[h1][color=lightblue]Skye Rosalind Lyons[/color][/h1] Skye adjusted her headset, hearing Sam's voice chirp up. "Yeah, she's hurt. Shoulder's a bit messed up, longer term injury. But she'll survive." Skye said, swallowing the lump in her throat, looking to Freya as she did, the blanketed heavy hurting painfully, on the phone to her family. She had that right, Skye wouldn't say a thing, and well, it was an encrypted line. "Team's mostly okay. We're fine. And uhh...I guess I am too. Still somehow in one piece. Not sure how, but hey, we roll." Skye replied, a little calmer, easier even when talking to Sam. "Thank you. I appreciate what you did. That was a lot of responsibility you shouldered. You did well. Look, it's a lot right now, the crown is heavy. But we'll talk properly when you land at Haneda." Skye added, adjusting the comms set, sipping down some water. [h2]Eight Hours Later[/h2] [h2]Somewhere above Japan[/h2] [h2]Jet Lag[/h2] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sr-dVymAaII]Soundtrack: More Scrapes- Arthur Beatrice[/url] The flight had whimpered for hour after hour, minute for minute of slight white noise but they were coming closer, and closer. With the daylight long since broken, the aircraft was headed on the final half hour of its flight, inbound to Tokyo Haneda, the city airport of Tokyo. They'd get food, some supplies and fuel, and that was good enough for now. The hum of an old song played through her head, a niche. She liked her metal and rock, but it didn't leave, an ambience to an extent. Skye had slept for most of it- no further work really, she'd just passed out as had everyone else. Yawning, Skye felt better after her transfusion- the toxin clearing out of her system much faster, and at least, deciding not to stick around. She'd feel weak now, but not from that at least and would recover better. Rations had been handed out, some very nasty stuff from the hab up front that had likely been sitting here for years, and even some warm water had been been boiled up. So eating rehydrated rice and beans were on the menu, and it was grim. But food. Food nonetheless. Heavies get triple portions of course, considering they'd basically need an entire sheep from the homestead's farm to eat, but there was about enough for everyone. A bit of a downgrade from the last meal, but hey, it was what it was. With it, Skye looked to Ebrima, one seat over from where Sophie had been, giving him a quiet nod as she sipped down another cup of water. "Morning. Afternoon even? I have literally no idea. Anyway, you good?" Skye asked the Cameroonian, looking at him on the floor, his quiet demeanour likely hiding the fact he'd been straight in a warzone after going out for a short training and prep exercise. He looked well though, all thing considered. Then again, maybe he wasn't as damaged as Skye was. She was holding well, considering she'd been hit with a neurotoxin, nearly died, nearly detonated all her friends, killed herself, twice, thrown herself off an electric motorcross bike into the back of a buggy during an avalanche on a mountain, jumped out of a skyscraper into an airbag, and taken a shitload of hit to the ribs. Even by her standards, it was what you would call, fucking crazy. Tahlia looked the same, nodding across as she wondered over, the click clack of her legs back on, loose. "It is 4pm out there. Even I forgot." Tahlia replied, chuckling as she sat down. "So what are you going to do, boss?" The Kiwi added, sitting down on the chair spare, where Sophie had been, looking across at the ginger haired Scot. "I still have no idea." Skye's reply meekly came back, a genuine one, deep in thought, yet well, Tahlia taking none of it. "Well, Sam really, really gives a shit about you. So do I. And Freya. And Ebrima probably will. Probably when he's not getting his minatures exploded. Trust me, bro. I know. That's two years of my fucking life gone too. Lots of woodwork my mum sent to me." Tahlia replied part to Skye and part to Ebrima, the Kiwi's stoic yet twanged nature coming through, a kinda comedy that sort of held. "Orders are orders. Chances are, it's contingency. They'll want to limit damage but a bullet in me isn't going to help them. They know that much. It's not exactly good for morale, especially a a time like now. Does make it easy to them to get some safety though....nah. I don't see it." Skye mused, knowing it wasn't a fun discussion to make. "Well, don't go dying on me. I mean that. I want the bastards that blew up our house dead, and all the sheep, and all the kiwis too, cos you sort of cared about them." Tahlia replied, Skye chuckling, shrugging. "You make an argument." Skye nodded in return, as Tahlia took her own water bottle out, giving it a sip, before wiping the lid, offering a bit to Ebrima. "I never properly introduced myself. Tahlia Harris. Yes, the tattoos are from Ngai Tahu. And no, there was no blood ritual for me to lose my legs to get them. I imagine you have some tales to tell too." Tahlia dryly joked, chuckling with a wry grin, the stark Kiwi breaking ice a little more, indulgent a little in that. The ink was visible on her frame up her neck and across her arms, considering the fact she'd evacuated the place in just a t-shirt and three-quarter length cargo pants. "I used, to source equipment when we were in Kaitiaki. Considering that it just got blown up, I guess I'll need to find some new employment at the next place we go to. And that means I've got more time to actually make introductions rather than run around for this terror, constantly." Tahlia added, leaving Skye to dwell on her thoughts, and well, not be the focus. She looked across, seeing Freya just laying there still splayed out, as before, and then Raph and Sophie having a chat further down, with Chuck left to his own devices- more likely than not, asleep after all of it, though Skye did peer over at him, saying almost invisibly, yep, glad you were there- even if you couldn't chat earlier. It was a reprieve. Yet Skye couldn't help but think about all the anarchy that had started from another version existing. She knew there were procedures, protocols. Trained for it for years. Yet now, it was happening for real. And now, she wondered what the fuck was actually going on behind the scenes. The transfusion was done, and she'd napped off the fact that she'd been basically gurgling a few litres of blood, for safety's sake. It was nice to feel less dead. --------------------- [h1][color=Chocolate]Purna Chai Gurung[/color][/h1] [h2]Frankfurt, Germany[/h2] [h2]Point Forty Five Calibre[/h2] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CjHlfsdeF0w]Soundtrack: El Cargo- Amon Tobin[/url] Purna sprinted at pelt and swan dived through the now open window and into the wide open skyline of Frankfurt's afternoon, as he heard the lift open, firing the grapple and linking it against the skyscraper he'd just thrown himself out of, the titanium-pointed grapple pulling in as he used it to yank his way around the corner of it, swinging wildly, and then magnificently at the top of the pendulum using his specialised gloves to pin up against a glass window, inverted. A pull of himself into a crevice and he swung and clasped the window, smashing it from the outside with a couple of rounds from his weighty USP.45, swinging inside and letting the line retract slow, then quick, clasping it back into his hands as he heard the sound of more guards running up nearby stairs into this office. Slapping his wrist, he suddenly turned into a blur and let the armoured security sweep out the area, their G36-equipped arms passing by as Purna stayed dead still, letting them slowly filter through past the concrete pillar in the office. One came within a meter, and still couldn't see the hazy outline using the pillar in the room. And then the shadow moved. Purna clapped two in the head, dual wielding his USPs now at a split, directing them both into man three's SWAT-team grade helmets, and then using the same pillar to duck as the fourth man tried to turn. Purna rolled and fired his grapple straight at him, the retract not working as it should but doing enough to pin the man, as Purna reeled instead ONTO him, and slammed feet first into his chest, slicing with the Kukri straight through the eyeball in one swift move downwards before he could even get a reaction. Sighing, he dusted himself down, and reloaded each pistol in sequence, heading for the lift. Purna just needed the cable. And with the lift going up and the doors wide open, he lept out and held the cable, using it as a makeshift rappel, his gloves and suit able to take the strain. Enough to the lift platform's stop below, where he lept onto the side, magnetic gloves active. The lift headed down right on cue as more guards poured out, and he followed it to ground floor, before dropping down with the cable adjacent, absolutely tactile. The way he moved, it looked like an easy Sunday morning. That's because it was. Anyway. Enough quipping. Down into the garage level, Purna checked the last time for cameras from the set he'd deactivated earlier, before yanking out his keys. You could really say there's a gentleman spy somewhere inside of Purna. He came from dirt poor, poverty, and liked that humility, hated things, hated the idea of it, and really wanted just some peace and quiet, order, no drama and just getting the job done stoically. A bigger car would be better, maybe something else. Yet speed was on the back of his mind, and something that could roll out of this compound without looking too suspicious but could put foot to floor if he needed to disappear. A Ranger Rover? Nah, that screams needy young banker. A Lamborghini? Too loud, too much attention. A Tesla? No. A crappy shitbox? It should have never been there and let in with the first place. The blip of the key being tapped revealing a stolen Aston Martin V12 Vantage's headlights, sitting right there, in the corner of the underground parking lot. An older classic. Purna's choice. An Aston never gets any questions asked. Even if it is the choice of a British fucking spy. Purna knew if he really had to choose, he'd choose this. Clambering into the dark green car, the phone rang as he took his balaclava and night vision off, revealing his tanned skin and his cowl, Purna peeling it back entirely and dumping his obvious weaponry into a hidden compartment below the passenger seat footwell, grabbing a pair of Ray-Bans, and a white dress shirt. He hit the receive, as he did his thing, at least covering his top half in civilian clothing. "Hi, weren't you supposed to call until this evening, Oracle? I thought we're on radio silence? What's going on?" Purna replied, genuinely a little curious, considering all that had just happened, instead of pinging on comms, he was getting a call. He wasn't rude, just if anything, a little wonderous about the change of plan. It was dark till home, unless a call came in. "Things changed a bit quicker than expected." Purna put on a bluetooth headset hearing the call connect to the voice on the other end, and hitting the start, heard the V12 bark into life. A roaring, hearty thing, as he put it into first, and skidded out, driving around the parking garage's left open door, putting foot to floor. It made a noise that can only be described as a lion having its tail stepped on. A roar for the ages. "How so?" Purna replied, the car sparking as it was sent up the ramp, and Purna slowed down, the barrier open, just the way he liked it, because he'd already had that tapped up. He kept the throttle pinned on, and pulled out of the underground car park up a level. "Main team's in need of your services. Urgently. I have a team leader who is compromised, an injured operative, a light MIA and three operating sites completely compromised. So it's happening. We are in the shit." Oracle's voice seemed reassuring, yet concerned, worried even more than ever his demeanour would allow. Like the words coming out were very much him pissing his pants. Purna kept on the throttle and skidding around the bend, saw the cluster of G-Wagens coming his way. Fuck. Putting it into a harder turn, he took another ramp and drove straight out onto the street, skidding out, the Aston no longer incognito, but now, a car being driven. "Why are you calling me then? I thought this is Wilk's territory if that's the case. Also, I'm in a car chase, the asset's recovered, I'm gonna be done in ten. Give me a second to pull out of here. I'm still in field." Purna's accent was an odd one- Nepalese for sure, but it had the odd trace of a British accent melded in, from so much time spent in the UK. It was clear, he had been around soldiers for a while- their mannerisms clasped onto him, even if he didn't say much at all. He seemed incredibly calm considering anything, not swearing, just direct in how he spoke and somewhat sensical. "Sure. You do you. And he's aware. Get to the safehouse, and pack up shop. The asset you've recovered needs to come with, fry it first for any trackers. I'll get you more intel when I have it, and send details of where next on a secure metric. Wilk can fill you in on the details, I'm sure you two know the score." Oracle's voice was cool, knowing Purna didn't care too much for the overt detail, just the points, given after all he had relation and had heard such chats before, as he pulled the car around a tight corner, wheelspinning the entire way, ripping a long drift as he shifted back on throttle, the tail he had behind him close, but well, about to find out you can't track this type of thing. "Affirmative." Purna replied, taking a tight turn past Alte Oper, Frankfurt's main city hall, and cutting through a pedestrian area, avoiding civilians and a Frankfurter stand in the process, skidding past some more bollards and putting on throttle. The G-Wagens didn't have the same versatility, and in the corner of his eye, the poor stand got smashed to bits, and the G-Wagen one of of three on its side jolting over as it hit a staircase, with an insanely angry German guy yelling at the crew inside that had smashed his wieners to bits. Well, that could have gone better....but then again, who was he to complain, with a sly grin, now turning out of the city centre and finding a patch of clear space in front, blasting down Mainzer Landstrasse and through tunnels out of Frankfurt's packed CBD with the car roaring off and on throttle as he danced on the pedals, dodging traffic with a bop and weave and in time, finding the express roads, putting foot to floor and unleashing all the brutality of the Aston's engine. The tail was dropping away quick as Purna got to work on enjoying the speed, and his thoughts switched to his other need. Signs indicated Flughafen. Airport. That was where the safehouse was, and where he had work to do- as he pulled off a junction and kept the grip going all the way around, heel and toe to really make the most of this car's grip. Coming out of that junction, Purna exhaled, and instead of putting foot to floor, dropped back to a reasonable speed, aware he'd taken a few junctions without seeing them and reasoned now was as good a time as any to maybe not attract any Politzei for this last stint. The bag on the passenger seat was secure, and well, he had what he had come for. Another call to make now, as he drove for Frankfurt Flughafen. The small utilities hut past the private VIP entry, and well, the drop point for his short term stolen rental awaited, and from there, he was getting the fuck out of there on the next flight to wherever Oracle told him to go. The call connected on, as he heard the sound of birds tweeting in the background, and woodpeckers. ------- [h1][color=RosyBrown]Adam Stanislaw Kajtanowicz[/color][/h1] [h2]Białowieża Forest, near Białystok, Poland[/h2] [h2]Polestar[/h2] The phone rung, and in a similar manner that Oracle had just called, the man in the cabin picked up. The olive jumper wearing Captain was not on duty, not at work, but enjoying his rare, opportune time off in a hunting lodge in the most beautiful forest in all of Poland. Bialowieza was full of Bison, Deer, Wolves, animals everywhere, mushrooms, fishing lakes, and it was heaven on earth. Green pasture that had been rewilded, it was beyond pretty, it was left untouched. The wooden hut was built by him and his father, and right now, Adam was on his own, whilst his dad had headed out into town- to grab some more supplies. Even in his old age, he had things to do. So, yeah. This was a place made for Adam, his gear stashed here as well as a woodworking bench beyond the shot of the remote cabin, the call an interruption. Because not far enough out of range to avoid phone signals. He hit speaker, knowing nobody was going to hear. There were no bugs here. "Kurwa, you too?" Adam replied, sighing, taking a moment as he stood up. The fatalistic Pole had plenty of time for Purna, someone he'd not spent much time training with, but saw eye to eye with. He was a bit more reasonable than Skye, he was just quiet, more than anything. "How bad is it?" Purna asked, as Adam swallowed his lump in his throat, knowing yeah, there was no easy way of putting it. The two stoically bounced from each other, few words, just intermittent talk. It worked. "Really bad. I imagine it might just be us. And they have us going to a Blue Sword site. Anything under Raven is currently burned." Adam replied, his heavily accented English trawling through his Polish accent, the baseball cap wearing Pole covering his baldness, albeit keeping his mountain-man beard. "Blue Sword?" "It means things are really, really fucked." Adam added, sighing. Yeah, this wasn't a great day off. "Understood. Who else do you think you're getting?" Purna's voice stayed calm, albeit to a point. It was hard to place. He didn't talk a lot, but well, he did when he had something to add. "Whoever is left. And.....Frigga's hurt too. Which means......" "Meaning what?" Purna enquired, a little inquisitive here now. He wasn't THIS bitter. Not even this bad at the end of the world. "We're working with her, aren't we......if Frigga is really out." Adam replied, Purna knowing EXACTLY who that was. Not like there were many people that could replace Frigga. He had to admit, he felt the same. But had to be reasonable. "Wilk, she's.....she's good at what she does. She could be useful. Even if...." "She's a fucking liability? Her brother is a better choice. I imagine she is somewhere getting photos of her lying spread out getting photos of her in lingerie. Again." "Come on, you can't say that. We are professionals. I get it, you're a better man than any of us." Purna replied, as Adam shook his head. It was sinking in. As much as he was right, he did not want to work with her, but it would have to happen. [hr] [h1][color=Goldenrod]Athena Anna Kanataario[/color][/h1] [h2]Port-Vendres, France[/h2] [h2]Golden Girl[/h2] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4eSc9IB0ns]Soundtrack: Parlais Vous Anglais?- Headie One[/url] There's nothing like the sea, the Mediterranean sun, and oh yeah, Athena spread out wide like the absolute beauty she is in front of the pool, on the decking of the hillside designer house perched high above the renaissance castle framed, picture perfect French town that she'd made her weekend out of, the quiet drill music on the nearby radio putting Athena in the zone of feeling like a baddie. There's something about the hype of it, yet it making her feel like she wasn't giving any fucks. She'd love it if she could fall asleep here, but when there's a guy with a camera lens clicking off shots as she leans over while lying on the strained deckchair and looks at him, aviators on, hair tucked back, a tight royal blue sports bra and sports underwear on with an outline of a seahorse logo on each garment, work is work. There's no denying it. Athena is the absolute figure here, and her towering presence occupies a great deal of it, in every dimension. There's no hiding her skin, turning a gentle bronzer and bronzer, every curve, every piece sculped like it was out of a gooey pale caramalised marble with a thin layer of sweat, posing for every, single, photo. The muscle behind it is clear, but she's got more in the trunk than Freya does. There's no denying that Athena is sprawled on the deckchair like it didn't really exist, and with any tensing of her arm or legs, it looks like a hydraulic ram compressing. She's got marks from battle, but well, they're mostly caked over for this shoot. And well, she seems to occupy it all. Relative to the cameraman, her sheer size is just bewildering. Especially in the areas that your jaw would fall off at. Her head almost seems small in comparison. Love it or hate it, this is an excess, vividly so. Most giants who get attention are too shy to know, but oh, Athena is making every single piece of it. She knows what they write. She was a freak no person could even aspire to be. A monster, even worse. A literal definition of capitalism at its worst. A slutty little princess who should know better. A whore, now that one hurt. For every single one of those people, a hundred more would want her business, both personal, and company, she reasoned. They want their logo on fabric barely covering the tight crack of her rear, because it's worth a million and more to anyone that thinks they can have it. Athena is not getting off on this, but damn, if it don't make her feel....special. She wants that. She thrives on it. She gets paid to do this. But they are not paying her just in money, that's a formality. They are paying in the opportunities that come next, and that well, mercenaries cannot look away, especially.... prospective ones. Athena is quite possibly the greatest pin-up psy-op of a girl that ever served Blue Sword, and well, she had a bottomless list of thirsty men, and women no less, looking to join. That's why they got the best. That made the business rather easy. Freya was good, but well, Athena has it nailed down, like a surgical art, she is a temptress, and every powerful curve, every strand pointed and well, her rotund rear pointed made that so clear you'd be unable to look away when it rattles with her gentle shift, like a peach occupying everything, her chest compressed by the bra like it was hanging on for deer life to release what was there. Shit, you can convince a man's head with money, but the ape inside, that needs a touch that history has never beaten. And the youngest sibling, well, she is making the best case for that now. Her mother in her prime was a beauty, but Athena is straight up illegal for a man's mind in this form. Athena sighed, as she looked across to the camera over her shoulder, blowing her long strands away, one last pose as she leaned on her elbows. "Okay, and one more. Standing, and staring into distance." Athena only obliged, her bright white smile beaming back at him as she stood up, and leaned against the glass balcony, click, click, click, her aviator covered eyes covering her green-eyed visage. "Thank you, Jean-Pierre. I appreciate a professional." Athena simply said, walking across the wooden flooring, hearing it as the phone buzzed on the table across from the pool. Athena sighed, looking across to the cameraman, shrugging her boulder-like shoulders. He was about to reply, as Athena merely kept going to the phone, replying first. "Business. They never stop. You caught me at a very lucky twenty minutes. Please, if I could have a little room." Athena replied in turn with her beaming smile, continuing as the cameraman, almost diminutive in size, nodding as he headed in, knowing that she did not at all like to be interrupted. She took that aspect seriously. She hated structure, but life in 20 minute blocks- hers and theirs. Business had to happen between these things, and she was nearly continuously on the phone, a Teams call or something else. And well, he had to calm even his own breathing down. Mon dieu, there is nothing quite like her. It's like being in the presence of a sculpture come to life, the size of her barely fitting through doors of the house. "What." Her reply was prompt, like she knew the voice on the other end, the smartphone tiny in her less claw-like palm, Athena dunking her feet into the pool, comically so, barely coming up to her hip at the very deepest end and letting her sit on the edge, sloshing water. She continued to listen, holding her tongue, wanting to talk. But this was serious. Very. Oracle wasn't messing about. "The fuck?" The words carried, to a point where even JP could hear it through the glass of the hilltop designer house, Athena putting her glasses up with her spare hand. "Really?" She continued to listen, a little puzzled as to why she was hearing this, but equal parts, annoyed. "Oh, fantastic." Athena sighed, sarcasm implied. It was a deflated one, rare from her, but she knew what it meant. Her Mid-Atlantic voice had a stronger British twang to it, her cacophony of origins certainly making it a stranger accent all around. The voice on the other end continued, as Athena cut in again. "I guess you already told them where to go. And I appreciate you calling...we can help her out, just focus on the rest of them. Right. I'll meet you there. You know, you could have called sooner, asked for my....no, I am not saying I told you so, or.....fine, fine. I'm on it. See you soon." Athena put the phone down, and with it, exhaled a hard breath. She had more phone calls to make also. To get there, then the one to Mama Natalia, then the next one to Hannula. She'd be on the phone joining in when Freya made that call. She wasn't missing that one. ----- [h1][color=Honeydew]Antti Järvinen[/color][/h1] [h2]Camp Hannula, Pöyrisjärvi National Park, Finland[/h2] [h2]Perkele, the Nokia's ringing![/h2] The Finn's old smartphone phone rang with an iconic Nokia bleep, as he stood outside in the just-cleared snow outside one of the barracks in the quiet camp, the climactic opposite in fact, to where Athena was extending the tan on her wide load. Athena did not hold back her words. "Antti. I'm coming over. Get Jamie there too....before I tear Skye Lyons's throat out and make that poxy bitch drown in her own blood. If Oracle doesn't do it first, I will." Athena spoke with not the kind of fire that Freya had, but more an assured, immature level of threat. Creative, still. Athena knew Skye, hell, half respected the woman. But right now, considering the news, she had half a thought to just see what happens if she just ran at the bitch and sent her through a brick wall. "Yes, Miss Kaantario. And hello." Antti replied, in a monotoned, almost automatic manner. "We are going to be busy. Raven have quite a team likely needing somewhere to stay, and I am told there are complications. My sister needs treatment." Athena exhaled, knowing the cold truth, and sticking to that. It was easier. "It is done. Oracle has already called. And your mother. We have medical specialists, Jamie, and more reinforcements coming." Antti spoke, with a certain conviction, as if he'd always known. Camp Hannula was a quiet Blue Sword posting, a secondary camp that went through surges- and this was one more, albeit courtesy of the secret Raven Squad that he had heard murmurs of. "Good. Then seems we're all square and they got to it first. I have words....not all of them good." Athena sloshed a bit of water, sighing as she looked out at the view. For a moment, the gigantic Golden Retriever was not pleased. "I imagine you do. It is cold here, Athena, if you are moving fast. I recommend you bring something warm." Antti replied, making a reminder of it, white steam coming off his cold lungs. "I am plenty fucking hot enough under the collar." Athena replied, crassly, and the Finn did not care for it much. Manners. Antti was the rare person who could reply the way he did. But it said an awful lot about the silver-haired Finnish camp-keeper. And in a way that could only be said by a Finn. "Yes, and the ice eventually forms on the sweat of boiled blood. See you soon, ok?" Antti replied, Athena absolutely awestruck. It is rare. Nobody, not a single person. Athena may want to say something witty in response, but she has nothing. Their conversation is done, and Athena knows it. Antti disconnected the phone and exhaled. It's rare to tell a Managing Director to basically go fuck themselves. Antti solidly couldn't give a shit. She had nice tits, paid well and looked after the place, but well, she could use a few more years of experience. Years Antti just exuded, and he knew when to push the button, and when not to. She had so many priorities she couldn't bother. Besides, flattening an old Finnish man, that was no worth to anyone. Antti was kinda irreplaceable, considering he just knew how to make the unique flow of this base work. Antti looked around, and finished shovelling the last bit of snow outside of the wooden cabin, the melt coming in quicker this year, and the snowy forest around it mostly containing mossy green grass, the lake all thawed and a shimmering mirage of blue and green. The sawmill ardently standing as it always did. Home was beautiful. And he cracked a smile, knowing he got to enjoy it a little more before the flurry of people came.