NationStates Jolt Archive

The world was dark, murky, cold and wet. Water rushed past his fin-ears as he sped beneath the surface of the swamp, grit and silt rimming his eyes, his speed & aquatic curves cutting the water like a razor.

His mission was simple, a quick sneak-and-peek operation on supposed drug smuggling through the swamps north of the village of Raven's Rest. The capitol city of Grayrock was growing at a surprising rate, and drugs presented an extreme threat to the continued industrialization. As an agent in the Argonian Intelligence Service, he was often presented with such missions.
Drug trafficing was considered terroristic in the new nation, and was dealt with in typical counter-terrorist fashion.

He was lightly armed, only a SEAL Pup Elite combat knife and a stainless steel plated IMI Desert Eagle in .357 caliber. As highly mobile as he was during this assignment, even a submachinegun would have slowed him down. Clad in a black wetsuit, matching tactical vest, balaclava and nightvision goggles, he looked the very picture of stealth. Stopping briefly on a sandbar to check his GPS, the agent moved on towards the flashing blip on his screen, moving underneath the water.

Finally he had arrived, slipping up along the bank of of a small island stacked with crates, Special Agent Arakesh Quickclaw slid the knife out of its sheath and under the lip of the crate to pry it open. The nails came up with a slight creak, prompting him to slow his prying to keep the noise down. The lid came open, finally allowing him to peer inside.

The contents where not surprising; small packets of cocaine ready for sale. The darkness concealed him well enough that he could snap photos of the crate's labels and contents before someone crept up on him and placed the cold hardness of a gun barrel against the back of his head...

"Move and die."

Arakesh shifted to the left, getting his head out of the way of the muzzle. The report of the firing nine milimeter was deafening, but it didn't split his skull. Arakesh snapped the elbow of the attacker in one smooth motion, bending the broken joint around to bury the muzzle in the stomach of his attacker, which was oddly a human male, before pulling the trigger twice & letting the man slump down mortally wounded on the slick muddy ground.

There was a chorus of metallic clicking and clacking as weapons where being readied for use. Arakesh drew his .357, adding his metallic click of the safety being flipped off to the slide-racking. He was up and firing in an instant, moving between cocaine-laden crates as he laid down cover fire for himself in the form of a few high-velocity rounds to keep their heads down. The gathered masses where mostly humans, with a few Dark Argonians interspersed amongst them. One caught a .357 in the chest and dropped, growling as his blood began to seep across the marshy earth. Arakesh had what he needed, all he had to do now was escape, bullets from automatic weapons screaming over head.

This was easy, diving into the swampland waters and speeding off towards the opposite end of the swamp where he could find sanctuary at the village of Raven's Rest. Tomorrow he would return to Grayrock and report his findings to his superiors, providing he survived that long. They where bound to come after him at some point or another, if they could trace him back this far...

((OOC: If you don't want something along these lines, just let me know and I'll remove/edit it, kay?))


The pair waited silently, their camouflaged gear blending them in nearly perfectly with their surroundings. Ahead of them was the river. The local specialist would either be swimming past very soon, or coming out at this point.

Up ahead, the tell-tale sounds of a rushing truck could be heard, a jeep roaring along the river bank, men in the front and back seats shooting into the river with automatic weapons.

Nodding to each other, one prepped a grenade, and chucked it overhanded towards the jeep. With pure skill, the grenade landed in the jeep driver's lap, and although he hurried tried to pick it up and throw it, the grenade exploded, rocking the jeep and turning it over. The pair rose up, one brandishing a combat shutgun, the other a silenced MP5.

The two nekos rush up to the toppled truck, the MP5 wielder squeezing off a triple shot into one of the survivors, while the other takes up cover along it's side, covering the path behind it with his shotgun.

"All clear." He reported, while the MP5 Wielder waited to see if their good Argonian friend was going to come out at this meet-up point or the one further up the river...

Arakesh slowed his swimming to the submerged equivalent of a crawl, paddling slowly upstream with his eyes and fin ears barely above the water, listening intently. The swampland river wound through the village's center like an artery, allowing him an easy extraction into a safehouse along the river's edge. Gunfire up ahead grabbed his attention by the throat, alerting him to something fishy. He figured the gunfire was from his new friends back at the stockpile looking to kill him and retrieve the evidence he'd taken.

The fact that it suddenly stopped following a small explosion seemed somewhat odd...

'A grenade?'

Fumes of burning gasoline reached his acute nostrils, the explosion must have been vehicle-related. Arakesh decided to move with more caution and less speed, carefully snaking his way through the dirty water towards his escape route. Fire licked at the sides of a truck in the distance, backlighting it in an eerie orange glow...

'Those things don't blow themselves up...'

Quickclaw was a solo operative, working without backup for extended periods of time, he doubted AIS had deployed support for him to keep the extraction route clear. Something was amiss. They knew he would be traveling by water, so it was likely there had been an ambush set up on the water route.
Arakesh quickly made landfall and drew his handgun, keeping it low and ready as he crept up towards the wrecked truck...

The night was cold, silent, and still... Much like this thread...

((OOC: Decided. Okay, here we go!))

Quickclaw stealthily up to the ruined truck. Although he made no sound, he walked right into the pair's trap. The shotgun wielder popped up from behind the wreckage like some crazy, shotgun wielding jack-in-the-box. "Don't even think about it." He said as Quickclaw raised his pistol towards him.

At the same time, the black haired neko came skidding out from cover at the front of the truck on her shoulder, training her MP5 on the Argonian as she came to a stop. He was covered from two seperate angles now. "Drop your gun, and kick it into the river." The second neko said. "You're coming with us. Go quietly, and we won't have to break any of your limbs."

OOC: Hope ya dont mind if I hop in on the other side.
IC:

Girl it must be ya ass cuz it ain't yo face I need a tip drill, I need a tip dri..

The song was cut short as a strong finger clicked the radio off. "Fucking pussy ass posin' nigga," the man said quietly to himself. The man was Tony Graves, internationaly a no one, but in Imitora, the personal body gaurd of Miguel Rodriguez, the Imitoran Cocaine kingpin. Cocaine, being legal at one point along with a number of other controled substances, was a prominent narcotic in Imitora, from the high grade powder sent to the rich folks' parties, to the low grade crack dealt on the street.

But Miguel Rodriguez wasn't the type to be satisfied with just Imitora, no. He wanted more. And hence, Mr. Graves, a 6'2, muscular, former Imitoran Marine, a child of the streets, now sat in the front seat of a black Mercedes Benz SL55 AMG. The Supercharged V8, like most of Tony's cars, sat on a pair of massive twenty two inch Foose wheel, and the chrome wheels and accents were all polished. The black man wore a black suit accented with white pinstripes, and a blue shirt with a black tie, held in place with a diamond stud. A single chain hung from his neck, platinum with a small letter T hanging from the chain, small enough to be confused for a cross.

He was waiting for a contact of Miguel's. That was the problem for working for the man, he never did his own work. Tony (http://entimg.msn.com/i/io/ar/0209/50cent_200x250.jpg) was in Grayrock to meet with one of Miguel's contacts to discuss the final plans for purchase and shipment options. There was an explosion off in the distance, and Tony checked his mirrors for a watch dog, and then removed a black Glock 22 chambered in .40 S&W, and pulled the slide back, checking that the round was set and chambered, and the let it slide forward slowly. He was carying Hydrashock rounds, and his time in the 22nd SOTF had taught him how to use the Glock properly, and graced him with the skill to put a round into a human head at 25 yards, while moving.

He looked around again, and turned the radio back on, glad the last song was over. It was a waiting game, always waiting.

Arakesh let the large handgun hang from his index finger before letting it fall to the muddy ground, giving a half-assed attempt to punt it into the water before raising his hands. The weapon slid a foot from the riverbank, the muddy composition of the ground slowing its skid considerably...

'I doubt it... The river is deep enough for me to grab my gun and dive. Bullets change course underwater, three feet deflects even fifty-cals. Last I swam here it was around ten feet deep...'

The agent spoke up, stepping closer to the truck...

"I'm an agent of the Argonian Intelligence Service. If I don't report back in one hour, this swamp will be crawling with special operations troops..."

It would be crawling with spec ops anyway once Arakesh got his intel back to Grayrock. He still had his knife, and to break any limbs they would have to get within striking distance...

"Doesn't matter." The shotgun wielder said. "In an hour, we won't be anywhere near this swamp. And I really doubt they'd come to rescue you." The way he said was so sure, as if he wasn't merely threatening, but knew this to be a fact for certain.

The MP5 wielder got to her feet, taking a step forward. She motioned with her gun. "Start walking. Our ride's going to be coming along any moment. And trust me, you don't want to make the boss wait."


((OOC: Imitora, check your TGs.))

A low whirling sound was heard as a bird flew over.Not any normal bird,the UAV target vehicle was allready recording this location,along with other similal in the area.

*Click click click*

The clicking noise belonged to a shotgun gently tapping against the blacked out window of the Mercedes. Tony cursed himself silently, and pressed the 'down' button that would lower the window. The shotgun protruded into the car, the wielder pressing it against Tony's nose.

"Nigga, trust me, you don't wanna do that," he said calmly, holding both hands up, allowing the wielder to see them.

"Boy, don't you say shit. Your name Tony?" he asked. Tony was quiet, straing straight ahead. "I asked you a question bitch, I want to know if you are..."

He was cut off, as Tony, in a swift clean move grabbed the barrel of the shutgun, pushed it away from his nose and pulled hard, bringing the man in, his nose bouncing off the roof of the car. He wheeled back a few steps, then dropped to the ground, Tony exiting quickly behind him, Glock out. He spun the shutgun around, catching it, and tossed it into the car, keeping the Glock trained on the man's head. He kicked the man once in the ribs, sucking the air out of him and stopping his words. is complaints of a broken noise were quickly replaced by a screaming pain as Tony fired a round into his knee.

"Yeah I'm Tony, now who sent you mutha fucka cuz if you don't start telling me shit, I'm gonna end you!" he shouted, not worried about anyone hearing him. The man gasped for air, a screaming pain shooting through his body as Tony stomped his foot on the gun wound.

"I, I don't know his name," the man gasped. The pain was paralying, holding him down. "He just wanted me to tell you that, that, you need to meet him at a new spot."

"Was it Boggart?"

"No, some new guy, said he's in control."

"Boy you best not be lying to me. Tell me where he is!"

The man gasped and reached as if trying to pull a gun from inside his jacket pocket. Another shot rang out, and this one hit him in the arm. HE went to the side, grabbing hte new wound, still screaming. "You want to know where he is?" he cried out, tears no streaming down his face. His tough guy vener, like most posers Tony knew, went out the door when his shotgun was gone.

"You wanna die?!" Tony shouted back. He lifted his foot of the man's leg, and kicked him aside, sticking his hand in the man's jacket. He fished around, and removed two items. One was a buisness card with an adress and phone number on it. Tony looked at it, and pocketed it. The other item was a silver .38 revolver. Tony looked at it, and shook his head.

"Nigga, I been shot ten times already, gonna take more than six to put me down," he said. He holstred the Glock, and then looked down at his shoe. "Oh shit man, you got blood on my shoe. Hell naw, that shit don't stand!"

He turned, and looked down at the cowering man, and emptied the snub nose .38 into him, tossing it aside. He walked back over to the car, and pulled out the shutgun, tossing into the trunk, having a feeling he might need it. He got back in the car, and turned over the Supercharged V8, using a GPS system to take him to the address. He arrived at what looked like a camp of sorts, with bodies being buried. He slid out, and looked around, waiting for someone to say something to him.

The black Mercadenz pulle up to the smuggler's camp. The old drug dealers, the one whom Quickclaw had taken the photogrpahs of, were all dead, and being tossed into a large mass-grave. As Tony drove further in, he noticed that alot of the drugs were being packed up, ready to ship out.

Getting out of the vehicle, tony is soon approched by a man, flanked on either side by rugged and burly looking AK-47 wielding men.

The center man in a very nice Armani suit spoke openly, quite friendly actually. "You must be Tony. Good day to you. I regret to inform you that your previous contact... Well, it seems he has suffered quite the hostile takeover." He makes a slight motion with his hand to the men tossing the human and Argonian corpses into the grave. "I represent your new supplier. Ah, where are my manners? I am Ferando. My employer, as well as soon to be sole crime boss in this region, is Giovanni Carlone. Come friend. The sun is hot, and business is best not conducted in such deplorable condictions. Come inside our tent, where it is cool and out of the sun."

He motioned for Tony to follow him into a nearby camoflauged tent, to finish the business matter at hand.