NationStates Jolt Archive

To the white-garbed scientists in Pale Rider Arms' Creative Weapons Facility, the Director was calm as usual. Below his smooth exterior however, he was seething. A smaller nation, Romandeos, had the teremity to call him and his workers "inhuman swine." What did they know of the work he had done to get here, the sacrifices he had made, to bring PRA:CW to the fore? What did they know of the feeling of sheer power that he felt, knowing he had control over life and death?

Still seething, he walked past a set of checkpoints, where heavily armed guards checked his identification as usual. The Director saw none of them. In his mind, plans formed themselves, both for revenge, and to show the world that his child, the Generation Disease, was up to its task. He walked to a freezer, covered in more locks and security devices than seemed physically possible. Unlocking the myriad defenses, he reached in and took out a few small vials. Carefully placing them into a cushioned carrying case constructed of clear plastic, he turned and walked back through the doors.

The stark light of the labs glinted on the vials, their labels barely visible: Generation Disease, Homo Sapiens Sapiens, Mk III.

He would prove himself to them. He would purge the world of these unbelievers, and none would remain that doubted PRA's capabilities...

Sitting at his desk, the vials sitting by his side, the Director picked up the phone. After waiting a few seconds, the call went through, and he got the answer he was waiting for. The Fox Awakens. Smiling, the Director set down the phone, and leaned back in his chair. QUETZAL had approved. His plans were in motion...

---

A day later and miles away, in a nondescript apartment, a small group of Neo-Otagians were packing their bags. All of them looked entirely human, totally unremarkable with the slight exception that they occasionally forgot to blink. Ten male, ten female, they each carried a small, unobtrusive black ballpoint click-pen in their bags. Within the next week, they intended to prove that the pen was indeed mightier than the sword, for within each pen lurked a single small capsule, positioned that, with a single twist of the pen and a click of the cap, it would be punctured, spraying its gaseous cargo across a large area. Exiting the apartment building, each couple pulled away in their own car, each driving to a seperate airport, each couple with a pair of tickets for a flight to Romandeos...

OOC: I have little to do right now, but I’ll just post this to show you the security setup in Romandeosian airports right about now. If Otagia wants to have this airport be the airport in which his agents strike, so be it.

IC:

Lance Corporal Ericka Rothberg of the Romandeosian Royal Naval Infantry Corps stood in line waiting to have her ticket processed so she could board her flight and get going on her vacation. She had been saving up her leave time ever since she first joined the RNIC, letting it slowly accrue until she had enough to do something special. Now she did, and a little trip out of the country was in order. As she waited, she looked around herself slowly in search of anything interesting.

Metal detectors, each manned by a team of civilian guards, were set up at each terminal a little ways before the doorway, but they looked a little worse for wear, and half the time it took a few moments for them to scan the person walking through. A single X-Ray system had been set up off the main lobby/processing area for the checking of luggage. There did look to be a small guardhouse near the main entrance, but other than that and the teams at the metal detectors, no real security was in evidence. Maybe they had some cameras here.

Returning her gaze to the line in front of her, Ericka continued to wait.

OOC: Sorry, I should have been more clear. The airport is simply their entrance into the country. The weapon will not be deployed here, as the likelyhood for cross-contamination is too high. Talk to me on MSN soon, I'll give you all the details.

IC: The first couple arrived at the Romandeosian airport, and gave each other a smile, laughing inwardly at the lax security. Not that heavier security would have helped. What could they do to a pair of unarmed, unthreatening tourists?

The man reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cellphone. He punched in the number of a local hotel. "Hi, this is Frank Bradley. I was wondering if I could get a room? Two people, me and my wife. Great! Thanks, we'll be in tonight." Hanging up, Frank walked over to his "wife" and joined the line to go through the rather slipshod security checkpoint.

Across the country, the scene repeated itself nine times. The Otagian couples land, two pairs in private jets, the rest on airliners, checked into a local hotel, and proceeded to go through customs.

OOC: All have proper passports (not the real them, of course, but official), and are unarmed.

After checking into their respective hotels, the couples proceeded to go over the mission checklist. Everything was in order. Soon, the Demonstration would be completed...

Day Two:
The Bradleys walked up to the large building around ten in the morning. They were mildly impressed. Clean and orderly, it was the largest public elementary school in the city. Walking in, they were greeted by the sight of hordes of children running about, scurrying to their next class. Frank sighed with relief, no annoying chat with a administrator here, he could just click his pen and walk out. Reaching into his pocket, he nodded at his wife Helen. Pulling the pen, he rapidly clicked it twice. The capsule crushed, the gas should spread throughout the building within a few minutes, a bit escaping into the surrounding neighborhoods, offering a few potential cases there. No danger of escaping into the atmosphere of course, after the initial expansion, the propellant would rise out of the cloud, letting the heavier-than-air agent settle. Smiling, the Bradleys walked back out of the building, back to the car, and melded back into the seething mass of humanity.

One down, one to go.

-----

Stepping into the next school, the Bradleys were disappointed to find that classes were already in session. Frank grimaced, knowing that he would have to deal with some simpering fool, extolling the virtues of his institution...
Frank sighed and walked in the door. He was greeted by a man in his fifties, who waved the couple into his office.

"So, I understand you're interested in moving your son to our school?"

"Yes, we've heard rather good things about the neighborhood, and the schools, and Helen's just been transfered into the area, so we need a new home anyway."

"Good, good. Now, I'll give you a quick tour of the school. Nono, I insist..."

Helen smiled, and began twirling the pen between her fingers. After clicking it a few times, she placed it back in her pocket, and moved on with the tour, much to Frank's dismay...

OOC: I'm going to make a post if you don't mind. Do you mind me bumping things forward by a number of hours, up to the time when the first victims have begun showing up in the hospitals?

OOC: Go right ahead. I have to sleep now, so you just can fast forward a few hours yourself. Just assume the rest of the agents did their jobs also, in your five biggest cities.

wow.....no lives you people have.

That was... random. And yes, I have a life. Just insomnia and nothing to do at one in the morning. Now, if we could continue with the RP? Thank you...

uhhh... I walk up to you and put my hands over your eyes. Guess who! (RP Enough for you?)

uhhh... I walk up to you and put my hands over your eyes. Guess who! (RP Enough for you?)

OOC: If you have nothing to say that is connected to the bloody RP, then kindly be silent.

~ Romandeos.

OOC: If you have nothing to say that is connected to the bloody RP, then kindly be silent.

~ Romandeos.

If you have nothing to say that relates to the resopnse to my post then please kindly be QUIET!

ok im done :p

OOC: If it’s not too much trouble, I’m going to jump things forwards by several hours, so it won’t just be you posting and me reading.

IC:

Doctor John Callaghan had been sleeping in when the phone on the nightstand by his bed lit up and started beeping, letting him know somebody wanted to speak with him. He was in no mood to talk on the phone, but being a doctor at a prominent hospital, he realized he had to answer it, just in case the hospital needed him, and so he lifted the telephone off of its cradle and hit the ‘talk’ button.

“Callaghan,” he grumbled.

“John?” said the voice on the other line. “Thank God I caught you. It’s me, Brian. I am at the hospital right now, and we need you here as well. Something big is going on.”

Callaghan blinked and looked at the clock. It was around ten o’clock A.M., maybe a little bit after that. Doctor Brian Gallagher, the man calling him, worked the afternoon shift, so if he was already at the hospital, that meant there was likely some sort of emergency, and large numbers of patients were coming in, causing the administrator to call in everyone to help manage the situation.

“John?” asked the voice of Doctor Gallagher.

“I’m here,” Callaghan assured him. “What’s going on, Brian?”

“I haven’t got a bloody clue, John,” was the reply. “Look, will you just get down here? A lot of sick people are here, waiting for medical attention, and we’re all bloody swamped!”

“Don’t worry, Brian, I’ll head down right away,” Callaghan assured his colleague.

“Do that,” Gallagher’s voice said, and then the line went dead.

Doctor Callaghan immediately climbed out of bed and prepared himself to go to work, all the while wondering what the heck was going on. After he was finished getting prepared, he got into his car and drove toward Tasmardonia Central Mercy Hospital, located in the heart of Tasmardonia, the capital city of the Kingdom of Romandeos. When he got there, he noticed a very large number of ambulances and cars parked outside the main building, as well as a large number of medical workers scrambling back and forth, carrying people into the building. He frowned. What the Hell was going on here?

He parked his car on the roadside and walked the rest of the way to the hospital, weaving his way through the many parked vehicles and rushing people, taking no notice at all how the people being carried into the hospital looked. He entered into the Emergency Room in hopes of finding out what was happening there, but what he saw made him stop cold.

“Good Lord,” he whispered to himself, his voice full of stark horror at what he saw.

OOC: More later…

OOC: Just a slight reference, if you need a refresher on the final draft of the disease. LINK (http://s6.invisionfree.com/International_Mall/index.php?showtopic=1970)

And there IS a time-limit placed on the agents lifespan. The epidemic will last no longer than... one month sound good?

OOC: Just a slight reference, if you need a refresher on the final draft of the disease. LINK (http://s6.invisionfree.com/International_Mall/index.php?showtopic=1970)

And there IS a time-limit placed on the agents lifespan. The epidemic will last no longer than... one month sound good?

OOC: Dandy with me. I've got weather issues out here, but I'll try to post ASAP.

OOC: If I miss anything or mess something up, let me know, okay Otagia? I’m jumping a little bit forward again, and soon enough I’ll make a separate thread declaring martial law in the whole of Romandeos.

IC:

Doctor John Callaghan and Doctor Brian Gallagher sat next to one another in the hospital cafeteria and tried to eat, but neither man really had too much of an appetite after what he had seen in the last two or three days. People were dropping like flies, many of them dead long before they even reached a place of proper medical care, and all of them killed by an incredibly deadly, terrifying and unknown disease that was simple called “The Sickness.”

Maybe ‘terrifying’ was not the right word, seeing as how the symptoms were so nasty the ill person always suffered horribly just prior to dying.

“I heard that the Prime Minister has left the city along with the King to hide somewhere,” Doctor Gallagher said, causing his weary colleague to look up.

“I beg your pardon?” Doctor Callaghan asked.

“It makes sense, right?” Gallagher said. “I mean, why would Lockeheart stay here, where it might get her as well?” Callaghan did not need to ask what ‘it’ was.

“I suppose it does,” Callaghan said before returning to his plate.

“Do you think the Parliament will leave as well?” Gallagher asked.

“I don’t know,” Callaghan said. “I suppose they might, if they have anyplace to leave to.”

“I heard a rumor that the King and the Prime Minister will be flown out to a carrier so the bloody disease can’t kill them off and leave the nation headless,” Gallagher continued.

“I’d be careful about those rumors if I were you,” Callaghan advised him.

“I guess you’re right,” Gallagher said before falling silent and trying to eat. Heavy silence loomed for a full minute before either man spoke again.

“Do you know the latest body count?” Callaghan asked.

“Maybe a few thousand in this city so far,” Gallagher said. “I don’t know about anywhere in the rest of the country but here.”

Both men looked up as a loud bell buzzed, announcing a change in shifts. Gallagher took a look at his watch and Doctor Callaghan did the same.

“It’s back to work for us,” Gallagher observed, and both men stood up and left the room.

Sitting on his bed, Frank grinned to himself, watching the casualty figures rise on the television screen in front of him. With each passing hour, the estimates mounted, hopefully causing hysteria among the Romandeans. Smiling, he turned to look at Helen, who was busy packing a small duffel.

"Where you going?"

"Just down to the store. I figure we'll have a better chance getting out of here with our skins intact if we're armed."

"Good idea. Want me to go with you?"

"Nah, I know what you shoot down to the last detail. I'll grab you something nice."

"Sounds good. Make sure it works, the last gun you bought me backfired on the third shot."

Frowning, Helen turned back to him. "That's because you fell down three flights of stairs with the damn thing slung over your back."

"Hey, nobodies perfect..."

Smiling again, Helen walked out the door, and down the street, hailing a taxi. Shouldn't take more than an hour...

IC:

Sergeant Aidan Murphy of the Tasmardonia City Police Department was sitting in his car having a very quick lunch with his patrol partner, Patrolman Bryan Lynch, when he saw a light yellow taxicab stop in front of the gun store across the narrow city backstreet and let its passenger-a young woman-out before driving off. Laying his half-eaten sandwich onto his lap, he smacked Lynch lightly on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Hmm?” the younger man asked with his mouth full of sandwich.

“Look there,” Sergeant Murphy told him, gesturing to the woman stepping in to the store.

“Looks to me like a lady wanting to buy a gun,” Lynch said. “It’s nothing to worry about, if you ask me.”

“Nobody’s asking you,” Murphy assured him. “With the country like it is, we should be a lot more careful than normal. In any case, I’ve got a feeling about this.”

Lynch cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

“I’ve been with the Department for twenty years now,” Murphy said, as if that clarified it.

“If you say so, Sergeant,” Lynch said. “What do you want to do?”

Murphy thought for a moment before speaking.

“I’m going in there to see what’s going on. You stay here and be ready to come in.”

Lynch nodded his understanding and took another bite of his sandwich. Murphy groaned, looked down and checked his service pistol, and the smaller weapon he kept in his jacket, looked at Lynch with a nod, then got out of the patrol car and swiftly crossed the roadway in search of the young lady.

***Moments later***

Murphy opened the door and stepped quietly into the little store, his polished black shoes hitting the tiled floor with only the slightest of clicking noises. He looked around and saw his objective. The young lady was standing a distance away from him at the counter, and, he saw, looking over some weaponry. He approached her slowly.

“Pardon me, miss,” he said with a broad smile. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

Bump.

Shit, not now. We're so close...

Forcing a smile on to her face, Helen turned towards the officer.

"Hello officer. May I help you?"
"I'm sorry to take up your time, miss, but I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Shoot."
"I noticed you're looking over the selection of weapons in the store. Looking for anything in particular?"
"Just a pistol for my home. What with the disease and all, I was worried about riots and such."
"Right. Now, do you have a liscence to buy a weapon?"
"Sure, I have it right... Shit! My wallets gone!"
Digging through her purse, she feigned bewilderment, palming her wallet, and placing it in her pocket, which she had already gone through. Now if he'd just leave her alone...

No such luck.
"I'm sorry miss. I'm afraid you'll have to come with me down to the station."
"But sir, I have to get home in an hour!"
"I'm sorry miss. Now you can come with me peacefully, or we can do this the hard way."
Helen watched him reach for his handcuffs, and waited till he had them off his belt. With that, she spun, grabbed the pistol out of his holster, and fired two rounds point blank upwards into his gut.

Murphy staggered backwards in shock, looking down at the blossoming red splotch in his shirt.

Helen swirled as the cop collapsed, and quickly double-tapped the store owner as he pulled a shotgun. Grabbing the shotgun as it fell, she let loose a blast into the display case, and kicked the weakened glass, caving it it. Scooping up a pair of small submachine guns, she began shoving items into a duffel bag.

Lynch was sitting in the patrol car when he heard the shots. Turning from his sandwich, he watched unbelieving as his partner went down, followed by the explosion of blood and brains coating the wall behind the storekeeper. Hurridly rushing out of the car, he tripped just as a spray of bullets went over his head, some slamming into the door in front of him. He leaned around the side, to see what was happening, and caught a glimpse of the woman fleeing through a back door. He aimed, and fired straight at her. The bullet caught her in the flesh of her left side, spinning her about. He saw her raise a small, evil-looking gun, and felt a spreading pain in his chest just before everything went black...

IC:

Lynch fell down hard onto the sidewalk on his back, clutching at his chest with one hand, his other hand still holding his service pistol. He managed to haul himself to his feet, then he began to stagger towards the patrol car, walking half-crouched over like some old man in a nursing home without his case as he did so. He grabbed onto the top edge of his door, hauling himself around it and dropping into his seat like a sack of wet cement, he grabbed his radio handset and clicked the transmit button.

“Headquarters, Headquarters, this is Car #39, requesting immediate assistance at Graham. I report two officers and one civilian down, and a wounded gunman fleeing from the area in the back roads on foot, destination unknown. Out.”

He did not hear the reply as blood loss and shock finally overtook him and he dropped his handset into his lap, his head lolling over to one side and his eyes closing.

***Elsewhere***

Back at the Tasmardonia City Police Department’s 32nd Precinct Administration Building in a neighborhood a few blocks away, the call was answered immediately as a large force immediately set out to the named area.

OOC: My apologies for not posting sooner and for the extreme shortness of this post, but life calls.

IC:

Not too long after Helen arrived back at the hotel where she and Frank were staying, they heard the sound of sirens in the distance, slowly growing louder as they got slowly closer.

*SCREECH!*

Half a dozen TCPD patrol cars came screaming to a halt outside the hotel and blocked the hotel entrance and the road. From each cruiser, a pair of TCPD officers leapt out, all wore heavy-duty protective vests, and each one of them had a shotgun or combat rifle to add to his pistol. They quickly formed a barrier in front of the hotel.

OOC: Sorry for the wait, RL is annoying, aint it? Anyway, hotel is small, not anything fancy like a Hilton. More like a Holiday Inn. Hostages will be kept in a room on the top floor, just for reference. But of course, you don't know that. ;)

IC:
Five minutes earlier:
Frank was sitting in the lobby of the hotel when Helen stumbled in, bleeding from her side. He and the concierge both lept to their feet at the same time, but only the concierge went down with a bullet in the skull.

The entire lobby was silent.

Slowly, Frank turned away from the spreading pool of blood, and said calmly, "Helen, may I ask why exactly you just did that?"

"Because the cops know where we are, Frank. Now, I've already cut the phone line, and have plenty of guns and ammo."

"Damn. How much time you think we have?"

"Oh, a couple minutes. I killed a couple of them, but I think the second one might have gotten a call off to the dispatcher."

Helen threw the duffel at Frank, who started rumagging through it. He pulled out a pair of auto-pistols, and tucked them into pockets sewn for that purpose in his jacket. He also pulled out a semi-auto hunting rifle, with scope, and slung it over his shoulder. He turned, to see Helen had already rounded up all the guests at the hotel, and had them lined up against the wall. She was standing there, with an autopistol in one hand, and in the other...

A pen.

IC:

Lieutenant Kurt Rivenburg of the TCPD crouched behind the reinforced door of his car, a handheld radio in one hand, a pistol in the other, and an assault rifle resting next to him as he talked to his immediate superior, Captain Hugh Porteous, who was currently still at the headquarters building for the Precinct setting up a second, heavier force.

“Captain, this is Lieutenant Rivenburg. I have set up a position outside the hotel and have had the roadway sealed off as you ordered. Do you have any further orders, sir? Over.”

“Lieutenant,” the Captain replied. “I want you to attempt to establish communications to learn what this is all about. Ask them if they have a list of demands, that sort of thing. The information we have already has been passed on to the Commissioner, and he is going to look things over and maybe call in the Army for help. Over”

“Roger that, Captain. Rivenburg out,” the young TCPD officer said.

Five minutes later, an officer walked slowly through the ring of Police vehicles, a phone in his hands, holding it up above his head to allow those inside the hotel to see just what it was. The officers behind him stayed in cover, their weapons raised.

***Meanwhile***

In his office on the top floor of TCPDHQ, Commissioner Maxwell Stradford looked over his copies of the latest reports on the situation and cursed at how little information he had in spite of the best efforts of his officers, one of whom was already dead and another hurt.

“Damn criminals,” he cursed as he ran a hand over his balding head, then scratched at his heavy salt-and-pepper beard. Sergeant Aidan Murphy had been a good officer, striving to keep the people of the city safe from crime for most of his life. He had won awards for all kinds of things, from good marksmanship to exemplary conduct in the field, and had won himself the Officer of the Year Award last year. Now he was gone, killed in cold blood as he tried to do his duty. It was a damn shame to lose him. Patrolman Lynch could live, and if he did, Stradford intended to have him promoted, both as a reward and so he could stay in a nice, cushy office behind a desk so his wound would never have a chance to bug him.

He looked up to the sound of somebody knocking on his office door.

“Come in,” he called, tossing the reports down onto his desk.

“Sir,” his secretary said as she pushed the door open and stepped inside, a folder clutched in one of her hands. “I have the updated reports, sir, but they’re not much improved at all. By the way, sir, the doctors say Patrolman Lynch is conscious again.”

“Excellent!” Stradford said, taking the folder and leafing through the papers inside trying, in vain, to find anything new that was useful. After a bit he looked up once more and then handed it back to his secretary, Sergeant Robin Brookes.

“Robin, I want you to see if you can get in touch with the local Royal Army reps and look into the possibility of getting some assistance. If we’re not very careful, this could grow a lot bigger than we’re prepared to handle on our own.”

OOC: Sorry if this is an unwanted post, but TAG. Great RP so far, keep up the good work! If I can think of a plausible way to get into this, I'll TG you both, unless it's closed.

OOC: Sorry if this is an unwanted post, but TAG. Great RP so far, keep up the good work! If I can think of a plausible way to get into this, I'll TG you both, unless it's closed.

I don't know about Otagia, but I don't mind others joining in at all, so long as they're decent RPers, have a plausible cause to join, and we don't get swamped.

I don't know about Otagia, but I don't mind others joining in at all, so long as they're decent RPers, have a plausible cause to join, and we don't get swamped.

OOC: Thanks! If it's OK with Otagia, and I think of a good way to get into this, I'll TG you both. Now I'll stop wasting space in your thread and just watch.

OOC: You can join if you can figure out a good way, just remember that everyone at the hotel is doomed to a horrid death, and many of the cops will die sooner from acute lead poisoning. Oh, and I rarely check my TGs, so try IMing me at blaestwin@hotmail.com

IC:"Frank, we've got company!"

Frank moved towards the window, peeking out from behind the drapes towards the assembled cops. Is that one carrying a phone? Must want a statement or demands or some such. Well, he'd have to provide them with one...

Taking aim with his rifle, he lined up a shot on the phone-bearing officer, and prepared to fire. He slowly let out his breath, and pulled the trigger...

A sharp crack echoed across the parking lot in front of the hotel. Officers dived for cover, franticly trying to determine where the shot had come from. The phone carrying officer stared blankly, looking at the half of the reciever he still held in his hand...

Well, that should make them think... Frank stalked away from the window, and made a final check of their preparations. Frank and Helen had no chance of breaking the siege, and no chance of surviving the coming fire-fight, but they'd take a hell of a lot of the bastards with them...

IC:

Lieutenant Rivenburg jolted in shock as the sharp report of the rifle echoed out across the lot. He swiftly raised his pistol as the officer caught out in the open bolted towards cover, letting off a string of shots to force the terrorists inside to keep their heads down. Looking left and right, he saw several of his officers reaching for their heavier weapons, and made it clear to them through a few quick signals that they should not do that. He wanted to use his heavier weapons on his terms, not those of the enemy. Wasting ammunition was BAD in any situation, and the TCPD officers had not been issued as much as they really should have been in order to handle the present situation.

“Lieutenant Rivenburg,” the officer closest to him said. “The Captain is on the radio.”

“It’s about time he called again,” Rivenburg muttered as he took the small handset.

“Rivenburg here, Captain.”

“Rivenburg, did you have any luck establishing communications?”

“Negative, Captain, they blew the phone right out of the delivering officer’s hands.”

“I see. No worries, Lieutenant, just hold on for a while longer and I’ll be along with help. I’m told the Commissioner is talking to a Colonel Wheeler from the Royal Army as well.”

“Is that all I need to do for now, Captain?” Rivenburg asked.

“Basically, Lieutenant, that’s all. I wish you luck.”

Rivenburg signed off and set the handset back down. Lifting up his rifle, he began to scan his target-the hotel-with the attached scope, looking for any signs of his enemy. His scope likely was reflecting sunlight, which could make him more of a target, but he wanted info if he could get it, and this was one way to get it in a hurry.

OOC: My apologies for not posting, but real life can be a hassle.

IC:

Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Ramsey rapped twice on the door of Colonel Joseph Wheeler, his immediate superior and the commander of the 16th Infantry Regiment.

“Enter!” called the loud, commanding voice of Colonel Wheeler. Ramsey took off his hat as was proper and tucked it under his left arm before entering the room and raising a hand in a salute, which Colonel Wheeler returned at once after standing up.

“Hey there, Art. Thanks for coming in so quick,” he said. “I hate having to call you up, as it’s your son’s seventh Birthday, but we’ve been called into action and you’ll be needed.”

“I’m ready to go, Sir,” Ramsey said.

“Excellent,” Wheeler replied. “I’ve been told the TCPD has a hostage situation in a hotel, innocent people in danger and everything, and we’ve been ordered to provide aid where it is possible to do so, including the deployment of troops to the area.”

“How bad is the situation, Sir?” Ramsey asked him.

“So far they have one officer dead, one badly wounded and another who was near wasted in a brief firefight but managed to get out unhurt. The rest of the information is right here, in this folder,” Wheeler said, picking the folder up from his desk and handing it to him.

“I’ll make sure to look at it, Sir,” Ramsey said. “What can I do specifically?”

“I want you to holler at Major Dillon of First Battalion and have him send in his best men in support of the Police and hold whatever he has left in reserve, just in case some serious killing takes place and a token force isn’t enough.”

“I’ll get right on that, Sir,” Ramsey said.

“That’s good to hear, Art,” Wheeler said. “Now get to it.”

Having been given his orders, Lieutenant Colonel Ramsey immediately set to work, and a half hour later, Major Dillon of 1st/16th had his orders to mobilize. He quickly gathered up his entire force, or what was left of it on account of the current plague, and set out to keep his fellow citizens safe from whoever was troubling them. He positioned his battalion HQ in an old warehouse that was somewhat far away from the hostage situation, but was very large and most empty and thus could hold his entire force.

Immediately after he had set up, he called in his Alpha Company CO, Captain Brady, and informed him that his best platoon was to be committed to the trouble area to aid the cops in their efforts to save the hostages.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Major Dillon said as he spoke with Brady, “Your platoons all have incredible skill, superb officers and the like, but your First Platoon is your best, is it not?”

“It is indeed, Sir,” Brady said. “However, I am somewhat hesitant to send them in there.”

Dillon arched an eyebrow in confusion.

“Why is that, Captain?”

“Do I need to remind you, Sir, who commands that platoon?” Brady asked.

“No, Captain, you don’t,” Dillon said. “First Lieutenant Renniger is a superb officer, thus it is my belief that she is the perfect person for this situation.”

“Sir,” Brady said, “What about her mother, Sir?”

“I’m perfectly aware that General Renniger is her mother, Captain,” Dillon said. “I won’t keep such an excellent officer out of harm’s way simply because her mother is a powerful individual in the Army hierarchy.”

“If something happens to her, Sir…” Brady let his voice trail off as Dillon leveled a glare.

“I won’t have any more of this, Captain Brady. Send Renniger and her platoon in.”

“Yes, Sir,” Brady said.

Half an hour later, the First Platoon of Alpha Company was loaded in truck and en route.

OOC: Otagia, the troops are spread through four trucks, which will not go directly to the hotel, but will stop at a building nearby and unload the troops.

"Frank! We've got more company!"

He walked over to a window, and looked out carefully from behind the blinds. He could see a group of trucks stop several blocks away. He looked at it curiously, but stepped back in suprise when a tall, blonde woman in a Romandean military uniform stepped out of the passenger's seat.

"Shit, they brought in the military! Helen, pull out that pen will you? Looks like we might not be around to use it much longer..."

IC:

First Lieutenant Samantha Renniger leapt from the truck onto the hard black roadway and looked around briefly before putting her Kevlar helmet on and getting to work.

“Sergeant Bryce!” she called, summoning Platoon Sergeant Robert Bryce.

“Lieutenant?” the gray-haired bear of an NCO responded as he came running up from the last truck in the line, his helmet on and Stg. 8 assault rifle in hand.

“Sergeant Bryce, I’ll be going ahead alone in order to assess things, and then I’ll signal to have the platoon signaler sent up so I can call Captain Brady. Keep the unit here and send help if I call for it.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant,” Bryce answered.

Renniger nodded her head and started off in the direction of the TCPD blocking force at a low run, clutching her pistol in one hand, hoping nobody took a shot at her, seeing as how her path to the police placed her in plain view of several window vantage points. When at last she reached the Police barricade, she breathed a sigh of relief, going to ground next to her TCPD counterpart, Lieutenant Kurt Rivenburg.

“Lieutenant Samantha Renniger, Royal Army,” she said as he looked up at her.

“Lieutenant Kurt Rivenburg, TCPD,” he replied.

“Let’s get to business,” she said, and Rivenburg nodded.

Frank stepped back to the windo, gun in hand. Crouching, he checked the area with his sight. Dammit, everybody is behind cars... wait a second!

Looking down, he realized that he could see the head and shoulders of the blonde officer. Grinning he lined up the shot, slowed his breathing, and squeezed the trigger...

IC:

Lieutenant Renniger had just leaned in and shifted position slightly to speak to Rivenburg in regards to what he knew about the situation when suddenly, without warning, everyone in the Police barricade heard the loud crack of a gunshot. Renniger was shifting around so it would be possible for her to see who was shooting at who when a white-hot pain blazed in her shoulders and she bent over behind the door to shield herself.

“Lieutenant Renniger, are you okay?” Lieutenant Rivenburg asked. She nodded her head.

In that moment, everybody on the Police barricade opened fire with pistols, rifles and shotguns, shooting toward the doors in an effort to suppress the gunmen inside.

Frank grinned as the police futilely poured fire into the doors. The only things they would hit there would be furniture...

Moving back from the window slowly, Frank slipped away, grabbing Helen and moving upwards to the top floor. As the gunfire slowed, the pair headed to rooms at opposite ends of the hall, and peered again out on the assembled law enforcement officers. Shouldering their rifles, they aimed.

Smiling, they each picked a target.
Smiling, they each slowed their breathing.
Smiling, they each squeezed the trigger...

IC:

Lieutenant Rivenburg had just started getting his own men to stop firing when more shots hit the pavement close to him, and he looked up just in time to see two of his men drop as large amounts of blood spurted from throat wounds.

“Everybody down!” he bellowed, and his officers went down behind their cars for cover.

“Rivenburg,” Lieutenant Renniger said. “Figure out where that firing is coming from.”

Rivenburg nodded and raised his head up enough to look at the front of the hotel, looking in the hope of spotting any telltale muzzle flashes. Within just a few moments, he saw the light of firing weapons coming from the top floor windows.

“Look!” he said, standing up to gesture. “Aim for the top floor!”

“Rivenburg, get the hell down!” Renniger hissed through clenched teeth, but it was just a little bit too late as Rivenburg dropped to the pavement, clutching a chest wound. He had, however, gotten his message out, and the officers now shifted their fire to the upper floor.

Frank staggered back into the hall, clutching at his arm. He could see bullets ricocheting inside the room he had just vacated, and noticed Helen looking at him in suprise. He glanced down and noticed blood spreading on his shirt sleeve.

"It's just a flesh wound. I'll be fine."

Reaching onto his belt, he pulled an inhaler, and snorted a does of aeroclot. Within seconds, the bleeding stopped.

"See? Now, get back to sniping."

Grinning savagely, he turned and headed down the stairs to his next vantage point.

IC:

Lieutenant Rivenburg was down, clutching at a bad chest wound, which left the Police all in disorder for a moment as leadership shifted over to his next in line. While they did that in quick order, Lieutenant Renniger looked up at the sky as she tried to figure out how the hostage-takers could be defeated. They probably numbered at least a dozen, and thus they likely had two people on each floor, which meant any movement in the street was noticed immediately, leaving the Police in a tight situation.

Her train of thought was cut short as she saw a plume of steam coming from the building. It was coming from the roof, to be precise. After a moment, she realized it was an exhaust in the roof for letting out heat from the building…That was it! The roof!

“Sergeant Bryce.” she said into her handheld radio. “I need you to get me a ladder, now.”

“Ma’am?” he replied.

“I said get a ladder, Sergeant,” she said. “Make it a big, sturdy extending ladder.”

“Right away, Ma’am,” he said, and set out with two others to find a ladder.

It did not take long for the NCO to locate a hardware store nearby. The owner had closed his doors and was preparing to leave due to the shooting going on nearby when the troops located and stopped him.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked, just controlling himself.

“We need an extending ladder, sir,” one of the soldiers said.

“A-A ladder?” he asked.

“Exactly, sir,” Bryce said. “We need the best extending ladder we can find. Do you have ladders like that in your store, sir?”

“I do,” the man said.

“Can we borrow one, then?” Bryce asked.

“I…suppose so,” was the answer.

“Right on. Let’s hop to, people,” Bryce said, and moments later, he and the two soldiers had their ladder and were back behind the trucks.

“Ma’am,” Bryce said, calling Renniger. “We’ve got the ladder. What now?”

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Renniger said, and explained her plan. Minutes later, Bryce had hauled the ladder around to the side of the adjacent building facing away from the hotel, had gathered a whole rifle squad at that spot, and had climbed up to the rooftop with them in tow, then used the ladder to bridge the gap to the hotel rooftop.

Meanwhile, the Police were looking like they were organizing for a push on the doorway.

IC:

Lieutenant Renniger replaced her handheld radio back on her gear harness and crawled to her wounded TCPD counterpart, Lieutenant Rivenburg to check on him and pull him into heavier cover closer to his vehicle. Once she had him under cover, she examined him and immediately began working on his wound using her field medical kit.

“Lieutenant Renniger?” he questioned, his voice a pained wheeze.

“Exactly, Lieutenant Rivenburg,” she responded as she worked.

“What’s going on?” Rivenburg asked.

“So far, it seems your boys-and us with them-are pinned down by sniper fire, but don’t let it get you down. I have a plan in motion now. Those gunmen are going down really fast.”

“If you say so,” Rivenburg said.

“Don’t talk anymore,” Renniger commanded. “Save your energy.”

Rivenburg nodded, and Renniger gave him some water, pausing to glance up at the hotel, her mind thinking over what must be going on now with Sergeant Bryce and those troops he had taken with him.

***Meanwhile***

Platoon Sergeant Robert Bryce was the last man to clamber across the extending ladder to the hotel rooftop, going slowly and taking care to be silent once he made it and had called his fellow soldiers into a group. He had a full Rifle Squad with him in all, twelve soldiers.

“Right,” he said in a low whisper. “There should be a door up here, so let’s find it, and no loud-mouthed talking, got it? Use hand signals to communicate. Let’s go.”

Looking around for just a moment, they located a rooftop maintenance doorway and took less than a minute in opening it, being as quiet as possible. It opened to a narrow stairway leading down to a landing after a short way, and Bryce felt sure there were more steps.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, gesturing with one hand, and they slowly crept down the stairs in a single-file line with Bryce in the lead.

Again, Frank took a shot. He ran out into the hall, and up the stairs. Rounding the bend out into the corridor, he saw a group of men wearing urban camo, lead by a hulking brute carrying one hell of a big gun. His eyes widened as he saw the giant lift his rifle.

Leaping back into the safety of the stair well, Frank barely avoided a hail of fire which shattered the radiator at the end of the hall, covering his escape with a spray of steam.

Bounding down the stairs, he screamed at the top of his lungs:

"WE'VE GOT COMPANY!"

IC:

Bryce had not been expecting to see the gunman come running around the corner, but that had not stopped him from reacting quickly when he did see him. He shouldered his SAW, little more than a standard Stg. 8 with a drum magazine and light AP shells, and fired one long burst at the man, who just barely dodged it as he ran off around the corner, causing a little explosion as the bullets hit a radiator at the end of the hallway.

“I guess they know we’re here now,” one of the soldiers joked.

“I guess they do,” Bryce said with a chuckle as he reloaded. “Let’s go bust some skulls.”

Now that they were discovered, the soldiers moved a little faster, moving through the hall in the hopes of overwhelming the enemy before he could fully organize for a defense and, if possible, get to the hostages before the enemy killed them. Bryce made a plan, in which he and the first fire team of four men would clear the top floor, the second would move to kill any enemies on the fifth floor, and the third would deal with the fourth floor. One that had been done, they would leapfrog down to the bottom three floors.

Meanwhile, exactly two dozen TCPD officers stormed the front doors, all of them clad in light Kevlar vests and carrying shotguns, rifles and pistols.

Frank pressed his back against the thick concrete wall beside the stair well. Breathing quietly, he listened to the footsteps of his pursuers approaching, waiting for them to reach...

There.

Spinning across the open doorway, he fired off a burst at the soldiers, who were caught on the balcony opposite him. Twirling back, he bolted back down the hall towards the next staircase without looking to assess the damage. The delay would only get him killed...

Meanwhile...

Officers Crume and Bunde slammed against the walls, peering through the glass front doors. They nodded towards the other officers, who moved forwards, letting the doors open automatically before them...

BOOM.

The ensuing blast threw napalm all the way to the nearest police car. The other officers watched in shock as smoke and fire engulfed much of the front of the hotel.

IC:

Bryce looked in alarm as he saw the gunman pop into view again and fire a burst towards him. He started to raise his own weapon, but a burning pain in his shoulder stopped him a little short and he reached up to check it, only to feel the warm of blood. He motioned his infantrymen not to return fire as the gunman was already gone.

“Damn!” he cursed. “I’m shot!”

“Do you think you can keep going, Sergeant?” one of the soldiers behind him asked.

“I’ll be okay,” he answered. “The bullet has not yet been made that can stop me.”

His words got him a laugh from the squad leader, Sergeant Post, and a pat on the back.

“Let’s keep going then, Bob the Invincible,” the younger NCO said.

Bryce glared at him for a moment before speaking.

“Sergeant Post, I want you to take Fire Team One and go back to search the top floor and help any hostages you find. Corporal Hodgekiss, when we get down to the next floor look it over with Fire Team Two. I’ll continue down with Fire Team Three, and we’ll leapfrog in order down to the bottom three floors once we’ve cleared the top three. Clear?”

Everybody nodded.

“Let’s go, then,” Bryce said, and everybody started moving.

***Meanwhile***

Lieutenant Renniger and what few TCPD officers remained looked on in horror as flames leapt out from the hotel doorway, consuming everything in their path.

“It looks like your people are out of this one, Lieutenant Rivenburg,” she said. Rivenburg ignored her, or so it seemed.

“Rivenburg, are you okay?” Renniger looked down into blank, glazed eyes.

“Well, so much for you, pal,” she said, peeling off her medical gloves. She grabbed at the handheld on her belt and called to the rest of her platoon, telling them to move to position in from of the hotel, then looked back to the flames.

“Damn,” she murmured, a single tear crawling down her cheek.

OOC: I’m going to post for the sake of keeping this thread from dying totally. Otagia, no pressure here, just reply when you can, eh?

IC:

Sergeant Gerald Post watched Sergeant Bryce and most of First Squad disappear down the stairs, leaving him and his best Fire Team on the top floor of the building.

“Right,” he said to the three soldiers still with him. “Let’s get going now. PCS Tennyson, this looks like an empty floor to me, but let’s check it over anyway, one room at a time.”

“Right on, Sergeant,” PFC Tennyson replied, checking her Stg. 8 once more before glancing in the direction of the two other soldiers in her Fire Team.

“You heard the Sergeant, you miserable sacks of testosterone. Let’s move.”

Post and the three other troopers moved out, checking each room thoroughly as they did, counting how many rooms were in use so they would know how many hostages there were.

(OOC: Post altered due to a small error...yeah.)

OOC: Sorry for the lack of posts, no computer in my dorm room.

IC: Peering carefully around the corner, Frank spotted a pair of the soldiers checking a room for hostages. Slipping back around the corner, he motioned towards Helen, then pointed towards the pair of Romandeans. The pair of them leaned around the corner, lining up shots. Letting off bursts from their SMGs, they bolted back down the stairwell, moving to the next floor.

Private Lawrence Schwab looked up as he saw Frank and Helen pop out and start blazing in his direction with their weapons. He had just enough time to holler out a warning to the individual behind him, Private Richard Dreese, before a bullet struck his face, killing him instantly, blood spraying as his corpse fell to the floor in a heap. Dreese leapt back taking immediate cover in the room he and Schwab had just been checking, looking around a bit in order to be sure he was alone in the room. Once sure, he spoke into his headset.

“Green Four to all units, I have located the Tangos on the second-to-top level. They’re all in the stairwell now that I can see. Green

“Green Four, this is Kingpin. Where are you now?” Dreese heaved a sigh when he heard the radio call. Kingpin was the radio call-sign for Sergeant Bryce.

“Kingpin, this is Green Four. I am in the third room from the entry on the right side of the hallway. I think two terrorists were here a moment ago, but have now fled into the stairs.”

He could hear the other two surviving members of his Fire Team in another room making immense noise as they bustled to get to his location.

“Green Six,” he heard Bryce say, talking to his Fire Team Leader. “Find the enemies and keep them contained. We’ll converge on your location.”

Dreese opened the door and stepped quietly into the hallway. Lance Corporal Larry Essex immediately came up to him, along with PFC Lance Durham.

“Dreese, are you okay?” Essex whispered.

“I’m fine,” Dreese replied. Essex nodded his head, then looked over at the nearby corpse.

“Schwab was a good man,” he said. “Let’s go kick their asses for killing him.”

***(MINUTES LATER)***

Essex, Durham and Dreese came down the stairs in a line, stopping at the entryway to the level they believed the terrorists were hiding on, being very silent. Bryce came in, and the infantry squad was soon gathered outside the closed doorway. At a signal from Bryce, the infantry squad’s sergeant, Sergeant Post, pulled out a stun grenade and lobbed it in before lunging inside with his weapon raised, Dreese next to him.

Helen saw the grenade as it tumbled through the air. Yelling a warning, she tackled Frank, the two of them slamming into the wall as the flashbang went off. With their eyes jammed shut, they could still hear the deafening blast, could feel the bone-jarring thump.

Hurridly picking themselves up, they could see the forms of a pair of men at the landing above them, both armed with sturmgewehr assault rifles. Leaping forward, Helen went high while Frank went low. Bounding into the air, Helen pushed off the wall, ricocheting towards Bryce. Spinning, her foot lashed out, connecting with his head and smashing him into the wall. She could feel the pain in her side from a glancing hit from one of the Sturmgewehrs. Ignoring it, she kept fighting.

In the same instant, Frank dove forward, body-blocking Post in the legs, cartwheeling up to stand on the stairs behind his opponents. Grinning, he dove back into the melee.

Frank blocked a series of punches and swipes from the rifles of his opponents, ducking a swing from the soldier to his left, jabbing his elbow into the man's gut. The soldier doubled over, and Frank grabbed the back of the soldier's head, planting his knee in the man's face. Feeling bones splinter under the blow, he threw the man to the side, turning to his other opponents.

Bang.

With a look of suprise, Frank fell to his knees. Staring down at his chest, he could see blood spreading across his shirt. Looking up, he could see one of the other soldiers, pistol pointed now at his head.

"Frank!"

Lunging forward, Helen kicked the man's arm up, hearing the bones shatter. The gun went off, the bullet lodging in the ceiling. Throwing a series of rabbit punches, she first broke both the man's wrists, then crushed his windpipe. Leaving the wheezing man on the ground to die, she spun, launching a high kick at the soldier coming up behind her, hooking it around to drive the point of her heel through his rib-cage. Spining around, she left her shoe behind, planting another kick in his forehead, lodging her shoe in his braincase.

As the man dropped dead, she turned to the big man she had knocked against the wall. She was somewhat suprised to note that he was already up, coming at her again. Lashing out, she aimed high, trying to put him out of the fight quickly. Lifting his arm into a perfect high block, he knocked her kick out of the way, launching a punch into her core. Flying back, she bounced off the wall, snap kicking Bryce in the stomach, hitting him hard. He coughed blood, but kept fighting, slamming Helen up against the wall, holding her by the throat. Punching her hard in the midriff, he could feel ribs breaking, shards plunging into vital organs. Dropping Helen, he leaned back against the wall, breathing hard.

On the ground, blood flowing into her mouth, Helen lay dying, staring into the blank eyes of her lover.

"Frank..."