As the other hires had quite contented themselves either watching the political garbage the common man called 'news' or helping themselves to Taggart's mini bar, the three individuals Craig had mentioned began to trickle through the door. Two middle-aged men the likes of Jay himself, and then a snappy-looking young lady that looked like she'd just been plucked from under a car. Jamie remained silent, much to the mockery of Kennedy, as he remained within he own thoughts.

Jay only truly came back to the present when their supposed leader, a Mr. Michael Yancy, entered the room. Immediately, Jamie began to dash his expectations for this ragtag little squad- Mack bore every visual sign of a drunkard fresh from the saloon. He struggled to stay upright, dark bags under his squinting eyes (blue on black, oddly enough) and the hints of stubble around his lower face indicated he hadn't shaved properly. Either Taggart had surprisingly low expectations for candidates of leader roles, or Mack wasn't ready for this. 

More likely the latter, however, given how painstakingly all these skilled individuals had been gathered here at this very time. But, then, there did appear to be a certain logic to who had been picked, seeing as how Yancy actually recognized some of the faces among the seven. 

A couple of brisk reunions were shared, all that stuff. Jamie feigned non-interest, a simple act considering he'd never met any of these people before. However, the certain circumstances surrounding the relations of the people here made the marksman keep an ear on the conversation. It was obvious the outsiders like himself here were just experts offering their talents, but the former police agents all had some history, forced into hiding and begging to be reunited with this new combat operations unit. How convenient.

Everyone snapped to attention as Craig Hobbes stepped up to center stage again, dragging a lock box almost as large as himself all with one skinny arm. Slapping open the latch, the box fell open to reveal what had to be an entire armory's worth of firearms, all loaded up.

Damn if that didn't get everyone's attention, even the ever-stoic sniper. [color=darkturquoise]"Wow,"[/color] Jamie commented in pleasant surprise, breaking his silence. Unlike the Chinese man he was sharing a couch with, the sniper stood up to glance at the stash of weapons from a different angle. As he did, though, Craig quickly held up an index finger to Jay, signaling to give him a moment as he retreated into the kitchen...

Not a few moments later, Taggart's partner returned with something completely different, for Packard himself, apparently.

The stockpile of traditional ballistics was all well and good, tried and true, but the rifle Craig was now hoisting under his arm seemed to come fresh from the future. Taking the thing into his arms, Jay's mouth couldn't help but slack open. The rifle was large, bulky, and weighty- not unmanageable, but still plenty to put any other conventional sniper rifle system to shame. The sheen and trim that shaped the frame of the gun showed a lot of care and money went into making this weapon look as flawless as could be afforded.

As Jay wordlessly tested the heft and design of the advanced weapon, Craig took care to answer the marksman's unspoken questions. The rifle was a custom build, created from schematics stolen from the Japanese; the Longshot Rifle "Shogun". That little tidbit about the design being stolen perked Jay right back up again.

[color=darkturquoise]"Stolen?"[/color] Jay parroted, somewhat blankly, before redoubling his words with a tad more exasperation. [color=darkturquoise]"Who did he steal it [i]from?[/i] And more importantly-"[/color] the sniper removed the large box magazine, inspecting the dozen or so huge cartridges within, [color=darkturquoise]"-what the hell were they planning to do with it? With something this size, you could take down a whole building."[/color] 

It certainly didn't take a gun nut to figure that the 'Shogun' was built big enough to bust a fat hole in concrete, tank armor, and soldiers alike. The question, then, is why were the Japanese trying to manufacture something like this. No, not Japan in general- more likely a private Japanese firm, Jay thought, Mack's recent words popping into his mind. 

The gears in his brain began to turn. Taggart gathering a whole arsenal of weapons, a handful of professional fighters, and even advanced custom gear like this rifle... There had to be something else behind this, and it was itching Jay's mind harder than ever now.

Alone in his musings, still holding the rifle, he looked back across the room, past his new teammates and out the window, into the salient night...

[hr][center][b][i]- [u]All Hell Breaks Loose[/u] -[/i][/b][/center][hr]
Within a single moment, the entire house was sent into chaos. Jay tried to move, but the bullet traveled faster than any man could hope to catch up with, entering Craig's chest with little resistance. Glass shattered, the table buckled under the falling body, and Mack screamed uncharacteristically. [i]Synthetics[/i], Taggart's partner hacked out in his fleeting breaths.

From the support beam he had taken cover behind, Jay cursed the tides of fate. [color=darkturquoise]"Knew it,"[/color] he muttered once, then again louder, [color=darkturquoise]"I fucking knew it!"[/color]

Everything happened so quickly. Mack desperately begged Craig for words, and he spat them out. The Chinese man heeded the instructions about the failsafe in the boiler room, and scrambled for the vents. The temporary squad captain began to bark out orders as one of the men headed upstairs in a panic. She pointed at Jay and the worn street-sweeper, ordering them both to take up arms at the roof and pick off their assailants. 

The sniper spared a single glance at the other man, sneered, and called back to the lady, [color=darkturquoise]"What, you think I need [i]help?[/i]"[/color] 

With a certain cool bravado about him, Packard slipped out from behind the column and between cover. Leaving the Shogun at rest behind the couch, he ducked over and pilfered an EBR from the pile of weapons Craig had dispensed earlier. As Kennedy came barreling back into the room with a door-sized riot shield and a fresh scar of battle, Jay took his place and dashed out, eager to escape the line of fire. He scrambled up the stairs to the next floor, and up further then, to the attic space Craig had mentioned.

Bashing open the door, Packard crawled along the dusty flooring, past the piles of assorted crap, and up to the edge of the skylight. This experience was one that the marksman hadn't been through in years, his time in urban warfare having spoiled him to being in a true, heated conflict. Placing the stock to his shoulder and his eye to the scope, he zeroed in on the first of eight targets he could count - which meant the rest were surrounding the complex or preparing to breach. He quietly hoped his other operatives were as good as Taggart advertised, or he might actually be in serious trouble.

Jay's eagle eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light, and he aligned the crosshairs of the EBR to his first victim of the night. Humans, androids, they all fell the same to a solid bullet through the head. Compensating for the soldier's next movement, he squeezed the trigger, a cacophony of ballistic power and shattering glass accompanying the shot.