job. But rest assured, I'm not here to commandeer your base or to partake in some oversight commission on this little patch of winter wonderland," Hale said, looking around at the poorly-trained "soldiers". But then, he was comparing them to real Enclave soldiers. This "National Guard of the Wastelands" was quite capable of holding its own against the less powerful factions of the Wastes.
Hale nodded to one of his GIs, the lowest-ranked one being a Sergeant Major. The man walked back to the Vertibird and spoke a few words to the pilot. The man in the VTOL nodded and began takeoff procedures. The GI jogged back to the unit around Hale, forming up again flawlessly as the Guardians looked at each other, unsure what to do with themselves now. Hale cast a disparaging look around the area, sighed, shook his head and decided he may need to take things into his own hands after all.
"Drills don't do themselves, Guardians," Hale roared at the staring concripts. Every Guardian on the parade ground jumped to at that, hustling and bustling around, several running into each other in their haste to avoid pissing off one of the most well-respected officers in the EAF.
Suddenly, inside the buses screaming could be heard. That of a crazy ass beaver. Boris was near the window, so he looked out. And saw about 15 beavers ramming the bus, of varies sizes. Cursing out loud, Boris smashed into the buses door. And started to spray with his assault rifle into several of the beavers. One of the bullets connected with a beavers forehead, and broke it apart. Spewing blood everywhere, marking oddly shaped floral patterns on the ground. Boris then continued to spray in the general direction of the beavers, before backing up to let some of the men with larger weapons fire easier. One man shot a grenade, which blew off the beavers limbs into the air. Boom goes the dynamite he supposed.
White and his squad stood still through the chaos of the drill.In front of them hales men formed up flawlessly.It only furthered whites opinion that compared with Enclave Gi's even his best men had a lot to improve on."Sir i'd like to show you around".Hale noded and white guestured to the main artillery piece."This is a WW1 era artilery piece that we use for shelling plauged and slavers.Very efective it is as well."
White continued down into the command center."This is where we conduct our operations and where you will be based sir.And that is that sir,If you don't mind i have a war to fight"
Alfred Hardy pulled his black Cape and jacket around him."Bloody hell" he muttered under his breath crystals forming as he muttered them."Why did i come to canada with boris".Mainly because there was hardly any cash left for rapture Co to use.So they had come here on a mad hope of boris's that there was a large amount of gold in canada.
A bunch of giant beavers had arived in the bus and were terorising some marines."This is what i do well".Alfred drew one of his swords and choped the neerest beavers leg of."Hrmph".He finished of the beaver with a roar and drew his rifle firing a shot into a beaver."Wood eating basterds"
"Oh, we're halfway there! Whoa-oh! Livin' on a-- wait, what? How the fuck did that thing get on the bus?" Without even sitting up from his comfortable seat near the radio, Sean Abbott lifted his modified M4 carbine, took aim and fired three times, semi-automatic into a Beaver's forehead, bringing it down unceremoniously. The fact he'd killed it so easily irked him somewhat. That meant he wasn't drunk enough yet. Pausing to knock back half a bottle of vodka, much to Boris' dismay, he slung his M4 and replaced it with his H&K CAWS. He ran at one of the beavers, holding his shotgun one-handed as he drew one of his kukris with the other, slashing wildly at the massive creature as it prepared to strike him. He caught it on its foreleg, producing a massive gash on its paw and forcing it to give a heart-wrenching whine of anguish that probably would have made a lesser man weep in sympathy. He gave the animal no room to breathe, following up with a second strike towards its snout. He frowned as before he knew it, the kukri was wedged in its face. He sighed, pointed his shotgun at its chin, put his other hand on it (just in case) and fired twice into its jaw, causing it to crumple into a heap. He smiled. Inexplicable beavers boarding your bus were a tasty treat in all situations.
"We're eatin' gourmet tonight, kiddos!"
Kane Enders hated Canada. He hated Canada's guts. Specifically, he hated Canada's giant fucking beavers. He hated furry things in general. He hated everything in general, to be exact. From his initial encounters, Kane had discovered that Canada was a dreary, desolate place, with dead corpses and jack-knifed trucks galore. Kane turned his attention to the bus. It was obvious that the back end had been destroyed by the beavers. It was completely trashed, and a couple dead marines were strewn about in the back in various positions. "Guess we're walking." Kane said, helping another marine up from underneath the wreckage. He wasn't amused by General Fucking Abbott's humor. Neither was Sarge. Hell, they didn't even have anything to cook with except to blow up grenades and hope it heated the meat without putting too much shrapnel in it. "Who'd the detachment lose, Enders?" Sarge asked, his assault rifle in hand. Kane took a brief look around him. "Well, Gaunt got his chest split open, Baptista got his head bitten off, and it looks like Javers got both his legs and his arms bitten off... no, wait a second, add his ball sack." Kane said. Sarge nodded, then retrieved his backpack from underneath the wreckage. Slinging his shotgun over his back, Kane slapped his helmet on before jumping out the back, being careful not to step on Javers' corpse. His eyes flitted in the distance towards distant Toronto city, forsaken hellhole and welcoming site to Rapture Company.
Jackson mutterd as he left the Bus with Kane and Sarge. Pulling what was something of a Jacket closwer to him, Jackson looked at the three dead Rapture Company men. Poor bastard. Looking back over to them, one of them seemed to be wearing a much warmer jacket. Looking around, KJackson quickly took the jacket, before sliding it over his other Jacket. Much better. Throwing something called a 'scarf' over his neck, Jackson unslung his Ak-103.
"Great, this is just fucking great! Were stuck out here in the middle of fucking nowhere!"
Jackson shaked his head and put his own helment on, so then only his eyes could be seen from his face. Checking his pistol agian, Jackson sighed. It was going to be a long walk. But ,the gold better be there.
"So, whats everybody going to do with there share of the gold?"
"Man, i'm going to go down to some nice cat house, get me some ladies!" Bourne repiled, fist-bumping Jackson. The two had became very good friends recetnely.
Tim Williams spoke up next. "I dunno what i'm going to do. Maybe a little house in the burbs, you know?"
A moment of two of slicene, before Tim burst out laughing. With Jackson and Bourne looking at him funny, Tims laugheter stopped soon after. Pushing up his glasses, Tim looked at them.
"Pre-war saying. Read it in a book. Was in the foreword."
"Doc, you crazy. I mean you really crazy." Bourne repiled.
So, The Survivors walked down what was left of a Pre-War road. Thats wen Jackson got a idea. Running back to the Bus, and taking the Radio, Jackson placed it with Heavys backpack. Taping it to the top of it, Jackson filldeled with it until a song played from it. The song? Something along the lines of "I've got Soul, but i'm not a soldier..."
Ian was stood in the center of his command hub listning intently to the comm's officer in front of him.The officer,A master sergant by the looks of him resumed speeking."About an hour ago scouts on the outscirts of ronto spoted a pre war bus it was attacked by Giant Beavers but they fourght it off.However the beavers must have damaged the bus as they are now walking in a long convoy towards the outscirts.We belive if they continue on there curent course and speed they will reach here within 2 days.Our scouts estimate they have between 30-60 men".
White considered this,These men were a rouge factor in his plan one that should be eliminated.The offical line for ian's operation was that he and his men would push the plauged ectra out of the outscirts and into the center of ronto were they could be contained.However White planed to also locate and recover a gold deposite somewhere in the city to be used to further the cause of the guardians.
"Leave them be for now,If they become a threat eliminate them"
"We're on the road again, I can't wait to get on the road again, 'caus I find love is makin' music with my friends, and I just can't wait to get on the road again." Mikhael Rowey pulled up alongside the Rapture Company tour bus and pulled out his Obrez Mosin-Nagant M91/30 rifle/pistol.
"We're the best-a'-friends, like a band a' gypsies rollin' down the hi-igh way, we're... Somethin, somethin, somethin, insistin' that the world keep turnin' our wa-ay, an' our wa-ay.." His voice gradually faded out as he spotted the group of Rapture Company soldiers moving away from the bus. Today's orders were to go on leave, according to Ramone Castille, and where the hell else would he go? Back home to Ronto. Getting back on his motorcycle, he headed out towards the rapture company conscripts and pulled up next to the one whose nameplate read "Jackson".
"Hey, bud," Mikhael said, "You headed Ronto-ways?" He said rhetorically. Of course they were headed Ronto-ways, the bus had broken down on the only remaining road heading into Ronto, right at the point where car-wrecks had bottle-necked the road into something impassable to everyone who wasn't on foot or on a motorcyle. "You're gonna need a guide if you are. Who're you rollin' with?"
Hale went over the orders he had been given in the Pip-Boy he had been handed to carry around. The thing was smaller and handier than a terminal, being built around microprocessors and semiconductors. Whatever the hell those were. Hale flicked through the pages. Something about a gold shipment from a bank in Ronto that hadn't been utterly destroyed in the hellfire the bombs brought with them. Some raiders had managed to get the gold moved around before being attacked by the Plagued and killed or driven off. However, the plagued had abandoned the truck, seemingly unaware of its value.
"Well, looks like we'll be travelling close to Plagued territory for this assignment, gents," Hale said absently to his squad. He'd left them at ease in their room after they set off some EMP grenades to destroy an bugs or surveilance gear in the place. They were all leaning on walls or pacing around.
However, the second he mentioned action, they had all snapped to attention and stepped into open space in the room. Hale looked around at them all, wondering what he'd said. Then it dawned on him that they expected him to say more.
"The gold shipment. Now, the Guardians know about it, my CIA contact told us, but they don't know we're here for it. The Committee gave us permission to shoot anyone that tries to stop us for mutiny. Now, we have the bird to get this stuff back to the Reserve, but it can't carry us and the gold at the same time if it wants to clear the buildings. So we can either trek back here or wait for pickup in hostile territory. We'll probably need automatics from our supplies to survive any Plagued swarms that are bound to come investigating the VTOL," Hale said, noting the lack of any apprehension in each man's eyes. He then continued, "We can expect little help from the Guardians in this, but we don't want or need it. The VTOL will be picking us up after the first report-worthy incident. Lets not do anything to jeapordize our cover as supervisors here. Right, now that we're settled in, lets go have a look at the Guardians."
Hale watched as his GIs prepared to leave the room, noting that all bar one was fully geared up as they headed for the door.
"Johnson, for fuck's sake, bring a clipboard or a camera or something," Hale snapped. He wasn't surprised it was Johnson who'd forget that. He spent too much time infiltrating enemy organizations, rather than keeping an eye on friendly ones. As they left the room, Hale locked it, with a replacement lock so that no Guardians could pay a visit. Then they went their separate ways to keep an eye mon different areas of the fort.
Jqackson turned around to adress the person taslking to him. The first response was the entire turn around and point weapons at the gun. However, after a few seconds, everybody noticed tehe Cartel symbol. Sighing, they lowered there weapons. Thats when Heavy stepped forward.
"This is the Survivors. Were heartbreakers and life takers."
Hefting his new M249 LMG, Heavy looked at Mikheal, before Bourne stepped in.
"This here is Heavy. Fine man in combat. Just need somebody to throw Frag greandes for the rest of his life."
Patting Heavy on the back, Heavy stepped back a little, but still looked at Rowey. Jackson spoke up next.
"Were with Rapture Company. And Guide work? Youtr going to have to talk to-"
Jackson was cut off when Sarge stomped his way inbettwen the group that was huddled in th efront half of the mototorcycle. Pushing his way past Bourne and Jackson, he stopped, did a about face in front of Rowey and looked at the group.
"Did i tellyou stop"?"
"But-" Jackson tried to say something, but Sarge just went right on going.
"Did i tell you?"
"No..." TRhe squad repiled.
"Then keep moving!" Sargwe yelled. Turning to Rowey, Sarge looked him up and down.
"Cartel, huh? Come on, your with us. Ge tup there with Jackson and Bourne. TIM!"
"Yeah?" Tim repile.
"Quit walking so damn slow and put some hustle to it!"
Hale strode into the command centre, nodding to those he passed on the way in, before walking up to the "hub". A raised dais in the middle of the room with banks of terminals linked to supercomputers left over from the war surrounding the edges. He walked up to an intel storage computer, checking the nearest information communique. He nodded to himself as he noticed the video playback from the surveilance team that had spotted Rapture Company. It had just arrived, so Hale was the first person to see it. He noticed the markings from the side of the bus. He'd seen these bastards before, in Maryland. Rapture Company. What the fuck were they doing up this far north? Hale's face contorted into an angry snarl as he realized it was either for the gold or the Resistance. Either way, they were a spanner he didn't need in the works.
"Captain White, can I ask why your orders are to leave a group of armed soldiers who have fought the Enclave before alone until they become an active threat? They are well-trained, by Pre-War Ghouls with military experience, in fact, and are apparently heavily-armed. By the time they become an active threat, they'll be dug in somewhere and will go from being a minority group to a major thorn in our side," Hale said, preparing his clipboard as he awaited White's response.
"I'm sory sir,I was unaware that these men have been a problem to the enclave before".White turned to his director of operations."Order infantry platoons 1,2&3 as well as most of my platoon under sergant "death cap" to engage".The man nodded,White turned back to hale "Sir as you can see my men have been given the orders to engage".He turned back to the Director."The rest of my squad are going to head along there tragectory towards what we belive is there destination,Here".He pointed at a building on the map that was marked as a bank."We belive they are headed here sir".White knew this was proberbly a complete lie but it was number one on his lists of places that could contain the gold.
Boris whistled as he kicked down the door, and using his .50 magnum he shot three plagued in the face. Clearing the room, he walked in. "Survivors, guard this door. The plagued part of the building will be for the humans, the ghoul reinforcements get the feral side. Now, go through and clear out men, me, Alfred, and Mr. Australia will take the right room. The rest, take the left.m
"Aye Boris".Alfred turned into the room blades drawn,A plauged charged at him to be cut in half by his blade.Another met an untimely death at the firing end of alfreds rifle.He cut another down and stabed it's twin into another plauged.
Hale shrugged. That was as good a sign as any to go "report back to the forces in the Planetarium." He said that into his radio and they fell back to the room they had been set up in. While Hale and the others packed their gear away, Jones replaced the door's lock with it's original, and then got to clearing up his own stuff. Hale never thought he'd be happy Rapture Company had moved in. He waved the GI's on and walked out of the room, with them following, formed up around him. They nodded to Guardians as they passed, and stepped out into the parade ground just as their VTOL scattered another group of Guardians beneath it. Hale shoved the crate he was carrying aboard as the GIs did the same. They all hopped on in unison, taking off their helmets as they did so. Every one of them was smiling. This job was the easiest they'd had in, well, their entire lives, really.
"Mr. Australia? Pfft. Ruskie." Sean muttered as he drew one of his .50 magnums in one hand and one of his kukris in the other. He strode into the room behind Alfred, blowing a hole in the head of one of the Plagued at the cost of a sharp pain in his wrist and probable required medical attention. He swore loudly, holstered the revolver and drew his second kukri (because you can never have enough kukris) as another Plagued charged towards him. One of its three arms, this one growing out of its chest, was flailing wildly in front of it as it ran, so he assumed it was planning to strike with it and stepped aside as it drew near, cleaving it off effortlessly. Apart from small amounts of blood, nothing seemed to happen. "Bugger! Since when did they have dupe limbs?!" He moved forwards and slit its throat before giving it a light knee-kick to tip it over, allowing it to flail and twitch on the floor while clutching its bleeding windpipe. In case it would spontaneously grow another neck, he brutaly kicked its head against a wooden cabinet for good measure. Another was getting uneasily close, so he resolved to stick a kukri in its forehead and kick it through a rickety old table. "These things are thick as shit!"
White turned to his master of scouts."Track that bird,If it lands at any none enclave site report it and send a platoon to investigate it".He walked back to his squad,"Lets do this thing that we were going to do before".The men remounted one of the two humvee's on the base and the gate slid open.
"our orders are to find the gold and recover it,We may come into conflict with enclave forces on this mission but we have to do our job"
Boris finished killing the last plagued, running his Ripper through the mans chest. Cutting off several of his limbs in the process. "Survivors, set up a vantage point on the roof. Set the explosives to the wall separating us from the Ferals, and make sure that your not getting your ass bit through while they run amok. Lastly, I need the non medic nooby and Kane to put those on." Boris pointed to two suits of what looked like rotten skin. Before Weston could finish his sentence consisting of "What the fuck are those?" Boris spoke. "Ghoul suits. I cut out a ferals insides, you two are the only men here who fit." After a few minutes of Barfing from Kane and Weston, they put them on. "Great, now everyone who's a ghoul, or wearing a ghoul suit, come with me. We're going to the treasury."
The VTOL alighted next to the truck, barely missing the surrounding rubble and buildings. Hale and his men disembarked, bearing L30 Gatling Lasers and M4 carbines as PDWs. Hale was carrying his modified FN FAL, and his .223 Pistol, as well as his ubiquitous bag, which looked ridiculous slung over the shoulder of his power armored form. He signalled for the men to move up and take positions around the truck as he blew the lock with a HE round from his FN FAL. Then, in a dramatic show of Power Armor-enhanced strength, he tore the door from the truck and tossed it aside. His smile faded and his arms dropped to his sides as he found himself staring at several bags of gravel and sand. A decoy truck. He swore over and over for almost a minute without repeating himself as he kicked up dust, extremely pissed at this turn of events.
"Men, the Ghouls in that bank there probably know a terminal that'll tell us where the other trucks are headed," Hale said, pointing at the nearby Treasury building. His soldiers looked at him. He knew their faces were incredulous, so he continued and clarified, "We're not going to ask them, we're going to kill them and find the terminals ourselves!"
Hale signalled to the pilot to take off and get back to the Planetarium. Hale could call him in later if he had to.
Boris, and several other Top Seven left the safe house that was the YMCA. They were heading for the treasury, where the gold was. Hopefully they wouldn't have to go on some wild goose chase to find it, blow up some rubble, and kill people. Hell, who was he kidding. He would do "all" of those things and more.
Boris kicked in the door, he was doing that a lot today. "Ferals boys, set a trip wire trap by the door." Boris picked up a feral, and tossed it to Jackson. "Put him in the trap, and carve out the innards. Fill em with explosives, and you're done with that, put him in the trap. Should be a nasty little surprise." Once they were done, Boris started walking. Then broke off into a sprint, dodging ferals that were lumbering around. He wanted to get this over with.
Hale fired in the air, scattering the Ferals as he went. Apparently, not all non-sentient life had a disregard for it's safety. Hale then swore as the Ferals who had been running away returned from the next room followed by Glowing ones and a group of Reavers. Two of the three Reavers were shot down by a quick-thinking Hale. The third had a Tommy gun. Hale and the others ducked into cover to avoid being taken out by that antique. (any Ghoul that can wear armor can use a Tommy Gunun as far as I'm concerned!)
Jackson (NOT Weston's Jackson) leaned around the pillar and fired his Gatling Laser at the approaching Ghouls, killing the Reaver and the Roamers and Ferals, but the Glowing Ones survived the hail of lasers, only to be cut down moments later when Johnson and Jones opened up with their Gatling Lasers. Hale stood up and began moving towards the half of the Treasury populated by the sentient Ghouls. He fired at the first one, scattering the ones near the doors. The Ghouls here were largely a peaceful bunch, and few of them had any form of firearm immediately at hand. Over a dozen were killed in Hale and his unit's first salvo. More died as the unit moved through the main gathering area of the settlement, gunning down any Ghouls they found cowering in cover as they moved towards the admin office door and the terminals they were seeking.
"Never seen that method before," Rowey said quietly as he watched Jackson set about the grisly work of carving the Feral's corpse like a hallowe'en pumpkin. While he did that, Rowey nervously cycled the bolt on his Obrez Mosin, holding the clip in his off hand. During his time with the CFF he had never gone much farther than the Y, now he was in unknown territory. Sure, some of the Fighters had talked about the area, and he had been shown maps numerous times. Sure he had been dragged through that territory on a brief (and truncated) motorized patrol. Something he didn't want to do, however, was experience it first-hand.
But he had also heard the legends.
Pre-War companies like De Beers had held large claims in minor diamond and gold deposits around the Toronto area. Legend told that one of the largest shipments of De Beers gold was headed away from one of the ancient mines on the town's outskirts. It had been caught in the blastwave of the nuke, overturned and abandoned in favor of self-preservation. It had sat there for ages, and only recently had raiders dug it up. From there, little information existed. Apparently these psychos wanted a slice of that shiny yellow pie as well.
ROwey expected a generous serving of that as well. What he wasn't expecting was facing ferals, Plagued and god-knows-what-else along the way, and more specifically that these Ghouls and assassins were taking the most direct route through Ronto to get to the Treasury building. He looked at the small, hand-made map he carried with him everywhere as he loaded the clip back into the Obrez. They were holed up near the treasury building, but according to the map they were right on the edge of Blackwatch, Enclave and raider spheres of influence. Obviously everyone was hankering for a piece of the gold as well, and they all knew the Treasury held the key to the... Well, the treasure.
Rowey just hoped that none of those parties would show up before his crew could shake a leg and high-tail it outta there.
Boris heard gun fire. Not his gun fire, he knew what the weapons his group was using sounded like. Yeah, they were probably fucked. Or screwed. Or maybe even fried with a little- he heard more gunfire. This time from weaker weaponry, probably from the ghouls inside fighting back. "Fucking run for it!" Boris yelled, as the group sarted to run towards the room where most of the non ferals would be. Boris shot the door lock off, and kicked it in. Yeah, he was doing that a lot today. "Jackson! Get your ass to a terminal! Abbot! Lead the biker and Kane to the stair case! Attack from behind! Everyone else, follow me. We're going to find out what the hell that racket is. Oh, and Chay. Be prepared to use that scream thing of yours...."
Cluchting his helemnt, Jacson did what he was told. Running to a nearby terminal, Jackson kept his Ak-103 in one hand, and typed with his other. After a few mintues of working, sweating and cussing. JAckson grinned.
A menu appeard on screen, and Jackson selcted the one marked "Recent Shipments". Under it, in a submenu, was the word "Check-ins" Clicking that, Jackson found what he was looking for. Looking at it, the words "Debers Gold Shipment,-recent checkin: Driver checked in near Maple Leaf Gardens. "
Jackson turned towards Boris and whisteled and got his attention. Wavcviong his hand in the motion that read as "Get over here!", Jackson pointed to the words on the screen. Boris slowly noodded and faced Jackson. However, Jackson spoke up.
"We need to get out asses to the Maple Leaf Gardens! Rowey, where the fucking hell is that?"
Jackson semi-shouted. However, Jackson had moved to awindow and was now looking down at the steert. No real movement. Moving back to the terminal, KJackson used one arm to hold his gun, point at the door, while the other arm to search for more info.
Hale, on the other hand had hacked an administrative computer in the offices upstairs and discovered that the shipment to Maple Leaf Gardens had been hijacked and taken east. The lo-jack GPS gave its last co-ordinates along King Street East. The time was two minutes before the first bomb fell. Hale heard something on the stairwell outside and with a roar of "Pull up your socks lads!" he opened fire, his AP bullets punching through the wall while his men dived to the ground at that signal. Outside, Kane and Rowey leaped bach down the stairs, landing in an undignified heap at the bottom as a power armored figure stepped out the door weilding an assault rifle.
The Power Armored juggernaut was unlike anything Kane or Rowey had ever seen before. After all, Hale's power armor had only ever been seen on the West Coast and in important Enclave compounds before. Hale recognized one of the men as the fucking biker from Octagon. Hale would never forget a face he had failed to kill. With a worless roar, Hale fired again, as the terrified Kane and Rowey dived for cover.
Jackson heard the commoantion, the shout about socks and gunfire. Moving away form the termainal, Jackson moved towards the stairs. Kane and TRowy were a floor above him. Well, right above him to be techinall. Moving up the stairs, JAckson looked at the massive power armoured officer. Neraly shitting his pants, Jackson opned fire. 5.56 bullets bounced around of the officers body, but, he did'nt pay any attention to that. Bringing up a fresh magzine, Jackson popped out of his cover agian. However, this time, the officer ntoiced Jackson. Firing a burst at Jackson direction, one bullet skimmed his helemtn , while the others hit the wall in front of him. By some mircale, they did'nt go throug hthe wall. Grabbing Kane with Arm, Jackson hauled him out of the line of fire, firing with his other arm. He was starti ng to get really good atrt using one arm for his assualt rifle. Grabbing Rowey, Jackson was knconked to his ass when a AP bullet hit his body armour. Luckily, it went though a wall in order to get to him. So, his body armour stopped it.
"HOLY SHIT!" Jackson shouted as he bounded back to the room where the rest of Rapture Company was. He was willing to save a fellow Surivivor, but, not Rowey. He just met the poor bastard. However, he did give Rowey a fair chance. Jackson had manged to drag him out of the juggnaruts line of fire. All he had to do was get up a run. Dropping his Ak-103 mag that was just un his gun, Jackson took up another magzine and readied his weapon.
"By the way, does anybody know who the fucking hell was that? The bastard fucking hit me!"
Ducking behind a cover of some wooden crates, Jackson watched as Heavy set up his M349, whiole Bourne was right next to Jackson. Fist bumbing, the two went back to looking at the door. The rules were simple. Shoot if it was anybody but Rapture Company. Or Rowey.
Chay saw the bullets fly through the walls, and the men with weapons firing. He assumed that it was time for him to use a sort of screech he made with his voice, that called ferals to the area. He was probably one of the few men on earth that could do it, and had heard about some one named "Dackal" do it near a crusade base. Most of the humans with him had ghoul suits, so he assumed it was ok to use. Doing the screech, he saw all the ferals in the building come rushing. While he saw Boris fire his grenade launcher attachment at the power armoured men (assuming all the men in your group have power armour). Chay ran for cover as bullets hit the wall, he was too far away to do anything with his Twin hooks. And that power armour would of blocked the emei piercers. Then, he saw a ghoul. This one wasn't feral, and he survived the AP bullet to his chest. It seemed he was extremely lucky. Chay rushed over, and took out a stimpack. He applied it to the mans chest, and dragged the man to a room nearby. "More....please...." the man struggled to breathe. Chay applied some med-x to the man. "Why...are....you....here?" "To find gold. Is it here?" The man eyes widened. "The tunnels, in the tunnels. Stolen...." That was the last words the man said, as he died soon after. Chay got up, and ran to Boris.
"Die Mother fucker!" Was the last words the Enclave soldier heard. Boris fired at his feet with a grenade launcher, destroying the support beam next to him and making a large hole where his right leg used to be. The beam fell, and crushed the man. "Jackson! Kane! Get the fuck over to the head terminals!" Some rubble fell from the ceiling, as Boris fired at the GIs with his .50 magnum. "Well? Get the fuck over there!" Kane started to run for it, before the entrance to the room was blocked by rubble. Damn Enclave soldiers blocked it off. Kane took cover near the door, while Boris blind fired at the Enclave soldier. Chay came running by, he seemed to be in a hurry. "What the fuck is it man?"
Hunger. Hunger was the word the feral could remember, and he always felt it. He heard the screem of his brethren, and charged. The man in suit shot his glowy gun. It tore through another ferals brain, sending his blood everywhere. He jumped when he got near one, distracted by his talky talky brethren. And then got ahold of his gun, and accidently pulled the trigger when he took it from him. Feral was bleeding, he shot himself. Feral felt sleepy. He go nighty night now, on top of Enclave soldier.
Much as Hale wanted to nail that Ghoul for killing one of his men, and for the mere fact that it was an enemy to shoot at, he decided against it. He had to put the mission first. He heard the Ghoul with the commie accent shouting about the terminals, which Hale assumed meant these admin ones. Hale grabbed the late Jones' Gatling Laser and opened up on the room, blowing out most of the terminal monitors and all of the databank computers lined up at the walls. He wished Rapture Company luck getting any use of the terminals now that their brain had essentially been blasted to hell Then he spun back, adding his firepower to that of his men before shouting something about following his lead. His men were less than enthusiastic as he leaped from the window, crashing to the street below.
Hale properly secured the Gatling Laser's ammunition pack to his back and stowed his FN FAL in his bag. His men relucantly dropped from the windows, landing nearby, checking their gear and all nodding once everything was in order. They'd lost Jones, but that was all. Now all he had to do was track the gold's position from King Street. He realized the truck would have been looted the second the bombs stopped. All he had to do was figure out where it had gone. There was a mine shaft nearby (not the Well) but from what he'd heard, the mine was full of infected and Feral Ghouls.
"Right lads, we're checking that truck and if the prize isn't there, we hit up the mine. Be prepared to face down a hell of a lot of Ferals and Infected," Hale said as he gave the command to move. His soldiers fell back eastwards in as orderly a fashion as was humanly possible, strafing the windows of the office with Gatling Laser fire every few seconds until they were well out of sight of the building. They stopped for a quick stock-take, nodded to each other and then got moving again.
Boris Kozlov smashed in a window containing a map of Toronto three years before the war. Then took out a pen, and started writing. "Everyone come here, we need to find out what the fuck that dead ghoul meant by tunnels." Boris stared at the map, crossing out the metro. "Trains were running in and out every few seconds, the gold would of been destroyed in there." He then looked over to the sewage faculty. Sewers? Maybe, but the plant was probably filled with Raiders or Plagued.
"What if he meant something like...well...sewers?"
Jackson said, looking at the map. His assuat rifle was laying on a table nearby, well within arms reach. Rubbing his chin, Javckson countied to look at the map. Apparetnly, he was wrong about being in the Maple Leasf Gardens. Its just where the truck driver checked in at. Conserding the fact in was 30 mintues before the bombs fell, it could have been eanyway within a thiry mintue drive from the Maple Leaf Gardens. Which could have been a lot of places. Thats when Jackson turned to rowey, who wa sjoining them at the table.
"Is there any other kind of tunnels here besides sewers? Like, i don't know...mine tunnels? "
"Well, sewers it is then. Mine tunnels would of collapsed during the great war. Probably had some people in them during the robbery too, so the robbers wouldn't of gotten in there. Let's go to the sewers then, we should blow a hole through the ceiling."
"No!" Rowey shouted as he fired another round into the Enclave soldiers moving away, knocking the laser chaingun from one soldier's hands as he strafed the windows. "There's an abandoned mine somewhere to the northeast of here, on the outskirts of Ronto. I've seen people headed in and out of it once in a while."
It wasn't like Rowey thought that the truck would be in the mines, but if there was more gold in the mine tunnels, they may as well check. On second thought... "The Glowing Gardens are a ways to the northeast, pretty much a straight path from the Treasury to there. Or we can take a few back ways the old Freedom Fighters used, it'll take a few minutes longer but we won't be mobbed as bad. It's up to you guys."
Jackson looked over to Boris, then back to Rowey. Jamming his thumb in the direction towards him, Jackson spomke.
"Talk to him. He pays me,"
Going back to looking at the map, Jackson picked up his assualt rifle and slung it over his back. They needed to get going, and soon. They just could'nt stand here and taslk about where the gold 'might' be. The asswipes in t e powerarmour will problay get to it first. Then, Rapture Company would be really screwed hard.
"I say we go the short route. I don't like ferals, and I don't like other types of fucked up zombies either. But I sure as hell ain't staying longer in this hellhole with a bunch of jumped up canadian rebels and some 'genetically compliant' jackass dipshits." Kane said. The others murmured accounts of agreement on a large-scale. "Rapture Company speaks for itself." Kane said in a smart-ass manner. The Top Seven members and some of the assassins were still standing around. "What are you waiting for, rumple-silt-skins?" Kane said to Boris, then pushed past him, too impatient. He had no idea where he was going, but Ronto was definitely in the distance. Shouldering his shotgun, Kane screamed an order to the conscripts. "Move out!" He shouted, firing a round into the cold morning air.
Rowey got a glazed look on his face for a second as his brain processed what Kane had just done. "Wait a minute!" He then shouted, rushing off after Kane while he simultaneously fired up his motorcycle and freed his .300 Win-Mag rifle from the side of his motorcycle. "I'm one of those jumped-up Canadian rebels!" As he finished his statement, a ghoul the initial onslaught of enfilading fire had overlooked rushed him. Rowey jammed his Obrez Mosin into one of the creature's eye sockets and pulled the trigger, feeling blood and brain matter splash up his arm.
The bike lurched between his legs and carried him off, half against his will, as it rushed to catch up to the survivors. If they just stuck to this street, then took a few left turns, they would be right at a sewer waystation's doorstep. He relayed this information along to Kane, then moved forward and alerted Boris of the Waystation's presence. "Unless," he added, "you want to try any of the manholes or storm drains around here. I have a feeling that two-hundred-plus-year-old shit wouldn't smell too great..." He shrugged. "It's up to you."
"Manholes it is then. No power armored dipshit could get in there without taking it off, and then we have the advantage of stealth on our side. We also have the advantage that Chay could cut most of their fucking heads off quicker then they could say "Zombie". You lead the way biker, find the man hole closest to the entrance of the sewer. If I what I heard about bank robbers from old movies, they should be hiding out in a old cave some where."
"im with boris" alfred said."However that assumes the robers made it to there base,What if they were out when the bombs fell?".Alfred replaced his weapons and cleaned his 2 blades.Before replacing them in his sheaths."Shall we continue?"
Ian and his men's hummvee sped along the road bouncing over the potholes.Hale and his men had landed at a posible small landing zone.After that hale and his men had headed towards an old building and white's men had been following the tracks left behind by them.Taking the obvious route they had followed the tracks and had arived at these old building.
White pushed the wrecked door open into a room filled with dead bodys."Fill out and find hale,We need him".
"I'm not saying my plan isn't filled with giant holes Alfred. I do believe they made it into the tunnels. However, from what I here the bombs fell once they were in the tunnels. This means that most of them would of died in the tunnels, leaving the gold some where in the sewers. And most of the shit should be gone too, which makes it easier for us to find the gold. Cleaning it however, is going to be a different story. Now let's go before those damn Enclave whores figure out where it is." Boris disabled the trip wire trap with the ghoul, and emptied the explosives out and gave them back to one of the group members. Everyone then left the building, looking for what ever man hole was closest. "Biker boy, you lead the way. Where's the closest entrance to the sewer?"
Rowey analyzed the street he was standing on with a freedom fighter's eye. After a few seconds' protracted observation, he pointed. "Over there." There was an inauspicious manhole in the middle of the road, the cover warped slightly so that it was bent ever-so-slightly upwards. He moved steadily down the road with his motorcycle and pulled it to a stop in an alley near the manhole before picking out a crowbar and lifting the cover off.
Sure enough, the fetid stench of 200-year-old sewer flooded Rowey's nostrils and almost knocked him flat onto his ass. Pulling a gas mask out of his belt, he pulled it over his head and lifted the hood of his leather armor over top of it. Speaking in a muffled voice through the gas mask, he said, "Be careful down there. And you might want to consider a gas mask, too- 200 years could leave lethal methane buildups in the tunnels." He smiled a bit. "And the smell ain't too great either."
And with gun in hand, Rowey descended the ladder into ankle-deep, stale water and urine that formed the Ronto Sewer Network.
Jackson took out his own gasmask, as did the rrest of Raptute Company. Preety much everybody in Rapture Company owned a gasmask. Crawling into the man hole, Jackson went down. Rowey was right below him, and Bourne was right above him. Eventually, TRowey stopped and hit the bottm. Then Jackson did ,then Bourne then a whole bunch of other people. Eventually, most of the Rapture Compay came down into the little sewer. Pushing his way past everybody, Boris klook the lea dpostion.
"Come on, Comrades! For gold and glory!" he said, and off Raptute Company went in this dark, smelly tunnel.
"URRAH!" Sean replied loudly and with fake enthusiasm, sarcastically mimicking a traditional Russian battlecry in a stereotypical accent (which sounded quite weird) for Boris' benefit. This did not please the Russian Ghoul, and he could guess that through the helmet of his Power Armor he was staring daggers at him. Sean merely grinned cheerfully (a grin widened by the fact that a few conscripts had caught on and mimicked the cry in turn) before fitting his gasmask over his face, securing the straps around the back of his head before replacing his ever-present cork hat (yes, he has a motherfucking CORK HAT) and breathing deeply through the filter. With that done, he took point at Boris' side, keeping a few steps in front of him with the underslung tactical flashlight of his CAWS illuminating the way for Rapture Company (and whoever the guy with the bike was).
"Jackson, shut up!" shouted Sarge.
"I did'nt say anything!" repiled Jackson.
"You were thinking about it." said Sarge as he pushed past several consrpicts.
Bourne edged himself closer to Jackson, before opening his mouth to talk.
"Dude, Sarge is becoming a asswipe...he aske me a few days ago during a meal break if i wanted fried chicken and watermelon......racist bastard." Bourne said, rubbing his chin.
"I hear ya. You know, i bet Heavy would make a better leader then him." Jackson repilied, looking around in his gasmask, scractrhing a minor itch on his arm.
"At least Heavy gives people a chance. Well, sometmes." Bourne repiled, simling withn his gasmask.
Drawing a small chuckle from Jackson, the two fist-bumbed, which they seemed to be doing a lot of now-a-days and counited walking. Taking the flashlight from his helment, JKackson heled it in his left hand, while he held his M1911 pistol in his other. He had his Ak-103 strapped on his back, and his helment was in the same pouch that his gasmask once was. Then, he got a idea. Going to Heavy, Jackson found the radio, still nested on Heavys back-pack. Fiddling with it agian, a song came out of it. It seemed that one of the Top-7, Jackson couldnt tell, knew this song. Jackson walked up back to Bourne and listned to the song. It was rather catchy. However, he had no clue what they meant about a Fortunate Son. (CREEDENCE CLEARWATER REVIAL!)
Hale punched another Feral ghoul, breaking it's neck with an even more pronounced crunch than a human neck. He and his GIs were just killing Ferals in brutal melee, electing to conserve ammunition for the mines if they had to enter those infested catacombs. Hale smiled inside his helmet as the overturned truck came into view. Hale strode over to it, drawing his .223 pistol and looking into the truck through a gaping hole in the back where the door used to be. Two bars were left. Disappointing, to say the least, but at least they wouldn't be running around on a wild goose chase. If there were bars left in the truck, the others couldn't be far away. Hale nodded to his men and led them towards that collapsed mine shaft. It was the only logical place for thieves to take the gold with air raid sirens blaring and claxons screaming to the sky.
"Lets grab us that gold boys. Senate's got a lot in store for us if we get that shit back to them," Hale said.
Sean ran right by Boris. Boris outstretched his arm, and watched as Seans neck collided into it, sending him down like a sack of bricks. "Sorry about that Comrade!" Helping Sean back to his feat, Boris continued running down the tunnels. His power Armour was better then most gas masks, although it lacked the strength enhancing abilities. Maybe he would switch to some of that fancy Enclave stealth Armour? If he could kill a man with it, that is. "Hey Sarge, where's that vodka the survivors took from the bus?" Sarge grumbled, and threw his bottle to Boris. "Everyone else with some sort of liquid, help me make some Molotov cocktails. If we see any glimmers, set that shit on fire."
When Sean ran right into Boris' arm, the first thing that went through his mind was Christ, I'm getting old. He fell to the floor in a heap, only to be helped up by Boris seconds later. "Sorry about that, comrade!" The Russian apologised, barely looking at him for a second before running off again. Sean scooped up his CAWS from the ground and then hurried after him. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Predictably, Boris did not reply. Sean shrugged and briefly adjusted the position of his gas mask on his face, it having been knocked slightly to the side by the fall, before Boris mentioned something about making molotov cocktails. Sean only nodded, bringing up a half-full bottle of vodka of his own and stuffing a (surprisingly dry considering the dampness of the ground) rag of cloth from the floor down the neck of the bottle. He went through his pockets after that. "Nah, got sweet FA other than this," he said, holding up the first Molotov he'd made, before looking around at the others to see if they were having any joy.
Hale meanwhile, was at his destination, the collapsed mineshaft. The whole thing formed a gentle slope down into a major tunnel, gaping wide like the jaws of some leviathan beast not two dozen yards away. Hale ran a hand through his hair and put his helmet back on before stepping towards the tunnel. He unslung Jones' Gatling Laser from his back, choosing its massive firepower over the greater accuracy of his FN FAL. In the tight confines of the mines and other assorted tunnels in this place, stopping power always took precedence over accuracy at range. Nodding to his soldiers, the group of eight moved into the tunnels. The actuators of their power armor and the thud of their boots were the only sounds until they moved around a bend, the light from the tunnel mouth disappearing behind them.
"Night vision lads," Hale muttered as his suit automatically changed viewing modes. He looked further down the tunnel and continued speaking, "Perfect dark begins in thirty yards. UV vision or IR vision from there on."
"Yessir," his squad replied in unison.
Hale nodded to himself, hoping this would go as smoothly as things had gone, not counting the bank incident and the Ghoul with the grenade launcher. He wondered if that Ghoul was thick enough to use a grenade launcher in a mine, and kill everyone in the area in the cave-in. He shook his head. The Ghoul probably was. Hale rotated his shoulders a little, loosening up for the inevitable close action down here. The only sounds were the thump of boots and the occassional hydraulic hiss. Until he heard a bone-chilling shriek up ahead. His viewing mode changed to UV, lighting everything up with an eerie blue tint. He braced his feet and readied his gatling laser as a group of Plagued charged into view up ahead. This was going to be a bumpy ride. Why the fuck did I sign on to retrieve this gold for the Senate? Hale thought to himself as he opened fire.
Boris and the group were running in the sewers, suprisingly fast for a bunch of ghouls decked in more guns and ammunition then they could possibly need. Growling could be heard up ahead, most likely from ferals and plagued. However, the rest of the group was more concerned with the gold then plagued, and just ran past the sounds. Barely paying attention to them. One of the group members was using a supressed pistol to kill any ferals or plagued that got in their way. One shot to the head usually killed them, and were usually stabbed as the group ran past the dead plagued. "Onward to gold men! And with that gold, onward to prostitutes and Vodka!"
Jackson would have said something smart by now, but, as luck would have it, he was severly out of breath. For some odd reason, his gas mask was extermly heavy along with his gear. Which, was'bnt that big of a surpise consdering the fact that Boris wanted them to be using russian gear. Running down the sewers, Jackson fell behind before finally falling down and hitting the floor, semi-resting and cloaasping. However, that did'nt last long. Heavy simply picked up Jackson, threw him over his shoulder and kept on running. It was almost comical, in a way. If it was'nt so fucking inentese.
Hale lashed out, cracking a Feral's neck as he heaved his Gatling Laser at it. It yowled and fell. The infected, or Plagued as the locals called them, were squabbling with the ferals, their limbs flailing and thrashing as the two degenerate mobs clashed with the steel wall that was Hale and his men. They marched on, heading towards where most of the Ferals and Plagued were coming from. They'd ghather where they gathered before the bombs or Plague claimed them, and in all likelihood, that was where the gold was, if it was in this mine at all. But Hale would deal with that particular question later.
"Come on, lets get going lads!" Hale shouted over the roar of the battle. Hale swept the Ferals and Plagued with a burst of Gatling Laser fire, mowing them down as his unit fired into them with him. He kicked the last one to the ground and dropped his weight down, knee-first, on it's neck, killing it instantly. "Gold's not gonna wait for us if someone else is after it!"
Rowey brought his gun up to shoulder level and fired into a feral, knocking it oer but not killing it. Continuing forward, Rowey curb-stomped the beast in mid step before leaping over it and taking the lead, up next to Boris. Consulting his small, hand-scrawled map, he looked around at it. "There should be a breach in street-level about five blocks straight ahead; it looked like an old vehicle went down in there at one point, something big." Boris looked at him wierd as Rowey capped another Ghoul, ripping its shoulder and arm to pieces.
"What?" The mercenary turned Cartel gunner asked off-handedly. "I dropped a hookah down there when I was retreating from an Enclave patrol a few years ago. You don't forget these things easily."
"Who said something about Hookers?" Jackson manged to get out while Heavy set him down.
"No, not some hooker. Ah be baaad... It's some hookah! Right on! You's know, sump'n ya' smoke out of! Right on!" said Martty, the jive-talking 23 year old white guy. You see, Marty has one other guy left in his squad. It's bascilly a race to see which one will die first, in order to see who joins the Survivors. Most of the Survivors, save for Sarge, is bettingf on Marty.
"Oh...ok Marrty. Thanks..."
"Dats whut i'm here fo'. " Marty repiled, .
Shaking his head a litte, Jackson conutined to run down the hallways. A feral ghoul then popped in front of him. Jackson skidded to a halt, and the ghoul and jackson looked at each other for a second or two. Then, JAckson screamed and ran away./ Heavy....or was it bourne....cut him down soon after. The ghoul, not Jackson.
Rowey sprinted forward down the sewer tunnel and suddenly appeared in a brightly lit service corridor that was about two bus-lengths wide. He took a few steps forward and tripped over something metallic and teapot-shaped. Looking down at his feat, partially suspended upside down by his arm (and making damn sure his head didn't hit the raw sewage), Rowey spotted what he had tripped over.
"Hey!" He said, retrieving the object from the filth of the sewage. "It's my old hookah!" Clearly elated as he rubbed the shit and filth off of the silver smoking aide, Rowey sat down on a pile of ruble as the rest of Rapture Company caught up to him. "Alright," he said aloud, removing his gas mask and hood, "Our room is now clear of ghouls and shit, and the road collapse I mentioned is under our feet right here. If we're going to find that gold, it's probably either gonna be here or back at the mine." He looked beneath him, at the massive pile of crap that had fallen on top of the massive pool of crap below him.
"And by the look of it, if that truck is down here we've got some earth-moving to do." With the statement said and done, Rowey began to clear rubble out of the way piece by piece, hauling cement blocks and twisted steel off to the side of the chamber as he went.
The whole group chuckled at the Ronto native. Digging, using labor when you could blow stuff up. That would get you shot dead in the Rapture Barracks. Well it doesn't, but it would be pretty cool if it would have. The man turned around, and took a long look at the group of Rapture Company soldiers. "What the fuck are you guys staring at?" Boris pushed him out of the way, then took out a spare frag grenade in his pocket. Then he borrowed a shovel carried by one of the survivors, and dug some rubble out of the way. Tossing the grenade in their, he ran toward the rest of the group. "Run if you don't want to end up like the meat we ate on the bus comrades!"
Even though Jackson is possibly the slowest runner of all time, at least in the Survivors, he actually manged to cover a great deal of ground. A Bit too much ground though. Preety much outpacing the entire group, Jackson found himself a good few yards in front of everybiody when the Grenade went off. Standing in front of everybody in Rapture Company was'nt exactlly the spot wher eJackson wanted to be. That, and, consdwering the fact that he was standing in a pile of crap did'nt help either. Walkning embarllsy back to the group, Jackson looked down at the little hole created.
"I think we can fit two at a time...unless...well....there big. Like GHeavy."
Jackson said, pointing at Hweavy. Heavy simply just grinned within his face-mask.
"I know i'm Big...MMMMMM" Heavy said. A few chuckles and snickers could have been heard if it was'nt for the fact that Boris was yelling at them.
"Lets go Comrades!" Boris shouted and he went down the hole. The Rest of the top7 were right behind him, followed by the Survivors. Then, the rest of Rapture Company.
"To Gold or Death..." Jackson mumbled. "To gold or death...."
There were sounds of heavy fighting to the east, and fighting meant loot. Especially in the east. Who would be fighting this time.., Nikolai thought to himself, Loot means loot. Nikolai packed his gear, took a final swig of his vodka and set out to the east, towards the old well. I dug that place up years ago, and gunfire is coming from that way, dirty svoloch. He finished packing and finally began moving, and an hour later making it to the dug out mine. "Hmph, gun sounds coming from in there." He jumped down into the well to land in a knee deep puddle of irradiated water, with nobody in sight, but he could hear talking in the echos of the sewers. He began moving towards the where the mines entrance is, where he heard the sounds coming from.
"Yeah, Funny stuff Guys." Rowey said from behind his cover of cement blocks and detritus. Standing up, the mercenary looked dowards the hole that had been bored by Boris' grenade. Hearing them begin the discussion aout who was to go first, Rowey merely shrugged, looked down he hole and inserted his legs. Lowering himself down into the small hole, he flicked on a pen-light and looked around. It smelled like shit, looked like he was up to his ankles in shit, and on three sides he was surrounded by trash and blacktop. One side, however, was a solid bulkhead of metal. Looking at it for a second, he moved the pen light out of his mouth and signalled the Rapture Company guys down with a flick of his wrist.
Nikolai began randomly shooting his AK-74u into the tunnel to scare any small creatures away from where he entered. Although when he cleared out the tunnel there were no creatures, there may be now. He began moving further and further following the voices and still randomly unloading his weapon into walls where creatures would hide. He soon found a hole that looked like it had been blown up by a grenade, and he jumped in, "Smells like Americans," he said out loud. He then began to continue following the voices.
"Dammit, I'm not american!" Rowey shouted loudly, having heard a voice somewhere behind him in the main tunnel. "I'm a fucking Canuck!" The motorcyclist shouted proudly. Yeah, he was Canadian alright. Get in close enough and you could smell the maple syrup he had spilled on his armor that morning.
The Russian heard more voices, directed at him, up ahead, now they know he was following them, shit. "Same thing, except I can relate more towards you Kanehdiens because of your snow," he yelled in his heavy accent. Just then a feral ran at him and made a screech, before Nikolai stabbed it with his bayonet and emptied a clip into the reaver. He then continued on his way.
Both of the sudden crys tartled Jackson for a moment, which led him to dropping his gun, thankfully not in the 200 hundered year old shit. Pointing it in the direction of whoever called someone a american smells or something like that, he was quickly joined by Bourne.
"hat was that?"
Boris shouted, before taking out his own field ripper and revving it up. Jackson sorta just cocked his head to the side and looked at Boris.
"Are'nt you Russian though?"
"Yes. but, this new Russian will steal my Vodka!"
"WHO THE FUCK CALLED ME A YANK?!"
Everybody, even Boris, stopped what they were doing to stare at Sean in disbelief after that roar he just gave. Sean himself was busy loading his shotgun before discharging into the wall randomly and stepping on a passing insignificant bug, before kicking his leg furiously and scraping his boot against the wall in an attempt to get bigs of mutant bug off. He then promptly decided to kick a rock down the tunnel. "I! AM NOT! A YANK!" He howled, firing his CAWS twice after the rock and blowing it apart with a stray pellet. He began to reload while singing off-key while thrashing his head around, the corks dangling from the brim of his hat swaying through the air energetically as he did so. "Australiaaans all let uuuuus rejoice for we are young and freeeeeeee! We've golden soil and weeeaaalth for toil, our hooome is girt by seeeeeaaaaaaaa!" He fired his shotgun once into the floor and kicked another rock before raising his voice into another loud shout to whoever had spat such a horrifying accusation.
"I'll fuckin' make mincemeat of ya, ya wanker! COME ON!"
Alfred pulled himself along behind boris,The darkness apealed to some part of his mind the feral part that existed in all ghouls.At times like this this mind was allmost engulfed by the darkness in the back of his head.THIS IS MY MIND SCUM!.MINE! understand me! mine!."who the fuck called me american?,two things 1 IM GOING TO DICE YOU FROM HEAD TO TOE and 2 IM BLODDY JAPANESE!"
"I never called anybody a 'yank', I said 'yank's smell like chush' sobach'ya," Nikolai yelled out to them, still walking towards them, unknowing if they were coming to him. "Anyway, you sure as hell smell like one, so zavali yebalo and kooshi govno ee oomree for fucks sake." He then fired more rounds into the distance, towards the area where the voices were coming from. "By the way, I hate the japanese, thinking they are all high and mighty. Hmph, can't take a Russian on for sure."
"JESUS CHRIIIIIST!" Rowey shouted as he burrowed farther into the tunnel. If there were any true nut-cases left in this world; all of them were right here in this sewer system. It was just rediculous. The only reason the merc was still here was the gold he was struggling towards. Looking towards the back of the steel wall he had found buried in the rubble, he moved a few pieces aside and squirmed in behind it, the noise and shooting dissappearing into the darkness behind him. Jerking the door of whatever he had found open, he pulled himself into a small, dark, alcove-like area and looked around, flicking his pen-light across the walls.
"Come on, gold, if you're here, show yourself..." The merc whispered to himself, inspecting ecery corner carefully for a hidden safe or a covered satchel bag or something.
"Gold? Hah, that's like looking for vodka in the rain! Actually..." Nikolai shouted into the sewer, awaiting a response. He was really just trying to get them to give up so he could find it himself, or he could just shoot them all.. No, that's rude, bring them home, drunk them up and steal their money and dump them in the lake, he thought to himself for a second. He began chasing the voices again, noting most of them to be ghouls, and one to be of Russian descent.
Boris took out his Ak-112. "Get the fuck away from my Vodka!" Were probably going to be the last words the man ever heard. Boris fired directly at him, and watched as most of the bullets missed. Boris forgot he was drunk. Remember, explosives and shotguns when drunk, things that need aim when not drinking more Alchohol then most foriegn countries own.
"Hey Jackson! Get the fuck over here!"
"Yes sir?" muttered Jackson, probably the least usefull in a fight in the survivors. However, he still had several years of experience under his belt, and was better then most wasters in a fight
"Why the fuck is a non ghoul Russian in Canada?"
"Exactly! Why are we shooting at this guy!"
"You were the only one shooting sir"
Boris then looked around. And ordered heavy to pick up Jackson. "Now Jackson, this is going to only hurt a little. Unless you get shot, then your going through a world of fucking pain." Boris then grabbed Westons weapons (pick pocketing his grenades in the process) and ordered heavy to throw him out of cover. "Make peace dick head!"
Jackson shouted, before collading heavily with the ground. However, he notced something. Something...shiny....and yellow. It was in some shit, but, it did'nt matter. Pulling it out as a few bullets whizzed by him as the two drunken russians yelled at each other. Slowly pulled it out, he noticed the words "Candian Gold Resevere" stamped on it. His face turned from confusin, to utter joy. Laughing and rolling on the ground, he was shouting the enitre time.
"I MOTHER-FUCKING FOUND IT! I FOUND THE GOLD! YEAH!" he shouted. Then someone russian shouting at him to shut up. It was problay Boris.
Crawling back towards where Rapture Company was supposed to be, all he got was a kick in the face from Boris.
"Fine then, fuck you! I guess you don't want no gold!"
He said, and he began to crawl away. However, Boris soon grabbed Jackson and pulled him under his feet, where Boris foot remained on Jackson chest, preventing any form of movment away from Boris.
Nikolai moved forward to the ghouls and the man rolling in the mud, "You see? Americans smell like shit!" he exclaimed. "Tell me, is that what your looking for? Cause that's what I'm looking for." Nikolai said, giving the Russian ghoul the evil eye. "Hpmh, typical, you want the gold to buy slaves don't you? Hahah, that's just about what any other slaver would do!" he then received odd stares from the group. "You aren't slavers are you..?" They wouldn't reply, "What do you want from me! I'm just trying to get some answers! Fuck!" And still just stares, "Fine, I'll tell you my name and you all tell me yours. I'm Nikolai Kozlov from Russia, moved here over twenty years ago, now tell me, what's your name, ghoul?"
"See, this is why Ghouls make great slave labour! They do all the grunt work for good, honest people," Hale shouted, his deep voice butting into the conversation below as he and his men emerged from the tunnels above the hole the group of Rapture Mercs were standing at. His unit took up covered firing positions with their Gatling Lasers at the ready. Hale swaggerd into cover, weilding his Gatling laser like a lesser man would weild a cane. He nodded to his men and they opened fire, tearing gaps in the exposed Rapture ranks as they fired indiscriminately into the crowd below. However, being trained, unlike other mercs, the Rapture grunts went for cover rapidly, diving this way and that as their comrade's blood mingled with the muck, shit and derision in the sewer pipes.
"Gold's American, you Soviet Dog-fucker, we're gonna take it back! Just like I took your wife Rapture boss Comrade! You went out the front door, I came in the back. Even got my own wife to join in with us!" Hale yelled as he gunned down a pair of Rapture grunts, their decayed cover disintegrating under a hail of Gatling Laser fire. "Yeah, you commie pricks! Come and get it while it's hot!"
"You guys are all fucking insane! What the hell is going on out ther?!" Rowey shouted as he made his way out of the pile of rubble, carrying a large black duffel filled with jangling yellow bars of (what else?) gold. Stray fire from a Laser Chaingun hit the fetid water around him, boiling as it went.
"Oh, shit!" Rowey shouted as one of the laser bolts very nearly lit his beret on fire. Taking off running back down the sewer tunnel without wasting any time, the Canadian merc dissappeared into the shadows, taking with him a good chunk of the loot.
"BUT I'M AN AMERICAN!"
Jackson said as he rolled away, into some rather soldier cover in the form of a concerta pillar that has fallen over. Sticking his Ak-103 out of cover and blind-firing, Jackson heard the distance 'ping' of bullets hitting power armour. Hopefully, one of them would be lucky and hit the power armour. After the intial surpirse, Rapture Compay Mercs were now friing upon the Enclave soldiers, and even the new russian helped too.
"Shit man, who else wants this gold?" Jackson ask, to no-one in particualr.
"EVERYBODY! Right on! And, de oda' dudes wasted man! Right on! You's know, de oda' dude in mah' squad! Right on!" shuted Marty over the hail of gunfire and laser fire.
"Oh, ok. Welcome to the Survivors...i guess." said Jackson when he coruched back down behind cover to reload.
"Right on!" shouted Marty as he popped out of cover to shoot off a long burst.
Rowey's voice echoed down the tunnel, "Will you shut the fuck up!?" as the merc headed for the manhole the crew had come through. Shouldering his way through a small clump of Ghoul corpses, he climbed out of the sewer five blocks straight down the road and a little to the right; his motorcycle waiting loyally where he had left it. The duffel full of gold, however, would only fit through the manhole if Rowey pushed it vertically.
Pushed it vertically above his head.
Angling the bag so that it was facing up the shaft, Rowey began to move up the manhole ladder, balancing the end of the weighty bag carefully on the top of his head as he climbed up with one hand and used the other to keep it from tilting too far. When he finally poked his head out of the top of the manhole, nobody had moved to come after him at street level- they were all too busy being distracted by silly things like "death" and "maiming". Climbing out and quickly adjusting the satchel so it was across his back, Rowey pulled down his goggles, tightened the beret on his head and pulled out his motorcycle. Hitting the clutch and starting the engine, Rowey pulled back on the throttle and let the vehicle fly.
Of course, with the mighty roar of his engine he had lost all subtlety in his escape, and now everyone for miles around knew just who Rowey was, where he was and why the fuck he was trying to get away so quickly.
For some odd reason, the sound of a motorcycle could hae been. However, Jackson quickly peiced to iogether. Rowey was missing, he had a mototrcycle...and, yeah. He had the gold. Rowey, the Cnadian Merc. And now, a Cnadian Douche bag who betreyed them. Getting up and running to the hole, JAckson noticed that Rowey accideltnly left aevel. Also, for some odd reason, Heavy, Bourne and Marty were now follwoing right behind him. So was Kane, and that was a bit of a shocker. but, they could see Rowey's track marks,. And Roweys motorcycle.
Rasising his Rifle into the air, Bourne did fire. But, he did't hit Rowey. No, no. He hit the motorxcycles back whell.
Jackson shouted, before being slicend by the rest of the Survivors cold stares.
"Wel...i guess we follow the tire marks now..." Heavy suggested and ordered at the same time. And they did.
Pffffffft! Rowey felt his back wheel go flat and shred all over the pavement and suddenly his Big Four was facing skywards. Leaning forward to keep pressure on the remaining front tire, he noted there was a lot of weight on the rear. He was also wobbling pretty heavily. With a pang of dismay, he realized the bag of gold was weighting him down too much. "Aww, dammit!" Rowey shouted, dumping the bag over his shoulder and leaving it laying in the middle of the street. If the Survivors, or the Top Seven, or the Enclave didn't tear themselves apart fighting over it, then Rowey could swoop in and take the remaining gold for himself, maybe buy a nice summer home in So-Cal. he had heard the weather down there was nice. Maybe he would just buy an old oceanfront resort or something; settle down.
He guffawed as he struggled the motorcycle into a side alley, ditched it and sprinted into one of the buildings nearby. He might buy the resort, but certain tendencies never change. And if the Cartel has your number, then they have it for life.
Within mintues of hearing the bag of gold hit the ground, The Surivovrs were right on top of it. Litteraly. However, they all soon got up and brushed themselves off after tripping on a random lightpole on the ground that had ben knocked over several years ago. However, they soon began to agure. Not whoever who in the squad should get the gold, but, wghich group? Th Surivovrs, or Rapture Company as a whole.
"I think Rapture Comp. should gwet it" Said Heavy.
"Fuck no man! We deserve it!" shouted Bourne.
Kane, Jackson and Marty stayed out of it. Marty was new to thre survivors, and, as a rule he did'nt get a say in it. Jackson simply just did'nt care. And Kane was too pissed/tried/whatever he was to care.
"As i said agian, Bourne. I think Rapture Company should get it." said Heavy, once agian.
"Fuck no man! I mean, we do preety much everything aroudn here! Shoudl'nt we get something for ourselves?!"
And back and forth this went. Heavy tried to intimade bourne, and Bourne tried to outsmart heavy through logic and resoining. So far, this was'nt getting anywehre.
Sean, at least, was more concerned with fighting for his life than chasing some Cannuck for gold. "Yeah, well, firstly, I'M NOT A FUCKIN' COMMUNIST! I CAN SEE PERFECTLY WELL THE FLAWS IN THE MARXIST SYSTEM!" He yelled as he blindfired with his M4 from the chunk of rock he hid behind. Between the hail of gatling laser fire, he could tell a few proper bullets hit his cover and heard an AK-103 firing a burst in correspondance with them. "Sorry, Boris, forgot you were in earshot!" He said apologetically, before he noticed that his cover was about to fall to pieces at any second. He dared a quick peek out of his cover to get the position of the Enclave soldier closest to him, then pulled out a grenade, primed it, cooked it then lobbed it. "'AVE THAT YA YANK FUCK!" The concentration of fire was abruptly disrupted as the Power Armored soldier scrambled away from the grenade. Sean took advantage of this and made a beeline for a better piece of cover, and was delighted to hear a scream of pain as shrapnel slipped through the joints in the man's armour.
The heavy munitions they packed and their Power Armor prevented the more melee-inclined Top Seven from getting into the range they functioned best at, so even the bunch of centuries-old experienced warriors were at a definite disadvantage to the Enclave soldiers, Sean had to admit. He noted from behind his tall piece of cover that they were repeating the same tactics of simply attempting to destroy the obstacle between them, the compacted conditions of the underground area they were fighting in preventing any flanking maneuvres that would have made things a lot easier for them. He was preparing another grenade when he heard something crack and crumble from above. He looked up.
He was taking cover behind one of the pillars of rock that was holding the room up.
The soldier firing on him apparently noticed this at roughly the same time and ceased his barrage of laserfire. Sean wasted no time in doing a quick glance around the room, locating another tall protrusion of rock he presumed fulfilled the same purpose and hurled his grenade at that instead. Like something right out of a cliché Pre-War action holoflick, he dropped another grenade on the floor next to him and began rushing the way the Survivors had gone. "Come on!" He cried to the other six of his comrades, laying down what amounted to a weak suppressive fire at the Enclave soldiers. The Top Seven all sprinted off as the two grenades blew apart, taking the support beams with them and causing chunks of the ceiling to fall.
As the ceiling collapsed, and every one ran to the exit. Boris did what any insane Russian that knew their was more gold would do. Run to the hole, and do a slide that one would do in a baseball game to enter. As he slid, he looked towards the Enclave soldier and shouted. "The golds Canadian you dumb fucking prick!" Then the ceiling collapsed, completely blocking the exit. Boris then turned on the flash light on his gun. "Gold! GOOOOOOLD! ARE YOU HERE?" Then noticed the other russian.
Starting to mumble, Boris stared at him. "Wait, when the fuck did you get here?"
"I followed the only russian here." Nickolai replied
"One of the stupidest moves you might have ever made comrade." Reaching out his hand, Boris lifted up the other Russian. "Now tell me comrade, who the fuck are you?"
"I am Nikolai Kozlov, moved here twenty years ago. What's yours?"
"Boris Kozlov.... Hey! We're fucking cousins!"
During this conversation, Boris saw a figure point a gun at them.
"Great, more ass holes..." Boris the jumped behind a rock, along with Nikolai. Doing another cool slide.
"Hey.. who-o are you?? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!" called out the man, "I s-aid, who the FUCK ARE YOU!?" he then shot and missed, "I'll kill you, I MEAN IT THIS TIME! I'll FUCKING do it!" Then Boris opened his mouth and said, in a calming voice, "Calm down, friend, we aren't here to hurt you, we're just- uh- looking for the gold.. yes..". Then Nikolai slowly reached for his magnum as the man said, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CAVE! This- this is MY gold! You hear me!? MY GOLD!" and he paused for a second, "What, are you the police or something? Two-hundred years it took to find me? Huh? Didn't know they hired bastard soviets nowadays! Wait! That means Russia must have won the war! Or was that china? FUCK JUST GET OUT YOU FUCKING RUSSIANS!" he screamed, to which Nikolai shot him twice in each kneecap, sending him crying to the ground. "Please! Please I didn't mean it! Please!" he cried, "And Boris, I'm your nephew, your great-great-great whatever nephew, but lets just tell your friends we're cousins ok?" he then paused for a second. "Where in hell is the gold? Cause, I can shoot you in three different places at the same time, and you do not want to know where those places are." Nikolai said, in an angry-Russian tone.
Just then, an explosion happened at the eastern wall, and a CFF squadron walked in. "Secure that fucking crate, corporal." called out a certain Andre McIntosh, to which the corporal ran towards a large crate in the darkness. "Who the hell are you? More raiders?" he asked the Russians, but before they could respond the gold thief had regained his gun and shot at Boris in the foot. The bullet bounced off the power armor, but Boris said, "Ohh, you have just made the mistake of your life." and then kicked the ghoul in the face with his other foot, and then picked him up and slapped him a few times before ending his misery with a shot to the face with his .50. "Never shoot a, soviet."
Alan Schezar scrambled out of his makeshift bed, quickly slipped into his armor, grabbed his SVT-40, and ran into the hallway of his temporary home with his gas mask hanging from his head by a strap He heard gunshots, lots of them. Before he could even process what it was, something slammed straight into the half-awake Alan. Both of them, Alan assuming it was a person and not one of the mutants, tumbled to the floor. The Israeli took a moment to gather his wits and acknowledge what was going on, and then immediately jumped to his feet, SVT in hand and pointed at this stranger. The other guy rose as well, pointing what looked like a Mosin-Nagant in Alan's face. At his feet was a stuffed duffel bag, the man guarding it like it was his son. "Wha-Who-I... Uh.." Alan stammered, he was completely speechless. In all his time in Ronto so far, that being 2 days, he had only come across one other human being, and that guy stabbed Alan in the arm. Damn Raiders. Remembering his situation, the traveling miner did what he thought best, he shot. That one bullet whizzed by the stranger's shoulder, distracting him for a moment and giving Alan enough time to run past him, pushing him out of the way. But it was Alan's keen eye and curiosity that caught the precious gold shimmering in the duffel bag. In a split-second decision, Alan grabbed the bag as he ran, sprinting out the back of the building and into the ally. Behind him he heard the man cursing and then firing his weapon at the fleeting Traveler.
Alan kicked himself in the face in his mind, why the fuck did he take the damn bag? Now he's being shot at and chased. Dammit.
Pointing his gun at the random dipshits that are now after his gold, Boris started to fire. And head a odd clicking noise. Heh, that must be akward. Gun turning into a childrens toy magicly. No wait! He was out of ammo! God damn Vodka. Being so awesome and what not. Boris re-loaded, and looked around. 1, 2, 3 ah fuck it. They outnumbered him. "What the fuck are you doing? I took down a building filled with plague, went to a museum only to find everyone slaughtered, and fought the damn Enclave their too! Now, then I trudged several miles in the sewers, fought the Enclave pricks and met up with this asshole. And now you ass holes are trying to steal my fucking gold!" Boris pointed his AK-112 around. "Now get the fuck off my lawn, or cave filled with gold. WHATEVER! Just get the fuck out of here!"
Rowey looked down onto the street, peeking over the sights of his .300 Big Game hunting rifle/Mankiller 5000, noting that some crazy in a gasmask was attempting to get away with the gold while the Survivors shot at him. Briefly conferring with himself in deep thought, Rowey eventually thought "fuck it" and went into action.
Reaching into the little box next to him, Rowey pulled out a threadbare red bandanna and tied it around the barrel of his rifle. His next step was to hang the barrel of the rifle out the window, clinging to it by the buttstock, and wave it back and forth like a madman. Step three was to wait and hope the mad Israeli with the gold would catch on and alter his course towards the only non-fragged building in the street.
Hale and his soldiers climbed through the gap in the rubble above created by the mad Aussie's grenades, following the trail of footprints in the dust kicked up by it. They led from a manhole towards a simgle building with a madly-waving rifle sticking out of it. Hale looked at his men and sent Jackson and Johnson around to flank. Then he dodded for Doyle and Roberts to run across past the be-ribbonned rifle, either drawing fire or forcing the fool towards Jackson and Johnson. Hale and Smith moved along the wreckage of a truck that had somehow been tossed halfway onto the second floor of Rowey's building. Sorensen had been killed by rubble in the cave-in that cut Hale off from the Rapture goons.
Hale hoped this little gambit would work. If not, he'd have to really make a long shot with his Gatling Laser to put down that nut in the Gas Mask who was still running like a boneless turkey down the street, leaping from rock to rock to corpse to rock with mountain goat-like agility. Hale sighed as he decided to help the guy along a little and open up on the Survivors. His foot skidded a little on the bed of the trailer, causing Hale to miss Sarge by a bare margin, even searing the hairs off the back of his neck. Hale stepped back up the trailer and into the building after Smiuth as Doyle and Roberts charged across the open ground like mad Anterks being chased by a Deathclaw. They drew fire from the Survivors and from the man in the window. Hale smiled. Johnson and Jackson would be bursting through the sidewall any second now, ready to smear the Waster all over the walls with their Gatling Lasers.
Deciding he wanted to see this, Hale picked a weak spot in the shoddily-poured concrete floor and jumped up in the air. The force of a large man in an extra-large variant of power armor was too much for the cracked, porous concrete and Hale went crashing through, landing right next to Rowey. Hale rolled left to let Smith drop down too. Hale blinked then smirked as he saw who it wasdiving into the corner, waving a rifle at him.
"Well well compadre. How 'bout we finish what we started in Maryland?" Hale said to Rowey as he removed his helmet.
"You mean go out for a couple drinks, then hit the clubs?" Rowey said, thunderstruck by Hale's entrance. He squinted his eyes at the guy in Power Armor, and suddenly recognition dawned across his godsmacked visage. "Wait a second, you're not Madelyne!" And then Rowey assesed the two other guys who had entered behind him. "And you're not the ladies from the brothel!"
A gatling laser opened up on him, forcing him to scuttle across the floor out of the way, on all fours. "Dammit, stop doing that!" Rowey said, lifting the rifle to his shoulder, aiming and firing in one smooth motion. The .300 Wincheter Magnum had a lot better luck piercing Enclave power armor than the peashooter he'd been plinking away with at the regulars in Maryland; and the gatling laser-armed cronie of the psychotic Warrior Weapon went down spurting blood from his new breathing hole; right in his eyeplate. Breaking the barrel open and sliding another round in with liquid grace and speed, Rowey reloaded and shot the hand off of one of the other entry team members, forcing him to drop his gun and fall to the floor, cradling his new nub.
"Maybe that guy could get a pirate hook," Rowey said to himself as he reverently placed his Big Game rifle against the wall near him, pausing briefly to look at it before drawing his cavalry sabre and facing Hale. Then he quickly realized the folly of his actions. Here he was, facing down a crazy, Kung-Fu trained Wasteland juggernaught in fucking power armor with nothing but his drug-withdrawn brain and a 600-year-old saber.
"Take that cheating-ass power armor off, give me a fairer... Yeah, fairer fight." Rowey said innocently, staring the Warrior Weapon down as he held his saber in his left hand, looking defiant in the face of imminent peril.
"Well, I'm not one to deny a condemned man his last request," Hale said with a wicked grin. He opened the clasps on the neck and sides of his power armor, then went about doing the same with the catches on the arms and legs. As the last catch opened, there was a slight hiss as the sealed armor opened itself. Taking the armor off and laying it on the ground with the Gatling Laser and sports bag, Hale stood up straight, stretching his arms and shoulders a little. Even when down to a T-shirt, Track Pants, knuckle golves and a pair of Converse Allstars he pulled from his bag, Hale was an intimidating figure, standing over six feet tall and weighing in at considerably more than Rowey. And he seemed to have an aura of fucking huge about him. As if he was even bigger. That was just sheer menace. His shoulders popped as he stretched a little more, then he cracked his knuckles, back and neck. Finally done with his little ritual, Hale nodded to Rowey.
Rowey made a fairly good hook-thrust with his saber, but Hale's speed kept him safe, he swayed beyond Rowey's reach and stepped back into his own range as Rowey's arm passed him. Grabbing Rowey's sleeve to keep him from bringing that sword to bear again, Hale stepped on Rowey's foot to keep him from getting away. Then Hale jabbed Rowey in the side of the head, blurring his vision a little. Then, holding Rowey's arm ever-tighter and twisting the smaller man's torso to prevent him retaliating with his free hand, Hale punched Roey's kidneys, lumbar spine and kidneys in that order a few times, alternating between squishy organ strikes and hitting the apex of the same vertebrae. Hale then applied a solid forearm strike to Rowey's upper back, staggering him. Hale let Rowey's foot go as the merc fell and rolled away, getting slowly to his feet.
Hale grinned and switched his hands back and forth, taunting Rowey. Waiting for him to make a mistake. Hale was already bored. He wanted to end this quickly. It had been so long since he'd broken a neck with his bare hands. Hale eased into a deeper fighting stance. He didn't know it himself, but it was from Northern Praying Mantis Kung Fu. The fact that the stance itself seemed odd and outlandish was taunting enough, but Hale's grin or leer, depending on how you looked at him, made it all the more annoying. Hale was inviting Rowey to strike at him, to cut those two exposed fingers on each hand off. Hale was inviting Rowey to make the mistake of trying. But Rowey, the bastard, wasn't taking the bait. He was going to make Hale work for this victory. So Hale obliged.
Hale stepped forwards, slapping the flat of Rowey's saber away in the nick of time. If he hadn't been expecting that attack, he'd be minus one ear right now. Hale then followed up with an eye-gouge and a headbutt. Rowey crashed backwards through a crumbling drywall as Hale kicked him away. As Hale stepped through after him, his face met a piece of 2x4 Rowey had picked up off the floor. Being a rotten mess of a piece of timber, it splintered on contact, showering Hale and Rowey with splinters and cutting Hale's forehead in several spots, and cutting across his shoulder. Hale responded with a kick that missed by some margin as Rowey jumped clear of the Enclave juggernaut. The follow-up spinning back kick took both of Rowey's legs from under him however. Rowey's head cleared just in time for him to roll his head away from the path of an axe-kick that would have killed him. He swung his saber upwards, but Hale moved out of the way. Rowey made a return strike, trying to get some space to regain his feet, but Hale moved by the barest margin. And as the blade's arc neared the ground, Hale stamped downwards, snapping Rowey's blade and sending the top three-quarters spinning off through a hole in the wall. Rowey was now reduced to what equated to a knife with a basket-hilt. Not good. Not good at all. At least Hale had the manners to step back and let him get to his feet.
Rowey looked at the stump of a sword he was now holding. He looked to the blade that had gone through a hole in the wall. Then he looked at the basket hilt again. Then he looked back up at Hale as a scowl crossed his face. "You broke my sword." Rowey said in a low voice. "You broke my sword!" He said again, louder this time. "You son of a bitch!" Rowey shouted, throwing the blade's hilt at him. The basket hilt barely missed smashing the Warrior weapon in his face, but the remains of the blade nicked him from the right side of his upper lip back to the ear before spinning off into oblivion. The Warrior Weapon stubbonrly refused to remain stunned, however. Rowey shrugged, a feelin o' burnin' rage buildin' up inside him.
He jumped up and gripped a lead pipe in the cieling, swung forward and put a boot into Hle's face. It would be at this moment that Hale realized, rather painfully, that Rowey had reinforced the sole of his boot with rusty thumbtacks, because now there was a series of pinprick holes in the soldier's otherwise unmarred visage. Following through from his swinging kick, Rowey brought a backwards heel kick under Hale's chin, the momentum causing the stunned Warrior Weapon to backflip through the air and land on the floor, dangerously near one of the windows that led to the ground. Rowey rolled to recover from his attack, grappling (unwisely) with Hale. Hale caught a grip on the Canuck's right arm and crushed down, and Rowey felt bones start to bust uncomfortably. Rowey caught the man with a couple hard punches across his face, loosening his grip enough to move his right arm to safety. Coming back around with a nerve strike to his left armpit, Hale spun out of the way and sweep-kicked at Rowey's lower legs. Barely anticiptating the attack, Rowey hopped over the outstretched leg and caught Hale in the chest with another booted strike, embedding a few thumbtacks into his skin but otherwise doing no damage. Hale staggered slightly, getting close to the window.
Rowey stood clear, and allowed Hale to build steam for a running strike. Hale obliged this, and Rowey just barely had time to put his plan into action. Well, not really a plan, more of a last-ditch effort to tell hale to "FUCK OFF" in the most magnificent way possible. Rowey turned, hopped foreward into a wall, turned and drop-kicked Hale in the collarbone, stagering him and very nearly crushing his windpipe. Rowey followed up with an ill-aimed series of haymakers, doing little damage but forcing the Warrior Weapon towards the open window where the merc had been standing mere moments ago. Landing a final hard punch, Rowey staggered Hale again and, in a final attack, kicked upwards into a very sensitive part of Hale's anatomy. Lifting hard against gravity and causing Hale to nearly cry out in a girlish shriek, Rowey leaned forward on his remaining leg and put a heavy left straight right between Hale's eyes, throwing him backwards off his feet...
...And out a second-floor window, to the street below.
Rowey, left without words at the present moment, resorted to the only comeback he could think of: "Don't break my fucking sword!"
"Right now, you should be a little more worried about your spine Wastelander," Hale retorted as he got to his feet, every inch of his body aching. He wiped the blood from the multitude of pinpricks in his face from Rowey's Tack-Boots and climbed up the side of the building. He avoided the room Rowey was in, because if Rowey thought anything like Hale did, the first thing Hale would see upon poking his head back in would be a rapidly approaching boot. Hale walked over to his limp power armor and detached the boots, switching them out for the Cons he was wearing now. Presumably, Rowey wouldn't like being on the receiving end of the tricked-out kicks this round. Hale walked back into the room that had been his and Rowey's boxing ring and nodded to Rowey.
"Ding. Round two bitch," Hale said, flipping Rowey off before punching him in the gut. Rowey staggered and Hale jumped to grab the lead pipe in the ceiling. Unlike Rowey, Hale didn't swing from it. He pulled it clean from the ceiling and swung it around in his grip like a large, blunt sword. Swinging it around like any yobber would a large pipe, Hale nearly took Rowey's head clean off. Rowey tried Hale's trick, stepping forwards and grabbing Hale's wrist, pushing his weapon-hand away. Hale turned his whole body, pulling Rowey off balance. Then he kicked some space between the Canadian Merc's legs and swung his now-armored heel up between them.
"Evens," Hale growled as Rowey jumped back, suppressing a yelp and clutching his groin to make sure everything was still in place. He felt like Hale's kick had made two very sensetive parts switch places with some of his intestines. Luckily, for Rowey anyway, Hale had not perfomred a blunt-trauma vasectomy. Hale shifted his grip on his piece of pipe and stepped forwards, ignoring the growing tick in his leg where he'd landed on it and swinging the pipe around. He missed Rowey's head, but tore a dramatic furrow in the nearby drywall. Deciding he'd had enough of pipe-swinging, Hale lobbed the pipe out the window that had served as his ingnominiouis exit earlier and stepped forward. Taking off at a sprinting start, he trapped Rowey's arms in a grapple and bullrushed him backwards, driving his knee upwards into Rowey's stomach and chest repeatedly until the time came to launch Rowey through another drywall, into a still-occupied apartment, scattering a group of raiders as the two dust-coated men charged into the room punching the daylights out of each other.
Hale managed to force Rowey into the confined space of the kitchen with a series of heavy body blows that sent him staggering sideways into the small area. Rowey swallowed hard as he realised Hale's strength gave him a clear advantage in these narrow confines. Hale again grabbed Rowey and slammed him backwards into a tiled wall, excpecting to burts him through it and into some piping or whatever, hopefully dropping him down a service duct and into a messy end in the basement. However, to Rowey's dubious luck, this kitchen backed onto a concrete stair-core, so Hale merely slammed him against a solid concrete bulwark. At least he wasn't falling three floors to the service basement. Or worse, winding up hanging on the cables that ran down those service shafts. He headbutted Hale's barrel chest, more to get some space than anything else. The shot however, caught Hale offguard and he let Rowey go as he stumbled over a mop. Rowey punched and elbowed with every last ounce of strength, feeling his energy ebb away as Hale guarded agains t most attacks, or shrugged them off as the contacted his overly-muscled stomach and upper chest.
Again, growing bored of toying with Rowey, Hale grabbed the Canadian and slammed him backwards into the wall again and returned to kneeing the merc's gut, punching him in the face every time he tried to guard his body. Rowey knew it, he was going to die here. No Rowey, you're not gonna die! You're too damn stubborn to die in here, in a kitchen, beaten to death by a clean-shaven gorilla! Rowey thought to himself. Intrepid as always, Rowey cauhgt a firm hold of Hale's larynx, not neck, larynx and clenching his hand. He then grabbed Hale's groin in the other hand and forced the big soldier backwards. Hale broke Rowey's grip but had to step back to do so. Which gave Rowey the space to get a jump in and dive against Hale's guard, sending them both carreeering out of the kitchen into a dishevveled heap on the floor outside. Bereft of any windows to launch Hale from this time, Rowey merely backed into a bigger room to give himself space to run from Hale's relentless attacks as Hale walked forward, no longer overestimating his superiority over his battered foe.
Rowey looked at the man walking towards him; the bloody polka-dot pattern across his face making him intimidating instead of a joke. Those power-armored boots really hurt; the merc swore he felt a testicle jammed somewhere in his esophagus' lining, at least all but one of his ribs were bruised severely, and he felt like he'd just been attacked by a bear, which was pretty much what was happening right now. He wrapped a hand around the lucky eight ball tied to his belt, rubbing it for good luck-
Wait! That's it! Rowey's mind shot into action. Looking around for a dish towel or something, Rowey settled for a garish silk cloth tied around one of the female Raiders' dead waists. He took the eight-ball off his belt and wrapped it in the sash, then held the sash-ball combination in his left hand. He had seen the trick in one of his old Steven Segall movies. Then again, Steven Segall was a black-belt in Aikido and totally fucking jacked, and Rowey was a lanky biker with several internal and external injuries; and nowhere near a Kung Fu master like Segall. Oh well, fuck it. The merc thought to himself, swirling the ball-sash combo in his right hand like a flail.
Hale made the opening strike, a right jab for Rowey's face, and Rowey (surprisingly) dodged out of the way and swung the flail at Hale's head. The merc made a shrill "eee!" of childish glee when he noted that at least a few of Hale's teeth came loose and flew out of the Black-Ops specialist's mouth, as well as leaving a very nice bruise and cracked jab. Rowey, not one to let his opponent recover, swung the flail again, bringing it down hard on the crown of Hale's head and rattling his brains. The ball bounced back, Rowey got it under control and took a swing at the back of Hale's neck, which tilted the warrior weapon forward and almost floored him were it not for the beast's surprising self-control and almost ballerina-esque balance.
Rowey swung low, hitting the Warrior Weapon in the kneecap and feeling it break (the nkneecap, not the flail) on contact, forcing Hale back even farther. Exploiting his advantage, Rowey's next move was to smash the Warrior Weapon's right arm with the flail, right up near the shoulder. The pleasant chorus of an angry, pained groan and smashing armbones met Rowey's ear next as he quickly backed away from the Enclave sucker, now enraged, missing teeth, a kneecap and part of an arm, stunned and forced onto the back foot by a stoned biker with a glorified towel.
Hale snarled and slammed his shoulder against the wall, forcing it back into place after a few attempts. Thankfully, Rowey hadn't smashed the socket to fragments. Hale then repeated the process of relocation on his knee, bending it as far as the limits of pain would allow, Hale straightened his leg violently, with the satisfying pop and relief of his kneecap finding it's place again. He then picked up his tooth and pocketed it. He looked at Rowey, who cokced his head at an angle that asked Had enough Mongo? Hale grunted and pulled his Ka-Bar from the sheath on his calf and stepped back into a fighting stance, knife pointed blade-down in his backhand, ready to strike down into Rowey's head or neck like a nail, while his front hand, his left, was held in a claw-like pose, ready to catch Rowey's improvised club.
"Well, seems we're gonna have to settle this in a slightly messier way than anticipated. I'm gonna sell your organs to pay for the dentist bills," Hale snarled as he and Rowey began circling. Now that Hale was armed too, Rowey seemed less willing to swing his club-thing around like a fool. He was playing cagey now that there was a risk of seven inches of hardened steel ventilating his skull or opening an important blood vessel. Hale's now-less-perfect grin was all the more intimidating now that blood stained his other teeth. "So, how much is that steel horse o' yours worth? My son wants one, and I've been sayin no because he'll bust himself open. Might give him yours though. You won't need it where you're headed."
Hale and Rowey went at each other again, Hale taking the rap of Rowey's towel-flail across his knuckles for the sake of grabbing the weapon and trapping it. He'd definitely cracked a few bones in his hand doing so, but hey, better that than his skull. His elbow strike caught Rowey's jaw, tearing the skin and snapping his head backwards. Rowey gagged as one of his canines was torn from his gums and launched down his throat. Hale wrapped Rowey's towel weapon around his hand and pulled it from Rowey's grip. Clenching it by the eight-ball, Hale slammed it into the side of Rowey's head, sending him reeling. Hale then pocketed the eight ball and wrapped the towel around Rowey's neck. Pulling Rowey out of the room, Hale then tied the other end of the towel to the outside of the ift shaft and shoved the groggy Rowey into it. Rowey gagged and dangled by the neck as Hale walked off, satisfied that he'd finished that loose end. He even had Rowey's eight-ball as a trophy. Now it was time to get back into his power armor and get that gold.
Now would be the opportune moment for Rowey to cut the towel with a concealed knife and get outta dodge AKA this apartment building
Rowey's muffled gasps for air were wasted on three final words: "MFF EIFFT BUWWWW!" The merc kicked out against the invisible spectre lurking in front of him, where the Warrior Weapon had once been but now only air stood. As he continued kicking, he noted that perhaps silk, no matter how old, hadn't been a good idea in terms of a sling for his lucky eight ball. Struggling a few seconds more before rational thought settled in, Rowey brought up his right arm and carefully ejected a spring-loaded knife from the wrist. The thought suddenly came to Rowey: why the hell hadn't he just used the concealed weapon in the first place? For christ's sake, he could have stabbed that overmuscled freak in the neck and been done with it! Either way, his chance was gone, and with it the lucky eight ball he'd had since he was a little kid. No matter; he'd just pick it up the next time the two men's paths crossed. It was bound to happen anyways; it always did. Rowey could be taking a shit at his summer home (which was now a logical impossibility, he realized with dismay, as the gold was good as gone) and Hale would be lurking in the kitchen, trying to steal a snack or something; and some sort of epic battle would ensue.
Rowey nursed the thought of bitch-slapping Hale out of the highest window in the building while he worked his knife carefully through the silk concealing his head before it finally got free and he breathed fresh(er) air, that didn't smell like girl raider ass (although the scent of perfume that mixed ever-so-subtly with Hale's bloodstains and numerous other stains wasn't too bad). He wrapped the rag around his cheek and tied it tight on the top of his head, allowing the blood to soak into the rag as he looked around for the remains of the saber Hale had broken. Unsurprisingly, Hale had vacated the building without stopping to loot more of his precious childhood relics, so he found the remains of his saber and his .300 Big Game rifle pretty much untouched where they had been left. Carefully placing the two pieces of the saber in his pack and picking up his rifle, Rowey gingerly walked out of the apartment building, spitting up a good amount of his blood and that lost canine in the process as his testicles slowly settled into their proper regions, having come back from their vacation in another fucking dimension. Eventually, he managed to find his motorcycle, and dug his hands into the saddlebags. Feeling between eighteen and twenty metallic blocks in his saddlebags immediately alleviated some of the pain settling into his bones as he carefully started up his Big Four and began moving carefully down the street, not putting undue pressure on the ruined back tire. Luckily, the Survivor, the Top Seven, the CFF and Hale himself hadn't bothered to put hands in his motorcycle.
Thinking back to the final few words he had exchanged with Hale, however, he experienced complete and total mindfuck. Hale had a son?! Rowey thought, the shock and utter dismay of his actions hitting his gut like a lead weight dropped from the CN Tower. Shit, I almost took an innocent kid's pop away over a few gold bars! Rowey didn't dwell on the depressing thought for too long, he quickly passed the city limits of Ronto and headed for his safe-house. His Mr. Gutsy would fix up his wounds and he'd be able to rest and meditate (read: clambake) for the rest of the day.
Yes, that pension was looking better every day.
Curving around buildings, cutting corners, pushing through confused Ferals, Alan was running frightened Billy Goat. Less and less he heard the gunfire of whoever the fuck was shooting at him, and the more and more he saw a life of luxury and peace with this gold. Alan stopped in the backyard of some old home, panting and inhaling like he just ran a marathon. Now with time to think, Alan reconsidered his split-second choice. First of all, who the hell did he steal from? God, for all Alan knew he could be stealing from a group of saints. Saints that cursed and killed? Nah, it had to just be some Raiders or some shit. They didn't look like Raiders though, they looked like, well, an army. And also, was that the fucking Enclave shootin' at them? Yeah, he had heard of the Enclave, always bad stories, but those guys saved his ass. Alan was confused out of his mind, not to mention that the guy in the building tried to wave him down, as if to help him. Maybe it was a trick, had to be. Alan suddenly tensed up and gripped his SVT-40 as he heard voices just around the corner. He only heard bits and pieces, but it was enough to convince him they were after him. "Yo Heavy...the fuck is that....took our damn gold..." That voice was cut off by another, much deeper, voice, "I don't.....but I'll......and fuckin' choke him with his own skin." Before he even heard the last of that sentence, Alan was half shitting his pants and half sprinting for his life. He hopped a fence and landed on some solar panel, shattering it under his weight. "Shit! Fucking ballsack, dickfuck!" Alan nearly shouted as he pulled a rusty piece of glass out of his leg, now feeling the blood drip to his boot. Unfortunately, his yelp of profanity drew the attention of the shovel heads around the corner, causing a series of "Get the rat" "Kill that fucker" "He's got my gold!" Alan immediately took flight, knocking through an abandoned house and onto the street. And then, with Alan's luck, he was clipped by a passing motorcycle. The Motorcyclist skidded out and pulled his brakes, all the time his eyes on Alan's duffel bag of gold. The unlucky Israeli recognized the man as the guy who tried to flag him down. Hearing the stomping of boots and gunfire behind him from his hunters, seeing his rifle 20 feet away on the street, and now seeing this cyclist pointing a pistol at him lead Alan to one conclusion: Alan dropped the bag and held up his hands in surrender. It was either this or get shot to death, although he kinda expected that to happen anyway.
Hale didn't bother with challenges. He was pissed enough at the Canadian escaping his noose to just plough through, power armor enhanced strength launching man and bike away as he raised his Gatling Laser to point it at the thief. His squad rushed up behind, pointing their own Gatling Lasers at the jarheads with the Ace of Spades in their hats. Which Hale was planning on pulling out any time now. Inside that demonic helmet, Hale was leering. He was too angry to be smug. He, the Survivors and Rowey knew that if they started fighting, the thieving Waster would be off with the gold and never be seen again. So Hale instead toted his Gatling Laser in a gesture that screamed FUCK OFF!
"You lose Wasters. Gimme the gold and you can all live. Hell, I'll glive a glowing recommendation if you join the Guardians!" Hale said. He was being completely honest about letting them live, not so much about the job recommendations. The Wasters didn't know that and they all looked a little apprehensive at the big men in their power armor with their giant guns. So Hale pointed upwards, towards the unmistakeable whump, whump, whup sound of an incoming VTOL. "Now, fuck off, leave the gold, and my taxi won't mow your sorry asses down like dogs."
Alan consitered his options: Get shot to a pulp by some flying death machine, or give this huge guy the gold and then get shot to death by some flying death machine. Sure the guy said he would let them live, but Alan knew from expirience that it was bullshit. He thought for a moment, what would his dad do in a situation like this? His dad would probally strike a bargin, but Alan truly had nothing to offer, these guys could easily just shoot him. He remembered his father's writings about the extacy of excitment and thrills of adventure, it was then that Alan simpley muttered, "Fuck it." With that he slowly retrived the smoke grenade from his back pocket, he got the thing from some corpse near New York and was still yet to find a use for it. Luckly, that use was now. Alan looked the armored man in his eyes, or the eyeslots on his helmet and spat, "I'll pass." The man, obviously enraged, started to whir his Gatling Laser. It was at that moment that Alan threw the smoke grenade down, detonating it. The thing apperntly had more punch than he expected for it sent out a small shockwave as it hit the ground and instantly created a huge cloud of red smoke that covered the entire street corner. In that second he heard the flyhing machine start up it's MG, spraying the ground with bullets. Alan staggered for a second, feeling the heat of laser blasts flying by him, and ran off into the ruins of a suburb with the smoke as cover holding the bag of gold, his rifle on his back, and his .357 Revolver firing into oblivion.
Sean brought up a closed fist to signify the group to halt as he heard that distinctive, approaching sound of twin rotors coming in from the sky. They huddled in a ruined building, hoping that none of the Enclave soldiers would look their way. Even if they were in cover, from what he'd gathered, those helmets of theirs had some means of seeing people through solid material. He did a quick headcount - a couple of the Top Seven (Cerebralz, Vegas and Krush, if you want Boris, Alfred or Chay doing something else, go for it, I'll take the ones that just aren't involved in the RP. Lol.) and a handful of surviving Conscripts. One of these was fortunate enough to be carrying an RPG-7. "As soon as you get a clear shot at the Bird," he told the Conscript in a hushed voice, "you blow the fuck out of it. Preferably when it's just above the Enclave fellas." The Conscript nodded and checked his rocket launcher before nodding once again and taking position. "Rest of ya, soon as the Bird goes down, throw whatever grenades ya got on ya at the 'Clavers. Then we swoop in, mop up and ghost the guy on the bike for stealing our gold. Right?" There was a few more nods, so Sean reloaded his carbine and looked up through a hole in the ceiling, observing the Bird pass overhead. Any second now...
As the Vertibird came into view, some fella in a gas mask threw out a smoke, clouding the area around the Enclave soldiers. He tapped the kid with the RPG on the shoulder before glancing around at the rest of his little would-be "squad", who were all priming their own grenades. They all threw them into the cloud at once, and the kid fired his RPG-7 at the Vertibird (Up to Run4 whether it hits). Sean gestured for the rest of the group to file out into the street, taking aim on the biker guy (who seemed to be sufficiently stoned at this point), and then noticed that the guy with the gas mask was fleeing with a duffel on his back. "... fucker's got the gold!" He roared, vaulting over his cover in the building and sprint after him, slinging his M4 and drawing a kukri and a .50 Magnum in either hand. "OY! Respirator! Get the fuck back here!" He shouted, firing his .50 in his general direction to make a point as he disappeared into an alley. Sean pursued.
Rowey coughed as the little Arab dissappeared into a cloud of smoke, apparently fleeing from his Obrez Mosin, which was yet another tool he hadn't used in the fight against hale, much to the merc's chagrin. Turning his bike on the front tire, Rowey took off through the expanding cloud of red smoke and headed out of the city limits as fast as the damaged bike would carry him; out of sight in mere minutes.
This whole situation had become a giant Mongolian Cluster-Fuck, courtesy of the bastard who had fired that RPG. It missed the VTOL, but blew out the pillar holding up half of the upper floor of a nearby building, sending that floor crashing down on the ones below and taking them with it. Hale and his squad dodged the deluge of mangled concrete amidst a shower of foul language and sporadic gunfire as they opened up on the building the rocket had cone from. Hale and his unit poured so much laser fire into the concrete wall it ran molten and collapsed, leaving several Conscripts dangling in the laser-ridden wind. With howls of pain, they were cut down, several of them completely bisected by the intensity of fire aimed at their frail, lightly-armored bodies. Hale bellowed angrily and opened fire on the nut on the motorcycle as he took off, nearly taking him out. Hale then signalled for the VTOL to follow as he sprinted along on the ground. Johnson and Jackson clambered up into the VTOL while Doyle, Roberts and Smith followed Hale on the ground.
With Johnson and Jackson providing directions, Hale and his men rapidly caught up with Sean and the Rapture ops., spotting them just as they rounded another corner, in turn chasing the Israeli with the gold. The sicko in Hale couldn't resist grinning at the thought of the Israeli taking the gold. Nonetheless, Hale and his power-armored entourage barged through garden fences and crumbling drywalls to get to the gold-thieving wastelander before the Rapture Company mercs. Johnson and Jackson shouted down the comms that Hale and the others were coming alongside the Rapture mercs, who were on the far side of the wall to the left. Without a second thought, Hale fired through the flimsy wall with his Gatling Laser, eliciting yet another scream as the shot clipped a Conscript's leg.
Alan heard some Aussie behind him yell and shoot at him, obviously after the gold. Alan shot back with his Revolver, not necessarily trying to hit the man, mainly just trying to get him to back off. The gasmasked theif made a quick glance back at his chaser, he assumed that the guy was with those other soldiers, not the Enclave, the other ones. It was all clear to him now, Alan had just butted himself in the middle of a war and stolen what all of them were after, the gold. Replying to the man's earlier comment, Alan yelled back, "I didn't just throw down a smoke and run through a sea of bullets to give this gold to you, asshole!" He fired two more shots and jumped another fence, now sprinting through the Ronto outskirts. He hoped that would stop anyone chasing him because of the radiation in these parts, but he had to imagine they all had gas masks as well. A large explosion and the sound of laser shots reminded him that he was being chased by the Enclave, now probally shooting first and asking questions later.
Rowey looked into the cracked rear-view mirror of his Big Four, staring at the ronto skyline as it dissappeared into the distance, absorbed by suburbia and- the merc sighed. Sure enough, he spotted the Israeli in the gas-mask who had smoked him out, retreating from laser chaingun fire. Power-braking his motorcycle (somewhere along the way, Rowey had found a replacement for his back tire), Rowey switched paths over to a route that would bring him over adgacent to Alan. Closing the distance in record time, he arrived in front of the alleyway Alan was about to enter.
"There's no time!" He shouted. "Get on, quick! It's the only way you're getting away with that gold and your life!"
"Conscripts get to the gold!.Me and the top 7 will deal with the enclave".Alfred jumped down a ledge with sean following."Sean any grenades?".Without waiting for an answer alfred shot at the flimsy wall between them and the enclave blowing a man sized hole in it."Thats how we do things in japan motherfuckers!".Alfred and sean ducked through the hole into a room of men in power armour."Ah shit,We'l just be on our way gentelmen".The GI's were momenteraly stuned by this and alfred used this to his advantage getting of a few shots at the GI's before they returned fire.
As Boris aimed his gun at the three new guys in the cave, he remembered that he had a new radio on him that he took from the crashed Bus. "Hey.. Hey Nikolai, grab that radio on my back and ask for a 'Sean Abbott' to come back to the cave alright?" Boris asked Nikolai, and Nikolai yanked the radio, "Testing, testing. Anybody hear me? Helloooooooooo! I need to speak to a Sean Abbott! Boris Kozlov wants you to come back to the cave, there's more gold and your running away with a small bag of it!"
Sean swallowed as he kept his stance, before aiming a swift axe kick at his Power Armored adversary and following up with a successive left-right one-two punch to the helmet. He didn't seem to be doing any damage, and the Enclaver was preparing to engage him in hand-to-hand combat, so he drew one of his .50s and shot him in the eye the moment he dropped his clunky weapon and cracked his knuckles for dramatic effect. "Dumb fuck," he chastised the dead man. He caught him under the armpits as he crumbled, crouching behind the body and holding it up to soak up Gatling Laser fire that was coming his way. Power Armor was ridiculously heavy when you weren't wearing it. He blind-fired the five shots remaining in the cyllinder of his Magnum towards the soldier with the Gatling Laser, several of which penetrated and forced him to drop the Gatling Laser and slump to the floor. Apparently, his old wrists had had enough of both supporting a heavy corpse, withstanding the repetitiverecoil of .50 caliber bullets and god knows what else and he had to drop the body with a grunt of pain, wringing his arm around and swearing before he noticed that several more soldiers were training their weapons on him.
"Mister Abbott! Mister Abbott, sir!"
It was one of the Conscripts, specifically one of the comms calling for him from outside, so he stepped towards a ground-level window in the small building they were fighting in and put one leg over. "Gentlemen, you will always remember this as the day that you almost caught-- aww, fuck it! Alfred, come on, mate!" With that, the two of them sprang out of the building, sprinting down the alleyway towards the Conscript who was calling him. "Sir, according to some russian guy, there's still more gold down there." The kid relayed quietly, still catching his breath after presumably a lot of running. "'Some russian guy'? Ya mean Boris, right?" Sean asked, tilting his head. "No, it--" The Conscript was cut off as a burst of Gatling Laser fire tore into his stomach, sending him to the floor. Sean sighed heavily as he realised he was still alive after that, dying slowly, but hadn't the time to euthanise the kid as more laserfire cut into the old concrete. With the Enclave either in hot pursuit or wondering where the hell the guy on the bike went, Alfred and Sean hurried back to the manhole they'd came out of.
"Fuck it." Was Jacksons words that chacatrized what the Survivors felt at the moment.
Pinned down in a old buidling by the Enclaves gatling fire, The Survivors looked at there options. So far, they could see three. They could, well, surrender. They could also do a really bad-as last stand, or, at least until the rest of Rapture Company comes to save them. Or, numero three, run to the manhole that Sean Abott was running too. So far, they were sticking with numero two. Heavy set up his M249 SAW in a old window, trying to surpess the Encalve soldiers. Bourne was up on the roof, delviering priesce sniper fire to the rest of the soldiers. Sarge was being a dick, Tim was crouching underneath a window and blind frining, Jackson was shooting at the Encalve soldiers, and Marty, was, well, being Marty. Which, invoved yelling at the enemy and shooting at them.
"Shit man!" Heavy shouted when the smoke grenade was popped. Then, a RPG-7 hit the building right next to theres.
And Jackson wet his pants. Not like a little drop or two, i mean, emptyed his fucking bladder. Which , of course, pissed off the Sarge.
"Goddamn it Jackson! What the fuck is wrong with you@" He said, working his way towards Jackson.The next part would generally involve yelling, hitting and the oscinall insult to Bourrnes race.
(Run, the Survivors are in a building behind you. Sarge is currently exposed, so, yeah. Wound him or kill him. your choice,)
"I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS! YOU DEGENERATE SHITBAGS!" Hale shouted at the Survivors, as he strode towards the building they had occupied, firing his Gatling Laser as he went. As he reached the doorway, he tossed his Gatling Laser to Doyle and weighed in with his bare hands, moving with surprising agility in his superior power armor. THIS was why Secret Service agents were always so smug! He kicked his shin into the side of Sarge's leg, cracking the man's femur. Then, before any of the Survivors could come to Sarge's aid, Hale had stabbed his Ka-Bar into Sarge's chest, puncturing one of his lungs.
Then Hale, ever the juggernaut, tossed Sarge against the wall, cracking his spine. Hale booted Heavy in the chest as the big man tried to gain the Survivors some time to move. Hale, however, was content to have them run away from where the Aussie Ghoul had run, which the Survivors were already doing. Hale drew his .223 pistol, which hadn't been reloaded since the massacre in the Treasury. He cocked it and pointed it at Heavy, pulling the trigger without a second thought as the Survivor lay in a heap in the corner. The gun clicked. So Hale pulled the trigger again, a further four times, to no avail.
"Looks like today is your lucky day friend. Wipe yourself off, you're bleedin," Hale said to Heavy. As he passed Sarge on the way out the door, Hale paused and sighed before muttering to Sarge, "Don't bother wiping yourself off Waster, you're dying."
Hale then led his men to Sean's manhole and began the annoying climb down. Then he realised he wouldn't fit in his power armor. A quick return trip to where the VTOL had landed and everyone was in their Enclave BlackOps armor. Activating their Stealth Fields, Hale and his men began moving into the sewers, in search of gold.
Chay quickly grabbed some explosives that Eugene had thrown him, and began setting them up along the walls in the direction of where they had been coming it. He wasn't very good with explosives, but these were simple mini nukes hooked to C4, that would collapse the ceiling. He soon heard people coming and quickly ran, and when he was out of the explosives range he click the button and heard the tunnel explode far away. Then he stopped, and stopped Sasuke as well. "Did anybody ever tell you your name sounds like an automobile?" he said, randomly, "Nevermind, stay here and make sure nobody comes through."
Hale jumped back as a mini nuke came flying at him through the darkness. He sighed. Yet another Wasteland wannabe boomstick specialist thought you could just hook a mini nuke up to a mine and expect it to go off without a little bit of clever modification. Hale caught it in the air and handed it to Roberts, their explosives expert. He nodded to him, and then pointed to the floor. Which meant to look out for any more of them they could grab. Of course, if someone was careful enough to try a stunt like that on the run, then there was probably an ambush up ahead, maybe with assassins of some kind. Little men in black clothes and balaclavas, with knives and kung fu. Hale sighed and let his imagination get itself back under control. Wistful thinking that Rapture might have a foe worth fighting among their ranks.
Hale stepped through, well, more like squeezed through a partially-collapsed tunnel section and found himself immediately assaulted by a little man in black clothes. "Ya had to say it didn't ya John?" Hale thought to himself as he kept his Ka-Bar between him and his foe's dagger. Sasuke had abandoned his Ninjato in favour of his Kunai in the cramped tunnels, and was trying out some of his Master, Chay's Shaolin Kung Fu. However, he hadn't learned all that dilligently, considering he thought his ninjutsu was superior. He stepped back and tried to put a quick end to this with a swipe at his foe's throat. Hale, however, had other ideas. Intercepting Sasuke's attack with a nerve-cluster strike to the Ghoul's tricep, a look of recognition crossed both fighter's faces.
"You!" Hale said to Sasuke at the same time Sasuke sneered it at Hale.
� They lunged back at each other, but Sasuke's rage at fighting the man who tortured him made him sloppy. Hale trapped Sasuke's wrist and slammed him against the wall. Hale then snatched Sasuke's kunai from his grasp and shoved the ninja backwards. Hale dropped Sasuke's revered weapon down into the irradiated sewage at their feet, knowing that'd piss the Ghoul off. Sasuke altered his stance, raising his arms to the side and cocking his leg slightly. He rotated his hands while bouncing on his standing leg a little.
"Whooping Crane," Sasuke said, kicking at Hale, who stepped back, looking bemused under his helmet.
"Eh, Zombie, are you high or something?" Hale said. Sasuke got ever angrier that this man would dare insult his Ninjutsu! How dare he!
Hale stepped forwards, stamping down on Sasuke's counter-kick before it could rise and become a threat and grabbed Sasuke's arms. Then he headbutted Sasuke, knocking him to the ground
"Boston uppercut, bitch," Hale sneered as Sasuke tried to regain his feet. Hale helped Sasuke get up by grabbing him by the underarm and slamming him head-first into the wall. "Haarlem Emergency Exit!" Hale shouted, taunting Sasuke again. Then he kneed Sasuke in the groin and headbutted him again. "Irish Handshake rises to Boston Uppercut."
Hale let Sasuke fall to the ground again.
Alan looked at the biker, processing the question. Did this guy just offer to help him? Alan thought for a second, he had a very good feeling that this guy was going to just slit his throat once they got away from the Enclave and take his gold, but what other choice did he have? Feeling the hear of a laser blast skim his shoulder, Alan quickly jumped on the bike. He kept his .357 at the man's back, in case he tried anything tricky, but didn't allow the biker to notice it. Once they were far enough away from the Enclave, Alan decided to talk. "So hey, I'm Alan Schezar, just passin' through uhh.... Ronto here..." Alan yelled over the roar of the engine, but he was greeted with no response. Either he was ignoring the wanderer or didn't hear him, it didn't matter really. "You got a name!?" Alan shouted once more, much louder than last time.
As for the Survivores, they all manged to make it back to the Sewers. The total amount of loot, ggold wise, was only a few bars. 8 Total, as Jackson counted them.
"God damn it. I'd thought we'd ghave more." Jackson muttered.
No one really seemed all that affected by Sarges death. In the recent months, he was,well, a dick. So, when he died it was'nt that big of a problem.
As fore the rest of the squad, however, there was a little bit of trouble. They were way behind. I mean, way, way,way behind the rest of Rapture Company. But, they did hear sounds of someone saying 'Boston', abnd some squeaky voice talking. And a explosion was heard eariler. So, they must be getting closer.
"Come on, lets go. The sewers smell like shit."Heaby said, Clucthing his M249.
Heavy was, well, shaken. Genarrly, he was the strong one. The one that could kick peoples asses with ease. Now, this new guy came up, and almsot killed him! It was almost like the guy was....juggernaut.
As for Jackson, he was just glad that no-body really noticed that he wet his pants. That was kinda embarssing. But, thats what happens sometimes when Gatling fire is chewing up your cover, and a rocket crumbles the building right next to you.
But, for now, The Survivors simply ran down the sewers trying to find the rest of Rapture Company, which, was'nt working that well. And, they hoped to god that there was'nt anybody in front of the. That would, really, really, really,really make them mad/
And, they hoped there was more golsd around here. 8 bars was not enough for, well, Rapture Company as a whole.
It begins snowing, as it is that time of year.
Boriw was pointing his gun at every damn Canadian in that cave. "Now, I got a few questions. Ok, one fucking question. Who the hell are you people, and why are you trying to grab my gold?" A freedom fighter ran for the gold, trying to grab some for himself. Boris then spraying his AK-112 into the roof of the Cave, causing a stalagmite (not sure if those are on the top or bottom of caves) to fall down, and smash itself near the gold. "Next time I aim for you, ya shit. Now, what's it going to take for me to get this gold, and get the fuck out of here." Boris then heard a few people outside of the cave. Dick head foreigners most likely. Wait, his dick head foreigners! " I'm in here you ass holes!"
Jackson poked his head from the side of the wall. Then, so did Heavy. And then Bourne. And then Tim. And then Marty. So, you could see 5 faces, all at varying heights, sticking out from a wall. Comical? Yes.
Then, they all slwoly moved there way towards Boris Boris, guns pointed at the locals.
"Easy there fellas...we don't want no trouble...besides, ya'll are outgunned."
Heavy muttered to the local forces as he passed by them, before reching Borises postion. Jackson did catch a quick glance from one of the local restaince fighters that was a woman. Of course, when he looked at her, he got the middle finger. Frowning, he went back to doing what he was doing. Which, was, well, proctecing Boris and wantining for him to say something akin to 'get the gold and lets gret the fuck out of here.'
"Hey wait a mintue, wwas'nt there them enclave guys ahead of us?" Jackson asked aloud.
"Yeah, how did we pass them?" bourne also asked aloud.
Heavy just shurgged. Tim, however, pushed his glasse s up and spoke.
"Well, you see. It was very well possible that we did pass them. The sewers here have mutiple tunnels, and we could have taken a differnt one without neven notciing. Thus, it was easy for us to pass them and reach Boris here before them."
"oh." Jackson said, before pointing his gun at a local who was a little too close for comfort.
Boris glanced over at the survivors, and the rest of the top seven entering the cave. As the top seven entered, most of them pointed their guns at the Freedom fighters. "Marty, a mine or two around the door. Heavy, Kain, Bourne point your guns at cave entrance. Jackson, stay the fuck away from the cave entrance. Abbot, I assume you see it." "Think so Boris" "Well, kill it" Sean, then rolled over to the right, and grabbed thin air. Finding the hands of the man rather quickly, he then reached up for the neck before the Enclave spec ops soldier could retaliate. Sean then broke the Spec Ops soldiers neck. "Sean, think you just broke Cheys record. Now Jackson, strip the Spec Ops soldier of his armour, and drop it in the box with the gold." Boris then remained pointing his gun at the Canadians. "Now, what's it going to take to let us take our gold home."
"Keep a closer watch on the shimmer ya don't see," Hale said, deactivating his Stealth Field as he slammed his elbow into the base of Boris' skull, kicked Sean away and spun back, clotheslining Hayato, who he'd thought was still out cold in the tunnel back there. Hale sighed, kicked Boris' AK off into the center of the cave, where it dropped down a large piece of concrete pipe. Recoverable, if Boris was willing to climb ten feet down a muddy pipe. He looked around at the Survivors and the other Rapture Ops, who seemed a little nervous about shooting so close to their bosses, Sean and Boris.
"Now, Canadian citizens of the United States, that gold was removed from a United States Federal Bank just before the bombs fell. The Government would very much like to have it back. And you, Ghoul, if you move another fucking inch, I'm putting a Pulse Round clean through your rotting mess of a head," Hale said, to the CFF and then to Boris, before kicking Boris away as the Ghoul tried to go at him with a knife. Hale then kicked the ballistic knife from the Ghoul's hands. "What? You don't think I wouldn't know what a Ballistic Knife looks like? Never underestimate the foe. That's the day you die Ghoul. Now you got a choice, roll onto your back and see death coming your way, or roll onto your face like a dog and I'll shoot ya in the back."
Hale drew a YK32 Pulse Pistol and aimed it at Boris. Then drew another and aimed it at Sean. Hayato was lying there, out cold from having a 245lb man slam his forearm into his jaw and neck. (This isn't professional wrestling, getting clotheslined is serious business, he won't be up anytime soon. You could probably leave him down here and be out of the city by the time he wakes up)
"Ummm....uh....." Jackson muttered as he looked around.
Jackson was, a well, nice guy. He liked hanging out with his friends, petting non-feral dogs, and talking. But, if this guy killed his boss, who was a nice guy at heart, or at least Jackson thought, then he would'nt get paid! A idea formatled in his head very, very,very quickly. And he hoped it would work.
"SOLDIER! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUE DOING@" Jackson shouted, his voice beoming very authrotive.
Hale looked around to see Jackson marching towards him. It would be funny, if it was'nt for the fact that there lives dependined on his little Ruse. But, there was several flaws. One, he had no clue rank was Hale. Secondly, it woudl'nt make any snese. Lastly, it looked incerbably cheesy.
"BY ORDER OF THE ENCALVE GOVERMENT, I WAS TO RECON THIS GROUP AND THEN DETAIN THEM WHEN THE TIME WAS RIGHT! DID'NT YOUR SUREPOIOERS TELL YOU ABOUT THIS?!" Jackson shouted agian. Of course, by this time, he was in Hales face. But, Hale still looked somewhat confused.
"STANDND DOWN, I REPEAT, STAND DOWN!" Jackson shouted once agian. Crossing his arms, Jackson did a simple spin and looked at the survivors, who looked almost as confused as Hale was.
"WELL, DON'T JUST STAND THERE, DETAIN THE MEN!" Jackson once agian shouted, as the rest of the Survivors caught on.
Sean narrowed his eyes and grinded his teeth as he got ready for either extreme pain or instantaneous death at Hale's pistol, every radiation-preserved muscle in his body tensing as he stared his potential demise in the face. Then Jackson came over and started pulling some crazy shit, trying to appeal to Hale's sense of the chain of command or something. Even after two hundred years of living among them, the occasional bouts of idiocy a yank could fly into never ceased to surprise or amuse him. In this case, though, he hid his surprise and was unable to laugh, given the severity of the situation. He looked over cautiously at Boris, before, with little regard for Jackson's safety, raising his CAWS and firing once at Hale while he seemed distracted. Then again, and again, pumping out as many semi-automatic helpings of flechettes as he could while he still retained the drop on the bastard. If he were to die, then he'd die doing something reckless, stupid but still innately heroic, as he'd always aspired to. (Run, I believe you once said that the best way to kill a WW was a loaded shotgun and the element of surprise. So 'AVE IT!)
John Flambo, a Enclave freedom Fighter with a LMG just saw an Enclave soldier. The Enclave tortured and killed both of his fathers (they adopted), because they were Canadians (in reality, a Enclave sniper was bored, and started to fire on locals. Before he was transferred to Canada, he did the same on American citizens.) "CANADA IS NUMBER ONE BITCHES!" He yelled out, as he fired full auto with his machine gun (with wild innacuarcy) at the Enclave soldiers in the room. This distracted Hale for no more then half a second (the amount of time required to aim his weapon and shoot the Canadian in the face) and Boris (with mainly luck) rolled out. One of the bullets pinged off Boris's armour, and into Hales foot. Soon, all three factions in the cave where shooting in all directions.
"Son of a bitch!" Hale shouted as an LMG shot clipped his foot as the flechettes jammed in his armour. They hadn't penetrated enough to do any serious damage, but goddamn were those little pinpirick scratchings annoying every time he moved. He dived back to cover, snatching up the Gatling Laser Jackson tossed him and he opened fire at the CFFs on the far side of the room. If Rapture was stupid enough to try pulling a double agent stunt like that, Hale could deal with them later. resting the Gatling Laser for a second, Hale began picking flechettes from his armor. One had penetrated his shoulder quite badly, so he drew his M1911 and returned the favour to Sean, blasting the Aussie Ghoul in the shoulder, spinning him from his feet. Hale swore. He knew he should have loaded it with incendiary rounds. Holstering the pistol, he returned to laying down a withering hail of fire with the Gatling Laser, before is hissed empty and he had to slam another Electron Charge Pack into the receiver, cursing all the while.
This whole thing was an utter total cluster fuck. And he knew HighCom would shit on everyone but Hale himself. He knew the Senate still considered him their attack dog. He swore and swore, firing at Boris as the Ghoul went to clamber into the pipe after his beloved assault rifle. Hale could have sworn he smelled vodka off the Ghoul when he slammed him earlier. Then Hale swore again as his wounded shoulder siezed up.
"You, the freak in the moron cork hat! I'm takin your head as a trophy when we're done with these fucking Canadians!" Hale shouted at Sean.
"Feeling's mutual, you bloody 'Claver wankshaft!" Sean roared back in defiance at Hale, then realised that he had no real intention to be done with those fucking Canadians in the manner Hale had described. While he was more than willing to, he had enough of a war going on with the self-righteous inbred yank government offshoot whatchamacallits, and a bunch of angry, syrup-slurping Cannucks would not factor well into this conflict. He'd much prefer to remain on at least polite terms with them as he stole their gold from their city. Regardless, he quickly checked to see how well the .45 round had penetrated the shoulder armour he wore over his coat (just about), before raising his shotgun and firing at one of Hale's black ops buddies incessantly while they were distracted with the Canadians until the gun clicked empty. Of course, this was sooner than he anticipated, so he was forced to take cover as the special agent started laying down a surpressive fire with his own weapon.
Sean slung his CAWS and replaced it in his hands with his M4A1, opening fire blindly from his cover every time the hail of Gatling Laser fire came to a brief cease. As his cover was about to crumble (and the 'Claver paused to reload), Sean vaulted over the crumbling chunk of debris and rushed towards the man, spraying off 5.56 rounds in his general direction as he ran and missing every shot. He slung his carbine as he came just into melee range, barely managing to dodge a nasty axe kick from the Secret Service bloke, who'd dropped his unwieldly heavy weapon as Sean closed distance between them. Sean then himself took a step back and drew one of his .50 magnums, shooting his adversary square in the chest twice as he bounced on his toes in a combat stance. Like on that old holofilm with the other guy with the hat (the one that didn't have any cool corks) who also had a revolver. Not enough swords though. Or racial stereotypes, really. Sean left his musing for another time as he kicked the fallen, wounded Secret Service agent in the face and left him to his bleeding out as he sprang for the nearest piece of cover in response to another helping of laserfire searing his way.
As for Jackson, he just wildly started shooting at whoever was'nt Raptrue Company. Which was mainly the Candiasns, since they seemed easy ebnough to kill.Firing off his entrie clip in record time, Jackson looked. He had'nt even manged to kill anybody. Well, he wounded one, but hwe did'nt kill them!
"What trhe fuckl!" he muttered, before Heavy joined in his his M249. That did some damgage. After shooting around half of the box magzine off, Jackson looked at the candiasnt that were once stanidning there. Three dead. In less then a few seconds. Jackson looked at his Ak-103 and then at Heavys M249.
"Trade?" he asked nonchantly.
"Fuck off." Heavy grunted.
Shrugging, Jackson went back to shooting widly. It was highly ineffective, but, by god, it looked cool.
As for Boris, he was thinking of a plan. Not a very good one, but a plan nonetheless. Grabbing a grenade from his pocket, he lobbed it. It might injure somebody, but probably not kill them as he lobbed it to the far side of the cave. Then, as it went off Boris started to sprint to the Canadian side, with his field ripper in hand. A soldier with a shotgun was distracted, just for a second. But that was more then enough time for Boris to cut the mans arm off (him and Jack can start a club in hell!) and grabbed the combat shotgun from the dropped arm. Spinning around with the shotgun, he gave a mercy blow to the man who got his arm cut off, and rolled over back to the Rapture side. "MERRY CHRISTMAS ASSHOLES!" As he then rolled over to behind the crate of gold. (No one's stupid enough to shoot at a crate of gold. Not even Jackson :P) His shotgun then popped up from the side of the crate, as Boris took a second to aim before shooting at Hales Gatling laser, blowing it out of his hands. Then, his head popped out from behind the crate, and a shotgun blast smashed into a Enclave soldiers head. “Not so big now are ya!”
Hale dropped to the ground, his ears ringing from the ricocheted buckshot bouncing harmlessly off his helmet. If that had been a flechette round, he'd be dead right now. He shook his head to clear it and grabbed his Gatling Laser up again, taking a careful aim at the gold crate. The Ghoul wanted to play dirty, Hale'd play dirty right back. Opening up with a ridiculous disregard for the gold, Hale disinegrated the lower corner of the crate, collapsing it, and it's extremely heavy contents in the Ghoul's direction. Hale Was hoping to bury the Ghoul with that, but there was no way to be sure if the dick was still alive. So Hale ducked into cover, when the Ghoul in that moronic cork hat opened fire with his M4. A shot bounced harmlessly from Hale's vest, a lucky ricochet from the wall. Which gave Hale an idea. He drew his M1911 and fired it at a steel beam above the Ghoul, bouncing the bullet back towards the Ghoul's head. He heard the Ghoul shout something about Hale fucking dingos, but the bullet chipped harmlessly off the rock as Hale holstered his pistol and hefted his Gatling Laser again, firing at the Canadians, mowing down a pair of them.