I really need to learn how to excel at something...
You actually do excel at something, LOL. I can point it out for you if you really have no idea what.
Though the modified 6x6 Mercedes-Benz, a G63 from the rogues of AMG, featured an armored exterior that told of an inherent ability to survive and endure all that nature could muster, its interior was a plush domain lined with premier leather. On the right, sat Bastian, the United States President's would-be assassin. To his left and behind the wheel with a grip that oozed a confidence more gelid than ice, was Mackenzie, the Renegade, the redheaded stealth operative whose slick expertise proved integral to their mission. Now however, they were being pursued, by a winged beast built to the proportions of an Underworld monster. From behind the smoked lenses of his goggles, eyes of liquid emerald focused on the coming corner.
"Turn right", he instructed, the deep, cool timbre of his voice echoed, words delivered by the accented speech of a thick and commanding German inflection. And once his girlfriend complied, masterfully cutting the rugged off-roader into the approaching corner with smooth control, Bastian's index finger pressed on a button on the dashboard, a button that read 'Kaiser Mode'. Quickly the car fell silent, its roaring, twin-turbocharged 5.5. liter V8 replaced by a mute, 12.0 liter, low-profile liquid-cooled hydrogen-injected ICE I/C plant whose use of a carbon/silicon catalyst conjured an efficiency beyond the reach of modern fossil-fuel engines. Most importantly however, the car fell invisible. On the car's armored body was a material that used differently-colored lights attached to motors embedded at the surface. Lights that rotated and were turned on and off dynamically to match the color, shade etc. of the surrounding environment.
The surface motors however, were not electric. They were protein motors running on tiny microtube rails. And the lights were comprised of quantum dot nano crystals, highly fluorescent nano-scale metal semiconductors that absorbed and emitted light at different wavelengths. Moving around in a controlled manner, the differently colored quantum dots held their intensity and position while the car's advanced video input captured the surrounding environment, cloaking and matching the car to the environment. Though invisible and nearly soundless, Bastian, the Black Baron sensed, nay knew that somehow this... creature, would not be deterred. The Mercedes may have been rendered invisible by the thermal radiation emitted by his and Mackenzie's body, remained clear for those with the superhuman perception to perceive it.
And he hadn't a doubt in his mind that their foe, in hot pursuit, perceived and hunted them. Here, the German sought to finish what they'd started. While the Renegade drove, he fiddled with the dashboard, readying the car's weaponry as a nano-assembled 40mm rotary gun emerged from its roof, took aim and fired high-density slugs of depleted uranium t their pursuing enemy, the President-turned winged beast from man's nightmares. He couldn't be certain. Thomas 'Animus' Newcastle was a man of resilience. As potent as the car's rotary gun was, he felt it not sufficiently so, not to kill their target at least. If need be, he'd have to emerge from the vehicle and do battle himself, Mackenzie by his side and in possession the unassuming black briefcase often in the German's possession, a quantum dimensional pocket that held every piece of advanced weaponry in his arsenal.
"If the rotary gun fails, park the car somewhere so that we finish this ourselves. This mission does not end until we stand over the grave of another corrupt president".
Mackenzie, his partner, confidant, and sweetheart, was a woman whose expertise in the field of stealth was invaluable. Her ability to alter her appearance, erase all records of her own being, and forge new identities, bordered on the supernatural. It was uncanny, and knew no rival. On her worst day, she was still the greatest of stealth operatives. And here and now, she was integral. The Last Kaiser's mission was a grand one. And for it to be accomplished, the powers that be, the authorities that posed the greatest global threat, had become his target. The Shogunate of Venezuela. And the United States, a nation lured into the serpent's deception, one where Thomas Newcastle, the seven-headed serpent, held the greatest power.
Bastian, the Last Kaiser, a German super soldier of the finest breed, held no great love for this nation of stars and stripes. What he held was interest, an investment in the death of a Thomas Newcastle, the United States President, and 1/3rd of the Third Society. 'He is the devil the world does not know', Bastian's mind reminded, his thick, German inflection echoing in its corridors with a gravitas of aggression, a timbre of quiet intensity. Adorning a frame muscled to the proportions of an ox, a ballistic armor whose shade was black, and whose fabric was a self-repairing nano-material. Grafted into his left arm was a silvery layer of carboplatinum-reinforced coltan-titanium. Veiling the lower half of his features was a multi-purpose mask forged from titanium and ceramic composite armor plating.
Armed to the teeth, emerald eyes peering from behind the smoked lenses of onyx goggles, Bastian strode forward. Surrounding him were the walls of a room. Before him was a window, one that gave view to the White House. The Last Kaiser? He was in a neighboring building. The blackness of night loomed over the city of Washington, silencing it with nature's authority. Leaning by the window, he waited, Bastian. Waited for Mackenzie, the Renegade, to do as had been planned. She'd taken his modified, Mercedes-Benz G63 AMG 6x6 and parked it in who knows where. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she succeeded in infiltrating the White House, under the guise of whatever it was she selected. Infiltrated and informed him via communicators of the President's location.
Entering the White House together was an impossibility. The assassination would have to be conducted from a distance, considerable as it may be. The recent security measures, the added defense technologies to ensure the President's safety, they could not be so easily overcome. But he was confident, Bastian, confident that the Renegade would succeed. His goggles, their lenses acted as ultraviolet and infrared cameras, picking out radiation sources beyond the frequency of light radiation which was sparse come night. Armed with a rifle, his 'Thermal Rifle', he waited and upon receiving Mackenzie's signal, should he receive it, he would ready himself, keep his focus razor-sharp, his disposition icy and heartless, his confidence cold, and his resolve fortuitous. The length of his rifle rested on the open window's frame for stability.
He peered into its scope, its zooming functions targeting what he hoped would be the President, Thomas Newcastle. The scope enabled observation of the target, making use of cosmic microwave background radiation to see through walls and even lead. And his firing position aimed the weapon, aligned the sight system and rendered possible firing without disturbance of alignment. He kept his grip light, and rested the butt of his rifle in the pocket of his firing shoulder to reduce recoil. He steadied his breathing, controlled his muscles, took aim, and fired. And with it, came no sound. And the ammunition? It was invisible. Why? Because it did not exist in the visible spectrum of light. There was no sound to follow, no trail left by a visible round to track the Last Kaiser to. His weapon, the 'Thermal Rifle', was a long-ranged, high-powered, directed-energy, stealth weapon.
And from it, Bastian fired non-visible beams of microwave radiation. Beams that targeted what he hoped was Thomas Newcastle, beams that sought to heat up the bodily fluids and fat molecules beneath the President's skin. The wavelength of the beams were adjusted. Adjusted so that they literally boil the calculating Newcastle from the inside, the boiling liquids creating superheated steam that found itself trapped underneath his skin. He hoped for success, the German. And should it be found, he would wait for Mackenzie to arrive, behind the wheel of the G63 AMG 6x6, so that their escape could be made.
'Aphasic, Prophet, hold your positions, get ready to intercept'. From his earpiece, commands were echoed. Positions were to be held, and targets intercepted. From behind the smokey lenses of onyx goggles, the Übermensch's eyes of liquid emerald searched, and with the aid of his goggles' integrated technology, identified. The blackness of night was prominent, and as per the will of nature, it cast a demeaning shadow over this forested land, a domain whose thick greenery and foliage blended together with the darkness of night to veil all men who tonight, strode into battle, be they the ally or enemy. With little sources of light radiation, Bastian's goggles remained true to their purposes, and acted as an ultraviolet camera.
And in the distance, his targets were spotted, leaves and branches, dirt and twigs crunching under their boots as they drew closer. A soldier born and forged in the fires of war, Bastian seized his weapon of choice, his 'Thermal Rifle', crouched behind the back of a voluminous bush, rested the length of his rifle on a wooden log for stability, and poked the mouth of his weapon inches beyond the leaves that veiled it. "Verstanden (Roger that)", he finally replied, words spoken in his native German, and uttered with the cool self-certainty, the imposing gravitas that seemed intrinsic with his speech. His position, one that enabled observation of the target, the aiming of his weapon by aligning the sight system, and the firing of said weapon without disturbing the alignment, was secured.
His was a position of comfort, one compatible with steady firing. 'Time and supervision on the target is limited', his mind reminded him. His grip was light. The butt of his rifle rested in the pocket of his firing shoulder to reduce recoil. He made his remaining preparations, steadied his breathing, controlled his muscles, adjusted his natural point of aim to the center of the expected target exposure area, and fired. The 'Thermal Rifle' was a long-ranged stealth weapon. It was silent, and its ammunition? Invisible. It did not exist in the visible spectrum of light. There was no sound to trace the point of origin from. And no visible trail by the rounds to expose the marksman's position. The first of several shots had been fired, and from the rifle, a high-powered directed-energy weapon, non-visible beams of microwave beams were emitted.
Beams that struck home and rapidly heated up the bodily fluids and fat molecules beneath the skin of his targets. Having adjusted the wavelength of the beams, the Übermensch watched on as the first of his targets were literally boiled from the inside, the trapped steam from their boiling liquids only scorching them further. 'Aphasic, Prophet, stay close'. Another command was echoed. He complied, Bastian, remaining within his allies' field of operation. "Targets down".
The water was murky and darkened with the same shade of black that spread across the night sky. On its surface? The reflections of stars, distant diamonds that twinkled and hung beyond the reach of man. And beneath it, from its opaque depths, he emerged, Bastian, the Last Kaiser. Tall, muscled like an ox, and adorned in garments blacker than night, he strode forward, guns on his person, focus on his mind. Hugging his frame that towered over man who were ordinary, was ballistic armor, forged from a nano-material with self-repairing qualities. Grafted into his left arm? A silvery layer of carboplatinum-reinforced coltan-titanium. Over the lower half of his features? A multi-purpose mask whose shell was comprised of titanium and ceramic composite armor plating.
And over his eyes? Goggles. Onyx in shade, and with lenses that acted as ultraviolet cameras, picking it out radiation sources beyond the frequency of light radiation. It dripped with water, his frame, and while his visage was veiled, he wore an icy heartlessness on his face, and with every stride, moved with a cold resolve that was disarming. 'Composure is a soldier's greatest weapon', his mind often repeated. He never yelled, Bastian. Nor does he scream or seem to by phased by the happenings of war, of battle. His focus was and perhaps, always will be, razor-sharp. The aura of ruthless aggressor trailed behind him as he walked, a confidence colder than ice running through his veins and oozing from his pores. There was a swagger to it, his streak of violence, his aggression.
The air was cool, casting the illusion that should one speak, their breath would mist. The ocean breeze perhaps? Though as he strode further from the tide, the smell of salt and seawater fell, and gave way to a humidity breathed by the greenery of the woods nearby. He moved forward, the sneering, scowling antihero, armed and with both heart and mind ready. He was always ready. 'I don't get ready, I stay ready', the Last Kaiser thought. Days before, he was in a domain of smoked glass tables littered with contemporary magazines. The walls were painted a light cream, having lost the garish and overpowering vibrancy they'd once possessed. Even the furniture, he recalled, had been replaced, by a selection of chairs that had undoubtedly seen greater rooms.
He remembered the woman who briefed him. He'd not been told much, but Maverick, contacted by the CIA, had given him a mission. One that required his particular set of talents. And who was he to deny his services when faced with handsome pay? "En route", to the war-zone, he informed, voice deep, its timbre rugged, German inflection, thick and aggressive as he spoke into his communicator. And now, minutes from arrival, gone was Bastian. Here was the soldier, the agent whose codename, mute, was 'Aphasic'.
Gone was the time for conversation. There, Bastian stood, a cold-blooded, ruthless warrior whose blood boiled and eyes burned with the fire of Mars. The air was burnt, scorched oxygen left its scent hanging all about with prominence, and flowers and plants had been dried and wilted from the superheated rounds of his shotgun. Burnt leaves, burnt wood, it assaulted the senses, and smoke lingered in a domain that once smelled of roses and fragrant lilies. And in the haze of smoke, came a shift, in the airflow. Quickly, and efficiently, the Last Kaiser's 'quantum mind' was put to work, and his instantaneous reflexes were awakened. Behind him raged a shield, one that threatened to embed itself into his back.
Before him however, waited his star-spangled foe, eager to pounce the moment the Last Kaiser exposed his back. He'd calculated the risks, Bastian. Defend or counter his adversary? Or be struck by the shield? With a quick, nimble turn of the heel, the German super soldier spun round, and with the strength of a 21st century god of war, caught the shield and without hesitance, hurled it beyond the horizon, past the boundary between garden and city. He'd deprived his foe of his greatest weapon, but at the cost of exposing his back to a takedown. He felt arms coil around his hips, seize control and then his frame driven to the ground by a trip, back-to-belly suplex, whatever his opponent opted to employ. It was a maneuver born of tactical brilliance.
Present the opponent with two options, and leave him with no pocket from which to escape. Though once on the ground, Bastian's grappling instincts were lit. There he fought for position, transitioned, scrambled, and with a sweep from the art of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, returned himself to his feet and immediately worked in his aggressive striking arsenal by flicking in a jab and push kick to keep his opponent at a distance. Light on his feet, the Last Kaiser bounced around, his movement fluid, always ready to threaten with a kick, switch stances or intercept with a left uppercut or stiff jab should his foe seek to step into range. His style left the danger of the jab burning deep in the minds of his adversaries. And he sought to take advantage of this.
With a back-step, Bastian lowered his hands somewhat, inviting his foe to come forward and attack the apparent gap left by his dropped hands. And should the star-spangled avenger fall for the bait and come forward for an attack, Bastian would flash a quick jab feint towards his face, one that would force his foe to either defend and be struck by a thunderous body kick to the liver, or counter with the counter of choice for a jab; a lopping right hand, a strike that needs winding up. Bastian? He hoped his foe would counter. And should his opponent wind his arm with the intention of landing a counter-right hand, the Last Kaiser would pounce. And he would pounce by countering the counter-strike, by stepping right up to his foe, flash-forging a silicon-carbide bludgeon, as hard as diamond and surging with electrical energy, around his fist which he sought to ram into his opponent's liver with a vicious left hook of superhuman might and crackling electricity.
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