(It is at this point that a coin was flipped :P)
This wasn’t supposed to be that kind of mission. Not yet at least. He was supposed to be able to prepare, to find information on the things and then find the best method of fighting it. Such was Maverick’s methodology. To walk into any threat prepared to smack down the enemy with what could be amounted to the surgical application of brute force. A craftsman hitting the nail on head. And if they didn’t know how to beat it, they poked and prodded until they knew how to beat it. There were few, that ever poked back until today. That looked for their weaknesses, and struck them when most vulnerable.
He was almost out ammo. One magazine left on his Maverick made Kalashnikov Carbine, and it was sitting in the rifle with a rouns chambered. 30 more rounds for his H&K MK 23 SOCOM. The infected were in this part of the building in droves as whatever the hell that thing was left. This is great.
An army of what may as well be zombies, with none of the frailty, all of the strength and who shot at you. Granted, they weren’t very good shots but the sheer volume a squad could put out to one individual was enough to compensate. The fact that there wasn’t much cover around that could block it all made it worse. So he had to settle for concealment as he sat underneath a desk in a crowded office. Slowly, he screwed a silencer onto his gun, and withdrew his knife from it’s sheath. Clearly, his enemies were numerous. They were stronger and in other cases, faster. Many other aspects were unknown, but he knew of two edges he had, strategy and equipment.
*THUNK**
He watched the boots from underneath the desk, watching as it over turned a table and waved the rifle around, still searching. Gradually he noticed other feet growing near. Was there a leak in his armor? A hole? Full sealed body armor meant heat. Sweat. He wouldn't be surprised if they could smell him.
Now or never.
*Fwoop*
The round through the desk and one of them drops for seemingly no discernable reason. The others move….slowly towards it. As if they couldn't tell why it dropped. They were so coordinated before. More coordinated than anyone with their repo'd by some virus ever was. But there was no time to question it. This is opportunity.
Roll out laying prone. Raise sights. Breath in, and out. The end of the exhale, during the body's natural respiratory pause, quick, relaxed trigger squeezes. *Fwoop fwoop fwoop fwoop* The advanced silencer negates the noise of his bullet to hollywood proportions. Time spent on the range with such a familiar weapon and steady breathing nets four .45 rounds finding homes in the heads of the enemy. 3 drop. One of them, blood oozing from the room, only briefly looks him dead in the eyes through the gas mask. Before another shot drops him.
The desk is chopped in half, and his body jumps at the noise as though he'd been shot. He wondered if he'd been found again, by that thing. He was out of flashbangs, and that would make dealing with the speed and accuracy…improbable.
He slowly peaked out. The sight something else. It wasn't it. It was something else. Female figure, civilian clothes. Much further down the line, more drastic mutation. There was just a mass of blades tendrils where her head would be. Muscle in her body was oddly refined given her lithe frame. The others had an almost handicapped saunter in the way that they walked. As though they lacked full body coordination, twitching occasionally and sporadically. As if the mind still resisted being torn apart and overridden. But this one stood fully erect. A casual grace in her every motion as she shoved desks aside. It made a chittering noise, and room became like unto an ocean as they flooded in.
Is every goddamm infected in building in here??
*Click* *RATATATATATATATA*
He drops the pin to the white phosophorus grenade to the ground as he chucks it. A wall of white smoke erupts all around and all who contact it are set ablaze, as the particles burn flesh down to the very bone upon contact. The range of the grenade is 35 feet. And his armor hided him from it's effect. The woman, carries herself up to the ceiling as blades emb themselves in the walls, but Gaz's attention is forced to the ones all around them. A few penetrate the smoke in armor. Short controlled bursts of the Kalishnkov put them down. Mutation not drastic enough to put them beyond taking too many body shots for organs to function. A few offhanded shots at the woman. One hits. *Ping ping* He heard the noise of the blades deflecting them, but scarcely saw the movement.
More gunfire. Bullets fail him again as he meets one of his own. A guy in type 3A level ballistic resistance armor. His armor, on the otherhand; was not nearly so heavy and nore so geared to keeping out things smaller than bullets. He could never dodge a bullet, but jumping a desk made him a difficult target as the rounds missed him. The man chases after the lone survivor, gun waving and stuck out forward. Like an amateur.
The gun gets grabbeda and a clinche follows. His arms wrapped around the armored individual and too close to be shot it, the muzzle is steered wildly all about the room, bullets holes appearing all about. Before finally, he gets in a good position and tosses the guy over his hips, slickly pulling the pin on one of the infected's grenades before he books it.
Glass ruptures outward as Gaz's body shoots out the window,the ensuing explosion erupting behind him on que as if this way some kind action movie , as he descends two stories from the ground. The only thing that would be out of place in such a movie is the sickening crack heard when Gaz hits the ground with an improper roll. A brief swear ensuing. His breathing heavy, as he knows what can follow next. He doesn't waste time, his pain driving him out of desperation as he crawls along the ground. Trying to find cover. Bullets sail overhead as he manages to crawl in a parking lot. But one noise warranted as much dread.
*Thump*
She landed without any apparent damage to her body, the mass of tendrils waving ominously about as it took a moment to scan the area. One slash shoves a car aside. Another slash meets another car. And in another, Gaz is revealed to it.
*Pingpingpingping*
All that aim, the kind that lands headshots with fifty percent success. And she just swats them away. He doesn't even know how the thing sees the rounds coming, but it didn't matter. Nothing much really seemed to matter. At that point.
*Click click click*
Empty.
By the time he reached for the extra clip, the blade already found it's way into his lower abdomen. He gacked up blood under his mask as he dropped his magazine. Rational thought leaves him and images of his past become one blur in a long line to now. What did he have to fight for? Some drive to bring him further? The legendary Eric Bradshaw had his entire family killed before he truly became a slayer of metamen. In a moment of calm, he couldm't help but wonder if he needed something similar to move his arms. To do something. Anything. That a small chance.
It's a job.
His rises from the ground for a second, as the blade is withdrawn, before falling to the floor. The creature orients it's body, facing towards the master who gad just been bested. In it's silence, it hears ticking.
At that moment, it notices a semtex stuck to it's bloody blade.
*Boom*
The creature’a blade had blown odc it's body as it was riddled with shrapnel and the hand shoots out to grab the clip. His vision swims and he struggles to orient the rounds into the gun. But once insert, he rolled d swerved on the ground, rolling onto his stomach as he focuses. Remembers the basic drills hammered into his head so much that he didn't need to consciously think. He vision focused on the fun. And the target became a stumbling blurb before him. Breath in. Breath out. Pull the trigger.
Holes appeared all over the target and around half the steam hit the target. It stumbled, not dead but seemingly rendered half retarded by bullets embing tjemselves in whatever passed for brain matter. The chopping blade was slow enough that Gaz could roll to evade it. No more ammo. Whip out the SOCOM and start firing. Limbs came off and he didn't question it. Only after he ran out of bullets sid he realize others were firing. A squad with sniper somewhere off behind him tore the thing to pieces with their rounds. Limb after limb came off. The blades broke.
By the time they were done, it looked like a pile of ripped calamari. Tendrils twitching and flopping like fish. Blood staining the humanoid woman's ruined hole filled coat. He saw men move up in front of him as he felt himself hoisted off the ground.
Then everything went black.
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