North Korean Airspace
Fingers methodically tightened and loosened around the silk grip of his katana, the muscles underneath the skin tensing and letting go in tandem with the whir of the chopper's blades. Gary Anderson Jr. was sitting in the midst of a small group of four heavily-armed operatives, each one checking over their individual gear, and mentally preparing for the downright insane task that faced them all. Parachutes were stuffed inside of small backpacks, snugly strapped to each of them. Gary's mask was down, hanging from the back of his pitch-black outfit. He was smiling, green eyes alight with a mirth that severely contrasted with the atmosphere within the copter. He'd given the contingent a bit of a break, then he continued his story.
"And then, the next morning, Angelina wakes up, Brad's thumb is missing, the vault is empty...and the butler was never heard from again!" He laughed, lightly punching one of the soldiers next to him in the arm. He smiled weakly in response, clutching at the handle of his rifle. "So anyways, that's where the restraining order came from," he continued, gesturing with his hands as he talked. "And the best part? They never even told anyone about his thumb! They were so concerned it would ruin his image as an actor. He wears a foam one now! I doubt even his agent knows about it." He ran his hand through his hair, sitting back in the chair, chuckling to himself. "That story gets better every time I tell it," he said, looking at one of the other agents. He took the katana from his lap, attaching it to his back. He felt the sheath lock into the small slot in the back of his impact suit with a click, sliding in between his back and the parachute. His storytelling was just another way to calm his nerves. Only an idiot wouldn't be nervous right now, he thought. We're busting into one of the most secure countries in the world. This goes wrong, we'll ignite World War...4? 5?
He knitted his brow. Let's see, One was between the Central Powers and the Allies...Two was between the Nazis and the Jews...have we even had a Three yet? Churchill and Martin Luther King Jr. against someone... He exhaled softly in annoyance. His terrible memory wasn't a result of stupidity; he had, contained within a single mind, the combined memories and life experiences of nearly fifty men. He put more stock into remembering interactions with others than even rudimentary history. And let's not forget training, he thought. What memory space he didn't use for names and places, he used for combat. Basic necessities, he thought, zipping up the neck of his suit. Slowly, he pulled the hood over his head, dragging the full-face mask down over his nose and mouth. The visor clicked to life, informing him that every system was fully functional.
Somewhere, there's a Gary Anderson Jr. who devoted his life to being normal. Remembering basic facts, having a stable relationship. Not kidnapping evil dictators. Somewhere...
It wasn't poetic, wishful thinking. He was being literal. Gary just couldn't remember exactly which city he'd assigned to Normie, as he sometimes thought of him.
The intercom blared through the helicopter, loudly informing them that they were approaching the drop zone. Standing as a unit, the soldiers walked over to the back of the chopper, standing uniformly before the door. Split, after a moment, stood up behind them, patting himself down to make sure everything was in place. The backpack with the chute was tight against his chest, not a single strap out of place. He smacked the two soldiers in front of him on the back, shaking their shoulders as he pulled himself up to them.
"This is it, guys!" he said, grinning with childlike excitement behind his mask. They grunted in agreement, pulling their goggles down over their eyes. Not much for conversation, are they, he thought, before bracing himself. The door opened before them, and he charged up through their ranks, arms pumping as he leapt from the back of the carrier.
"FIRST!"he yelled, arms spreading wide as he dove from nearly 3,500 feet above Pyongyang, smiling joyfully as the wind ripped at his body. He was a shadow against the blackness of night, dropping like a stone towards the only bright spot in North Korea. Communism...you can see it from space, he thought, eyes narrowing in on their assigned landing zone. He brought his legs together, flattening his arms against his sides. Angling himself towards the drop zone, he shot towards the ground like a bullet, waiting until he was extremely low before opening his chute. He was jerked backwards, legs flailing out underneath him as he descended, rolling as he hit the grassy area beneath. He was on a small plateau, located within the woods near Korea Bay. It was here that he would meet up with the other members of Operation Midnight. Two buildings within the city had been infiltrated by Navy SEALS, but he'd need to meet with the others, who were set to arrive by speedboat any second now.
"This is Split," he spoke into his communicator, nestled within his black mask. "Airdrop was a confirmed success," he said, watching as the other soldiers landed nearby. They'd opened their chutes much, much earlier. Amateurs, he thought with a grin, before continuing. "These are our coordinates. We're en route to the rendezvous point. Over."
Closing the communicator, but leaving his channel open, he blinked for a moment, standing absolutely still. A second later, and two other Splits had appeared, pulled at full force from a parallel vibrational plane. He'd needed only to focus, and they would appear, doing exactly the same thing he had been doing in their own respective planes. Except now, they'd do it here, with him. They looked at each other for a moment, and nodded, dashing off into the forest, each one taking cover behind trees. With intense haste, they moved towards the rendezvous, each once coordinated perfectly with the other two.
Alright. Let's go tase Kim-Jong Un in the nuts, they thought in tandem, with a bizarrely simultaneous grin. He'd openly be acting professional from here on out, but inside his head, he was afire with glee.
America. F*** yeah.
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