Re: Teasers and drabbles

by SPARTAN 119 Wed 30 Mar 2011 - 12:42

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.

by MP5 Tue 5 Apr 2011 - 0:33

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.

by **Kiskaloo** Tue 5 Apr 2011 - 0:38

Excellent.

by MP5 Mon 18 Apr 2011 - 18:11

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.

by MP5 Thu 21 Apr 2011 - 22:54

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."

by Alfisti Fri 22 Apr 2011 - 8:44

MP5 wrote:Petrushka has similar experience under her handler

Hooray for innuendo? Teasers and drabbles - Page 2 70464

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.

by MP5 Fri 22 Apr 2011 - 16:36

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...

by MP5 Sun 1 May 2011 - 9:51

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."

by Odon Mon 16 May 2011 - 4:14

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.

by MP5 Wed 25 May 2011 - 22:32

An idea that's been cooking in my head for a while-- and will probably be seen in TTSC:

Busted

With Nicolette's revelation fresh in his mind, Alessandro strode through the compound halls, his face set in a visibly angry scowl as he searched for a certain person.

"Where the hell is that figlio di puttana..."

Sandro strode directly past an open doorway, only to backpedal for a second look, which found what he was looking for. In a leather wingback chair was 'Charming Charlie' Montagne reading the new 'Pedal Pusher' issue of the Section 2 Communications and Journalism class-produced periodical Fratello Quarterly, featuring a cover shot of Allison and Jay having lunch from the hot engine bay of 'Sonia', her Twin-turbocharged Callaway-tuned Alfa Romeo Alfetta GTV6, with the article title "Manifold Destiny--Meals served at 5000rpm" superimposed on the surface of the open bonnet. Charlie was reading this article, taking great interest in the recipes offered.

"Hm, I should try that one next time we head to Milan-- the girls love when I make that..."

Alessandro wasted no time in striding quickly towards the distracted cyborg and hauling his fist back and twisting his body into the punch he threw at Charlie's face. The handler's right fist connected with Charlie's jaw with enough force to send the cyborg tumbling out of the large leather chair, the gloss-covered magazine flying out of his hands and the chair he sat on tumbling onto its side. As Alessandro massaged his stinging knuckle, Charlie pushed himself up off the floor and rubbed his aching jaw.

"Hello to you too, 'Sandro." Charlie greeted calmly. "And what, may I ask, brings on such a concussive greeting?"

"Shut the fuck up, you little shit! You know damn well what this is all about!"

"I'm afraid I don't, 'Sandro." replied Charlie, his tone sincerely apologetic. "Frankly, I do a lot of things that hack other people off on such a regular basis that I can't really remember the reason someone would be angry with me."

"Let me refresh your memory, then." Alessandro spat. "It's come to my attention that you've been sleeping with Petrushka behind my back, you sonofabitch. How dare you take advantage of her?! Did you really think I wouldn't find out about this?"

"Ah, yes, that." said Charlie, remembering this reason now. "To be honest, I wasn't really trying to hide it--Petra was more worried about what others would think, if anything. Second, I didn't take advantage of her; she came to me."

"You're lying. You tricked her into sleeping with you. You're trying to steal her away from me!"

"Believe it or not--and obviously, you're in the 'not' category-- Petrushka's a big girl, and she can decide for herself who she wants to sleep with, and who she loves, and keep those two completely separate. Other than sex, nothing is really going on between us. I didn't put any moves on her the way I've done with other women. She came to me because like any woman, she has certain needs that needed to be satisfied, and since you weren't jumping at that particular chance, I went and filled in that void. Admittedly, more than once, but I filled that void like a good friend with benefits should do nonetheless."

"Why should I believe you?! You're a rat, a scoundrel, a no-good playboy." accused Alessandro.

"I've been called those names by many women, but they always came back for more anyway." Charlie retorted. "You know, 'Sandro, you and I have a fair amount of commonalities. A penchant for staying back from the thick of things, loose moral compasses, and a taste for beautiful women, regardless of their marital status, social or political standing, or whomever may retaliate to defend their honor. Really, it makes sense when I overhear people calling me 'the second coming of Alessandro Ricci'."

"You're wrong!" roared Alessandro, his complexion turing slightly redder the more passionate he grew. Unbeknownst to the both of them, Petrushka was hiding just outside the door, listening in on their exchange, forcing herself to stay quiet the moment she found her previously-clandestine relationship with Charlie was no longer a secret to the person she wanted to discover the least.

"I'm not like you at all, Charlie!" Alessandro asserted. "All those things you said-- that was necessary for the job and the job only. People change, Charlie, and unlike you, I love Petrushka for whom she is. I don't view her as a 'booty call' the way that you do, and she loves me right back-- which is why I don't believe she'd willingly cheat on me with someone like you."

"Uh-huh." said a new, slightly more cynical voice. Charlie and Alessandro turned to see Andy striding into the room, having heard Alessandro's little speech from the hallway. Petrushka had hidden herself in a nearby janitor's closet so that the other Montagne twin would not see her, but now she once again listened in on the conversation from the hallway.

"So I take it that because the two of you are so in love, Petrushka likewise doesn't believe you'd willingly cheat on her with someone like...Nicolette, shall we say?" Andy queried, catching Alessandro by surprise. Outside the room, Petrushka stifled a gasp, in shock at Andy's revelation.

"I--I don't know what you're talking about." said Alessandro nervously, avoiding Andy and Charlie's gazes.

"Really." said Charlie, cocking an eyebrow. "Well, I guess we truly are different then, 'Sandro. I don't know about you and Petra, but in my fratello, there's no secrets between us. Whether or not we care can vary depending on what we find out from one another."

As Alessandro stood in stunned silence, Charlie righted the chair he had been thrown out of by the handler's punch and gathered his copy of the latest Fratello Quarterly before turning to leave, getting Alessandro's attention.

"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

"I'm going somewhere to finish reading the latest issue of FQ. Preferably, someplace that I can read in peace without taking a punch from a hypocrite." Charlie replied in deadpan. He and Andy began to walk when the sound of a pistol's hammer being cocked, and the Montagne twins turned to see Alessandro aiming his Taurus PT92 at Charlie.

"Charlie, you're not going anywhere until I get some answers." Alessandro threatened. Charlie did not seem fazed.

"I've given you all the answers you could possibly want, 'Sandro. And may I suggest being careful with that handgun? You know the rules of safe firearm handling-- 'Never let the muzzle cover anyting you don't intend to destroy.'"

Alessandro took the safety off, his index finger resting on the trigger guard. "I will destroy you if you take a step further, asshole."

"Like hell you will." said Andy, now suddenly behind Alessandro, jamming the two muzzles of his sawed-off Rossi Overland into the man's back. "You will put that Taurus of yours down and let my brother walk out of here unless you want to see your heart explode from your chest in tiny little pieces."

A red blur shot into the room, and before anyone could react, Petrushka popped up, aiming her own Taurus at Andy's eye.

"How about you put your weapon down, Andy? Don't you dare threaten 'Sandro."

More weapon-related clicks sounded, these ones coming from Charlie and Andy-- Charlie pulled out both of his Beretta 92 pistols, and Andy extracted one of his own, aiming the muzzle at Petra, while Charlie aimed his pistols at Alessandro and Petra, respectively.

"Petra, I like you, I really do; but I don't appreciate you threatening my brother at gunpoint. Please, put your weapon away before you make the wrong decision."

"Then tell Andy to stop holding 'Sandro at gunpoint-- and you shouldn't be aiming at 'Sandro either, you know."

"I consider that acting in self-defense."

"Well then, the same should apply to my situation, given that you and your brother are aiming at me."

Charlie knew that this was going nowhere fast, and each second spent aiming at one another was a second closer to someone actually pulling the trigger and starting a horrible situation. He wasn't going to choose between harming his friend Petra, allowing his brother to get hurt, or giving Petra reason to potentially kill him.

"All right then, let's all take a step back and put our weapons away. There's no need to get violent when we can be civilised about this affair, right? We're all adults in this room, aren't we?"

And with that, Charlie waited as everyone else considered his words.

by **ElfenMagix** Wed 25 May 2011 - 23:30

Allesandro forget that he is a handler and could send Charles for a conditioning castration for messing with Petra. And Charles is too independent and free to go against any handler. But thats me. Also, cyborgs who go against a handler, any handler will get sick in one form or another. Here Charles does not and his audacity grows further into a self fulfilled pride.

I go along with Danjo's world. The boys are willing to go get some nookie but at the same time know that if they get caught, they are going to get their nuts cut off. and the fear of their handlers (and any other) is something you dont have here.

by MP5 Sun 29 May 2011 - 11:28

Because I watched The Hangover Part II today, I felt inspired to give you all a little piece called:

A Morning After in Roanapur

The first thing Charlie noticed upon gaining consciousness was that everything was too bloody bright this morning. Instead of the sun being a peaceful, serene greeting signalling the beginning of another beautiful day on God's green earth, it was a harassing tormentor trying to gouge his eyes out with merciless daggers of light that made his eyes ache. The second thing he noticed was that it seemed to be awfully muggy for Italy in autumn, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. The third thing he noticed almost immediately was that his head was aching something fierce and his lower back felt a bit sore.

Putting on a pair of dark aviators and lifting himself to a standing position, Charlie was finally able to see his surroundings a bit easier. He was in a dingy, extremely messy room whose interior had seen better days. A small, worn-out electric fan tried in vain to circulate air and keep the room cool, but to no avail, and the ceiling fan (which curiously enough, had a black lace T-string thong hanging off one of its blades) was not having much effect either. Looking about the room, he also saw that a plethora of beer cans and liquor bottles were strewn all over the place-- on top of the coffee table, the television, the windowsill, even on the couch, which had a strange lump on it. Curious, Charlie approached the lump cautiosly, only to see the lump move suddenly, and he jumped back, nearly tripping over some loose Heineken cans in the process. The lump groaned, and as a pillow fell off of it, Charlie could make out a shock of scarlet hair at one end of the couch.

"Petra?!" Charlie asked a bit loudly. In response, the lump on the couch groaned in reply.

"Не так громко ..." replied the redhead in Russian as she began to roll sideways off the couch-- and right onto the beer can-littered floor. "Ой!"

"You all right?" Charlie asked, approaching Petra again. The redhead rolled over and shook her head at Charlie, her eyes still closed.

"No... My head feels like it's been smashed in by a brick wrapped around a lemon wedge. And my tongue feels dry. And everything's too damn loud. And everything's too damn hot; I didn't hear anything about a heat wave in Rome."

"Me neither."

As Petra began to shift around, Charlie noted the white sheet the girl was enveloped in suddenly took the shape of her curves and body. Petra noticed this as well and stopped moving.

"Charlie."

"Yes?"

"Is it just me, or am I naked under this sheet?"

"I don't know, luv; maybe."

Petrushka felt around her body, trying to find any semblance of clothing, or even underwear. "Oh god, I'm naked!" she exclaimed upon finding nothing on her person. Kicking her feet, however, she felt something else touching her right foot and reached down while still wrapped in the bedsheet, feeling padded material and a different blend of cotton in her fingers-- her entire set of underwear! Without saying a word, she slipped her bra and panties on while still wrapped in the sheet as Charlie looked away, only to hear another noise from the bathroom threshold nearby.

"Unngh--wha? Who's naked?" asked another, more gruff voice. Charlie walked over to see his brother Andy lying on his back in the bathroom door threshold.

"Andy! You all right, mate?"

"My left arm feels kinda sore."

"Let me see."

Charlie crouched down as his brother got into a sitting position and pulled up the left sleeve on Andy's T-shirt and almost immediately recoiled as if in horror.

"What is it?"

"Check the mirror, mate."

Curious, Andy got up and went to the bathroom sink, inspecting his reflection in the dirty mirror. Checking his upper arm, his eyes widened as he saw a tattoo of a naked girl straddling a rifle, and above the picture, written in cursive, was the name 'Simone'. Angrily, Andy whirled on Charlie and grabbed him by his collar.

"What the fuck is this, Charlie?!"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Andy, I swear!"

"Yo, keep it down, my head is bumpin right now and y'all yellin' ain't helpin' shit." complained a new voice. The Montagne brothers turned to the bathtub, where they saw a dishevelled-looking Matthew DiGirolomo curled up in a fetal position, somehow only clad in his boxers.

"Sorry, Matthew. Didn't see you there, mate." Charlie whispered. "C'mon, we'll take this into the living room."

Andy, still holding his brother, stepped forward while Charlie backpedaled into the living room, where Petrushka had at least managed to clothe herself in her underwear, though she was now searching for the rest of her clothes. She caught sight of the Montagne twins, and moreover, the tattoo on Andy's left arm.

"Nice tattoo, Andy." the redhead commented, causing the more quick-tempered Montagne twin to glare at her."

"You're one to talk, fire-crotch." retorted Andy. Sure enough, Petrushka looked down, and spotted tattooed-on flames peeking out from just above the waistband of her lingerie almost touching her belly button.

"Oh my god, when the hell did I get this?!"

"If I had to deduce anything from our hangovers and the booze containers around the room, I would say last night, when we presumably all got pissed out of our minds." Charlie replied. "And as is apt to happen while inebriated, we probably did things we don't remember but regret in the morning."

His attention was once again taken by the thong hanging from the ceiling fan. "Petra, is that yours?"

"Charlie, you've seen me in just about everything I wear." replied Petra. "You know by now that I don't have a black lace T-string."

"Right, forgive me; that was the hangover talking."

"Too much information." grumbled Andy, going to the mini-fridge in the room. The moment he opened it, an explosion of feathers occurred as a chicken scurried out of the fridge, across the room, and out an open window, bewildering everyone in the living room.

"Why did we have a chicken in the mini-fridge?" Petra asked, pulling on a button-up shirt she finally found.

"Dunno, maybe we wanted to have fried chicken today?" asked Matthew from the bathroom. Having finally emerged from the bathtub, he strode into the room, still clad in only his boxers, causing everyone else to avert their eyes.

"What? Y'all never seen a dude in boxers before?"

"No, I just think you have me beat for most embarrassing tattoo, Matty." said Petrushka. Puzzled, the American walked over to the nearest mirror and scanned his appearance until he got to the area around his hip and lower waist. He saw in gothic font the words "Weapon of Mass Destruction" with an arrow pointing down printed just above the waistband of his boxers.

"What the hell?!"

"Seems like we all got tattoos." noted Petrushka. "Except we haven't seen Charlie's..."

At once, the other three cyborgs tackled Charlie and checked around his person, and just before they started pulling his pants off, Petrushka lifted the back of his shirt and started laughing at what she saw.

"Oh my god, Charlie, I didn't know you had it in you!"

Matthew and Andy took a look as well, and soon, they were also on the floor, rolling and laughing. Puzzled, Charlie went over to the mirror and checked his lower back, eyes widening when he saw a lower-back tattoo with the words "Donations appreciated" with an arrow pointing towards his buttocks.

"A bloody Tramp Stamp?!" he yelled in horror.

"I stand corrected-- Charlie has the most embarrassing tattoo of all of us!" proclaimed Petrushka, still laughing hard. Charlie tucked his shirt into his jeans and walked away from the mirror, searching the room for his dual Berettas and holster.

"All right, all right, so we've all had a laugh. Let's focus here-- we've got a mission to do, in case anyone remembers. Clean up and get dressed!" ordered Charlie, his face red from embarrassment.

When the other three finally stopped laughing, their attention turned to cleaning up all the bottles and beer cans that lay strewn about the room while Charlie went downstairs and into direct sunlight as he went to check on the Honda Civic Type R hatchback that he remembered (after tripping over the keys) was their transportation. getting a better look at his surroundings, Charlie deduced that he was definitely not in Italy, based on the palm trees, the humidity, and the amount of tricycle cabs motoring about. However, something was amiss as he turned his attention to the Civic. The rear window glass was broken, and this was cause for alarm. Rushing over to the car, Charlie inspected the cargo area, hoping that a certain suitcase was still there. Much to his horror, that was the very item that had been evidently stolen.

"Oh, shit."

Charlie turned around and sprinted back into the hotel and up the stairs into the room he shared with the others, who were just finishing up in terms of clothing themselves.

"Mates, we've got a problem."

"What is it?" asked Petrushka.

"Someone broke into the Civic and stole the case."

"You better not be joking, Charlie." said Andy in a threatening tone.

"I'm not taking the piss, Andy. Someone seriously took the case."

"Then we gotta get that shit back, yo!" said Matthew, checking his Desert Eagle. "Let's roll, mothafuckas!"

"We don't even know where we are, Matt." said Petra. "We need to get our bearings."

"Well, we're not in Italy anymore." Charlie confirmed. "It's too tropical, and there's tuk-tuks everywhere you look."

"Tuk-tuks? That means Thailand." Andy noted. Almost immediately after he said this, the power in the building died, stopping the fans in the room, and the thong hanging from the ceiling fan slipped from the blade it was dangling from and landed on Petra's head. holding the article of underwear by one of its strings at arm's length, the redhead could make out a label on it.

"Guys, I think we have a place to start. This... thing, is from some other establishment."

Petra turned the thong inside-out, and the boys could make out a label that read "Property of The Yellow Flag, Roanapur."

"So we're in Roanapur, huh?" said Charlie.

"And I can see a sign for a Yellow Flag Bar down the road from here." announced Matthew, looking out the window.

"Then let's see if we can get some answers. Make sure you all have your weapons and ammo, and we'll get our arses out of here. We need to get some answers and figure out what the hell happened last night."

by FearTheLASERFACE Sun 29 May 2011 - 20:26

Lol. This only makes me want to write my own Roanapur-set fic more.

by MP5 Sat 4 Jun 2011 - 22:23

Reunion

As if with respect for the dead, the Marcos coasted in tamely from Falls Road and into Milltown Cemetery. Having remembered her visit with Brian last year, it did not take her long to find the area they needed to visit, and upon bringing the Marcos to a complete stop, she pulled the handbrake into full lock and shut off the engine, placing the car into first gear without clutching in to keep it from rolling. In the passenger's seat, Brian opened his door, careful not to damage the bouquet of carnations, daisies, and gladiolas in his hands as he exited the low-slung sports car. The pair shut their doors, and Allison pressed the 'lock' button on the keyless entry fob attached to the ignition key as Brian joined her on the grass. The two then strode forward towards the resting place of Claire McDonnell.

"So these are the flowers that Mum likes?" asked Allison, unable to shake off the slight strange feeling she got from referring to Brian's mother as her own.

"Yes. I remember she had flowers like these around the house all the time when I was growing up." explained Brian. "It was never home without some colour, according to her."

They soon approached the grave Allison had visited for the first time last year, but something was amiss. There was already a middle-aged man whose hair appeared to be in the beginning stages of its graying years there laying a bouquet of roses that were colored a bright scarlet hue. Allison and Brian glanced at each other in puzzlement before the elder McDonnell approached the man, who stared at the headstone of Claire McDonnell's grave in silence.

"Excuse me, sir!"

The man snapped his head up and turned to see Brian coming towards him, and Allison standing nearby at the corner of his field of vision.

"Sorry to interrupt you; but are you a friend of my mother's?" Brian asked.

The man hesitated briefly before answering. "Ah, yes. I knew your mother for a time." he said, offering his hand to Brian, who shook it briefly. "The name's Barry; Barry Demway."

"Pleased to meet you, Barry. I'm Brian; Brian McDonnell. And over there is my younger sister, Allison." greeted Brian jovially, gesturing to Allison, who waved. The Northern Irishman felt a strange feeling at the back of his head. Something about this man in front of him felt a bit off-- a feeling of familiarity coming from a total stranger he'd just met.

"I'm terribly sorry, Barry, but your name somehow seems familiar. Er, have we met before? I'm not too good with remembering names, but yours seems to stick out in my mind for some reason." apologized Brian with a sheepish grin.

The elder man in front of him averted his gaze for a brief second and he shifted on his feet uneasily. Then, he finally answered.

"Uh... That might be because your mother might have mentioned me in passing when you were young. Perhaps angrily."

Brian still did not understand, but Allison's mind was beginning to work quickly as she stepped to get a certain viewing angle of the two men. Though Barry's hair was starting to gray, much of it shared the same hue of brown that colored Brian's head. Even their facial structures seemed a bit similar, and Barry looked like he was aging well, perhaps a bit slowly; for a man who sounded older, his visage was fairly youthful.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Brian in confusion, causing Barry to shift uneasily again. Then he sighed and spoke.

"I can't figure out any other way to say this, so I'll say it. Brian... I'm your father. I had a one night stand with your mother nearly forty years ago while I was on holiday. You were born nine months later. You're my biological son."

A harsh breeze billowed the clothing of the three persons standing near Claire McDonnell's grave, the bouquet of flowers dropping from Brian's hands. With Barry's confession, everything now made sense to Allison, who was observing the scene playing itself out before her.

Brian took a deep breath, and then sighed. "Thirty-five years."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Barry.

"Thirty-five years without a phone call, a letter, or even a short visit from you; and you expect me to call you 'Dad'? Barry, I don't think you have any idea about the kind of hardship my Mum and I went through when she was raising me. Do you know what it's like to walk through the neighborhood and be looked down on by everyone as 'The Bastard Child'? You don't, because you weren't there. Frankly, I think you really have a lot of bloody nerve to show up at my mother's grave, and it's only out of respect for her aversion to violence that I haven't punched you in the face!"

"Son, I--"

"You don't have the right to call me that, Barry!" shouted Brian, picking up the bouquet he'd dropped before turning to his adopted sister. "Allison! Keys, now!"

Allison tossed the keys to the Marcos to her brother, who expertly snatched them out of the air despite his furious state. As she approached, Allison heard Brian give her orders as he aimed the keyless entry back at the Marcos and hit the 'Unlock' button, the indicators flashing twice to signal the unsecured state of the car.

"Get in on the passenger's side-- I'm driving for this one."

"Are you sure--"

"Just get in the car, Allison."

Silently, Allison started walking towards the Marcos before Brian urged her on, and so she jogged to the left-hand door of the car and opened it, seating herself inside before shutting the door, watching the exchange between Brian and Barry further. Turning back to his long-absent father, Brian issued a warning.

"I'm going to leave now so that I don't embarrass myself in front of my mum. I'll be back here in two hours, and by that time, you better be gone, or there'll be hell to pay, Barry."

Turning on his heel, Brian stormed off toward the Marcos, leaving Barry standing at Claire's grave. Upon reaching the Marcos, Brian threw open the door, tossed the bouquet of flowers into Allison's lap before seating himself into the snug leather racing-style seat and slamming the lightweight fibreglass door so hard, Allison thought it would break. Without another word, Brian slotted the key into the ignition, pulled the car out of gear, started it up, and released the handbrake before peeling out, the growl of the 5.7L Corvette-sourced LS1 V8 piercing the air in addition to the screeching of the spinning rear wheels.

by Robert Frazer Sat 4 Jun 2011 - 22:42

Speaking of teasers - on the chatbox a couple of days ago you posted an excerpt of the arcade scene from an upcoming chapter, but you logged off before I could comment on it. Do you mind reposting it, sorry?

by MP5 Sat 4 Jun 2011 - 22:55

Oh, no problem, RF. in fact, here's the whole section of what I've managed to write so far.:

Chapter 8 excerpt wrote:
At the arcade, Allison and Triela watched the two boys playing Time Crisis 3. The pair was on their last lives each despite only being on Area 1 of the first stage. At this point, both players had fallen into a constant pattern of shooting two rounds at an on-screen enemy and then ducking to reload (by releasing the foot pedal). The ammunition for their special weapons (an available machine gun, shotgun, and grenade launcher) were already depleted, and they failed to blast away any of the specific enemies that would drop ammunition, leaving them only with the basic handgun. This was proving problematic as they faced down the 'boss' character of the area, which was a piece of naval artillery.

The player on the left finished reloading and pressed down on the pedal to pop up and fire, but it was a poorly-timed maneuver that took away his last piece of health as the naval gun aimed directly at him and blew him to bits. As the continue screen began its twenty-second countdown, he aimed one last shot, choosing the 'no' option and then returned the lightgun controller to its metallic holster, leaving the rest of the game to his partner on the right side of the dual-screen machine. For his part, the remaining player found a slightly more effective strategy of popping up and using his free hand's index finger to rapidly work the trigger to spam all nine handgun rounds in the magazine at the target, slowly but surely whittling down its health. However, just as he reloaded with less than a centimeter of health left in the boss character's bar and about 15 seconds left on the countdown clock (the basis for the title Time Crisis), a random opponent popped up and shot him, taking down his last bit of health. Unwilling to spend any more money on the game, the player also shot the 'no' option on the continue screen and holstered the plastic pistol.

“Let's get out of here-- that bloody game is rigged.” complained one of the boys.
As the two began to walk away, Allison stepped up to the machine, but remembered Triela was also there.

“Blue gun or pink gun, Triela?” Allison asked.

“Um... Blue gun.”

“Then I'll take Pink.”

As Triela stepped up to the blue side of the machine, Allison fished out a stack of sixteen tokens from the pocket of her jeans and divided them into smaller stacks of eight. She handed one stack off to Triela, keeping a stack for herself and immediately started feeding them all into the machine.

“Rule one of these arcade games, Triela; get at least two credits' worth of tokens before you even start.”

“Why is that?” asked 'The Princess'.

“Most of these games give you twenty seconds to continue if you lose all your lives.” Allison explained. “If you don't have the tokens on you right then and there, you're forced to hop off, scramble to the change machine, feed that money as fast as you can, and scramble back before your twenty seconds are up. In that duration, you'll either run out of time, or someone impatient will hijack the machine from you.”

“I see. I'll remember that next time I'm at an arcade, I guess.”

“Good. Then let's begin. Feed all eight coins into the slot until you have two credits.”

Triela began inserting the coins, the game in front of her producing a sound with each coin inserted, the text on-screen changing with the increasing amount of tokens. When she looked up, Allison already had her lightgun out of its holster.

“Ready to get started?”

“Sure. Is there a button I press?”

“Just the trigger on your controller. Aim at the screen and give it a squeeze.”

Picking up the blue pistol from its holster, Triela let the weighted muzzle hang down a little as she felt how it was to hold it in her hands. It was a hefty, chunky thing, not at all like her lithe SIG. And the attached cord that was connected to the bottom of the grip made the pistol feel more awkward to maneuver with. Still, she didn't want to waste Allison's time, and she lined up the front sight with the screen in front of her and pulled the trigger, noting practically no resistance at all in the trigger pull. However, the plastic slide on the pistol did jump back, and Triela scrambled to avoid dropping it, her surprise at the sudden recoil causing the lightgun to slip from her grip. The boys who quit the game earlier chuckled as they watched 'The Princess' fumble.

“Yeah, you kind of need to expect that-- Time Crisis is probably the only arcade game series that has recoil simulation.” commented Allison.

“Would've been nice to know that beforehand.” retorted Triela, then looking at the screen. “There's a couple of options here. What do I pick?”

“2-player option.”

Triela aimed at the 2-player selection and pulled the trigger, now having fully expected the pistol's recoil, which felt rather tame, like a .22LR. Allison also selected the 2-player option on the her side, causing both screens to linger for a second before fading to black and into a cinematic. As soon as the words “SHOOT SCREEN TO SKIP” flashed in the upper-right corner of the screen, however, Allison opened fire, denying Triela any chance to see the story.

“Trust me-- the story's just a tad too silly to be taken seriously. You'll see this with the boss characters.”

The action was quickly beginning, as “-WAIT-” flashed on the screen in red capital letters as their respective screens jumped into first-person view, on-screen enemies already taking potshots at them that sailed harmlessly past. Then...

“ACTION!”

by Professor Voodoo Sun 5 Jun 2011 - 0:08

Concerning "Reunion";

It's a clever use of title, which could just as easily have referred to Brian visiting his mother. I particularly like Allison's awkward feelings about calling Brian's mother "Mum."

Where does this fall in your time-line...during the SWA years or after?

Concerning "Chapter 8"

Triela: (after consistently losing lives & tokens) Arrgghh! Those boys were right! This game is rigged!

Allison: Triela, no!

Triela: Fuck this machine! (proceeds to yank out her SIG and blow eight 9mm holes in the screen)

Allison: (facepalm) Alright...you are totally on your own explaining this one to Brian & Hillshire.

by MP5 Sun 5 Jun 2011 - 0:54

Professor Voodoo wrote:Concerning "Reunion";

It's a clever use of title, which could just as easily have referred to Brian visiting his mother. I particularly like Allison's awkward feelings about calling Brian's mother "Mum."

Where does this fall in your time-line...during the SWA years or after?

During the SWA years, actually-- the first visit is during the year and a half between visits Tommy refers to in chapter 7, and Allison gets to meet the rest of the family McDonnell, so to speak, such as Uncles Seamus and David and Aunts Molly and Vicki-- as mentioned in Brian's profile. This second visit is during another Xmas/New Year's holiday period (during which Brian straightens out the nature of his relationship to Allison).

Concerning "Chapter 8"

Triela: (after consistently losing lives & tokens) Arrgghh! Those boys were right! This game is rigged!

Allison: Triela, no!

Triela: Fuck this machine! (proceeds to yank out her SIG and blow eight 9mm holes in the screen)

Allison: (facepalm) Alright...you are totally on your own explaining this one to Brian & Hillshire.

Thank god she doesn't have her SIG with her for this mission-- otherwise, this would be the most disastrous layover at Heathrow ever.

by Alfisti Thu 9 Jun 2011 - 1:00

MP5 wrote:
Professor Voodoo wrote:Concerning "Chapter 8"

Triela: (after consistently losing lives & tokens) Arrgghh! Those boys were right! This game is rigged!

Allison: Triela, no!

Triela: Fuck this machine! (proceeds to yank out her SIG and blow eight 9mm holes in the screen)

Allison: (facepalm) Alright...you are totally on your own explaining this one to Brian & Hillshire.

Thank god she doesn't have her SIG with her for this mission-- otherwise, this would be the most disastrous layover at Heathrow ever.

by MP5 Sat 6 Aug 2011 - 6:56

Excerpt from: 'Farewell, Raging Bull; Greetings, Leaping Cat'

Shakedown

"All right, starting her up."

Allison flipped down the visor on her Simpson Diamondback helmet, turned the ignition key to the 'on' position and pressed the lit-up starter button where the cigarette lighter used to be, and the bored-and-stroked, supercharged and intercooled 5.7L V12 nestled under the carbon fiber bonnet up front roared to life, emitting a guttural roar through the aftermarket exhaust headers that echoed off of the interior of the trailer, garnering the attention of the rest stop's patrons whose cars were blaring music at what was an already somewhat excessive volume.

"What was that?" queried a spiky-haired BMW M3 driver as he looked at the black trailer where the noise was coming from. Fiona, Heinrich, and Brian stepped aside as a pair of HID headlights suddenly blazed in the darkness before the mechanical beast within started to move towards the light. All the young drivers in the parking lot watched in amazement as a '76 Jaguar XJS V12 rolled out of the trailer where the animalistic growls had been coming from. This was not their grandfathers' Jag, they immediately realized, seeing the carbon fiber weave on the fenders, doors, bootlid, bonnet, and front fenders, all bathed in British Racing Green. Inside, Allison leaned on the throttle pedal, causing another roar and whine from the V12 under the hood, before it settled back down to its low, somewhat throaty grumble. The crowd around the Jaguar and its trailer chattered amongst themselves in excitement.

"Hell of a machine." said the driver of a Golf R32.

"Someone trying to teach an old dog new tricks?" asked an owner of a Lancer Evolution VII, staring at the Jaguar in front of him.

"This thing is aero-tastic." said a woman sarcastically in reference to the front and rear diffusers and the large GT wing atop the rear boot lid.

Inside, Allison looked over the multitude of gauges and displays embedded in the carbon-fiber dashboard to monitor all the important engine conditions. Through her helmet radio, she listed off her findings to Fiona, standing just off to the side with Brian and Heinrich.

"Oil Pressure; Normal... Engine Temperature; Normal... Boost Pressure; Normal at idle... Voltage; 14 amps... Oil Temperature; Normal... Fuel Pressure; Normal... Fuel level; full... TPMS on-line and showing 35psi in all tires. Systems check complete, all systems functioning properly."

"Copy that, Allison." Fiona said in reply before going over to a laptop. Maximizing a window, she clicked on a 'record' button and spoke to Allison once more.

"All right, Telemetry data is recording. Whenever you're ready, Allison."

"Acknowledged. Spitfire is going on its maiden run."

Before Allison placed the Jaguar into gear, she hit the 'play' button on the touch-screen of the Pioneer Avic N1 in-car entertainment system unit that had automatically expanded from the dashboard, and one of her favorite songs began to play through the headrest-mounted speakers as she clutched in and engaged first gear, the volume of the exhaust increasing as the 5.7L supercharged V12 sang its song out from the custom side-mounted exhaust pipes.

Tonight... I'm gonna have myself a real good time...

The crowd surrounding the Jaguar parted to let the vehicle through as it moved towards the exit from Rest Area Flaminia onto the southbound lanes of the Autostrada A1. Coasting to yield and check for any oncoming traffic, Allison found none, and got back on the throttle and the modified Jaguar responded instantly, the rear tires chirping a bit as it hurled itself into the lanes of the A1, accelerating quickly with a supercharged whine, and then as Allison shifted into second, gouts of flame erupted from the side-mounted exhausts,drawing cheers from those still watching from the rest stop. With Brian, Heinrich, and Fiona, however, the flame from the pipes was an indicator that there was still a little bit of work to be done.

"Running rich..." Heinrich muttered, scribbling down notes. As the Jaguar disappeared down the Autostrada, the three could now only rely on the GPS, telemetry, and their radio link with Allison to tell them what was going on. Those, and of course, the police scanner they tucked into Brian's RS6. As Allison was playing the part of illegal street racer tonight, there was a chance that she might run into the authorities... and that meant a chance to truly measure the results of the work they had done.
-------------
As Allison accelerated down the A1, the whine of the straight-cut gears was just barely audible under the full volume of Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now" blaring just behind her head. Taking a glance at the MoTec SDL3 display that worked in concert with the OEM instrument cluster, she saw her speed in miles per hour ticking steadily towards 100, and she was only in third gear. As the digital tachometer on the display climbed up to the revised 7000 rpm redline, the backup Sport-Comp analog tachometer mirrored the reading on the digital display, and at the red line, a light came on at the same time the digital tachometer flashed, reminding her to shift up. Clutching in, she slid the gear lever into fourth, with two more gears left to advance into on the custom-built six-speed manual that replaced the stock 'four on the floor' setup. As if on cue, Freddie Mercury began to reach the main chorus of his famous song, and Allison could not help but sing along, caught up in the spirit of her activity.

"I'm a shooting star, leaping through the sk~y like a tiger; defying the laws of gravity... I'm a racing car, blasting by like Lady Godiva... I'm gonna go, go, go; there's no stopping me! I'm burning through the sky, yeah! 200 degrees, that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit... I'm trav'ling at the speed of light; I wanna make a supersonic man outta you..."

Brian smiled as he listened to Allison sing along over the radio, Fiona smiling in amusement and Heinrich shaking his head with a small smirk as they continued monitoring the conditions of 'The Spitfire' as it passed the century mark on the speedometer and continued accelerating towards 150. Up ahead was a Basalt Black Porsche 911 Turbo keeping a dead heat with a Honda NSX Type R. Fireawalling the throttle, Allison quickly caught up to the pair and slipped between them as if they were merely decorations on the highway, leaving a pair of very stunned speed freaks in her wake.

"How's it looking on your end, Fiona?" asked Allison as the speedometer needle brushed past 150 mph.

"Looking good, Allison. All systems holding steady." radioed Fiona in reply. "Aside from the engine running a little rich at the beginning, things are looking smooth. Taking it up to 200?"

"That's my goal--" replied Allison before catching sight of a certain 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with Blue metallic paint and white accent stripes running along its sides. She knew that car anywhere as well as exactly what was under the hood, and with a grin, she decided she would see how 'The Spitfire' fared against it.

"Allison?" Fiona asked, worried about the cyborg's sudden loss of communication. "Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly fine. I think I just spotted a worthy adversary, Fi. Looks like I'm coming up on Mr. Merandish returning from a mission. What say I put 'The Spitfire' to the test against some American Muscle?"

"As long as the two of you don't somehow come together, it should be an opportunity to gather some useful performance data."

Allison liked that answer, and she primed her right foot to accelerate while her left foot got ready to shove the clutch in before shifting into fifth. Suddenly, her rearview mirror was filled with flashing blue lights, her ears assailed by the two-tone drone of an Italian police siren, and rather faintly, the familiar noise of a V10 engine that ever-so-slightly tugged at her heartstrings, bringing back sad memories formed one week ago. Back at the rest stop, Brian's police scanner suddenly came alive with radio transmissions from a well-known unit of the Polizia Stradale.

"This is Gallardo Zero-One, returning from medical transport mission. We are currently following a speeding green Jaguar, number plate Five-Papa-One-Tango-Foxtrot-One-Romeo-Three. Suspect does not appear to be willing to stop. Radar clocks suspect's speed at 260 kph..."

As Brian listened to the radio transmission, he cast a sideways glance at Fiona, who gave a sort of knowing nod to the Northern Irishman. Getting on their own radio, Brian relayed a message to his younger sister.

"Rozzers at your backdoor, Allie. Decision time. You can pull over and talk to the Polizia Stradale and explain why you're speeding in a car that's not really yours, or you can test 'The Spitfire' against Sant'Agata's finest. Your call."

Allison didn't need to think twice to pick the best answer for herself. Her left foot tromped the clutch pedal down and she shifted into sixth gear, revved the engine, and re-engaged the clutch pedal as 'The Spitfire' leapt forward and pulled away, surprising the officers in the Lamborghini Gallardo behind her. At that moment, the song playing in her car launched into a guitar solo as the officers behind her radioed their new situation.

"Suspect is attempting to evade! Engaging in high-speed pursuit!"

The driver of the Polizia Stradale Gallardo threw the Lamborghini into sixth gear as well and firewalled the throttle to chase down The Spitfire. Up ahead, Jacob Merandish's '72 Cutlass Supreme was cruising at around 170 kph when High-Intensity Discharge lights flooded his rearview mirror, nearly blinding him while Melanie dozed in the passenger's seat. The lights pulsed twice, presumably a high-beam flash, before swerving out of his rear-view mirror. He then heard the whine of a supercharger accompanied by the roar of a V12 engine coming up on his left, and he watched in amazement as a unique Jaguar XJS V12, the likes of which he had never before seen with its unusual aerodynamics kit, squeezed past him on the left, his eyes clearly able to make out the '5P1TF1R3' license plate with a Great Britain registration mounted on the rear of the car. The first thought that leapt to mind was that an old Jaguar was blowing the doors off of his beloved Cutlass. The second was that Elio Alboreto mentioned owning a Jaguar, but if this was it passing him, that old man was either crazy, or had more to the car than he had let on in the first place.

"The hell? Is that old man Alboreto?" Jacob wondered. If it was, he needed to keep up in order to defend the honor of his beloved Oldsmobile. Flipping up a safety cover, he flipped a toggle switch upwards into the 'on' position, a glowing red LED signaling that the switch was armed. He was ready to press the button that would activate his car's nitrous system when the Polizia Stradale Gallardo came screaming past him, siren on full blast. Upon seeing this, Jacob decided to pick his battles wisely and disarmed the nitrous system, covering the toggle switch with its safety cover once more.

"Not tonight, old girl... not tonight." muttered Jacob, patting the dashboard. Beside him, Melanie stirred in her seat, wondering what all the commotion was about.

"Jacob? Wuz allat noize?" asked the cyborg, still half-asleep.

"Passing police car, Melanie." replied Jacob gruffly. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay..."

-------------
While Melanie resumed her slumber, Allison, miles ahead, still had to contend with the police supercar still breathing down her neck. both cars were quickly approaching the 200 mile-per hour mark, and Allison needed to get away. Luckily, she had one more trick up her sleeve.

"Time to have the last laugh, Spitfire." Allison said aloud. Flicking a pair of rocker switches on, the dual 100bhp nitrous bottles in the trunk hissed as their valves were opened. Her hand then moved to a long black panel with the words 'EAT,' 'MY,' and 'DUST' labeled across the top. Under each word was a safety-covered toggle switch. Following the words in order, she armed all three switches until lights behind the full sentence glowed to indicate the system was active, and then Allison took a breath before thumbing the button on the steering wheel marked 'N20' and pressing it in. A hiss of gas was all the warning Allison had before gouts of fire blew out the side-mounted exhaust pipes, the rear haunches of the Jaguar squatting down with the weight shift of the vehicle, and the increase in acceleration shoved her against the racing seat. Already out of room on the analog speedometer, the needle began to nose clockwise towards zero again while the digital speedometer climbed towards 210 miles per hour and continued climbing. The Gallardo once looming in her rearview mirror began fading to a speck, and the officers inside were quickly losing ground that Allison was gaining. Unable to continue pursuit and realizing that calling backup would be useless at this rate, the officers decided to call off the chase.

"Aborting pursuit of suspect. Gallardo Zero-One is unable to intercept."

Onlookers listening to the police scanner stood in stunned silence back at Rest Area Flaminia. While many of them were proud of their own sets of wheels and tended to boast noisily at length about them, no one ever said anything about being able to outrun the Polizia Stradale's prized Lamborghini Gallardo-- it was a feat deemed impossible for vehicles of their league, and even the higher-end Porsches that people tended to show up in were no match for the 200-mile-per-hour raging bull that was used to deliver lifesaving organ transplants and chased unruly drivers in its spare time. However, any doubts about the performance of the Jaguar they had seen roll out of the trailer minutes earlier were dispelled. It was a serious machine designed for serious speed, and tonight, it had proven its mettle out on the Autostrada. For Brian, it was reassurance that his sister could do anything that she put her mind to. For Fiona, it meant valuable test data for another 'Q-Branch Hot Rod.' For Heinrich, it meant that he now owed Fiona 20 Euro.
-------------
Back with Allison, she backed her speed down considerably now that the Gallardo terminated the chase and exited from the A1 as she continued on towards Rest Area Prenestina. At this point, the crew back at Rest Area Flaminia had most likely finished gathering the data they needed, and now, they would have to meet up with her at Prenestina to tuck The Spitfire away into the trailer for the long ride back to the Agency compound.

A few miles away from the rest area, Allison noticed a lone pair of headlights in the opposing lane. the headlights were approaching fast, and when she rolled down her window a little to let some air in, she could hear the unmistakable sound of a custom-turbocharged Nissan L28 engine. Squeezing the indicator stalk in bursts to flash The Spitfire's high beams, Allison got a similar response from the other pair of headlights, and as they neared each other, Allison could make out the unmistakable lines of 'Zero', Eliza's specially-tuned Ghostly Silver 1975 Nissan 280ZX, the second of the SWA's two 'Autostrada Aces' purpose-built for running down and intercepting the street racing team 'Scuderia Stricia Azzuro'.

As they came screaming past one another, Allison honked the Spitfire's horn and waved to the redhead in the Nissan, who smiled in response, and in a flash, they went their separate ways. With both of them testing their vehicles tonight, they would know soon enough if they were ready for a re-match with the supercars that bested them nearly a week ago. Manipulating the AVIC-N1's touch-screen to find the performance display, which acted as on-board telemetry, had even logged her velocity. Less than a minute ago, before the Gallardo behind her broke the chase off, the telemetry had shown her top speed on this run to peak at 217 miles per hour, placing The Spitfire in the realm of hypercars like the Pagani Zonda, Ferrari Enzo, and Jaguar XJ220, and she was elated upon realizing this. However, that elation quickly dissipated when she also realized that she had to 'cheat' to achieve that immense speed.

As Allison changed lanes to pull into Rest Area Prenestina, she scrolled back in the timeline of the graph showing her speed readings over the past five minutes. Just how much of her 217-mile-per-hour run depended on the two bottles of laughing gas in the boot?

"No way! Are you serious?!" Allison exclaimed as she pulled into a parking space to finish reading the telemetry. Apparently, around the time she had punched the button to activate her nitrous oxide system, The Spitfire had just nudged 200 miles per hour. This meant that on engine power alone and given enough room, the once-humble Jaguar she now sat in could keep up with a Ferrari F40 and a Porsche 959 in a straight line. However, she was still not entirely sure it would be enough to leave one of the Stricia Azzuro cars behind in her dust. She would need more help with the Jaguar to squeeze even more speed out of it, but she had exhausted most of her knowledge. she pondered her next course of action, when it came to her.

Mr. Pagani knows more than I do... I need the help of an F1 engineer if I'm going to beat these guys...

by ChaosKin640 Sat 6 Aug 2011 - 7:51

by MP5 Sun 11 Sep 2011 - 2:38

Excerpt from Chapter 8: 'Sandbox Chic'

“Hey, do you guys think Kara would ever give this a try? Applying camouflage facepaint, that is?” Allison wondered to her friends.

“I don’t think she’d like it very much.” Johanneke replied, applying one of several diagonal black stripes to Triela’s face. “This isn’t the most fashionable thing in the world, exactly, and more than a little different from applying makeup.”

“Hmm… for all we know, ‘Operator chic’ might become a fashion trend sometime in the future if all the fashionistas decide tactical gear is the new 'in' fashion.” Erina mused before breaking into a smile. “I mean, Miguel Caballero is already ahead of the curve. I can already see it at some fashion show or in the pages of a magazine like GQ—‘He wears: MC Black Collar shirt by Miguel Caballero/Ballistic Point Sunglasses by Numa Optics/ S.I. Assault boots by Oakley/ Rhodesian Recon Vest by Eagle Industries/ TacLite Pro Mens Ripstop pants by 5.11/ OD Tactical thigh holster by Armani.’”

Triela had a bit of a chuckle at Erina’s proposed caption. “Oh yeah? What about ladies?”

“That’s where the designers really jump in.” Erina replied. “Imagine—‘She wears: Ballistic sunglasses by Dolce & Gabbana/Type IIIA concealable ballistic vest by Burberry/Tactical MOLLE Crossdraw vest by Yves Saint Laurent/Tactical Cordura shoulder bag by Louis Vuitton/Womens Ripstop Tactical pants by Gucci/Tan Hot weather assault boots by Christian Louboutin.’”

“Heh. ‘Tactical Gear for the fashion-conscious door-kicker.’ I like it.” Johanneke said with a chuckle.

by MP5 Wed 20 Jun 2012 - 2:11

Carla, Part 1

Self-assured she had given her mark the slip, the young and disheveled pickpocket opened her prize in a secluded alcove of the alleyway she ducked into. Her eyes widened when she saw the contents of the wallet; There was nearly three thousand Euro in hundred-Euro notes, more than enough to feed herself for the week, get some clothes, maybe a backpack, perhaps even a few hours to luxuriate at the local bathhouse.

She was about to dispose of the wallet and take the money when she caught a glimpse of some photos in the wallet. There were pictures of the person she had just stolen from where he was caught in some candid moments with a few women, likely friends or girlfriends. She could tell he was loved, even if his frowning expression in the photos said he wasn't too fond of being surprise-kissed by two pretty girls--one a redhead and the other a brunette, and the blush evident in the photos indicated that he was not entirely immune to their charms. Another photo showed her mark being surprise-hugged by a brown-haired girl with steel-gray eyes, the boy in the picture clearly shocked by the girl's actions.

Before she could pore over the wallet further however, something metallic that sounded an awful lot like a gun hammer being cocked announced itself behind her, and she froze.

"Show me your hands. Close the wallet and pass it back towards my voice." said a voice in English-accented Italian.

"T-this is a bit much for a wallet, don't you think?" asked the pickpocket nervously in response.

"Just shut up and hand over the wallet before I get more upset."

Gingerly, the girl handed over the wallet, its contents still inside, not looking even as someone plucked it from her grasp. She heard a brief flapping of leather before the man behind her spoke again.

"Thank you."

The young girl took a breath before whirling to face her captor.

"So are you going to kill me now?" she asked, looking Andrew Montagne in the eyes.

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already before you even knew I was here." Andy replied.

"Then why still point that thing at me?" she retorted, her eyes flicking down at the cyborg's silvery Beretta.

"Questions. I'd like to ask you why you stole my wallet in the first place."

"I need money." replied the pickpocket.

"Then get a job. Jobs pay money."

"I can't get a job. I'm too young."

"Then why not ask your parents for an allowance?"

"MY PARENTS DIED A LONG TIME AGO!" the girl roared. "I'm an orphan living on the street! No one is willing to hire me or take me in! This is all I can do to make sure I can eat! Do you think I like stealing?"

"You certainly don't seem to be troubled by the principle of it." Andy deadpanned.

"I only do this because I have to make sure I can eat every day. Not like you'd understand what it means to do what I do." spat the pickpocket bitterly.

"Believe me, little girl. You have no idea how much I understand your situation." Andy replied, de-cocking and tucking his Beretta back into his shoulder rig. "As it happens, I was on my way to get lunch when you surreptitiously took what's mine. You look like you could use something to eat right now, so you may as well join me."

"Well, I'm not a little girl!" the pickpocket pouted. "I'm thirteen years old and I have a name; it's Carla."

"I'm Andy. Come with me, Carla. Let's get some lunch and have a chat."

by Thescarredman Wed 20 Jun 2012 - 22:24

This little piece doesn't have a place in anything I'm writing; I just wanted to get a better handle on Alfisti's laid-back and utterly cool fratello. Both of them are so tightly self-controlled, I wondered what might lie under the armor. That meant putting them in a situation guaranteed to make that controlled demeanor slip.

Jethro eased down the dim hallway, pistol in hand, treading carefully on the marble tiles lest a shoe squeak betray his presence. If the present op was to succeed, he had to get in and out without the master of the house ever knowing he was here. But he was here for two very important items, and wasn’t leaving without the most precious of them.

Paulo ‘Gato’ Lascola was a middleman for illegal goods large and small, presently based in Ravenna. Gato knew Jethro as Peter Henchley, a high-end arms dealer specializing in Soviet armor, and they had nearly closed a deal that would put six million Euro in the Agency’s slush fund and Lascola in an Italian prison. But the man had been cagey about the identity of his client, which the Agency very much wished to know, as well as the source of his client’s money. They’d been dancing around those points all afternoon in Jethro’s hotel suite while they negotiated the deal and hammered out details.

Monty had served drinks and sat quietly by, providing a certain amount of useful distraction, the better for Jethro to observe the man’s body language or voice stress. Jethro had introduced her as ‘Monique’, his niece and a completely trustworthy aide. Gato’s eyes had flicked over her, but otherwise ignored her. But when she’d got up to take their glasses to the bar for a refill, he’d said, “Young, Peter, but quite nice. Where did you find her?”

“She’s my niece, Paulo,” he’d said, not expecting to be believed, trying rather to give the impression that the subject was not open for discussion – at least, not presently. It wouldn’t be the first time a man’s interest in his partner had opened a door for them.

But Gato had nodded and seemed to lose interest. When Monty had handed him his freshened glass, he hadn’t even glanced up at her.

The dinner hour had come, and the middleman had excused himself, promising to return tomorrow. Jethro had seen him to the door and returned to the couch to brood. Lascola was in the bag, but they wanted Gato’s information more than they wanted Gato. And they didn’t want to give the client a chance to rabbit, which meant getting the information they wanted before taking the middleman down.

“Perhaps I should pay a visit after lights out,” his partner had said. “He must have a safe, or a computer, or a Rolodex. Something.”

They’d already checked out Lascola’s townhouse, a third-story luxury suite in a vintage and pricey building. He’d said, “Think you can get in and out quietly?”

“The only guard is in the lobby, and the security system is state-of-the-art … for 1980. Are you joking?”

Somewhat later, sitting in their Audi outside Lascola’s building, Jethro had looked up the building’s side to the darkened windows of Gato’s place. “Looks like he’s asleep.” He’d eyed Monty in the seat beside him. She’d been dressed in a short charcoal dress and black thigh-high legwarmers. “Not your usual costume for scaling buildings.”

“Or anything else. But the streets around the buildings are busy, even at this hour. It’s a bigger worry than the security. I may have to loiter about a bit before I start. Don’t want to look too obviously the burglar casing my mark.” She’d opened the door; he’d had the interior lights switched off, but the door chime had still sounded softly. “Back in a tick.”

Fifteen minutes later, she still hadn’t given him the one-ring ‘I’m in’ signal. Possibly throwing all the results of his partner’s stealth in the bin, he’d gone after her. A small bribe and a large lie had got him past the doorman and concierge, and his lockpicks had got him through Lascola’s outer door.

The main room had been dark and silent. He’d produced a small torch and shone it around. A hallway had led off, presumably to the bedrooms, possibly an office; he’d turned that way and immediately spotted a light under a door at the far end.

Monty would never have turned on a light, even if she’d been sure the house was empty. He’d doused the torch and drawn his pistol. At the door, he hesitated. There were small rattling sounds coming through the door. Then voices.

“I’m telling you,” Monty said, “he didn’t send me. He doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t even know I’m gone yet.”

“Oh, I believe you, ciccolina,” Lascola said, voice oily. “This isn’t an interrogation. And, we’re not going to tell him about it, are we?”

“No.”

“Not ever.”

She said, matter-of-factly, “I’d rather die.”

Lascola’s chuckle would have done justice to a B-movie villain.

The knob turned under Jethro’s hand and the door swung open.

The room was a small office, with a heavy wooden table instead of a desk. Monty lay half across it, squirming as much as her bonds would allow: her wrists were stretched wide across its surface and secured to the far corners with handcuffs. Her feet were still on the floor, but spread wide as well, her ankles chained to the near table legs. Her dress was hiked up to her waist. Lascola stood behind her, two fingers hooked in the waistband of her underpants. He turned as the door opened, and his eyes widened.

Jethro told himself that he’d got here in time, that his girl had come to no real harm. He told himself that Gato was the key to this whole op, and the knowledge in the bastard’s head was the reason they were here. And getting caught in such a compromising position should make him easy to handle and willing to talk. Jethro Blacker was still telling himself those things as he put his third bullet into Lascola’s twitching corpse.

“Very dramatic entrance,“ Monty said. “Impeccable timing. Stop in the bar to knock one back on the way up?”

He bent and slapped at the body’s pockets. “Bloody keys?”

“On the cabinet in front of me,” she said, more quietly. “I think he wanted me to be able to look at them while he was busy.”

He rounded the table quickly and snatched at the keys clumsily, swatting them to the floor. He bent to retrieve them. “Why did you let him do this?”

“Trying to protect our cover,” she said drily. “He is more than twice my size. I knew you’d be along to salvage things in your usual smooth manner.”

There was a single key on the ring that would fit a shackle: a like-keyed set, he thought, how very convenient. He released her wrists and rounded the table again, giving Lascola’s corpse a kick on the way. He knelt and undid her ankles, then stood as she turned to face him. She opened her mouth to speak, and he reached out and crushed her against him, pinning her arms and lifting her off her feet to tuck her head tightly under his chin.

A long moment later, she said, “Easy, Guv. Don’t break the goods. Shouldn’t we be getting out of here?”

They hustled past the concierge, who stood watching them with a phone to his ear. They piled into the Audi and sped away, getting lost among narrow back ways. The sound of police vehicles came distantly to them for a bit and then faded away.

“Well,” Jethro said, “This operation is certainly circling the bowl.”

“Maybe not,” she said, extracting a thumb drive from inside her legwarmer, “if we can get this to the Agency’s crypto team sharpish.”

He huffed and shook his head.

Monty said, “Skipper, you know I’d never criticize you-”

He snorted.

“- but that seemed all rather unprofessional.”

“And if it had been the other way round?” Jethro’s knuckles stood out as his hands tightened on the wheel. “If you’d walked in and seen that sick bastard about to do something unspeakable to me? You wouldn’t have done the same?”

“You know that’s not a fair question.” She stared out the window. “I wouldn’t have shot him.”

“No?”

“No. I’d have needed to feel him coming apart in my hands.”

by tremec6speed Wed 20 Jun 2012 - 23:37

Fun read on both counts, MP5 and Scarredman. Smile

Carla taking care of a waif trying to make it on the merciless streets,
Jethro feeling bad about arriving a tad too late yet perhaps jealousy as well?
How far would Monty have allowed the perv to proceed to maintain her cover?

by MP5 Thu 21 Jun 2012 - 0:05

tremec6speed wrote:Fun read on both counts, MP5 and Scarredman.
Carla taking care of a waif trying to make it on the merciless streets,

Something like that, in this case, Carla is the waif in question, a young child struggling to survive in an ambivalent world. Andy sees a lot of himself and his brother in her, so his protective instincts have been triggered.

by Alfisti Thu 21 Jun 2012 - 6:24

Thescarredman wrote:This little piece doesn't have a place in anything I'm writing; I just wanted to get a better handle on Alfisti's laid-back and utterly cool fratello. Both of them are so tightly self-controlled, I wondered what might lie under the armor. That meant putting them in a situation guaranteed to make that controlled demeanor slip.

As I think I said when you first showed me this: the "Jethro rescues Monty" scenario I've wanted to do for some time, but have never figured out how to handle it. Frankly, I think you've done a far better job than I ever could have.

I see it's been tweaked a bit since I last laid eyes on too... definately excellently as both characters, and just in general. Very Happy

Still love it.

Jethro feeling bad about arriving a tad too late yet perhaps jealousy as well?
How far would Monty have allowed the perv to proceed to maintain her cover?

I think Jethro's feeling a bit rattled to say the least, he's just as over-protective of his girl as some of the other handlers, but he's usually better at hiding it... not to mention that he's quite a conflicted person regards his feelings for her. I don't know "jealousy" on his part would be the correct term, but certainly the situation would have been enough for him to act on those emotions he usually keeps so carefully buried. A poor sort of explanation I know, but I'll admit I find trying to put J+M's relationship into words very difficult. Conversely, on the subject or self-control but slightly off topic, I think Monty's just as jealous about her handler, if not more so, than the other girls... she's just better at managing it.

As to the second question: probably not much further at all. Monty's willing to do a lot to get the job done, but there are limits.

by Guest Thu 21 Jun 2012 - 8:53

“And if it had been the other way round?” Jethro’s knuckles stood out as his hands tightened on the wheel. “If you’d walked in and seen that sick bastard about to do something unspeakable to me? You wouldn’t have done the same?”

“You know that’s not a fair question.” She stared out the window. “I wouldn’t have shot him.”

“No?”

“No. I’d have needed to feel him coming apart in my hands.”

I liked this little bit at the end showing just how far some of the girls would go if the handler was hurt

by tremec6speed Thu 21 Jun 2012 - 15:01

MP5 wrote:
tremec6speed wrote:Fun read on both counts, MP5 and Scarredman.
Carla taking care of a waif trying to make it on the merciless streets,

Something like that, in this case, Carla is the waif in question, a young child struggling to survive in an ambivalent world. Andy sees a lot of himself and his brother in her, so his protective instincts have been triggered.

Oops...

Sorry 'bout that....

by tremec6speed Thu 21 Jun 2012 - 15:05

Alfisti wrote:
Thescarredman wrote:This little piece doesn't have a place in anything I'm writing; I just wanted to get a better handle on Alfisti's laid-back and utterly cool fratello. Both of them are so tightly self-controlled, I wondered what might lie under the armor. That meant putting them in a situation guaranteed to make that controlled demeanor slip.
As I think I said when you first showed me this: the "Jethro rescues Monty" scenario I've wanted to do for some time, but have never figured out how to handle it. Frankly, I think you've done a far better job than I ever could have.

I see it's been tweaked a bit since I last laid eyes on too... definately excellently as both characters, and just in general.

Still love it.

Jethro feeling bad about arriving a tad too late yet perhaps jealousy as well?
How far would Monty have allowed the perv to proceed to maintain her cover?
I think Jethro's feeling a bit rattled to say the least, he's just as over-protective of his girl as some of the other handlers, but he's usually better at hiding it... not to mention that he's quite a conflicted person regards his feelings for her. I don't know "jealousy" on his part would be the correct term, but certainly the situation would have been enough for him to act on those emotions he usually keeps so carefully buried. A poor sort of explanation I know, but I'll admit I find trying to put J+M's relationship into words very difficult. Conversely, on the subject or self-control but slightly off topic, I think Monty's just as jealous about her handler, if not more so, than the other girls... she's just better at managing it.

As to the second question: probably not much further at all. Monty's willing to do a lot to get the job done, but there are limits.

Yeah when I wrote it I admit I was not really comfortable with the word jealous, I was grasping for the right term, but fell short.... sweat

by Thescarredman Thu 21 Jun 2012 - 23:17

Alfisti wrote:
Thescarredman wrote:This little piece doesn't have a place in anything I'm writing; I just wanted to get a better handle on Alfisti's laid-back and utterly cool fratello. Both of them are so tightly self-controlled, I wondered what might lie under the armor. That meant putting them in a situation guaranteed to make that controlled demeanor slip.
As I think I said when you first showed me this: the "Jethro rescues Monty" scenario I've wanted to do for some time, but have never figured out how to handle it. Frankly, I think you've done a far better job than I ever could have.

I see it's been tweaked a bit since I last laid eyes on too... definately excellently as both characters, and just in general.

Still love it.

Every change is a direct response to your earlier critique, which I thought excellent. Thanks.

by Alfisti Fri 22 Jun 2012 - 5:17

tremec6speed wrote:Yeah when I wrote it I admit I was not really comfortable with the word jealous, I was grasping for the right term, but fell short....

I figured that might have been the case. I assume what you were going for was a sort of "how dare you touch what's mine." Again, poor example, but...

by Thescarredman Fri 22 Jun 2012 - 17:30

MP5 wrote:

"Well, I'm not a little girl!" the pickpocket pouted. "I'm thirteen years old and I have a name; it's Carla."

"I'm Andy. Come with me, Carla. Let's get some lunch and have a chat."

MP, is Andy just showing a little charity ... or is this a recruitment?

by MP5 Fri 22 Jun 2012 - 23:43

Thescarredman wrote:
MP5 wrote:

"Well, I'm not a little girl!" the pickpocket pouted. "I'm thirteen years old and I have a name; it's Carla."

"I'm Andy. Come with me, Carla. Let's get some lunch and have a chat."

MP, is Andy just showing a little charity ... or is this a recruitment?

This would be the former. Andy might be known for being a tough guy and being a scary person when provoked, but at heart, he's got a soft spot for kids, especially those less fortunate in society. As noted in his and Charlie's profiles, there is an anomaly in their conditioning that has allowed them to remember their past lives that has not been corrected since their memories do not affect their ability to operate. As such, however, Andy remembers being in Carla's position, growing up doing whatever was necessary to stay alive and fed another day. Ever since he and his brother were rescued by Nicolette, Andy is now in a similar position to his handler/mother-sister surrogate where he could reasonably bring Carla out of her situation and therefore prevent her from going to jail or being killed. This is but the start of that relationship.

by topgearbrzgt86 Fri 12 Apr 2013 - 19:37

This is Jim's music during his monologue to Nikolai, the revealed assassin. All credit to Steven Moffat and Doctor Who.

Redemption

After fighting off many of his killer’s henchmen, Nikolai and Jim stood face to face. Davina, Jamiebel and Bernan were hiding behind a crate twenty-five meters away. Jim had his trusty Desert Eagle in his hand, but laid it down. It seemed he did not want to finish the job.

“Jim, what are you doing?!” Davina whispered, anxious. “Kill him!”

“No,” he replied, “not just yet. I have one last thing to say.”

He clenched his fists tightly, in preparation of what he was about to say to the Italian-Russian assassin.

“Do you hear them? All these people and souls that who you’ve killed. All these people, whose ancestors devoted themselves - sacrificed themselves, to you. Do you hear their voices?”

“Jim, come on!” Jamiebel spoke assertively.

Jim breathed and turned over to Jamiebel. “Just leave me alone, Jay-bee. I know what I’m doing.”

He turned back to Nikolai. “Oh, you like to think you're invincible, but you're not. You're just a human Mafia parasite from Russia, eaten out, with jealous and envy and longing for the lives of others. You feed on them. On the memory of love and loss, birth and death… joy and sorrow. So...so… come on, then. Take mine again.”

“Take what?” Nikolai scoffed.

“Take my life again. But I hope you’ve got a big appetite, because I've lived a tough life, and I've seen a few things.”

“Jim, please! Don’t do this!”

Jamiebel’s pleading fell on deaf ears, as Jim said nothing.

“Don’t be an idiot!”

Jim continued. “My friends and I walked away from your assassination attempt. We marked the passing of a new people. I saw the birth of a new Jim, and I watched as my time ran out, moment by moment, until nothing remained. No time, no space – just me. I've walked in a new life where the only people who walk this line were devised by the mind of a madman.”

Jamiebel started to form tears in her eyes, as she shouted, “Jim!! Please!!”

Tears formed as well in Jim’s eyes. “I've watched my universes freeze and my creations burn. I have seen things you wouldn't believe! I have lost things you will never understand! And I know things - Secrets that must never be told; knowledge that must never be spoken; memories that will make parasites like you blaze!!”

Jamiebel leapt out from behind the crate and ran towards Jim, as Nikolai pulled out a .357 Magnum and an EMP gun, and aimed it at Jim’s right eye and heart, respectively.

“So, come on, then - TAKE IT!! TAKE IT ALL, BABY!! HAVE IT!! YOU HAVE IT ALL!!!”

Nikolai did as was told by Jim, and shot him right in the eye and the heart.

“NOOOOOOOOO!!!!” Jamiebel screamed, and shot Nikolai five times in the heart. “That’s for taking my friend’s life, you bastard!”

She turned over to Jim. “Why? Why do it? Why did you have to put your life on the line, Jim?!”

He said nothing.

“Answer me, Jim!!”

“OK.” Jim coughed, as he spoke his reason behind his insanity. “If I die with a purpose protecting the ones I love, I’ll have no regrets, Jamiebel. I wanted redemption. I wanted to take back what truly belonged to us – my pride and my love.”

“But…”

Jim gripped Jamiebel’s hand. “No buts, Jay-bee. If it were you out there, I would have done the same thing. It makes us do crazy things. It made us…us.”

“What is ‘it’?”

“…Love.”

Jamiebel gasped.

“I…”

Jim could not complete his sentence, as his skin finally cooled down, his grip loosened, and his eyes closed.

Jamiebel sobbed quietly, her tears falling on Jim’s skin, and she covered her face to hide her sorrow, as Davina and Bernan approached her.

“Guys…” she still sobbed, “do you think Jim loves me?”

Neither the youngest Angkahan, nor the eldest Angkahan spoke, until finally…

“I think he does.” A voice replied.

The trio found Frédéric and Lisa walking towards the group. Jamiebel blushed at his comment.

“He told me before the mission was even reported. He felt really upset that you didn’t acknowledge his love for you, Jamiebel. He was too shy to even say so.”

Jamiebel sniffled. “Really?”

“I can tell. His eyes told the story.”

by Thescarredman Sat 13 Apr 2013 - 17:36

Serious tear-jerker, dude. Are you really killing off Jim so soon?

by topgearbrzgt86 Sun 14 Apr 2013 - 15:50

No, I'm just making a proposed scene - a "what if" for Jim's death. He'll still live.

by tremec6speed Mon 15 Apr 2013 - 0:57

Powerful read! head bang

by Kurosaka "Ery" Erika Thu 26 Sep 2013 - 22:33

(Planned fanfiction installment after i finish with Coup-de-grace)

Attack near the border, Daring or stupid

-Montegrazies, Northern Italy, close to Monaco-Italy border-

Shortly after the explosion ripped the convoy into mayhem, a gunshot sound echoed through the valley, attacking the UN Convoy right in the tight valley.

“Stay down on the floor!” said Marco to Illaria

“But—“ Illaria persist

“That’s an order!” Marco stressed his order

Moments later, another round of RPG hit one of the Italian armoured car, flipping it to its side. One by one, the UN Soldier getting shot.

“Didn’t i told you to stay in the car!?” Marco surprised to see Illaria crouching next to him,
taking cover whil holding the Beretta AR-70 assault rifle she pick from the fallen soldier.

“I can’t! I want to fight with you too!!” Illaria said to her, amidst the ringing gunfire attacking them.

“No means no! That’s an ord---“Shortly afterward, a bullet landed to his neck.

“Marco!!!” Illaria shocked after what happened, as Marco coughing out blood from his mouth. Pulling Marco to cover, into her lap, she glare Marco for the last time.

Trying to say something to him, he finally lets out his last breath, on Illaria’s Lap. The gunshot sound began to silence as the entire UN soldier getting killed or injured by an unknown attacker attacking them. Shortly afterward, the only thing that Illaria realised was a loud hit to her head by some unknown assailant. Before passing out, she managed to take a glimpse of the attacker walking near to her before falling into a deep slumber.

“It’s her” said the assailant, checking Illaria.

“Bring her in, the boss must be happy about this”

“Sir, we got another survivor here” said one of the assailant, checking the wrecked car.

“Should we kill them?”

“No, don’t.... let’s keep them too”

As another assailant pulling out the survivor, they realize that one of the survivor was Social
welfare agency’s Agent with his cyborg.

“Lupa... Section 2 agent” said the assailant while looking a the identification card pulled out from Lupa's jacket.

Lupa on the other hand, being slightly-conscious, tried to regain his strength, but to his avail, he barely can't even lift his finger. Looking to Freccia, He then rest his head before the assailant pulled him out with Freccia out from the wrecked convoy

(Killing a canon character is kinda awkward for me.. but i've managed to overcome that problem by letting me think what if the Canon character was only just an OC ready to be expended)

by topgearbrzgt86 Thu 26 Sep 2013 - 23:41

"Jim vs. Shinigami"

On a night on Hakone's Toyo Turnpike, stood a lone figure. The mist surrounded his car; a dark silver Nissan Skyline GT-R, the R32 model, with a rear wing. The driver...His body was rather skinny, his hair long, dressed in a black jacket, pants, t-shirt and shoes...and his face a familiar one.

"It's beautiful, the fog in Hakone..." he spoke, "It's like it blanks out all the troubles of the world. Anyone standing here feels absolute silence...and overwhelming solitude."

He looked up towards nothing but the white sky. "Maybe this is what they call Nirvana, Davina. I feel like I've been standing in this fog ever since I lost you."

He looked back towards the white nothingness. "This next race against myself... will be a fight to the death. Which of us will come to join you? Only you can decide.

You'll have to show where your heart truly lies...Davina."

A low rumbling noise suddenly emerged from the fog. What followed, was a white-black two-tone Toyota AE86 Sprinter Trueno, with a rear wing on the back. The driver exited the car, walking towards him.

His figure was slim, but better than the boy he was walking towards. He was much more neatly dressed, in a black bow tie and white polo shirt, with blue jeans and sneakers.

He stopped, only near to his own car, but faced the boy.

"Long time, no see, sir Jim Eligino," spoke the figure. "You look neater, huh?"

"It's been a long time..." the boy named Jim spoke, "Shinigami, Jim Eligino."

-----------------------------------------

"This is way too dangerous," thought a girl. Her face was cute, almost like she was from an anime, as was her voice. Her figure was rather athletic, too. Her hair was raven-black, and strayed all the way past her shoulders. But the clothes she wore, a short skirt, a purple t-shirt, and sneakers, showed she had style, or some sense, at least.

But now, she was concerned about her friend.

"I've never seen a high speed downhill battle like this before. Taking the lead against someone who knows the course is a huge risk. He hasn't been behind the wheel in a while. And on top of that, he hasn't had enough time to get used to his 86's new upgrades."

"Still, I've had faith in him this far, Jamiebel," spoke the man in the driver's seat, sitting next to her. His face was rather crafted than built, his dress sense more common, like Jamiebel's. And his car, a silver race-specced 2003 BMW M3 GTR, was unorthodox, especially for a mountain pass. "Remember when they called him the 'King of Racers'? And the driving senses he perfected back then?"

Jamiebel nodded, "I remember, Alpha. But it's scary, what he became recently. He was more clinical in his driving, his attitude; it's like he's become another Jim - one that's darker than before."

She clenched her hands. "It's like this new Jim really gives no quarter, whether he kills his enemies without mercy...or trying to kill Jim on the road."

Alpha sighed. "We'll have to hope for the best for Jim. And we'll have to brace, if he really has changed."

----------------------------------------

"I remember..." a girl spoke softly, "how Jim used to be friendly. He was also a great driver, almost so that it scared me. Now...he's just a killing machine."

The girl had brunette hair in a bun, a Martini-branded t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Her car, a 1992 Lancia Delta HF Integrale, was her everyday car, and the one she'd use in this chase.

"He's tighter on his killings, often torturing those who offended him, and now...he wants to kill the Jim I know."

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel of the Delta, intent on bringing back her friend.

"Please, Jim...please don't die on us now."

----------------------------------------

Once the fog cleared, Shinigami-Jim in his GT-R followed his adversary in the Trueno.

"We're about equal in terms of handling," Shinigami thought, "but I have the clear advantage in power, 650 to 315. As far as braking is concerned, a lighter car has an advantage. The difference will be clear once we make it to the second half."

He smirked. "It all works out in my favor. You might just have an accident if you don't hit the brakes. All it takes is one little push..."

As he watched the Trueno slightly pull away, "If you manage to escape with your life, then you'll win."

His smirk then turned into a devious smile.

"But I won't let you."

Jim, meanwhile, was still lost in thought of his dear friend.

----------------------------------------

"Jim."

The girl was staring into the endless sea, speaking to her friend. She looked a bit like Jamiebel, only she was a bit shorter, and her hair was down to her arms.

"Why do you think we were brought into this world?" She turned towards Jim. "Haven't you ever wondered, Jim?"

He sighed jokingly. "There you go again; another Zen talk, is it, Davina?"

"Don't dodge the question," Davina smiled. "What is it that you really want to do in life?"

Silence. He was stunned. He never thought, in a million years, that she would pose that question.

She stepped a few feet forward. "Are you happy just following your friends? Or did you come to this college because you really want to become a journalist?"

She looked up to the clouds. "Living like that isn't always a blessing. It can also be a curse. You don't get much opportunity to be who you want to be."

Jim smiled. "Hm. You know just how to hit me where it hurts, Davina..."

Davina smiled back. "What makes you happy? What makes you truly happy?"

She looked back up again. "Don't you have any dreams? Jim, what's your dream?"

He just looked at Davina lovingly. "Quite a charmer, she is," he thought to himself.

------------------------------------------

"I've got him in my sights! It's the Shinigami's R32." spoke Jim's handler, Frédéric Loeb. He was spying beneath the bushes, looking for both Shinigami and Jim.

"He's chasing after a white-black car. He's going so fast, he's sure to pass him any moment now. Please, Alpha, be careful with this one."

"Got it," Alpha answered.

He, with Jamiebel in the passenger seat, and Allison, in her Delta, pulled off the stop and into the road, coasting and waiting for them to arrive.

They waited patiently, before Jim's Trueno and Shinigami's GT-R passed them both, before going full throttle.

"I've got you now..." thought Alpha.

"...Shinigami!" finished Allison.

The four cars zoomed past the straight, like beams of light.

(End of Part 1)

by Kurosaka "Ery" Erika Sat 28 Sep 2013 - 4:50

MP5 wrote:Oh, no problem, RF. in fact, here's the whole section of what I've managed to write so far.:

Chapter 8 excerpt wrote:
At the arcade, Allison and Triela watched the two boys playing Time Crisis 3. The pair was on their last lives each despite only being on Area 1 of the first stage. At this point, both players had fallen into a constant pattern of shooting two rounds at an on-screen enemy and then ducking to reload (by releasing the foot pedal). The ammunition for their special weapons (an available machine gun, shotgun, and grenade launcher) were already depleted, and they failed to blast away any of the specific enemies that would drop ammunition, leaving them only with the basic handgun. This was proving problematic as they faced down the 'boss' character of the area, which was a piece of naval artillery.

The player on the left finished reloading and pressed down on the pedal to pop up and fire, but it was a poorly-timed maneuver that took away his last piece of health as the naval gun aimed directly at him and blew him to bits. As the continue screen began its twenty-second countdown, he aimed one last shot, choosing the 'no' option and then returned the lightgun controller to its metallic holster, leaving the rest of the game to his partner on the right side of the dual-screen machine. For his part, the remaining player found a slightly more effective strategy of popping up and using his free hand's index finger to rapidly work the trigger to spam all nine handgun rounds in the magazine at the target, slowly but surely whittling down its health. However, just as he reloaded with less than a centimeter of health left in the boss character's bar and about 15 seconds left on the countdown clock (the basis for the title Time Crisis), a random opponent popped up and shot him, taking down his last bit of health. Unwilling to spend any more money on the game, the player also shot the 'no' option on the continue screen and holstered the plastic pistol.

“Let's get out of here-- that bloody game is rigged.” complained one of the boys.
As the two began to walk away, Allison stepped up to the machine, but remembered Triela was also there.

“Blue gun or pink gun, Triela?” Allison asked.

“Um... Blue gun.”

“Then I'll take Pink.”

As Triela stepped up to the blue side of the machine, Allison fished out a stack of sixteen tokens from the pocket of her jeans and divided them into smaller stacks of eight. She handed one stack off to Triela, keeping a stack for herself and immediately started feeding them all into the machine.

“Rule one of these arcade games, Triela; get at least two credits' worth of tokens before you even start.”

“Why is that?” asked 'The Princess'.

“Most of these games give you twenty seconds to continue if you lose all your lives.” Allison explained. “If you don't have the tokens on you right then and there, you're forced to hop off, scramble to the change machine, feed that money as fast as you can, and scramble back before your twenty seconds are up. In that duration, you'll either run out of time, or someone impatient will hijack the machine from you.”

“I see. I'll remember that next time I'm at an arcade, I guess.”

“Good. Then let's begin. Feed all eight coins into the slot until you have two credits.”

Triela began inserting the coins, the game in front of her producing a sound with each coin inserted, the text on-screen changing with the increasing amount of tokens. When she looked up, Allison already had her lightgun out of its holster.

“Ready to get started?”

“Sure. Is there a button I press?”

“Just the trigger on your controller. Aim at the screen and give it a squeeze.”

Picking up the blue pistol from its holster, Triela let the weighted muzzle hang down a little as she felt how it was to hold it in her hands. It was a hefty, chunky thing, not at all like her lithe SIG. And the attached cord that was connected to the bottom of the grip made the pistol feel more awkward to maneuver with. Still, she didn't want to waste Allison's time, and she lined up the front sight with the screen in front of her and pulled the trigger, noting practically no resistance at all in the trigger pull. However, the plastic slide on the pistol did jump back, and Triela scrambled to avoid dropping it, her surprise at the sudden recoil causing the lightgun to slip from her grip. The boys who quit the game earlier chuckled as they watched 'The Princess' fumble.

“Yeah, you kind of need to expect that-- Time Crisis is probably the only arcade game series that has recoil simulation.” commented Allison.

“Would've been nice to know that beforehand.” retorted Triela, then looking at the screen. “There's a couple of options here. What do I pick?”

“2-player option.”

Triela aimed at the 2-player selection and pulled the trigger, now having fully expected the pistol's recoil, which felt rather tame, like a .22LR. Allison also selected the 2-player option on the her side, causing both screens to linger for a second before fading to black and into a cinematic. As soon as the words “SHOOT SCREEN TO SKIP” flashed in the upper-right corner of the screen, however, Allison opened fire, denying Triela any chance to see the story.

“Trust me-- the story's just a tad too silly to be taken seriously. You'll see this with the boss characters.”

The action was quickly beginning, as “-WAIT-” flashed on the screen in red capital letters as their respective screens jumped into first-person view, on-screen enemies already taking potshots at them that sailed harmlessly past. Then...
hhh
“ACTION!”

fully detailed, the same feeling when i played time crisis arcade game...very well made story, it's like...i'm relieving back that moment when i play time crisis arcade game... rather choosing blue gun for it Razz

and with the word "Action" exclaimed in some sort of weird accent, it still ring inside my ear XD

by Kurosaka "Ery" Erika Sat 28 Sep 2013 - 5:04

Another So-called "E3" [ ] Teaser trailer for my fanfiction story installment, set approx. one year after Musica E La Macchina.

-Operation Obscure (name soon to change, or will never change)-

“Yuki, can you see the location from up there?” Kai asked her.

“Yes Signore” Yuki replied shortly to him, viewing the target in the lens of the scope. The sound of Barrett M95 Bolt being cycled filled the atmosphere inside the small room.

“You want me to accompany you up there?” Kai asked her if she wants him up there with her.

“I’m fine with myself, Signore” said Yuki shortly, answering his question.

“Okay then” Kai accept her answer. “Wait for my go... When i give you the signal, open fire randomly at that room.... and try not to hit Sandro and Char while you are on it“

“Roger”

“5....4....3....2....1....” Kai begins the countdown. ‘open fire” Simple orders from Kai’s mouth to Yuki telling her to start the .50 caliber shot barrage.

But before Yuki could open fire, her scope vision blackens out. To her dismay, in front of her stand a a Seven foot tall man wearing black coats with shades in his face; the man that blocked the sniper-scope vision with his hand. The moment before she could react, the man punched her to the face, dropping her sniper rifle; along with her sidearm on the floor.

“You guys didn’t think we didn’t know your plan was? Keep dreaming!” the man continues to hit Yuki by kicking Yuki on the stomach while she was lying on the floor. The attacker then starts to kick her head, before kicking her stomach again.

Stunned and disoriented, she tried to reach for her SIG GSR that was lying on the floor near to her. But before she could pick her sidearm, she realized that the cold-hard gun barrel of the Silenced P2202 pistol from the assailant aiming directly to her left eyes.

“Let see if you’re fast enough for that...” said the assailant.

Feeling threatened by his words, she then reluctantly giving up with the attempt. However, the assailant didn’t stop right there, she continues to shove Yuki’s head into the floor; pressing her hard, before putting a single 9mm round to her left shoulder.

The agonizing and stinging sensation after the shot, Yuki could only moan silently from the pain. The only thing that crossed in her mind is that the regretful feeling she had on herself. ‘Why i wasn’t build with more durability instead of the agility? Why i’m programmed to be more ‘fragile than the other? Why, why, and why’ more questionnaires began to circles inside her minds.

“Oi Dickface! what are you doing with her!?” a familiar voice suddenly surprise Yuki.

“Bianca?” the man replied.

“I said, what the hell you just did to her!?” Bianca pressed his word sharply to him while giving the irritated glare.

“Bianca...?” Yuki surprised to see him, after long time of not meeting him since her last fight in Venice.

Sorry for that Bianca, i went overboard with her...considering that...”

“I know I know... those agency dogs killed your brother...but coin this to your head; she didn’t kill your brother” said Bianca to him.

“Why’d you appear now...why did you...”Before she could say further, Bianca injects the usual anesthetic to her neck.

“Don’t worry Yuki... you know me, right? And you know how i love you...” said Bianca to her, before kissing her to the lips. Yuki then fell unconscious in Bianca’s lap.

“So, what now?” the man asked him.

“Get ready to light the fuse”

Meanwhile at Kai’s position, He wondered why Yuki didn’t open fire. He tried to relay the signal back to Yuki again using his intercom earpiece. But to his avail, no response was heard.

“Where’s the signal, Kai?” Charles asked him.

Wait, I’ll try contacting her” he replied. “Yuki, come in” Kai tried to contact her using the walkie-talkie he gave earlier. Still no reply he tried over and over just to see if Yuki can respond him.

“Yuki’s not here, but i can be a replacement to her” said Bianca over the walkie talkie.

“What the, who’s this!?”

“Someone you knew...or she knew...”

Shortly afterward, an explosion ripped the street into chaos. Some of the car in the blast area went into the air for a couple of feet before falling back into the ground ablaze, synchronized with large fireball, soon followed with gunshot sound.

“Kai, We’re under attack!! They knew were here!!!” said Alessadro, a stray of gunshot sound can be heard in the background, with also Petrushka and Sherry’s voice included.

“What!? they knew we’re here!?” Kai shocked by the information given by Sandro. Quickly picking up his rifle, he dashed outside to assist Sandro without thinking about Yuki. But he didn’t go far, as he was shot to the neck with an anesthetic dart.

“Damn...” Kai exclaimed softly after pulling out the dart from his next. Slowly, he felt the nauseate effect and began to collapse to the ground.

by Kurosaka "Ery" Erika Sun 29 Sep 2013 - 9:27

and the last teaser

-Somewhere in Poretta Terme Airspace, Italy-

“We’re at the operation airspace and I’m seeing some activities at the spot here, permission to engage?” the AC-130 pilot requesting permission to the headquarters

“Permission granted, give them hell” the headquarters giving the permission “And be careful not to hit the SEAL Team down in the area, as they’ll establish radio contacts with you guys for providing target identification”

“Roger that!” the AC-130 pilot replied.

“Looks like we’ll be late for dinner, eh?” the co-pilot said to him

“Looks like that, Evan” the pilot

“Hey Mike, get ready to load that 105, because we’ll barbecue them until they fry like those suckling pig we roasted yesterday” said one of the operator.

“This is team echo on the ground, we’ll be providing you guys with target; we’ll be lasing, code 1 1 0, i repeat, code 1 1 0” the SEAL team finally establishing connection to them

“I got you in my scope; get ready to give us target, Team Echo”

“Roger that”

“Death from the sky, right Brian?”

“Apparently”

Suddenly, the cockpit filled with warning sounds; the surrounding cockpit goes awry while the radar detects incoming missile lock to the gunship, as the AC-130 was locked by Surface-to-air missiles from the ground.

“What the—incoming SAM!!! Evasive manoeuvres, deploy countermeasure! Flares!!!”

“Flares deployed!!!” a barrage of flares fired out from the rear end, brightening the dark gloomy skies with multiples flare pattern in an attempt to evade the missile. The missiles detonate midair, preventing it from reaching the gunship.

“Second missiles inbound!!!”

“Where is it!? I can’t shake it off!!!”

Without second to spare, the missiles hit the propeller, knocking out both engine on the left wing.

“Hydraulics out!!! Both Engine 3 and 4 are out too!!”

“Close both damaged engine!!”

“We’re losing power!”

Trying as hard as the pilot could, their fate was sealed; another missile hit the left wing, shredding the entire part into pieces. The plane made its slow, hellish decent into the ground, circling sporadically in the air with fire ablaze on its wing; which later crashed into the Hilly area of Poretta Terme, lighting the sky with huge fireball from the explosion.

“Damn, now we don’t have any air support” said one of the SEAL soldiers.

“Team Echo, this is Big Brother, be advise, a squadron of F-15E will be scrambled to provide you with air cover. In the mean time, we’re receiving news that the Italian special group ‘SWA’ are on the area trying to assist with the operation. You may need their assistance in this operation” the headquarters giving them update in their mission.

“Roger Big Brother, we’ll keep that in mind” the SEAL team leader replied with the updates.”Extraction method?”

“Due to the other Black hawk being used elsewhere, and two of or Black Hawk assets are being used as CSAR for locating the downed AC-130, we can’t confirm your extraction”

-Different timeline, at Sicily, Italy-

“Look, The reason why you operation was compromised and resulting to UN interference is because you guys tend to dick around in Italy” said Yuki Boldly to him, while being tied to the chair. Kai was also tied to the chair, sitting beside her, quietly trying to assess the situation.

“I Know Yuki... The thing is, our operation is leaked by some mole in this team...so, I want to ask you a simple question, who is the mole?” said Bianca to Yuki. After capturing Yuki and Kai in the previous day, he’s determined to find out who’s the responsible person that leaked the information inside his group.

“Like I would tell you about that” said Yuki, glaring to Bianca.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re a girl... you’ll be dead by now... in fact, I don’t care eve if you’re a girl... however there’s a reason why i didn’t kill you” said Bianca.

“How touching... F.Y.I, How should the frakk I know who’s the mole? I’m not even part of the operation” Yuki replied.

“I see...so you’re saying that yesterday you were in the operation was for nothing? You better prepare a better lies than that, Yuki-chan” said Bianca to her nicely as he could.

“I know nothing about anything related to this mole you’re talking about”

“I’m sure you would say that...So... you don’t care if i kill your ‘Brother’ right now?”Bianca trying to taunts her.

“You wouldn’t dare...”

“Yuki, don’t tell him anything!” Kai persuades her not to tell the truth

“Don’t Challenge me Yuki-chan... tell me the name or this would happen” he then reached for the wire at the table before, chocking Kai with the wire.

“Feeling of answering my question?” Bianca said to Yuki, while strangling Kai.

“No! Please!!! Don’t!!!” Yuki watched the agony as Bianca continues to strangle Kai.

“Clock is ticking! Tell me who the mole is!!” Bianca later tightening his grip on the wire.

“Illaria, the Mole is Illaria!!! Please stop!!!” Yuki pleads to him.

“Illaria? That newbie kid? No wonder...”Bianca finally have the answer he needs. “Good girl...now, that was easy...was it” Bianca finally releasing his grip on the wire chocking Kai’s neck, before patting Yuki’s head.

“I swear, in the name of god... I’ll kill you” Yuki swore to him.

“Keep that promises to yourself, I’ve heard it like thousands of times in the past...”

-Early chapter timeline, Italian national news-

“With the several activities of terrorism striking across the Italy, the Italian Prime Minister; Bernando Socci, declared a state of emergency across Italy; particularly Montegrazies, Florence, Anzio, and Poretta Terme. Also in the news, NATO Decide to interfere with Italy’s problem regarding with the rising terrorism activities spreading to Europe by sending several USMC Battalion, with UN Peacekeeping soldiers”

by Pax Mon 30 Sep 2013 - 1:23

Yea, its rough as hell, but it sets up my handlers, so I figured I'd toss it up to get blasted ful of holes so I can make it better, heh.

Spoiler:

by Sponsored content