Teasers and drabbles

Sometimes, it's nice to have a place to put down your ideas before you forget them. That is the purpose of this thread. Here is a little snippet featuring Erina about to sanction targets on a mission:

Almost like a video game

As soon as the miniature camera was in place, Erina surveyed its live feed through her eyepiece. She watched as six armed subjects went about a routine in the room. Then...

"Mark targets."

The feed displayed on her eyepiece was augmented by a holographic overlay on each of the subjects, assigning them numbers one through six. This was more than a preemptive body count, it was a battle plan in a gruesome facsimile of "connect the dots."

Erina took a deep breath as dispensers within her body began secreting wardrugs into her bloodstream, accelerating her already-heightened pulse to levels beyond human capability, her glycogen stores rapidly being depleted to fuel the heightened metabolic state. At this speed, everything else seemed to slow down, creating a sort of 'bullet time' effect from Erina's point of view. Her targets now moved about the room with a delay that seemed as if they were slowly making their way through an invisible treacle.

Erina had but a moment to lament her targets' fates, those poor damned fools. In the next few seconds, they would cease to exist. They were not going to die for a cause; they were not going to die martyrs, they would not be fallen heroes in the fight against the government. No, the men in this room would die tonight because the logic of a computer dictated that it would be efficient for them to no longer be alive if dispatched in a certain order. Erina pulled back the cocking handle on her Vector. The bolt traveled slowly forward as she released it before ramming home, creating a noise. As the targets in the room turned to find out where it had come from, Erina was already about to seal their fate.

"Execute sequence." she whispered.

The door to the room flew off its hinges with a mighty kick, and before anyone could make a noise of surprise, Target 1 (seated on couch; AK-47) and Target 2 (standing by floor lamp; MAC-10) were vanquished, their heads pierced by .45ACP slugs before they could blink. Targets 3 and 4 (standing around coffee table; AK-47s) followed immediately after, their heads exploding in fountains of crimson, and Targets 5 and 6 (opposite ends of the staircase; UZIs) were obliterated with final bursts, their heads and chests exploding into reddish mist.

As 'bullet time' wore off and she was no longer working on autopilot, Erina took notice of the six very still bodies in the room. Placing her hand up to her eyepiece, she pressed a button to communicate to Nathan.

"Room clear."

Is it bad that I pictured an AK-47 laying on a couch, a MAC-10 beside a lamp and a bunch of AK-47s standing around a table?

I'm weird sometimes.

Five_X wrote:Is it bad that I pictured an AK-47 laying on a couch, a MAC-10 beside a lamp and a bunch of AK-47s standing around a table?

I'm weird sometimes.

It's strange, but I guess when you read it literally, not really.

Another idea featuring Jethro and Monty in a tight spot, and the spectacular ace up their sleeve:

Heavier Firepower

Somewhere in the Middle East...

Things had not gone well for the Blacker Fratello. What began as a simple sanctioning mission of a high-value target in a hookah lounge quickly went from bad to worse as local militiamen joined the firefight that ensued. Barely escaping in the chaos (and 'liberating' a pair of AK-47's, some spare magazines and a few grenades), Jethro and Monty made a mad dash for the border in their locally-procured Hilux, only to have their escape cut off in both directions. Jethro blazed a third path to a more defensible location, Monty buying time by dropping grenades behind their Toyota to cause some well-timed pileups of technicals and sundry other off-road vehicles. Putting some distance between themselves and their pursuers, and well aware that their options were limited, Jethro placed a call to Ferro informing her of their predicament. In response, Ferro simply said:

"You have what you need, Blacker. We sent Monty your best insurance policy in the mail earlier in the week. Knowing the two of you, I'm sure you'll use it wisely and properly. Good luck."

Now, atop a rocky outcropping with potshots zipping closer to their position and opponents closing in from all sides, Monty crouched down to change magazines on her AK, engaging in some conversation with her partner.

"Skipper, if our current predicament was some kind of barmy Hollywood flick, would the next scene be a shot-for-shot replica of the ending in Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid?"

Jethro smiled in response. "Hardly, my dear. In fact, this is the part where I go 'We've got them right where we want them.' And we do. You know how our outings tend to be A) Get heavier firepower or B) Jog on out of the place before everything's completely bollocks-up? I thought we'd try the former this time."

Monty could only cock an eyebrow but quickly understood when Jethro displayed a handheld military radio pre-tuned to a particular frequency. She had also remembered Jethro flicking a switch on a small box inside the Hilux as they made their way to their current position. Jethro spoke into the radio as the enemy continued to approach.

"Magnificent Bastard to The Misfits. What's your status, over?"

"Thirty seconds out, Bastard." replied Jennifer Fitzgibbons' voice on the radio. "Bandicoot needs some reference, over."

Over the din of gunfire, Monty could barely make out the noise of incoming aircraft and looked sharply to the west, where the sun was beginning to set. Jethro pulled out a smoke grenade and pulled the pin, tossing it towards the Hilux. Purple smoke spewed from the bottom of the canister and grew into a great big cloud very quickly.

"The purple haze is us, Bandicoot." said Jethro. "Everything else within a 200m radius isn't. Have at it, over."

"With pleasure, Bastard. Coming in hot, get your heads down."

Jethro and Monty immediately clung to the surface of their defensible haven as the roar of a prop-powered aircraft grew louder. As Monty pivoted her gaze up, she saw Jennifer's Pilatus PC-9 streak overhead on full combat power just as she opened up with the four belly-and-wing-mounted 20mm Hispano-Suiza cannons equipped on 'Bandicoot One-Five'. Shortly after Jennifer started firing, a heavily-modified P-51 Mustang fighter piloted by Ryo zoomed past overhead, rippling off Hydra 70mm rockets and blasting away with twin M242 Bushmaster 25mm cannons mounted under the fuselage. The two light planes zoomed about the area, eating into the enemy gathered on the ground with their ordnance. Just when Monty thought there could be no more chaos, along came an ATE-modified Mi-24 "Super Hind" rattling off 30mm depleted-uranium rounds from a chin-mounted chaingun and letting loose a pair of TOW missiles. But the biggest, most massive surprise of all was when a Lockheed-Martin AC-130 'Spectre' gunship lumbered in overhead before arcing into a massive sweeping pylon turn before opening fire on the enemy surrounding the besieged fratello. The scene turned into a glorious orgy of destruction as tracers, rockets, and brass casings rained from the sky above. With frequent regularity, the buzzing of the rapid-fire guns would be interrupted by the 105mm howitzer mounted on the AC-130 while its M61 Vulcan cannons and 40mm Bofors guns made short work out of the enemy below. trucks and bodies exploded and vaporized under the fireworks display that was the resources of Warhawk Military Aviation at work. For their part, the enemy militia on the ground offered a spirited, if futile defense. They had gotten off token shots with DShK machine guns and a few stray RPG's, but they went wild, not even so much as grazing the aircraft overhead.

All in all, thirty seconds had passed since 'The Misfits' rolled in to take care of business. The pilots of each aircraft reported in.

"Bandicoot One-Five shows all-clear." said Jennifer.

"Kitsune Zero-One sees no signs of hostile activity." reported Ryo.

"Okami Two-Seven has no more threats, over." stated Kyo in the Hind.

"This is Thor Three-Zero. No signs of enemy activity on FLIR. All clear." said the AC-130 pilot.

"Magnificent Bastard confirms all clear, Misfits." reported Jethro, surveying for any more enemies on the ground. "Thanks for the assist, over."

"No problem, Bastard." replied Jennifer with a grin that Monty could almost feel coming through the radio.

"Hey Bastard, Okami here." said Kyo. "This here Hind has room. Need a lift back?"

Monty and Jethro looked at each other for a moment. Then...

"Thanks, Okami." replied Jethro. "But we'd rather drive."

"No problem, I'll keep you guys covered until you're safely past the border. Okami out."

As the other aircraft got out of the area, Kyo remained to orbit as Jethro and Monty got back in the Hilux and made their way down from their defensible position before getting onto a road that would lead them out of the AO. As they began traveling, Kyo shadowing them in the Super Hind, Jethro spoke to Monty.

"So how was that for a fried gold sandwich?"

"It was a change, skipper. That's all I can say."

"Fine. Music?"

"Play whatever you like, guv."

"A song for you, then."

Jethro put on the stereo and stuck a disc into the in-dash CD player (which was in surprisingly good condition). A bit of jazz flowed through the speakers, and after a brief smirk from Monty, the two continued the drive in silence.

ELIZA:Sometimes there really is no alternative to pure unadulterated FIREPOWER. Any more room for them misfits? Ive got a remanufactured Ju, 87 STUKA in an underground hangar somewhere in Germany.

Stuka JU 87,otherwise known as the flying coffin,largely withdrawn from the airspace of enemies with decent fighters,the RAF shot down dozens of them during the battle of Britain resulting in its withdrawl from combat zones where the Luftwaffe did not have air superiority

> enemies with decent fighters
>> decent fighters
>>> decent
>>>> fighters

I don't think a bunch of muj would normally field fighter planes, let alone decent ones. It remains arguable, though, that their RPGs COULD catch a Stuka moving at cruising speed. And knowing how RPGs are, like, a dime a dozen among the muj...

Personally, I'd have gone with a Warthog tank-killer or a Frogfoot. But the image of classic warbirds routing the enemy on a modern-day battlefield entertained me immensely.

Jay: [wonders a moment] I'd love to take a hand at driving a tank.

Awesome mate, always love seeing J+M make apperances. Banter's good and Monty's suitably non-plused by it all And you picked up on the pair's AR of choice.

Loved the PC-9 appearance too... one of my favorite planes. I think I used a pair in the (now defunct) B.A.D teaser comic... mostly because I wanted a plane with a spinny bit on the front

Bit confused about the first bit though, the way I'm reading it: Monty knew the air-support was available, but she didn't hear Ferro give Jethro the go-ahead to use it?

Only other nit-pick: as far as I know, the procedure for popping smoke is to let the aircraft identify the smoke and the ground team confirm. Prevents a listening-in enemy from throwing out the same coloured smoke in a different location. I could be wrong though... There was a really good book that I read awhile back. Centred around an A4 squadron in Vietnam... damned if I can remember what it was called.

Alfisti wrote:There was a really good book that I read awhile back. Centred around an A4 squadron in Vietnam... damned if I can remember what it was called.

The smoke? Purple Haze.

ElfenMagix wrote:

Alfisti wrote:There was a really good book that I read awhile back. Centred around an A4 squadron in Vietnam... damned if I can remember what it was called.

The smoke? Purple Haze.

No, the book

Nachtsider wrote:
Personally, I'd have gone with a Warthog tank-killer or a Frogfoot. But the image of classic warbirds routing the enemy on a modern-day battlefield entertained me immensely.

Warhawk Military Aviation does have those, but they were deployed elsewhere. As for the 'classic warbirds' part, well, the Pilatus (to my knowledge) is a contemporary COIN aircraft, and as for the P-51, it's heavily modified with all sorts of modern goodies, particularly 'glass cockpit' avionics. I drew the idea from the concept of the Piper PA-48 'Enforcer', but keeping in line with the original airframe and powerplant (It's rocking a Rolls-Royce Merlin variant rather than a turboprop). The AC-130 was a given, as it's almost a sort of be-all and end-all in terms of CAS aircraft, and the Hind provided both firepower and an alternative escape route because it's also a transport.

Alfisti wrote:
Bit confused about the first bit though, the way I'm reading it: Monty knew the air-support was available, but she didn't hear Ferro give Jethro the go-ahead to use it?

Well, sometimes, even if you're a cyborg, you can't hear everything over the din of gunfire...probably should've clarified that. Also, it was kind of unexplained to Monty at first as to why they would receive a radio in the mail.

And yes, I picked the Pilatus because of one of its mission roles as well as because it was in B.A.D.

MP5 wrote:

Alfisti wrote: Bit confused about the first bit though, the way I'm reading it: Monty knew the air-support was available, but she didn't hear Ferro give Jethro the go-ahead to use it?

Well, sometimes, even if you're a cyborg, you can't hear everything over the din of gunfire...probably should've clarified that. Also, it was kind of unexplained to Monty at first as to why they would receive a radio in the mail.

Ah ok... The last bit would be where you lost me then General rule of thumb for J+M is that, operationally at least, if Jethro knows it then Monty knows it. That makes it a bit difficult to do a big reveal though, which can be kind of frustrating at times.

MP5 wrote:Well, sometimes, even if you're a cyborg, you can't hear everything over the din of gunfire...

... or over the sound of how awesome you are.

Nachtsider wrote:

MP5 wrote:Well, sometimes, even if you're a cyborg, you can't hear everything over the din of gunfire...

... or over the sound of how awesome you are.

Why do I get the feeling that's something Altheus would say in the midst of battle?

boomer_gonz wrote:

Nachtsider wrote:

MP5 wrote:Well, sometimes, even if you're a cyborg, you can't hear everything over the din of gunfire...

... or over the sound of how awesome you are.

Why do I get the feeling that's something Altheus would say in the midst of battle?

Fernando (firing off his weapon in battle): Damn it... Why can everyone just concentrate with their shooting?!! *BAM! BAM!* HA! 2 HITS! THATS 2 POINTS! *does a happy dance*
Rachel: Daddy... There are 15 more coming this way...
Fernando: I saved them for you, not stop interrupt me from my happy dance.
Rachel: Come on Francesca. I aint doing this alone... (to herself) Thats the last time I let daddy go on an unsupervised date with Ferro where there was a lot of wine involved.
Francesca: What was that?
Rachel: Oh shut up and get ready to fire at anyone that pops their head out that door or window...

boomer_gonz wrote:Why do I get the feeling that's something Altheus would say in the midst of battle?

Nah, he's the kind who thinks actions speak for themselves and far louder than words do.

Jacen Starslayer wrote:Jay: [wonders a moment] I'd love to take a hand at driving a tank.

Avise: (a veteran of the mobile infantry) Now that's a class I am willing & eminently qualified to teach!

Jean: (facepalm) Oh god, Mancini, have you considered the harm you'd be doing to the agency?

Elio: These cyborgs already do enough damage with ordinary rental cars!

So a compromise is struck, and this is the only tank any cyborg is allowed to drive...



Jay: Awww man, that's not what I had in mind at all.

Rico: Look Jay! We can both fit inside at the same time!

Jay: (grumbling) Something else to look forward to.

Allison: D'awww, you two look so cute together in your little tank! Henrietta, quick, get a picture of this!

ELIZA:[Looking at the THING] What in heavens name Micro Panzer.

"Okay, so how can I modify this so that it becomes somewhat usable." Jay said as he began working on upgrading it with the help of Q-Labs...

---

One month later, the Micro Panzer Mark Two prototype rolled out of the Q-Labs garage.

It had been retro-fitted with a Browning M2HB that could only be fired either by the driver or someone sitting on their lap, a roof mounted camera beneath a bullet-resistant dome that was controlled by an 'obtained' headset from an Apache helicopter, and an Electronic Warfare system that was essentially a 36 CD disc changer with Spice Girls and the like on it.

As the rest of the staff watched the unveiling of the vehicle.

"Did they seriously try to get that monstrosity to be usable..." Jose commented.

"Can we ride in it Jose?" Henrietta asked.

"No..." Jose replied.

"Did Priscilla's kid seriously try to make it effective..." One cyborg asked.

"That is one of the most hideous things that I've ever seen." Kara replied.

"I don't know whether to be impressed or disturbed..." Priscilla asked.

"It completely lost its cuteness factor..." Allison complained.

"Well, I think that it's better than a French Tank." Amadeo stated trying to be supportive, "They have to push theirs..."

---

On the Micro Panzer's first mission...

As the bobcat-sized tank came near the target site, with Jay driving and Rico acting as the gunner while sitting on his lap. Padania terrorists were quickly gunned down as they rolled around laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the mobile weapon.

"Isn't this so much fun, Jay?" Rico asked as she fired the belt-fed machine gun at the terrorists, while playfully laughing.

"...This isn't what I had in mind at all." Jay muttered before activating the Electronic Warfare system in which various Spice Girls songs began blaring over the jury-rigged sound system at the highest possible volume.

Fortunately, one of the other upgrades was that the cabin of the completely airtight and soundproof, unfortunately the interior air supply was only good for about thirty minutes.

The Micro Panzer team of Jay and Rico ended up completing the mission, at the loss of style points and of most of Jay's pride.

Jacen Starslayer wrote: "...This isn't what I had in mind at all." Jay muttered

The Micro Panzer team of Jay and Rico ended up completing the mission, at the loss of style points and of most of Jay's pride.

Jay: Since the small scale tank project went well I'm seeking funds to go ahead with the next logical step in the program...


Jean: Jay; this is a meeting to discuss upgrading the plumbing in the indoor range facility. According to my schedule you are supposed to be language class right now. Get your ass out of here.

Jay: (trudging out) %$#&*@ language class.

Priscilla: Sorry Jean, I had no idea he was coming in with a presentation.

Behold, my pathetic and cheesy attempt at writing drama/tragedy:

The Day Jay Valentine's Heart Turned to Glass

At first, there was nothing. And then, there was everything at once.

It began with a flash of light. And then there was deafening noise, with force so great that it spider-webbed the safety glass of his car.

Then there was smoke. Black, oily, thick smoke rising in a column, the kind associated with catastrophe.

And where there's smoke, there's fire.

Fire.

Fire from a car. A Lancia Delta HF Integrale Evoluzione II, to be exact.

Allison's car. Upside down on its roof. Burning.

And no contact from Allison herself.

In the few moments it took to process this, Jay Valentine's heart and mind both raced faster than the pistons in the Mitsubishi Sirius engine up front were firing. From third gear, he planted the accelerator pedal to the floor, tachometer climbing to 6000rpm while the aftermarket boost gauge quickly topped out at 15psi of boost. When the needle reached the '6', Jay shoved his left foot inwards on the clutch, slammed the stick into fourth, let the clutch out, and pinned the throttle again, willing his Starion to deliver him ever faster to the burning wreck of Allison's Lancia as the skies darkened overhead.

Jay's Starion was more than just a suped-up hot rod. It was a heartfelt gift from the girl he loved, given to him so that he could share the same sense of independence she had when at the wheel of an automobile. Allison had taught him how to drive a 'proper' car, and when he had finally mastered the techniques of driving with a manual transmission, she rewarded him with her own expression of love, and this was it. Everything Jay might demand or otherwise need from a car—power, safety, agility, and comfort, just to name a few things—Allison lovingly provided by working on the car herself for weeks on end. When it was completed and Allison finally presented it to Jay, the boy was overwhelmed by the gift. The Starion brought them closer together in the sense that they shared more moments of intimacy together, whether it be a post-mission dinner date, a drive together through the countryside, or snogging under the stars. Their relationship, which had blossomed from mutual confessions of love on San Francisco's Ocean Beach, was now at a point where both were truly happy, and there was little else they could ask for, given their circumstances. They had reached perfection. Secretly, they thought, they had reached peace.

But in the previous mere seconds, Jay feared, all that would be gone forever. And so he drove his Starion with desperation, and with such fury that even the other cars in the security convoy now responding to Allison's situation were left behind as if stopped dead in their tracks. For once, even Kara and Claes' soles of lead combined with their powerful supercars would not catch up to Jay, rushing to the aid of his beloved.

“Please be all right. Please be all right. Please be all right.” echoed a mantra in Jay's mind as he started to close in on the overturned Lancia. The words bouncing in his head only gained faster rhythm as he saw the state of Allison's vehicle. The once-proud rallying machine was now wounded greatly, its bulletproof windows destroyed, leaving snowflakes of safety glass on the motorway. Its doors were peppered in gouges of varying shapes and sizes, perforated like the metaphorical “Swiss Cheese” by the now-spent IED. One of its wheels was deformed to the point that it could be mistaken for a miniature piece of modern art. But the worst was the fire. Now that he was near it, he could see that the flames were coming from the engine bay, but he didn't know if Allison had a fuel cell of any sort, and her trusty Lancia could now betray her as a flaming time bomb itself.

Jay got in closer to the wreck before yanking the handbrake and bringing the Starion to a screeching halt, white smoke pouring off of the rear wheels in protest. The black sports car had barely ceased motion when Jay ripped off his racing harness and flung his door open, sprinting towards the fire-engulfed Lancia as fast as his legs could carry him. He slid towards the driver's side door, crouching down to check for Allison. He found her still belted into her seat, unconscious, and to his horror, a pool of blood had already formed under (over?) her. Adrenaline still flowing through his veins, Jay wrenched the door off of the body of the car to get at Allison, the darkened skies now thundering and flashing streaks of lightning. Using one of the throwing knives holstered on his right wrist, he quickly sawed away at the seat belt to free Allison, careful to catch her as she fell onto the ceiling of the Lancia's cockpit. Gingerly, he pulled her out of the flaming wreck and carried her limp, blood-soaked form to safety as drops of rain began to fall from the sky. About a quarter-mile away, Kara's 599GTB and Claes' V8 Vantage were beginning to close in as Jay finally laid Allison down carefully when they reached the Starion. Cradling her, Jay's heart now felt like it was hardening into glass as Allison's body trembled in his arms, the brunette's deep blue eyes flickering open and trying to focus on him. Allison then struggled to speak, so great was the pain of her injuries.

“Is everyone...*cough* ...All right?” she asked of Jay, a thin wisp of blood running down the corner of her lips.

“T-they all stopped farther back when the bomb went off.” replied Jay, struggling to hold his composure at the sight before him.

“G-good.” gasped Allison, managing a weak smile that only served to stretch her boyfriend's heartstrings nearly to breaking. “I'm...glad...I'm glad they're s-safe. I'm glad that you're safe.” she added before coughing hard again, flecks of crimson spattering on the dampening pavement.

“Allison...why?” pleaded Jay in disbelief, his eyes stinging with the burn of hot tears ready to burst out. “Why did it have to be you?!”

“Because...because I have to protect...everyone. No matter...what I have to do...to protect them...” replied Allison with effort, her breathing ragged now as the rain began to pour. Jay's hands were covered in her blood, which had already formed a large stain on her white blouse. The crimson began to run with the water splashing down on them. Jay's blood only ran colder when he heard what Allison had to say next.

“Jay... I don't regret anything... Not for a moment.” said Allison weakly.

“Allison, no... Please... don't speak like that... You'll be all right, I swear you will!” cried Jay, tears beginning to flow from his eyes as he brought his head up to seek the others. Behind him, Kara and Claes were already rushing to their aid, having pulled up just feet away. Claes, with a clear view of what was going on, spoke into her wrist-mic.

“Get Annette up here now! Allison's bleeding very badly, she needs medical assistance right away!” reported the bespectacled cyborg before turning to Kara. “Fire extinguisher.”

“Got it.” replied Kara, pulling a chemical fire extinguisher from the backseat floor well of her Ferrari before rushing over to the burning Lancia, starting to attack the flames with white fire-retardant foam. Claes went over to Jay and Allison with a trauma kit, ripping open a pack of gauze and cutting away the material of Allison's blouse, covering up her wounds with the gauze and applying pressure to help staunch the bleeding. Allison was going paler by the minute and starting to lose focus, a detail that frightened Jay to no end, and one that quickly frustrated Claes as she motioned for Jay to keep pressure on the wound while she attempted to expedite the arrival of help.

“Goddammit, someone get Annette down here THIS INSTANT! Allison's going into shock! We're doing what we can, but looks like we might lose her!” Claes radioed with lack of composure.

Allison's trembling slowed down in Jay's arms, but he did not take this as a good sign. She looked into his tear-streaked face and grasped his hand, their fingers interlocking tightly as she spoke once more.

“Jay, whatever happens, remember that I Love You, always and forever.”

“I-I love you too, Allison.” replied Jay, sobbing as he spoke. “So please... don't leave me here alone. We're gonna get you help, I promise! I don't want to lose you, Allison, I don't know what I'm going to--”

Jay's desperate speech to the love of his life was interrupted when Allison pulled him towards her and they shared a prolonged kiss. In this tragic, seemingly hopeless scene, when words failed, Allison resorted to the most common expression of her love for Jay, one they had shared many times, unable to bear seeing him suffer over something she had willingly done. She pushed herself to put him at ease, and for the moment, Jay's tears stopped, though the rain did not. When they finally pulled away, Allison was smiling up at Jay.

“Don't worry.” she said sweetly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Of course you're not, because I'm staying right here with you.” spoke Jay, trying to put on a smile of his own to mask his unease. Behind them, the sound of Sarah's Mustang announced the arrival of the cavalry, and Jay's heart soared briefly as he saw Annette hop out of the passenger's seat, her medic bag in hand as she sprinted towards them.

“You're gonna be all right, Allison!” said Jay, hope evident in his voice. “Annette's here, she'll know what to do—”

Jay noticed that there was no more tension on his hand, which was previously intertwined with Allison's. He looked down to have his heart crystallize into glass once again as he saw Allison's face, her smile gone and her eyes closed, her skin clammy to the touch. The tears returned to his eyes as he tried to rouse Allison.

“No... No, this isn't happening! Allison, wake up! Please Allison, wake up! Allison?!”

His eyes stinging with tears, Jay turned his head towards the sky in grief.

“ALLISON!”

You are seriously coming into your own. That was so good I teared up.

EDIT: Also, I love Allison. Please don't tell me this happens within her timeline.

That was excellent. Although if Angie can survive a truck bomb, Allison can survive a car wreck. Thats IMHO.

Good work...the passage where all the cyborgs rally in an attempt to save their sister is particularly dramatic.

If you want a real tear-jerker...

Spoiler:

Professor Voodoo wrote:Good work...the passage where all the cyborgs rally in an attempt to save their sister is particularly dramatic.

If you want a real tear-jerker...

Spoiler:

That's not a tear jerker, that's a kick to the groin!

Oh yeah. Alpha may have slammed a bathroom sink into Rico's chest, but he was fairly certain that she would've survived it.

Professor Voodoo wrote:Good work...the passage where all the cyborgs rally in an attempt to save their sister is particularly dramatic.

If you want a real tear-jerker...

Spoiler:

Personal Foul! Roughing the Reader! 15 Yards, repeat last chapter.


There is a thread around here somewhere about how our OC cyborgs might die. While in the end I chose to have Kara die quietly, in her sleep, my entry for that one was a bit more...poetic.

Jay: NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

---

[Jay and his sidekick Rico, hunts down the maker of the IED. And inflicts the most pain a person can go through on the perp.]

"Kill me." the man begged, as Rico finished cauterizing the perp's bleeding stumps.

Jay: I intend to....Slowly. [before cutting out the man's tongue.] Rico, did you bring the gas can from the car?

Rico nods as brings the gas can to her revenge-driven 'big brother.' With a evil grin Jay poured the contents of the can in a large circle around the bomber with a pair of gasoline roads leading the man's legs.

"You took away the most precious person to me." Jay said while he lit a cigarette with a checkered flag zippo that he had been given by Allison as a replacement for his old survival kit's lighter.

"So I'm going give you a one-way ticket to hell." Jay said as he pulled the lit cigarette from his lips and dropped it on the river of fuel before walking to the door. "Let's go Rico. We're done here."

ElfenMagix wrote:That was excellent. Although if Angie can survive a truck bomb, Allison can survive a car wreck. Thats IMHO.

By the same token, Angie was 1st Gen whilst Allison's 2nd... though I agree, a cyborg would probably be able to absorb a bit more damage.

Personal Foul! Roughing the Reader! 15 Yards, repeat last chapter.

What he said.


Not too shabby mate. Not too shabby at all. Like Voodoo said, the other cyborgs rushing to save their sister is well done and you can really sense the urgency of the whole scene. If I'm honest I found Jay's scream right at the end a bit over the top, but that could also simply be because I'm not one for "big" emotions.

All up, well done.

So then, a follow up to that previous, potentially heart-wrenching entry, this one dials introspection up a notch (at least I think so):

Prayers in a dark hour

The journey back to the compound was a blur of events to Jay.

Annette moved Jay aside to perform CPR. The Fitzgibbons Fratello were called in to continue transporting the principle by air, under guard by a two-helicopter gunship escort while a second medevac helicopter landed to rush Allison back to the SWA hospital, Annette staying with her the entire way. The look of disbelief on Brian's face as he broke down upon seeing his adopted sister soaked in blood, unconscious, and barely clinging to life. The furious drive back to the compound at over twice the posted limits—in the rain, not caring whether or not he hydroplaned.

Now Jay sat in anxiety outside the main operating room next to Priscilla. Across the hall, Brian sat as well, his face buried in his hands while he came to terms with what had occurred less than two hours ago. Kara stood against the wall, bouncing the heel of her foot nervously while Petra and Sandro sat huddled together on the bench across from her, anxiously awaiting any news on Allison's condition. Claes and Michele then entered with a tray of white styrofoam cups, tea for the cyborgs, strong coffee for the handlers. Claes brought the first cup of tea over to Jay.

“Here, Jay.” she said softly, offering the steaming cup to the boy. “You need it the most. It should help you calm down a bit.”

“Thanks, Claes.” said Jay, setting the cup down at his side. “I can't calm down, though. Not while knowing Allison's in there, fighting for her life. God...Why couldn't it have been me? Why her?” he began to sob, tears once again stinging his reddened eyes. Across from him, Brian fared no better at locking up his emotions as Priscilla went over and tried to console him.

“She didn't deserve this.” muttered Brian, his own tears streaking slightly from between his fingers. “Bad enough I lost me mum; Sweet Jesus, don't let me lose Allison too...”

Brian began sobbing uncontrollably, and a worried Priscilla offered her shoulder for him to cry on. It unnerved Sandro and Michele to see the serious, confident, and proud 'Belfast Bastard' in such a state of emotion. Petrushka sliced open the uncomfortable atmosphere, mustering what words of assurance jumped to her mind, bringing up a determined smile.

“It'll take more than some pezzo di merda bomb-maker to put a stop to Allison. She'll pull through this one, I know she will!”

Those in the room who knew Allison nodded in agreement. But for those who were closest to Allison—namely Jay and Brian, Petra had left room for doubt in her attempt to improve their morale. If this cruel act of terror wasn't going to end Allison's life, what would, they wondered? It was an unpleasant thought that now began to eat away at them, and their distress was visible on their faces. Petra immediately apologized.

“Sorry. That wasn't very well-thought out.” said Petra gingerly.

“No, it's quite all right.” replied Jay, pardoning the redhead for her choice of words. “I know you meant well, and thank you.” he added, smiling meekly, which quickly went away. “I just feel so helpless right now; It's like there's not a damned thing we can do about this.”

“But we will do something about this.” said Kara, finally speaking in a dangerous tone. “We're not going to take this lying down. We're going to find out who did this to her, and we are going to destroy the bastards responsible. Padania or Mafia, they're all going to die the same way. No one—No one—puts a dear friend in this state and can expect to have nothing come down on them. And when we finally find the exact person who put that fucking bomb there...”

“They're mine.” said Jay with a violent calm, looking at the floor. His tears had stopped, only to be replaced with seething rage. Someone willing to threaten the life of the person most precious to him was going to suffer the consequences. Whoever this waste of air was, when they found them, Jay would exact his revenge. He was already plotting this unknown person's slow, painful demise. Their hands would have to be the first to go, considering they were the instruments responsible for Allison's current state. Then to stop the bleeding, cauterization would be in order. Rico would be of great help in this exercise—she could easily tenderize this scumbag with her fists alone. Then, when they finally got to a point where the monster responsible for Allison's grave state begged for death, Jay would grant it. But it would not be the sweet release of a bullet to the head or a knife through the heart. That would be far too lenient. No; Jay was convinced he would exact his vengeance through fire, and he would relish in the sight of his prey engulfed in flames that would be as hot as the hell they would go to. It would be glorious. It would be right. It would---

It would be how Jean would do things. And Jay did not care for the way Jean did things. He promised to do right by Allison. How could he do so if he just became another Jean Croce, obsessed with revenge by any means? Could he face Allison if he became that? No, he would lose her respect. And without her respect, he would most certainly lose her love. And that would truly hurt the most.

Suddenly, the red light above the operating room turned off, and the door opened, revealing Dr. Donato coming out in slightly blood-stained scrubs. Everyone in the hallway turned to him as soon as he appeared.

“How is she, doc?” Brian finally asked. “Is she going to be all right?”

“We've managed to stabilize her, it's been pretty touch-and-go a few times, but she's mostly out of danger. There's still a lot of crucial damage to repair—that IED is a right bastard; we've been picking shrapnel out of her for a good while now.” replied Donato. “As it is, Allison might be here a while as we patch her back up and get her healthy and well again. We're doing everything we can to keep her out of danger.”

“Where does that leave us?” asked Priscilla.

“You all need to go home or go back to your dorms and get some rest. You've all had a very long and trying day—especially you two.” replied Donato, indicating Jay and Brian.

“But I'm scared something is going to happen to Allison and that I won't know.” said Jay apprehensively.

“We won't let anything happen to her.” replied Donato. “Especially when one of her friends is in there working with us every step of the way to save Allison.”

“You mean—Annette?” asked Claes.

“Yes. She's been working with us in here non-stop, and she's doing a damn excellent job.” said Donato. “As long as she's around, nothing will befall Allison if she can do something about it. Now go. You'll all be the first to know if anything develops.”

--------------
Jay lay in his bunk bed, but he could not fall asleep, knowing his girlfriend was fighting to stay alive after taking the direct force of an IED. Lacking the will to sleep and also lacking any objective, he hopped off of his bunk bed and exited his dorm. It wasn't time for lights-out yet, so he wandered aimlessly until he came to the roof-access door. Opening it, he stepped onto the concrete rooftop of the dorm complex, surrounded by the evening sky. Few stars were out tonight, it seemed, but it still gave Jay a place to think.

“What else is there for me to do?” he mused, looking at the stars. The helpless feeling was returning, and Jay felt himself all the more depressed for it. He wished there was more he could do for Allison. But what could he do? He was no doctor, not even a medic, like Annette. The powerlessness of his situation was overwhelming, and he soon gave to sitting down and folding his hands together in front of his face.

This triggered a reaction. Jay had seen civilians in the churches adopt this same position with their hands, and for some reason or another, he remembered that specific detail. He remembered that these people were praying, that these people had faith in something higher than themselves. But the reasons they were praying, he could not fathom. Until now, in this dark hour of his life. And so Jay made the sign of the cross, “In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” and clasped his hands together, lowering himself onto his knees to pray. He tried reciting one prayer in particular:

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be thy name--”

Jay abruptly stopped. He searched for the next line in his head and started over again:

“Our Father, who are in Heaven,
Hallowed be thy name--”

Jay stopped again, frustration mounting as he struggled to remember the next line, after it failed to come to him. He tried again:

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be thy name...”

“...Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...”

A new voice had finished out the prayer Jay was trying to recite, and as he turned, he found Agapita Mancini walking towards him, a set of prayer beads with a crucifix at the end held lightly in her hands. As she spoke the rest of the prayer, she did not break eye contact with the boy, and finally, she finished it up.

“...For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours now and forever. Amen.”

“Amen.” replied Jay as he looked at Agapita. “Good evening, Agapita.”

“Good evening, Jay.” replied the black-haired mistress of light artillery. “I'm not intruding on a private moment, am I?”

“No, no, not at all.” replied Jay. “If anything, I could really use your help right now.”

“I can see that.” said Agapita. “You were trying to pray for Allison just now, right?”

“Yes. I think it's the only thing I can do at this point.” said Jay sadly. “I'm pathetic. I can't even remember the words...”

“It takes practice sometimes, Jay.” replied Agapita. “It takes repetition to remember all these prayers, and if you haven't said them often, it's understandable that you might forget.”

Agapita reached into her pocket and pulled out another set of prayer beads, handing them to Jay.

“What's this?”

“That, Jay, is called a Rosary. It's also one of the fastest ways to remember certain prayers because you repeat them in sets of ten.” explained Agapita. “Once you start getting into the habit, I've found that it helps you to meditate a little. But this time, all our prayers are there for Allison. I heard about what happened, and I sincerely hope that the Lord will answer our prayers. Now then, let us begin.”

Jay and Agapita thumbed the first bead on both of their rosaries and recited a prayer in unison, which they would go on to repeat for at least the next hour:

“Hail Mary, full of grace, The Lord is with thee;
blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death, Amen...”

-----------

In another part of the compound, Brian wandered the halls aimlessly, at a loss for what to do since he could not make himself go home. Idly walking into a doorway, he happened upon an area in the compound he had not seen before. It was a large room occupied with several modest pews fashioned out of oak, and at the front of the pews was a small altar. Brian had walked into a chapel, something he had not set foot in since...he couldn't even remember the last time he ever prayed, let alone go inside a house of worship. As things were, it was somewhat surprising that the Social Welfare Agency would have a chapel, considering its largely secular nature, but since this was Italy—a predominantly Roman Catholic country—the presence of a chapel would not be so out of place, he realized. With Allison's situation beyond his control, Brian walked inside the chapel, hoping prayer would help speed Allison's recovery. He went to the front-most pew and sidled inwards, pulling down the kneeler in front of him as he settled into position and he began to pray, making the sign of the cross. With no one around, Brian voiced his prayer out loud.

“Lord, if you're listening, it's Brian McDonnell. I know it's been a while—a long while—since I last visited a church, stopped to pray, or even said thanks to you. I'm sorry I haven't been devout, Lord, and I know I've committed many a sin.”

Brian swallowed hard before he continued, a pit of sadness rising up his throat, his eyes beginning to sting once again.

“Lord, I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. But please, if you must pass judgment, pass it on me and not Allison. Please don't take her away from me, God. She's my only sister, and I love her too much to accept losing her now. She didn't deserve what happened to her but it did because she was unselfish enough to do something I don't think I could have done myself. Please let her live, God. That's all I will ask for.”

Brian continued silently in the hope that his prayers would be answered. Under his breath, he managed to dredge up the correct words and began repeating several Hail Marys upon end with a fervor that was only previously seen when he was a child reciting his penance after confession. Only this time, desperation replaced impatience where these prayers were concerned, and he continued to recite them even as someone else walked into the chapel. When he heard a second voice reciting the same prayer he did, he opened his eyes and saw Avise kneeling and praying next to him:

“...Holy Mary, Mother of God
Pray for us sinners, now and
at the hour of our death. Amen.”

As Avise finished, the former Bersagliere turned to the ex-SAS man beside him. “I heard about what happened to Allison, Brian. My prayers—and Agapita's—are with you and Allison both.”

“Thank you, Avise.” replied Brian. “That means a lot coming from you.”

“Think nothing of it, Brian. I understand how important it is to have support during times of crisis.”

A silence fell between the two handlers as they continued their prayer in silence. Then Brian spoke to Avise once again.

“Avise.”

“Yes?”

“How do you do it? Keep your faith, I mean?” asked Brian. “I was raised Catholic by me mum, but I can't even remember the last time I prayed, until now. How do you manage to commit time praying to God and believe in him even when terrible things are happening?”

“It's simple.” replied Avise. “I'm a responsible adult. I'm not an overgrown child blaming my father for all my problems, and I know that what happens to me is my own responsibility, including the woes I suffer. I also know the value of accepting help when it's offered.”

Avise nodded towards the altar of the chapel. “That's why I pray. It keeps an open channel between myself and the Lord. I think it pays off when the chips are down, personally. Granted, you do most of the legwork yourself, but the big man upstairs has a way of sending you some support. It's gotten me through all sorts of situations, some of which were particularly trying.”

“I wish I were that devout.” said Brian. “Yeah, I've had my 'no atheist in a foxhole' moments, but all I've done is lip service. Maybe this is my punishment.”

“All right, stop.” ordered Avise, turning to Brian. “You're feeling sorry for yourself, and I get miffed at people who do that. I understand that you're upset about what happened to Allison; I would be too, if I was in the same situation. But the last thing I want to see from you, 'Belfast Bastardo,' is making this ordeal all about yourself. I am not going to force you to believe in God any roundabout way, but I absolutely will not tolerate any selfishness in the form of self-pity coming from you, of all people. I know you're better than that, and the fact is that Allison is ultimately responsible for her situation, because she wanted to protect the rest of everyone else in that convoy today. Still, if you yourself really believe this is divine punishment, then all the more reason you should be praying for Allison's recovery and somehow find time to ask the Lord for his forgiveness while adhering to doing what the right thing is as much as you can. Now, let us pray.”

At this, Brian shut up and closed his eyes, bowing his head towards the altar with Avise as they recited The Lord's Prayer.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...”

For the two pairs praying for Allison in different parts of the compound, it would be a very long night of hoping and waiting in desperation.

Dam that was excellent. Nice job MP5. You conveyed everyones feelings realisticly and effectively. I thought the way you added the religous angle was nicely done and very poingant.

Full Circle

Two days after the fateful IED blast, a stabilized and heavily-bandaged Allison lay in repose at the SWA hospital, connected to a dizzying array of monitoring equipment. Anyone observant enough would note that her resting form was not quite so restful, as her eyes moved back and forth rhythmically in the pattern known as REM sleep while her chest rose and fell steadily with her breathing. However, for those who had fallen asleep keeping vigil on her, it was hard to be observant when they lacked rest and could only fret on whether Allison would be all right. On the outside, things were at peace, and Allison hopefully wouldn't encounter any problems in her recovery. Inside her mind, however, things were a bit different.


Allison found herself in the same recurring dream she had undergone time and again. She was driving down a twisty, mist-enshrouded mountain road that sliced a ribbon of gray and black through a heavily-wooded forest. It was a perfect road on which she could flex her driving skills to their maximum extent, her own slice of nirvana where she could enjoy herself unfettered by what hassles she had to deal with in real life.

At least, that's how it used to be. Lately, her dreamland driving grounds had been tread upon by another motorist, someone who was driving a Caterham Roadsport SV colored in a Pearlescent Lime Green hue acceuntuated with yellow-orange racing stripes coming down its center like an American double-yellow highway. Many times in these dreams, Allison took on this intruder with her Delta—a vehicle she had purposely designed to be extremely powerful and agile in every possible situation—and lost to her mysterious opponent's skill. The most jarring detail of these dreams is that her opponent drove exactly the way she did, as if a clone of herself, and left her in the dust, usually disappearing around a hairpin curve, leaving only the swishing trail of lit brake lights for Allison to helplessly watch through her windshield.

However, things were different this time around. Allison no longer drove her usual Delta, which had been blown to pieces two days earlier. Instead, she was now driving 'Catherine', her own Caterham Roadsport, uniquely equipped with the F20C VTEC from a Honda S2000 and a Variable-Geometry turbocharger. Boasting a ludicrous power-to-weight ratio of 640 horsepower per ton, she and others had driven the vehicle across the continental United States from New York to San Francisco while filming the first true episode of their YouTube series 'Top Gear: Italy'. It was also the car she drove when she finally confessed her feelings of love to Jay.

Another different aspect of this recurring dream was that she was seeing the road before her through the tinted eyeshield of a white Simpson Diamondback racing helmet. Her clothing now consisted of a white Alpinestars racing suit, white Alpinestars Tech 1-K kart shoes, and white Alpinestars Tech 1-Z driving gloves. All this gave Allison the strangest sense of deja vu as she drove, but as she rounded a corner, her reflexes leapt to the fore as she slammed down on the brake pedal, heel-toe downshifting as she did so.

Blocking the road ahead was her omnipresent rival's vehicle, the green Caterham that had dogged her on so many nights. It sat transversely across the road, blocking any traffic that might be coming through, not that there would be any save for Allison herself. Leaning on the car, arms folded across their chest, was someone dressed exactly like her, only in all black.

Allison dropped 'Catherine' into neutral, bringing the flame-painted sports car to a stop as she unfastened her racing harness and lifted herself out of the car. Her black-clad doppelganger unfolded their arms and began to approach Allison as she walked towards her rival until they met, stopping a few feet from each other. They stared at each other silently for what seemed like an eternity, and then the driver in black spoke, and Allison was immediately surprised and shocked at what she heard.

“So Allison, we finally meet at last.” spoke a cool female Essex accent—her own.

“M-My voice?” gasped Allison. “Who are you, how the hell do you have my voice, and how do you know my name?!”

The black-clad driver sighed before continuing to speak. “I suppose I should've seen this coming, but I had some hopes that you'd quickly get those lightbulbs in your head fired up. Allison, it's quite simple, really...”

The driver in black reached up and slowly pushed 'her' helmet off. Blonde hair began to fall from under the helmet, revealing a lean yet roundish face with brown eyes. Allison stood in complete shock. It was like looking at a mirror, with different eye and hair colors.

“You—you're...”

“Yes, Allison. I'm you.” replied the blonde with a halfway smile. “Let's see that face of yours so that we can't deny that fact.”

Allison peeled off her own white helmet, her brown hair falling free and settling into the same pattern as her blonde counterpart. The blonde driver smiled as she watched Allison shake her head, the brunette's smooth hair falling around her shoulders.

“Our hair even behaves the same.” noted the blonde. “Like I said, I'm you.”

“What, like an alternate-universe version of me, or something?” asked Allison. “I don't ever remember going blonde.”

“No.” replied the blonde with some exasperation. “All right, how do I put this... I'm you, from the past. I'm the person you were before you woke up in the Social Welfare Agency.”

“What?” asked Allison in confusion. “No way. That's crazy. So what you're saying is that I'm actually in some kind of reincarnated state?”

“Not really, though I guess you might say that.” replied the blonde. “To put it in car terms, I'm the original chassis on which you are based, so to speak. No matter what's different on the outside, when you get to the bottom of things, the two of us are one and the same.”

“Who are you, then? You still haven't told me who you are.”

“My name is—and your name used to be—Shelby Mercer. I was 17 years of age when my parents were killed in an accident involving a speeding lorry hitting our car. I almost died with them, and when rescue workers pulled me out of the fire that ensued, I was burned up pretty badly. Then the Social Welfare Agency came along, and with some cosmetic surgery and a couple million Euros' worth of cybernetic technology, they 'gave birth' to you, Allison McDonnell.”

Things began to click in Allison's head. “Oh, God. If I'm talking to you, and you're the past me... Does this mean I'm dead? Am I dead?!”

“Relax, Allison. You're not dead. Otherwise, both of us would simply cease to exist, and we wouldn't be having this conversation.” reassured Shelby.

“Thank God.” replied Allison with a relieved sigh. “So... the accident is why I'm afraid of lorries?”

“Kind of.” replied Shelby, leaning against her green Caterham. “I've found them intimidating ever since I was a child—and I think that part of me still lives on in you. But the most important bit that we share is the driving. Tell me something. When you get behind the wheel, you know what to do and how to handle any car. Am I right?”

“Yes.” admitted Allison with a smile. “And I'm damn proud of the fact.”

“Did you ever stop to think where that ability came from? Can you ever remember practicing all those techniques on a track day after day?” queried Shelby.

“Now that I think about it, no...” admitted Allison. “It just kind of feels like I was born with it, I guess.”

“Except that no human being is born with the ability to flawlessly handle a vehicle like it was an extension of their body.” replied Shelby. “To be able to drift the way I've seen you do requires years of practice. It doesn't happen overnight.”

“What are you getting at, here?” asked Allison.

“Simply put, you got those driving skills from me.” said Shelby. “In a way, you've had them all along, but at the same time, you're kind of profiting from someone else's success.”

“Oh...” replied Allison, downtrodden. Shelby's gloved hand reached out and touched Allison's shoulder gently.

“That doesn't mean it isn't your success, too.” said Shelby reassuringly. “It's just the success of a different you from a different time. And you're still honing those skills nowadays, Allison. Think of it as picking up where I left off, and you'll be all right.”

“Thanks, Shelby.” Allison replied, looking up at her past self, a smile then forming on her face. “I guess this brings a whole new meaning to 'talking to oneself,' right?”

“You might say that.” agreed Shelby with a smile of her own. “Now I know you and I have a lot to catch up on; I imagine you have a lot of questions about your past.”

“Well, sort of.” said Allison. “I was wondering what you think of what I've become as seen through your eyes.”

“You certainly lead an exciting life.” noted Shelby. “Driving around, chasing terrorists, getting into gun fights... though that's not what I imagined or really wanted my driving skills to be put to use for. Brian's a nice guy, at least.”

“Well, he is my brother, even if only through adoption.” said Allison. “How about... how about Jay?”

Shelby smiled in response. “I like him, and by extension of you, I love him as well. He's so sweet, and he really loves you a lot, Allison. Don't let him go; he's the kind of guy you spend the rest of your life with.”

Sunlight began to penetrate the mist around them, and it was a sign that they would have to part ways.

“Well, I shouldn't keep you, Allison.” said Shelby, reaching inside her Caterham and firing up the engine. “Best if you re-join the world of the living; I'm sure everyone's waiting for you.”

“It was enlightening to meet you, Shelby.” said Allison as she flipped her helmet into the crook of her arm. She turned to go back to Catherine when Shelby's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“One more thing.”

Shelby pulled Allison towards her and held the brunette in a gentle embrace.

“Don't ever surrender to anything, Allison.” spoke Shelby. “Not understeer, not violence, not even fate. You're too strong to go gently into the night, so go out with a bang, and not a whimper. Promise me that.”

“I promise, Shelby.” replied Allison, hugging her past self in return. Upon releasing one another, they quickly returned to their respective vehicles. This time, however, as Allison caught up to Shelby, the latter conceded and made way for Allison to get past her. The mist was burned away by the increasing sunlight, and the scene was soon eradicated by bright white light.

Back in the real world, Allison opened her eyes to find that her elder brother, her significant other, and her closest friends and their handlers had kept something of a vigil upon finding out that she was stabilized and out of mortal danger. The group now occupied what extra space there was in her hospital room, and they were all fast asleep, having gathered to see her as soon as they heard from Dr. Donato that she was out of surgery and now recovering in a room.

Allison looked down to her left, feeling a weight near her leg and found Jay fast asleep with his head laid atop crossed arms on her hospital bed. He had been worried the most, and judging from the way his hands gripped the bed railings in his sleep, he wanted to stay by her side no matter what, perhaps fearing that if he was taken away, he might never see her again.

In response, Allison smiled and bent forward, wincing a little bit, as she leaned down, brushing Jay's slightly lengthened hair back as she kissed his forehead. Her touch had an immediate effect as Jay began to stir. He raised his head off of his crossed arms and rubbed the sleep from his eyes and a thin spot of drool from his chin. Blinking himself into wakefulness, he placed his right hand on the spot where he had been kissed, and Allison laid her hand atop his. At her touch, Jay snapped his head to the right, and was overcome with joy at the sight of the love of his life up and awake, a little worse for wear, but most importantly, alive.

“Oh, Thank God! Gasped Jay as he immediately pulled Allison towards him in embrace. He hugged her tightly, sobs already racking his body, but this time, they were finally tears of joy.

“Thank God, Allison, you're okay. Thank God, you're okay...” sobbed the young man. “Don't ever leave me alone in this world, Allison. I wouldn't know what to do without you in my life.”

“I won't leave you, Jay. That's a promise I will keep no matter what.” said Allison reassuringly.

The two remained locked in tender embrace for a while longer as Jay's tears of joy finally began to subside and he found himself composed enough to let go. It was around this time that light began to shine through the windows, a nice start to a better day after the events two nights prior. The light began to shine across the others in the room, and the light hit Brian first and foremost, the sudden glow of the sun hitting his outer eyelids providing the stimuli to rouse him from his slumber. As he yawned, he lightly slapped the side of his face to get himself to wake up faster, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Allison and Jay enjoying their moment together, looking into each other's eyes and smiling. All was right with their world again, at least for the moment. Tactfully, Brian induced a soft cough, which was enough to get the attention of the two lovebirds in front of him.

“Good to have you back, Allison.” said Brian softly as he stood and approached Allison's bedside. As he bent down to hug her, Allison replied to his greeting.

“I never went away in the first place, Brian. I never will, as long as I have you, and Jay, and all my friends around.” she said. Her reply brought silent tears of mirth to Brian's eyes, and he sniffled a little.

“What's wrong with me, Allison?” he asked. “I hardly cry. I never cry, so why now? Why am I such a mess, sniveling like a primary school lad who misses his mum?”

“Because you care, Brian. Because you're kindhearted. Because we're family. And that's enough.” replied Allison.

As the others in the room woke up, they were quick to share their joy at Allison's healthier state, which meant hugs all around from her friends. At that moment, Allison could not have felt better about herself. It was an excellent feeling, waking up to the uplifting comfort of her friends and loved ones surrounding her.

Dr. Donato then entered the room, and he had a bit of a smirk on his face seeing the scene before him. However, it was time to get down to business.

“I see you've all found that Allison is indeed better. However, I have some private matters to discuss with her and Brian, so could the rest of you please give us a few moments to speak in private?”

The others consented and began to leave. However, Donato noted one particular straggler.

“Jay, this means you, as well.”

“There's no secrets in our relationship, doctor, frowned upon though it may be. Anything that concerns Allison's well-being concerns me, too.” said Jay, standing his ground, fighting the conditioning-induced pounding in his head.

Donato shrugged his shoulders in response, seeing that he clearly was not going to get through to the boy. “Close the door, then.”

Jay did as told, and as he took his place at Allison's side, intertwining his right hand with her left as they prepared to listen to the doctor.

“All right.” began Donato calmly. “The good news is, you're shrapnel-free and we've repaired or replaced the vital internal organs damaged in the blast. You'll heal up quick, Allison. Just maybe two days or so more in the hospital as the skin grafts take effect.”

“Well, if that's the good news, then the bad news won't be so bad, will it?” said Brian, smiling at Allison.

“That's what I'm hesitant to tell you all.” said Donato. “I hope you don't take this the wrong way.”

Allison steeled herself slightly, confident that Donato would not give her anything particularly grave. However, what he was about to say next would bring her world crashing down.

“Allison, we had to replace most of your limbs. When you were being operated on, we found out that they were in severe need of replacement. In fact, they're two versions behind what the rest of the girls are currently equipped with, and it's a miracle they didn't turn into additional shrapnel when you were hit. In addition to that, during surgery, a lot of fluid had to be transfused, and to reduce any chances of rejection, we... we had to up your conditioning significantly, Allison.”

The 'Petrolhead Princess' of Section 2 stared at Donato in disbelief. Not only was she being told she was physically obsolete, but that they had also poisoned her ability behind the wheel in order for her to live. Jay squeezed her hand tighter, knowing that this news was a huge shock to her, who had prided herself on her gift of needlepoint driving precision. His gesture of affection, however, was of small comfort to Allison, who was about to bear even worse news.

“N-new components?” Allison asked, struggling to hold back the feeling of despair wracking her entire being. “Th-that's not so bad, right? The conditioning too, that's not all it's cracked up to be, is it? I'll be back on the road by next week and kicking down doors by next weekend, right doc?”

“I'm afraid it's not that simple, Allison.” replied Donato. “We know that you normally have fairly minimal conditioning—even lower than that of Triela, and lesser than Kara, as well. But right now, you're dosed up somewhere between Rico and Amelia's levels. At earliest, you're looking at... three months before you're back to normal, between letting the conditioning drugs work their way out of your system and getting used to your new components.”

The words from Donato's mouth were like a magazine of bullets emptied into Allison's heart at point-blank range. Tears finally began to streak down her face as she took in the full weight of Donato's prognosis. Her despair was compounded with quickly-building anger as she lashed out without warning at the doctor, fully intent to shoot the messenger.

“THREE MONTHS?!” raged Allison, almost leaping out of her bed at the surgeon, only being held back by Jay and Brian as Donato jumped back, startled by the brunette's outburst.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU BASTARD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?! YOU'VE RUINED ME! YOU MOTHERFUCKING QUACK, YOU'VE DESTROYED ME! SABOTEUR! DEFILER! MONSTER! SADIST! ARE YOU HAPPY?! DID CRUSHING MY PURPOSE GET YOU OFF TODAY?! I HOPE YOU'RE SATISFIED, YOU SCALPEL-HAPPY DEGENERATE!”

As Allison abruptly stopped venting her rage any further, fighting the urge to vomit, the feeling of helplessness overtook her, and she broke down and wept.

“Oh God... it's gone... everything I worked for, gone... They're not going to give me three whole months... I'm useless... I... I want to die!”

Allison let out a pained yell of despair as heaving sobs wracked her entire form, and all Jay could do was embrace her as her tears soaked his shoulder. Brian shot a venomous glare at Donato that in no uncertain terms told the surgeon to get out of the room. Donato complied, only to be met by the equally-venomous glares of Kara, Petra, and Claes, who quickly turned on their heels and stormed away.

Back inside the room, Allison's sobs were quieter, but still frequent as she continued to cry into Jay's shoulder.

“I should've died if this was what they were going to do to me so that I could live... What's the point, anymore? If I can't drive, what's going to happen to me? They should've let me die if all they're going to do is make me live in a way that I can't be useful! I can't protect anyone if I can't go into the field!”

“Allison—honey, calm down. It'll be all right. Three months isn't going to be that long.” said Jay, trying to reassure her. “All it's going to mean is a little bit of downtime. Look, while you're getting used to the new parts and working your conditioning off, they'll probably have you in Q-branch or something. It's not the end of the world.”

“Q-branch?” said Allison, almost mockingly through her tears. “You're joking, right? That's even more of an insult—it's as bad as kicking me to a desk job, Jay! I don't want to be that cyborg who's safe and cushy at HQ while my friends and loved ones are out there, putting themselves in harm's way! Especially when I think about how that bitch Nina is going to be so fucking smug about it. I can already see her mocking me, calling me a cripple who's just a glorified grease-monkey!”

Allison's tear-streaked rant continued. “Besides, do you really think three months is going to be acceptable to the brass? At this rate, I've outlived my usefulness! Jean, Chief Lorenzo, Minister Petris... they're all going to agree that I've had my day, and they'll sign off on the order of my execution! Why let me live in order to be decommissioned?! One of you, please, put a bullet through my eye and be done with it!”

Jay seized Allison's shoulders and pulled her out of their embrace, then with some forcefulness, silenced her with a prolonged kiss, his hands holding either side of her face as he did so. Slowly but surely, Allison's tears ceased, but the depression was still evident on her face when Jay released her.

“Allison, listen to me.” said Jay, becoming serious. “I don't ever want to hear you speak like that again. I love you too much to let anything happen to you, especially since I almost lost you two days ago. If they want to erase your existence as a person, they will have to go through me, first.”

“And me, as well.” said Brian. “You're family to me, and no one will threaten my little sister as long as I'm around. They owe you, Allison. The brass, the Defense Minister... they charged all of us with protecting the Prime Minister's 15-year-old niece two days ago, but it was you who stepped up and risked your life to make sure she was safe. Giving you time to recover fully is the least they can do.”

“If you're going to get your driving skills back, you'll need a vehicle with power and handling, and more importantly, excellent brakes.” said a familiar voice, entering the room. Kara and Claes strode back into the hospital room, each of them depositing the keys to their supercars onto Allison's bed.

“You guys... You're entrusting me with--”

“It can't be too bad if you're practicing in a wide lot and only have traffic cones to run into.” said Claes. “At least those kinds of scratches will buff right out.”

“Michele knows the Prime Minister very well.” said Kara. “Considering the actions you took to make sure his niece didn't get blown to bits, it wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination for Michele to twist his buddy's arm and send a 'hands-off' order to Petris and the brass.”

“I helped fix you up; and to finish the job, I think it's fair if I helped you get used to your new parts.” said Annette, coming in still dressed in medical scrubs. “I'll be with you every step of the way.”

“So will I!” boisterously announced Johanneke, walking in. “I know you can take what I'll dish out, Allie. They say I'm 'As tough as a Honey Badger', but I know you are too, girl.”

“It should go without saying that I'm sticking with you through this as well, Allison.” said Jay. “You taught me what I know, and it's only right that I give all that back to you. If you fall down, I'll pick you up. If you fall ill, I'll heal you. If you become sad, I'll cheer you up. I love you, Allison. And I'm going to prove it.”

Allison looked all around her, at the determination on the faces of her friends and loved ones. Then, she remembered the promise she made to Shelby Mercer:

“Don't ever surrender to anything.”

Allison wiped her tears away, her depression replaced with the burning fire of determination.

“Three months, Donato said?”

“Yes.”

Allison patted Jay's wrist, and he handed her one of his knives. She flung it perfectly into the center of a calendar attached to the wall.

“I'll be ready in three weeks.”

I have to say you've out done yourself again this time.

“Yes, Allison. I'm you.” replied the blonde with a halfway smile. “Let's see that face of yours so that we can't deny that fact.”

Out of all the things I was expecting this was not it. I had goosebumps reading the rest of the segment wondering how it would turn out now that Alison knew of her past as Shelby.

Things began to click in Allison's head. “Oh, God. If I'm talking to you, and you're the past me... Does this mean I'm dead? Am I dead?!”

“Relax, Allison. You're not dead. Otherwise, both of us would simply cease to exist, and we wouldn't be having this conversation.” reassured Shelby.

Nice way to insert some humor into a rather heavy piece.

“It should go without saying that I'm sticking with you through this as well, Allison.” said Jay. “You taught me what I know, and it's only right that I give all that back to you. If you fall down, I'll pick you up. If you fall ill, I'll heal you. If you become sad, I'll cheer you up. I love you, Allison. And I'm going to prove it.”

Allison looked all around her, at the determination on the faces of her friends and loved ones. Then, she remembered the promise she made to Shelby Mercer:

“Don't ever surrender to anything.”

I love the ending. I even like the way you kept Allison and Shelby as two seperate individuals. I thought Shelby encouraging Alison to keep going despite everything simply upbeat and gives us a glismpe that maybe Alison and Shelby arent so different after all.

Nice to see the Generatio 2 girls stick together, unlike the Gen 1 girls who just shrug off a death in the "family".

I'll admit, this whole thing was supposed to be a drabble, but it kind of ended up getting turned into a chapter.

ITS EPIC!

and I just noticed where Mio is in your Sig MP5. HOLY KAWAII!

Something that happens within the Universe of my own FanFic. It doesn't seem that good, and is just one giant question-prompter. Nevertheless, I drabbled it up and have decided to put it here.

????????

A young man sat in a room. He was living in a luxury apartment in the city of New York. This was still not the same compared to his old lifestyle, but it would do. He plopped down on his sofa and turned on the TV. He turned to AMC. He recognized this movie. It was, “Blood Diamond.” For a few minutes, he watched as young African boys gunned down grown men in executions with Kalashnikovs. He quickly turned it off. He didn't want to think of anything like that right now.

He picked up a pair of dog tags from the coffee table in front of him. He read the name and the other bits of information on it. It brought back some memories.

“I shouldn’t have left her……” The man thought. He always knew it was a terrible thing to lose someone. But he also heard somewhere that you never knew what its like to lose something until you’ve actually lost it. That was probably true for him.

He was still looking at the dog tags when suddenly, someone knocked on his door.

“WTF? Did someone kindly open the building’s front door for someone again?” He went to the door and peeked though the peephole. He had the biggest adrenaline rush in a long time.

“…Oh HEEEEEELL no!”

“Relax buddy, were not here for what you think.”

Apologies to Maverick375. I'm sorry, but I was inspired to, after reading your latest chapters...

Edit: given what happens in canon, I'm letting Triela off a bit light, here...

An Injury

It was as unexpected as it was painful. It was a freak occurrence. A one-in-a-million chance. Something that had astronomical odds of happening, but it happened. And it was because of this Triela found herself flat on her back in the midst of a firefight at the currently-contested New Turin Nuclear Power Plant with excruciating pain lancing through a corner of her head, as if a fiery lance had been driven through her right eye, and though she clutched at the pain, it did not abate, and though she grit her teeth, trying not to show weakness, it did not stop her from announcing her suffering with a series of screams that were audible over the gunfire filling the air.

"AAAH! AAAH! NO-- AAAAGH! God, it hurts!" the princess of Section 2 screamed to no one in particular. Her 'battle buddy' had heard her scream, however, and upon seeing her incapacitated state, was galvanized to rush to her aid.

"Triela! Triela, are you all right?!" called Allison as she laid down covering fire. Seconds earlier, while in the midst of engaging several Padanians masquerading as Italian Army troops, she had seen Triela's head snap back as if clotheslined by a solid object, followed by a sudden and short spray of liquid gushing out from the area where Triela's eyes were. Allison's blood ran cold, knowing full well how vulnerable that particular area was-- it was why, Alpha and Kris had explained on separate occasions, that the cyborgs always went to protect their eyes when going into combat. Getting hit anywhere else was manageable, but a hit to the eye was always a different story.

"Allison?! Allison, is that you? Where are you, I can't see a damn thing, and it really hurts!" Triela finally replied, her voice panicked.

"Triela, stay still; I'm right here! We're gonna get you help!" replied Allison, cranking off another burst from her Tavor with one hand. Allison's free hand reached down to touch Triela's shoulder to re-assure her fellow cyborg that someone was watching her back.

"Get Annette up here! Triela's hit real bad!" radioed Allison. Instantaneously, Hilshire's voice came over the radio in panicked concern.

"Allison, report! What happened to Triela?!"

"Someone got her in the eye, Mr. Hilshire." Allison explained. "She's alive, but she's hurting real bad and she's freaking out."

"For god's sake, Allison, get her out of there! She's in no condition to fight!" said Hilshire.

"We're trying, sir. We need Annette and Miss Golan up here, stat!"

"We're on our way, Allison." answered Annette. "Keep putting down cover and don't let Triela move around too much."

"Got it, but hurry; these assholes are getting more confident by the second."

A few corridors away, the Golan, Spriggs, and Koch Fratelli had finished clearing an area, and upon receiving Allison's radio transmission, made a plan to extract Triela and give Allison backup.

"Scott, load up another belt and take point. Johanneke, you cover right and I'll cover left." stated Annette.

"And us handlers will cover six." added Marcus, loading a fresh 20-round magazine into his Noveske Leonidas.

"Sounds like a plan. Let's move."

The group advanced down the corridor in a modified diamond formation. Scott concentrating on what was in front of him, his KAC ChainSAW ready to sweep the area ahead with automatic fire. Sure enough, the young Glaswegian's bizzare-but-effective weapon found use as two disguised Padanians popped up from behind overturned tables to open fire. The laser sight on Scott's ChainSAW was faster, however, and he quickly cut them down with two snap-aimed three-round bursts.

Continuing towards the sound of gunfire, it grew loudest when they reached the entrance to a wide-open storage area, where they could see Allison exchanging shots with an ever-increasing amount of Padania gunmen. Spent magazines were piled around her feet from both her Tavor and her Kimber. Next to her lay Triela, injured and curled up in pain.

"Scott, Johanneke, you think you can give us a way in?" asked Sarah.

"We need a distraction, but we can do it." replied Scott.

"Flashbang oughta do it. Warn Allison." added Johanneke, producing the distraction device from an auxilliary pouch on her vest.

"Allison, we're tossing a flashbang in there. Take cover and close your eyes!" radioed Annette. On the other end, Allison ducked down and held Triela closely as she shut her eyes the moment she heard the hollow clank of the stun grenade being thrown into the room.Triela had no idea what was going on until the stun grenade went off, engulfing the room in a chaotic storm of deafening noise and dazzling bright light that she was able to see behind the eyelids of her functioning left eye. in the scant few seconds they had, Johanneke and Scott rushed in, Scott spraying 5.56mm rounds at the hostiles on the upper catwalks while Johanneke dispatched nearby ground-level opponents with a mixture of shuriken and 9mm rounds from her BXP. with the room cleared, the reinforcing fratelli went to form a protective circle around Allison and Triela as Annette produced her trauma kit. Triela still lay on the ground, her hand clutching her damaged eye, jaw still set, the sharp intakes of breath through her teeth making her sound as if hissing in pain. Her still-functioning left eye was clenched shut, but a solitary tear escaped from between the lids.

"Allison, any idea what hit her?" asked Annette as she opened up her trauma kit.

"Negative. I would think it might have been a pistol round, though, or at least something without the power to go through beyond the socket." replied Allison.

"All right, I need to get a better look at her injury." Annette then turned to her patient. "Triela, I need to see the wound; you have to move your hand."

"I'm fine!" snapped Triela, still clearly in pain. "Really."

"You're not fine, Triela, you've been hit in the damned eye; this is no fucking time to argue! Now move your goddamned hand or I will break it off if it means seeing the wound!" barked Annette with uncharacteristic profanity and authority.

Triela swallowed hard and gingerly moved her hand from her wound to comply with Annette's orders, revealing the grisly damage. in addition to blood, there was gelatinous fluid that oozed from Triela's damaged eye socket, and somewhere in all that was the troublesome and almost fatal bullet that remained lodged inside the eye socket. Annette pulled a pair of sterile nitrile gloves from her trauma kit and snapped them on.

"Triela, I need you to relax your right eyelid if you can. I have to get a look in there and see if I can find the bullet."

"I can't! I don't know if it's open or closed; I just know that it really hurts!"

"Triela, take a few deep breaths right now. Breathe slowly, and try to calm down."

Triela did as told, sucking in a lungful of air and exhaling almost immediately. She took in another breath, this time concentrating as she exhaled at a slower rate, and then by her third breath, she felt herself relax considerably.

"You ready?" asked Annette finally.

"I think so..." Triela concentrated on trying to open her right eye (or what was left of it), but to no effect.

"Nothing's moving... sorry, Triela, but I have to touch it to see what's going on." apologized Annette, moving her hand and carefully parting Triela's damaged eyelids, eliciting an involuntary shudder from the pigtailed cyborg. Shining her flashlight into the darkness of the socket, sweeping carefully until the light reflected off a piece of dull metal, most likely a copper jacket of a hollow-point round.

"It's in there pretty deep. I'm gonna need to use forceps to get it out. Triela... don't move."

Annette reached into her trauma bag and removed a pair of sterilized medical forceps. Allison, who had been watching the process up to this point, turned away, having reached her tolerance limit for the macabre procedure going on next to her. Practically everyone else watching also turned away when Annette's forceps hovered over Triela's damaged eye before she used her free hand to hold the ruined eyelids apart so as to make way for the invading piece of medical equipment. Flashlight illuminating the darkened interior of Triela's eye socket, Annette carefully clamped the forceps onto the mushroomed hollow point slug and carefully tried to move it out. However, more involuntary muscle response within Triela's eye socket meant nerve endings could feel the slug moving around, and the sensation was startling and frightening, and Triela began to fidget dangerously while Annette was still in the process of removing the offending object.

"Something's moving! It feels weird! Make it stop!" whimpered Triela, beginning to thrash.

"Triela, I'm getting it out. I need you to stay still!"

"I can't! Not with something moving around like that in my eye!"

"Look, just stay still for like ten seconds, I will have it out of there, I promise you."

"I don't think I can stay still that long. It feels really weird and dangerous, I'm sorry, Annette."

Sarah whispered carefully into her adopted daughter's ear. "Should I use a proxy code and have her all-stop?"

"No need." replied Annette aloud, knowing that the other cyborgs could still hear what she had said. Instead, Annette gently released the grip of the forceps and withdrew the tool from Triela's eye socket. Reaching into her Trauma kit, she removed a long, thin cylinder and brought it down towards Triela's neck, massaging it to find a vein.

"All right Triela, bear with me, here. You're about to feel a slight pinch, and after a few seconds, you'll be fine, okay?"

"What are you gonna do, Ann--AGH!?"

Before the princess of Section 2 could finish her sentence, Annette had slammed the cylinder into the side of her neck and pressed down on a button atop the cylinder as the contents inside began to decrease until it was empty. As Annette pulled the item away from Triela, the latter demanded an explanation despite herself.

"Annette, what did you do that foooooor..."

"Feeling better, Triela?" asked Annette, getting ahold of her forceps again.

"I can't feel anything...and I don't really care..." replied Triela lazily, her speech beginning to slur. With Triela no longer moving around, Annette deftly re-acquired the hollow-point slug and quickly but gently removed it, dropping the slug into a small plastic locking bag. She then applied disinfectant to the area around Triela's damaged eye before covering it up with a liberal application of gauze and securing the gauze in place with bandages and medical tape. She then inserted an IV into Triela's arm to keep her hydrated after putting her through the stress of the emergency field surgery. These preparations done, All Triela needed now was to be brought out of there. For this, Annette unhooked the MedEvac 4 fold-out stretcher she had been lugging around on her back and opened it up to full size.

"Allison, I'll need your help." said Annette. "Get her shoulders."

The two cyborgs briefly hoisted Triela off the floor and onto the stretcher, and Annette finished the job by fastening Triela to the stretcher and extended the small stand for the IV drip to hang from. Letting her Micro Galil hang from its sling, she grasped one end while Sarah grasped the other.

"On three, lift." Instructed Sarah "One, two, three."

The sorella simultaneously lifted the stretcher off the ground, careful not to jolt Triela. Annette then turned to Allison.

"Can you give us cover on our way out of here?"

"Sure. I'll call it in." replied Allison, pressing the transmit button on her headset. "Brian, Mr. Hilshire; we're on our way out with Triela. Let Mr. Marco know we're on our way back to the TOC."

A touch of static, and then Brian responded, the sound of his Little Bird audible in the background. "I'm not having you all walk back under all that fire. Make your way towards the garrison motor pool, I'll touch down there to pick you guys up."

"Brian, Please stay in the air until we get there. I'll radio you when we've arrived; I don't want you a sitting duck out there."

"Copy that, Allison. I was planning on suppressing a few more of these bastards anyway."

As the transmission ended, Brian banked towards the plant again to make another gun run where he saw some muzzle flashes firing in the direction of the SWA tactical teams. His re-militarized MD 500--formerly an MH-6 'Little Bird'-- spun up the outrigger-mounted Dillon Aerospace M134 minigun on the starboard side of the helicopter. As he closed in on the terrorists firing M82A1 anti-materiel rifles, the minigun let out its signature 'god fart' report as he walked in a 4000-rpm burst right on top of them, the torrent of 7.62x51mm NATO rounds shredding them into paste as he kicked the left antitorque pedal to rotate the helicopter 90 degrees left, covering the SWA teams as they advanced below, checking his sides frequently for any incoming fire or enemy movement.

Back inside the plant, Allison and the Golans moved through the corridors with Triela on the stretcher as they made their way towards the motor pool formerly controlled by the army unit designated to guard the plant. As Allison escorted the medics, she asked a question that had been burning on her mind ever since a few minutes ago.

"Hey Annette, that stuff you dosed Triela with... what was that? Not conditioning medicine, I hope?"

"The day I carry conditioning medicine is the day I'm no longer useful as a medic. No, that wasn't conditioning medicine. That was plain old morphine, and enough of it to anesthetize Triela. Some call it the 'I don't give a shit' shot."

"Well, I'd probably want one too if I had a damned bullet in my eye--"

Allison was cut off mid-sentence as the report of an anti-material rifle rang out, right after a 12.7mm armor-piercing round chewed through the corner of the wall to their left and blew open Allison's left shin, causing her to drop to the floor. Before the shooter could re-acquire, however, Allison sighted the green ring crosshair on her Tavor's EOTech and fired a controlled burst at him, lancing several rounds through the scope of the offending anti-material rifle and the face of the shooter, blowing the contents of his skull into the back of his Kevlar helmet. Dragging herself well back behind the corner, Allison pulled herself into a sitting position against the wall and took a look at the damage the bullet had wreaked. The bottom part of her shin (and her foot) were just barely attached to the bottom of her knee by artificial muscle tissue. The CFRP skeletal structure that comprised her shin was mostly gone thanks to the shot, and now, she was going to be a liability to Annette and Sarah if she didn't think of something fast. Thinking back to the training Brian had put her through early on, she remembered that she needed a way to immobilize her injury.

"Annette, can you help me splint my leg real quick?"

"No problem. Let's get you back on your feet and fast."

"Annette, you keep watch. I'll help Allison." interrupted Sarah. Annette quickly nodded and watched the corner to make sure no more enemies were coming their way. Working together out of Annette's massive trauma kit, the two quickly splinted Allison's severely-damaged shin by placing long, straight pieces of aluminium on the front and rear sides of the bandaging they applied to her damaged shin and then binding the two together with medical tape. It was rough, and Allison couldn't feel her left foot, but at least she could limp along, and as a cyborg, that meant she could at least keep up a fast walking pace. Getting up, Allison was able to steady herself and move around with some degree of speed. Shouldering her Tavor, she nodded to Sarah, who called to her daughter.

"Get back on the front of the stretcher. We're outta here."

There were a few more hallways to get through before they reached their destination. Each turn could be fraught with peril like they had just encountered, and Allison was plenty more careful this time around, choosing to stack up at corners they were about to turn. This proved to be a particularly wise move when they approached the corner before their exit as yet another 'Light Fifty' attempted to take out another part of her anatomy, and now it was accompanied by the additional problem of several other terrorists with assault rifles. Carefully using a handheld mirror, she counted out six men, five of them armed with assault rifles and the sniper was in their midst, lying prone. Turning back to Annette and Sarah, she made a tube shape with her hand and put it to her eye, indicating a sniper, flashed five fingers, then one, and then flashed out all her fingers, indicating she was going to use a flashbang. Unholstering her Kimber and letting her Tavor hang from its sling, she used her other hand to remove a flashbang from its pouch and used her right index finger to remove the safety pin with her Kimber still in hand.

"Annette, lay down some suppressing?"

"On it."

Crouching down next to Allison, Annette started ripping off bursts from her Micro Galil, blindly spraying around the corner to avoid the sniper taking aim at her. Allison then took a half-step out to throw the flashbang, whose safety lever flew off mid-flight as it arced toward the enemy. it landed on the pavement, bouncing once, and then on its second bounce, released its disorienting payload of light and deafening sound. While the terrorists were still disoriented, Allison popped out with her Kimber and started firing as she moved down the hallway, Annette close behind firing what was left in her Micro Galil, quickly transitioning to her Jericho Semi-Compact. The flashbang had given the two cyborgs enough time to dispatch every single hostile occupying the hallway, and Annette was quick to finish off anyone hers or Allison's pistols had not killed outright by using her Kommer IFB knife.

"Clear!" announced Allison. She reloaded right then and there while Annette reloaded both her pistol and primary on the way back to Sarah, who was still waiting with a partially-conscious Triela. As the two made their way forward, Allison radioed Brian.

"All right Brian, we're coming out at the motor pool. I'll toss out smoke."

"Copy, Allison. coming in now. Wait a second while I sweep for hostiles."

Brian's Little Bird came in low and fast, low enough for anyone who wanted to shoot at him to get a hit out, but as a smoke canister began releasing red smoke in the area he was going to land in, nothing happened aside from a successful landing seconds later, the rotors still turning as Allison, Annette, and Sarah made their way to the helicopter through the billowing smoke. As Brian watched them approach, he noticed his adopted sister limping noticeably.

"Allison, what happened to you?!" shouted Brian over the noise of the rotors.

"I got hit in the shin by a fifty-cal!" Allison replied. "I can still fight!"

"We'll see about that when we get back to the TOC! Get Triela onboard and let's go!"

Sarah and Annette loaded Triela into the cramped rear passenger area, securing her stretcher with straps to the floor of the cabin. Allison, meanwhile, took her place in the co-pilot's seat, where she noticed an FN MINIMI light machine gun sat suspended by a bungee cord. As soon as Triela was loaded aboard, Annette and Sarah went to go back into the plant.

"You're not coming with us?" asked Brian.

"We have to go back in there! We don't know who else might get hurt!" replied Sarah.

"Watch your back in there, Sarah!"

"I have Annette with me, Brian, but I will anyway!"

"All right. Allison, watch that side. Here we go!"

Pulling up on the collective pitch lever, Brian lifted off and made for the staging area where they had started the mission. Further medical care would be available for Triela there, and he would also know for sure if Allison would really be okay continuing to fight.

Nachtsider wrote:> enemies with decent fighters
>> decent fighters
>>> decent
>>>> fighters

I don't think a bunch of muj would normally field fighter planes, let alone decent ones. It remains arguable, though, that their RPGs COULD catch a Stuka moving at cruising speed. And knowing how RPGs are, like, a dime a dozen among the muj...

Not to mention, man-portable SAMs like the Stinger or the Strela 3. Those could take down any of the four aircraft mentioned in the fic. However, they're not as common as RPGs.

SPARTAN 119 wrote:

Nachtsider wrote:> enemies with decent fighters
>> decent fighters
>>> decent
>>>> fighters

I don't think a bunch of muj would normally field fighter planes, let alone decent ones. It remains arguable, though, that their RPGs COULD catch a Stuka moving at cruising speed. And knowing how RPGs are, like, a dime a dozen among the muj...

Not to mention, man-portable SAMs like the Stinger or the Strela 3. Those could take down any of the four aircraft mentioned in the fic. However, they're not as common as RPGs.

True, but in any case, all the aircraft are equipped with countermeasures, most especially on the SuperHind, whose progenitor proved vulnerable to Stingers in Afghanistan. as for the other planes however, with the exception of the C-130, dedicated counter-insurgency aircraft have the advantage of having a lesser heat signature compared to helicopters.

If you haven't come up with the complete armaments package for the aircraft, here are my visions of them:

Pilatus PC-9:
*quad 20mm cannon (displayed in fic)
*Hardpoints for Hydra-70 rocket pods, quad-rail Hellfire missile launchers (requires ground side designator or designator mounted on other aircraft), or air-to-air Stingers.

Modified P-51 Mustang:
*Six .50 caliber M2 machine guns
*Two 25mm Bushmaster cannon
*Underwing hardpoints for various ordnance including Hydra-70 rocket pods, quad-rail Hellfire missile launchers (requires ground side designator or designator mounted on other aircraft), air-to-air Stinger missiles, small bombs similar to the 500 lb JDAM

Modified Hind:
12.7mm chin turret machine gun
Gsh-30 twin barrel autocannon
Wing pylons modified to accept NATO ordnance: Hydra-70 rockets, Hellfire or TOW missiles, air-to air Stinger or Sidewinder air-to-air missiles.

AC-130:
Standard AC-130 armament.

The Milan Job: Plan in action

With everything set, Charlie waited in the front passenger's seat of the XF-R as he eyed his Rolex Daytona, watching the third hand tick the seconds away to the action about to occur.

"5..." Alexandra hit the 'Enter' key on her Dell, triggering all stop lights in the area along the planned route. Bewilderment from Milan's motorists rose quickly.

"4..." The strategically-placed dry ice bombs were reaching the limit of their pressurization threshold, and the soda bottles would soon have to release the pressure somehow.

"3..." In the nearby Transit Connect, Cassandra, Carrera, and Sienna readied their weapons and pulled their supplied masks over their faces, focusing on the two BMW 335i sedans nearby.

"2..." Atop a roof directly within line-of-sight of the armored car, Viviana readied the potato launcher, capping off the combustion chamber after spraying it full of hair spray. She took aim at the windshield, her thumb hovering over the ignition switch.

"1..." Allison gripped the steering wheel on the Mini, one hand on the 5-speed gear shifter.

"Go."

On cue, the dry ice bombs burst, sending off a loud concussive bang that set off blockfuls of car alarms as some motorists sitting in traffic inadvertently accelerated and caused some minor traffic accidents. On the rooftop, Viviana fired the potato launcher, sending a raw spud hurtling towards the windshield of the armored car, startling the guards inside.

"What the hell?! Button up! We're under attack!" yelled the driver, prompting his partner to try and hit the panic button. However, Stella and Andy had already converged on the doors of the passenger area.

On Stella's side, she clamped on two 'bang sticks' loaded with modified Hatton breaching rounds at the hinges of the door while Andy aimed his similarly-loaded Rossi Overland sawn-off at the driver's side hinges. With a large hammer, Stella set off the bang sticks while Andy fired into the hinges on his side before wrenching the door off with raw cyborg strength, smashing the driver in the face with the butt of his shotgun.

Stella got the passenger's door open to find the other guard reaching for his weapon, but she quickly grabbed his head and slammed it into the dashboard, breaking his nose. With the guards incapacitated, the two took each guard's keys and went towards the back. A high-strung engine roared and whined nearby as Allison pulled her Mini Cooper S out of its hiding place, did a 90-degree handbrake turn and threw the vehicle in reverse, backing up towards the rear of the armored car. Nicolette was close behind, popping open the boot lid as she came to a stop behind the armored car next to Allison.

Nearby, the BMW's saw what was happening and moved to respond when the rear 'barn doors' of the Transit connect flew open and Sienna began spraying the vehicles with the belt of bullets loaded into her PKM. Cassandra started popping rounds into the lead BMW's windshield with more accurate fire from her Beretta while Carrera did the same with her FAL for the second BMW. Their bullets melted into the BMWs like rock salt through ice as they massacred the Camorra guards with unerring precision.

Back at the armored car, Charlie stepped out of the XF-R and went to open up the tailgate of Allison's Mini while Andy and Stella inserted keys into the door locks at the back of the armored car, turning them simultaneously, gaining access to their objective.

"Get a bloomin' move on, everyone! We're 30 seconds in the hole-- Cash and drugs in the Jag, stones in the Mini; let's go, go, go!" Charlie ordered, his Beretta drawn

The briefcases with diamonds and other precious stones were stacked neatly into the back of Allison's classic Mini while duffel bags of cash and heroin were piled into the boot of Nicolette's Jag. Both drivers were revving their engines, ready to peel out at a moment's notice.

Very soon, the armored car had been emptied of what they had come to get, and Stella shut the tailgate on Allison's Mini, giving the roof a thump. Allison let the clutch out, smoking the tires as she went to blaze her own trail through the alleys and small streets of Milan to get to their agreed rendezvous point, the dump valve of her twincharged twin-cam engine 'sneezing' as she went through the gears. Meanwhile, Charlie radioed Alexandra for the next phase of their plan.

"Alexandra, we're done here luv! Open up our way out, if you'd please?" called Charlie over his radio.

"You got it, Charlie. One path coming up." replied the raven-haired hacker, typing a few commands into her Dell and then hitting enter, and specific lights in the traffic grid turned green, highlighting a way out for the XF-R. As soon as the XF-R got going, the Ford Transit Connect, driven by Brian, pulled up next to the 'shoot team', and the three girls piled in as they took off to provide cover for the Jaguar. Sirens just now began to wail in the distance, a full minute after the chaos began. Viviana would make her way back on her own, already familiar with the city and not looking to attract attention by walking easily and without hurry. The potato launcher had already been destroyed and disposed of in a nearby dumpster, allowing the ever laid-back Viviana to take her time on the way back home.

Excellent.

Bits and Pieces from: 'Flaunt It If You Got It'
---------
Nicolette's eyes passed over the nervous and unsure faces of her three new students. In them, she saw herself from another time, right when she was just beginning to become a performer at a Parisian gentlemen's club known as Le Caniche Rose. The difference here, however, was these girls at best had weeks--perhaps only days, to learn and proficiently perform what took her several months to do. Finally, with a deep breath, she spoke.

"Well then Mademoiselles, I shall be straightforward with you. While you are under my instruction, you will all learn the art of being a stripper."

Silence reigned for a few seconds, only for Petra to finally break it.

"No offense, Ms. Nicolette, but this still seems like a hare-brained and perverted prank that only Sandro could think up."

"Then I will give you a small modicum of time to let the fact sink in that you will be taking your clothes off onstage to music in front of complete strangers. Starting... now."
-------------

Elio watched in morbid fascination as Brian downed an entire stein of Moretti in one pull, the Irishman wiping his mouth as he finished, an unhappy expression taking over his face.

"Er, you might want to ease up there, lad. The night's still young."

"Mr. A, no offense, but I don't think you would be taking it easy on the drinking if your adopted little sister was at this very moment learning to be comfortable swinging herself about a pole to the tune of Def Leppard's Pour Some Sugar On Me while an audience of horny blokes watched." retorted Brian.

Elio looked at Brian in silence for a few seconds before shaking his head.

"... Barkeep, a Scotch, please. On The Rocks."
-----------
As Allison gave the audience a wide grin while hanging upside-down from the pole with pure leg strength, a single thought crossed her mind.

Thank God Jay isn't here to see this...

It was then and there that she spotted Charlie in the front row with a Gin and Tonic, smiling at her. Most notably, he also happened to be wearing a peculiar pair of eyeglasses. Specifically, his spy camera eyeglasses from Q-branch. The kind that could record.

Charlie, you bastard!
-----------
As Becky took the stage, Allison and Petrushka watched intently as she strutted her stuff. Less than a minute into her routine, Petra found reason to be indignant.

"Why the hell is Sandro throwing so much money at Becky?! All she's doing is a bit with some rope! I took off just about everything, so how the hell is Becky more appealing?"

"Well to be fair, Becky has larger, er--assets, than either of us, and secondly, Sandro is quite drunk."

"No excuse. He sleeps on the couch tonight."
-----------
"Glad that's all over..." sighed Becky.

"All right, we make a pact here." Allison declared. "We do not talk about Amsterdam, under penalty of death, understood?"

"Aye!" chorused Becky and Petrushka in response.

Bits and Pieces from: 'Bond'-ing Time

"This mission will be different from your usual escapades, especially for you, Petrushka." noted Chief Lorenzo to the two cyborgs in front of him, their handlers currently waiting outside the room.

"How so, sir?"

"Because this particular mission hinges on you and Charlie to be completed successfully-- your handlers have backgrounds as intelligence agents, and they might get sniffed out because of it, which is why they are relegated to backup. The two of you, on the other hand, are relatively unknown in the outside world-- and because of that, you will be able to create your own identities as you see fit, and no one will be the wiser."

"Where is my brother in all of this, sir?" asked Charlie.

"Andy is currently on loan to the Pagani Fratello. He won't be able to assist you on this mission. Besides, this is your specialty-- as I recall, you have a knack for... what's that word? 'Blagging' your way through a mission? Petrushka has similar experience under her handler, and it didn't take long to figure out that two cyborgs with such experience could be useful in a mission such as this one."

Petrushka raised her hand. "Sir, what is the nature of this mission, exactly?"

"The two of you will be investigating Haswell Defense Industries CEO James Haswell. There's been a bit of loose talk that he's supplying various terror groups with prototype weaponry from his company, but the exact reasons are unknown. Your job is to find out what his motives are, stop his plans, and if possible, take him in alive."
------------

"Gentlemen, I'll spare you the indignity of any corny Brosnan-esque comments if you simply explain what these gadgets do." said Charlie to Gene and Tim.

"Fair enough." replied Tim. "First off is your standard Rolex Daytona timepiece, albeit modified. Standard automatic movement, Tritium-infused watch face for nighttime viewing, and we shoehorned in a Lithium-Ion battery for the extra features, which include a high-powered cutting laser, monofilament garotte wire, and Bluetooth interfacing."

"The garotte wire needs batteries?"

"There's a function that allows it to vibrate at high speeds to increase its slicing ability."

"Next is the Q-Grapple." continued Gene, showing Charlie a compact, if peculiar-looking pistol. "We've constructed this one to support the weight of two Generation 2 cyborgs loaded down with full combat gear, but since you and Petrushka will be travelling a little lighter, you should have no problems when you fire it, hook up, and hit the 'retract' switch. Can be used on just about any hard surface, and if necessary, as an improvised weapon."

"Then you have the Q-Key." added Tim, holding a small handheld device. "Use this device on any electronic locks within range, and this should open a lot of doors for you within a minute or so.

"Don't forget your iPhone 4G." said Gene. "Use it to keep in touch-- though there's some unauthorized tinkering we've done to support some apps that won't see civilian use, you might say."

"Fiona has one more surprise for you." announced Tim. "Follow me to the garage."
------------
"Your names?" asked the maitre d' with iPad in hand.

"Michael Westin." replied Charlie.

"Elizabeth Blackswan." replied Petra, adopting a crisp Essex accent.

"Westin and Blackswan... Ah! I found your names on the list. Welcome aboard the Marksman. Enjoy the festivities."

"Oh, we most definitely will." replied 'Michael Westin' with a smile. Prooffering his elbow, 'Ms. Blackswan' hooked arms with him, and they strolled together up the gangplank and aboard the sleek, massive 170m mega-yacht build by Blohm + Voss in Hamburg, Germany. As they reached the main deck, the couple saw that the party was already in full swing as the multitude of guests-- wealthy or powerful, often both-- chatted amongst themselves, their conversation creating a din that filled the air, and nearby, a string quartet and a pianist provided music for the occasion.

Charlie remembered spotting a certain 1971 DeTomaso Pantera in the lot when he dropped off the Cerbera to the Valet. Glancing around the party, he soon found its owner, sitting at a table with Petra's handler, looking resplendent in a calf-length evening gown colored a brilliant shade of Rosso Corsa. Rather fetchingly, her dress was slit on the left side ending mid-thigh, exposing her slender leg for all to see when she moved. Sandro, meanwhile, looked dapper in his dinner jacket/ tuxedo combination. Combined to some music, these two would play an important role this evening, perhaps sometime soon. Upon recognizing them, Charlie and Petra walked over to their table.

--------------
"All right, it's done. I've copied the hard drive's contents." said Petra, disconnecting Charlie's iPhone from Haswell's Powerbook.

"Just in time, too. Looks like we've got company." warned Charlie, glancing at the security monitor on the nearby bookshelf. A crew member was checking each room one by one, and was quickly approaching Haswell's office. Charlie's mind raced to explain their presence-- and then the lightbulb went on in his head.

"Petra, shift that Powerbook to the side and shove all the papers off the table..."

As Petra and Charlie scrambled to set up a scene, the crew member arrived at the door. Absentmindedly, he turned the door handle-- which like all the other rooms, had not been locked-- and swung the door open and immediately turned away in embarrassment upon seeing what was behind it.

"Excuse me!"

At Haswell's desk, Michael and Elizabeth were frozen in a compomising position, Elizabeth's legs wrapped around Michael's back and her free hand clearly reaching towards the fly of his trousers, while Michael had one hand reaching up the side of her dress and the other pulling down one of her gown straps. Both looked towards the door with an expression that equated to deer in headlights before extricating themselves from each other and quickly righting their clothes. Elizabeth grabbed her heels while Michael took her hand as they quickly went to the door. Michael stopped to speak to the crew member.

"Eh, sorry about that, Mate. We've had a few, and we couldn't help ourselves, you see..."

"Sir, may I suggest you leave your amorous intentions for later on, perhaps in a hotel room on land, rather than on Mister Haswell's vessel?" asked the still-flustered crewman.

"Certainly, Certainly." replied Michael, reaching into his tuxedo jacket and retrieving two €100 Euro notes and placing them into the crewman's shirt pocket "And, um... let's keep this between ourselves, shall we?"

"I saw nothing, sir."
-----------
It was around midnight when Charlie and Petra retreated to their hotel room, having bid good night to their handlers, who shared the room across the hall. Charlie opened up his own Powerbook and connected his iPhone to it. Automatically, the Powerbook started scanning the files copied from Haswell's hard drive for virus threats and the like in addition to compressing the files into a neat .zip file for analysis by the folks back in Section 2. Of course, he and Petra as well as their handlers would be looking through the files in the morning for anything immediately eye-catching.

Getting up from his seat, he turned to see Petra standing at the open window, still clad in her evening gown from the party on the boat, staring at the moonlit coastline. Charlie strode over to her side, grabbing the complimentary bottle of champagne out of its ice bucket and the accompanying flutes nearby and gazed out along with her.

"Hell of a view, huh?" commented the young Englishman.

"Yeah... very different from Italy." replied the redhead, still looking at the coastline. She heard the sound of a bottle being uncorked and finally looked to her left to see Charlie pouring champagne into a pair of flutes before offering one to her.

"Bubbly?"

"Is there an occasion?"

"Well, we won a couple hundred-thousand Euro at a party, we didn't get discovered copying Haswell's hard drive, we didn't get shot at..."

"Any reason to celebrate, huh?"

"You might say that. But more importantly, I did all this with a very gorgeous companion."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Montagne." replied Petra with a grin. "Or do you prefer 'Mr. Westin'?"

"Call me whatever you wish, 'Ms. Blackwan'." said Charlie with a grin of his own. The two clinked flutes and downed them before setting the champagne aside and looking out at the coastline for a few more moments. Then, Charlie was suddenly aware that Petra had snaked her arms around his shoulders and was now face-to-face with him. Before he could say anything, she planted a long kiss on his lips, and in no time at all, the two were kissing fervently, their tongues intertwining as if in battle. Finally, they pulled away from each other, a thin wisp of saliva dangling between their lips before it disappeared.

"You know, those things you listed weren't the all we did tonight... Want to pick up where we left off?" asked Petra, a devilish smirk on her lips as she hopped up and wrapped her legs around Charlie's waist.

"I shan't disappoint, milady." replied Charlie, removing his tuxedo jacket and shirt. He carried Petra over to the bed onto which she dropped herself onto as Charlie quickly leapt atop her, helping her out of her evening gown before extinguishing the light in the room...

"Ohhh, Charles..."
------------

"Mister Westin! You've caused me a lot of trouble today, but now I have you where I want you!" exclaimed Graves as Charlie stared him down. The supervillain had a bit of veracity to his claim; after all, he currently held Petrushka captive with a Desert Eagle aimed directly at her temple.

"I will make you an offer, Mister Westin: Surrender your weapon to me, and I will let you have Miss Blackswan back in exchange, unharmed. Otherwise, she has danced her last."

"Sounds like a fair trade, Graves." replied Charlie, safing the Beretta in his hand. He held it by the barrel as he walked evenly towards Graves and Petrushka before offering the weapon grip-first to the villain, who released Petrushka to him, and the recent former hostage ran to Charlie and embraced him.

"Oh, Michael! I was so scared..."

"Shh, everything's all right now, Elizabeth."

As they embraced, Graves aimed the Beretta at the both of them.

"And now, goodbye, Mister Westin."

Two silenced gunshots rang out, and Graves slumped to the ground as smoke emanated from the suppressor of Charlie's other Beretta held in Petra's left hand snaking from behind Charlie's back. As Graves bled from his chest wound, he looked up at the two as Charlie retrieved his pistol and kicked away the Desert Eagle Graves had dropped.

"T-Two handguns... Why? How?!"

"Like I always say, 'Double the pleasure, double the fun.' Words to live by, really." replied Charlie

"Who are you? Y-you're no spy..." gasped Graves.

"Indeed I'm not. I'm just a bloke from an Italian agency that doesn't exist."

"What's... your name? Your... real...name..."

"Montagne. Charles Montagne." Charlie uttered before he and Petra each loosed a round into Graves' head.

--------------
"Uh, not to alarm you, but we've got a problem." said Charlie.

"What is it?" asked Lorenzo at the other end of the line.

"This." replied Charlie, aiming the camera of his iPhone at the display.

"An onboard Nuclear Device?!"

"Yes. And it's setting course for Rome. Manual control has been completely locked out."

"Can you disarm it?"

"I don't have the tools, and I don't think we have enough time. The safest option right now is to destroy the entire vessel at sea, and I mean immolate it. Now's a good a time as any to send up Ryo, Jennifer, or both of them in some sort of aircraft with lots of mean and nasty ordnance."

"How are you getting off of there?"

"We'll improvise."

MP5 wrote:Petrushka has similar experience under her handler

Hooray for innuendo?

In other news, yeah those sound like exactly the sorts of gadgets Gene and Tim would be likely to come up with. I'm sure they're happy to have found someone who'll accept them willingly.

Not so sure about the immolating the boat though... there's that whole "spreading radioactive material" thing. I could be wrong, but last I checked, most of the more dangerous nuclear materials were also fairly heat-resistant.

Alfisti wrote:

MP5 wrote:Petrushka has similar experience under her handler

Hooray for innuendo?

In other news, yeah those sound like exactly the sorts of gadgets Gene and Tim would be likely to come up with. I'm sure they're happy to have found someone who'll accept them willingly.

Not so sure about the immolating the boat though... there's that whole "spreading radioactive material" thing. I could be wrong, but last I checked, most of the more dangerous nuclear materials were also fairly heat-resistant.

Well, the immolation part more has to do with something I left out-- namely, chemical and biological munitions that were slated to launch from the ship in question. While spreading radioactive material is a risk they have to take, the idea is to demolish the boat in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea before it reaches land where it can cause more significant casualties. given that, however, the final version may conveniently place the supervillain's vessel somewhere more remote while still maintaining course for a major European city.

Also, the innuendo was unintended, but I suppose that's welcome...

Now for a short piece that's supposed to be a bit more demonstrative on the kind of relationship Vincent and Carmelita share. Most of the time, the latter may be a pushover and constantly subject to the pace of her hyperactive handler, but endanger him, and her immediate reaction can be likened to what is known in Spanish, as a...

Mamá Oso

Vincent felt the wind knocked out of him again as one of his Padania captors slugged him in the stomach while he sat helpless, bound to a wooden chair that fell along with him. He was being less than cooperative (as he was apt to do) in terms of telling them anything they might find useful (which he was naturally expected to do), and all they could get out of him was that he was simply a trigger-happy American out to fight the bad guys (which in truth, is what he did his job for). As an unwelcome interloper, the Padanians surrounding him simply decided to rough him up before finally aiming a pistol at him to end it all.

"Any last words, American Cowboy?" asked his captor in accented English. Out of the corner of his bruised eye, Vincent spotted the movement of wavy dark hair in the window nearby and smiled to himself.

"Yeah..."

Vincent took a deep breath, and then yelled:

"CARMELITA! TRAE MALA SUERTE SOBRE ELLOS!"

The door to the room exploded in a shower of splinters as Carmelita burst into the room letting out a yell of rage as she fired off her Mossberg Road Blocker, a muzzle flash flaring out the sides of the arrowhead-shaped muzzle brake as a cluster of buckshot threw its intended mark off his feet. Rage evident on her face, she let out a banshee-like scream in her native tongue as she racked the pump on the Mossberg.

"No te atrevas a tocarlo, cabrones!"

With a hostile aiming an AKM at her directly to her right, she pulled the trigger on her Mossberg again, her adversary clearly able to make out the words Mala Suerte (Bad Luck) etched on the tip of the muzzle brake before it was enveloped in flame that leapt out of the muzzle and engulfed him, setting him alight as Carmelita ejected the spent 'Dragon's Breath' shot shell. The gunman, flailing, stumbled backwards and out the window behind him, shattering the glass as he continued to burn to his death. The two remaining Padanians were now actually able to react and return fire as they sprayed bullets from their Beretta PM 12 submachine guns, causing Carmelita to seek cover. Two rounds managed to hit her in the side as she ducked behind a crate, and as she holed up behind the piece of cover, the sudden awareness of two burning-hot 9mm rounds in her gut caused her already-heated rage to boil over as she began seeing everything in a red mist.

Footsteps approached rapidly from her left as one of the gunmen approached her location. As the Padanian arrived at the crate, Carmelita leapt up from a crouched position and thrust forward with her Mossberg Road Blocker, slamming the muzzle brake up into her adversary's mouth, breaking his teeth before reducing his head to a fine paste the moment she pulled the trigger. Racking the pump as her recent target fell to the floor, she charged the remaining gunman as he reloaded his submachine gun, closing the distance in under two seconds. Knocking him down, she kicked his weapon away and then planted her foot on his chest to keep him from scurrying away.

From the floor, Vincent watched as his normally-docile partner aimed her Mossberg at the Padanian's eye. Instead of pulling the trigger, however, she started pressing the muzzle brake into the man's eye socket, eliciting a scream from her prey as she continued to increase pressure on his eyeball until she felt it finally give way under the strain. The Padanian screamed even louder, and it was only by pulling the trigger and scattering the contents of the man's head all over the floor that Carmelita finally silenced him. Carmelita worked the pump on her Mossberg as she scanned for more threats, growling every time she exhaled.

"CARMELITA!"

Her attention taken by Vincent's call, Carmelita snapped out of her rage and looked to see her handler still lying on the floor bound to a chair. Forgetting her rage, she quickly went over to him in order to free him.

"Vincent, are you all right?" asked Carmelita, bringing out her knife to cut the ropes.

"I'm a bit banged up, but I'm okay. I'm glad you came in when you did." replied Vincent.

"Oh, jeez. 'A bit banged up', you say... I better see for myself." said Carmelita in worry as she helped her handler to a sitting position and looked him over. her brow began to involuntarily knit in worry as she saw the various bruises Vincent how had, as well as his bloody nose and swollen eye.

"My god, I can't believe I let this happen to you!" said Carmelita, visibly upset.

" 'Lita, don't worry about it, this is nothing." Vincent tried to reassure. Carmelita looked at him for a moment before closing her eyes and hugging her handler tight.

"You dummy... This is the first and last time this happens, all right? I couldn't forgive myself if something bad happened to you!" promised Carmelita, a few tears falling from her eyes.

"All right." Vincent agreed.

"Good." said Carmelita, wiping her tears. "Now let's get out of here. You can walk, right?"

"Yeah, but my eye is kinda swollen shut. I need you to drive."

"You want me to drive 'Justice'?"

"If there's any time that you should put the skills you learned from Olga and Allison to use, now's as good as any."

Minutes later, as the two entered the all-black Crown Victoria Police Interceptor, Carmelita started the vehicle up and drove away from the area as Vincent settled into the passenger's seat.

"Carmelita..." began Vincent.

"Yes?"

"What was that, back there?"

"I dunno. I just started seeing red."

"It kinda scared me a little."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Without you going into 'Mama Bear' mode, I wouldn't be alive. I'd rather be scared by a friend protecting me than be killed by an enemy."

"Yeah, well, you might do things that stress me out a lot, but I will die before I let someone take you away from me forever."

"Glad to hear it."

FATHER, DAUGHTER VICTIM OF NAPLES SNIPER ATTACK

A thirteen year-old English girl and her father are the latest casualties of violence in the southern Italian city of Naples.

Michael Everett and his daughter Cathy were fired upon as they drove through the crime-torn suburb of Secondigliano, a stronghold of the notorious Camorra mafia. Their rented vehicle was literally "torn apart" by fifty-caliber rifles, originally designed for killing soldiers inside armoured vehicles.

Matthew Everett was killed instantly, while Cathy Everett was paralysed from the waist down. Doctors state that she will be unable to walk without cybernetic assistance.

Children as young as ten have been recruited into the Camorra. The tourists, who were unfamiliar with the area, may have been mistaken for members of a rival clan.

Females were previously regarded as untouchable by the clans, a trend that was broken by the death of schoolgirl Annalisa Durante in 2004.

The shooting is the latest in a disturbing trend in Italy where children, especially girls, have been the deliberate targets of violence.

In a crime which shocked even a public hardened to terrorism, a minibus belonging to a girls school in Milan was driven off the road by masked gunmen armed with automatic weapons. Witnesses watched horrified as they fired several hundred bullets into a dozen girls aged ten to fifteen. There were no survivors from the attack.

Three weeks later 16 year-old Chiara Dalisi was killed while on a motorcycle driven by her boyfriend, a 23 year-old university student. They were shot by a right-wing terrorist who claimed in court that he mistook them for government operatives.

In August last year a rocket-propelled grenade destroyed a car containing fifteen year-old Anna Esposito and her police bodyguard. Anna was the sole survivor of a terrorist bombing five years ago, and had been in protective custody every since.

Defense Minister Monica Petris blamed the attacks on the Five Republics Faction, saying the atrocities were designed to create a climate of fear.

"The use of children as tools of political violence is an act of barbarity," she declared to reporters. "It is a sign not only of a lack of respect for life, but of any standards of civilisation whatsover."

In an apparent retaliation killing, separatist politician Roberto Sepe was gunned down by a teenage girl who has still not been identified. Several radical left-wing groups have claimed responsibility.

A spokesman for the centre-left opposition accused the government of concealing the true extent of the problem, claiming that "high-level political pressure" had been exerted to cover up other shootings involving children.