[center][h2][color=#FF7800]Boraro[/color]
Fireteam Hammer, Île de la Tempête[/h2][/center][hr]The kept moving forward with the resolute certainty of a main battle tank, not bothering to go around problems and instead powering straight through. To quote a certain Russian that used to kick in doors for him: “The fucking fun stops here.”

Three PLA soldiers were felled by the same shot.

A soldier took cover behind a server rack, only to be crushed underneath it when Ebrima boost-sprinted toward it and tipped it over with a drop kick.

An entire fire team was blown up when the shoulder of the one throwing a frag grenade ceased to exist.

It was mayhem, all because Skye was irresponsible enough to give Ebrima a gun that could bitchslap bad guys with the power of god through half a meter of solid concrete. At the same time one could wonder who put that woman in charge and yet at the same time how do you counter a team of insane chaos gremlins of this caliber, even if they weren’t carrying a platoon’s worth of firepower, when the unhinged sides are encouraged?

He followed Skye’s lead after they breached Zhao’s office, keeping his weapon at low ready until Skye started shutting down, instinctively pointing it at Zhao despite that not being able to do much.

He didn’t know much about computers, only what he picked up during the time he knew Enri from her exasperated rants, but he knew that if you were transferring music from a computer to a phone and the bluetooth connection dropped, the transfer was obviously interrupted. A non-functioning computer likewise couldn’t receive data. Transferring data was not transferring either, rather it was making a copy and then deleting the original. And the brain was just a biological computer. Orrather, a computer was an electronic brain, but eh, details. He was just about to put two rounds in the clone’s forehead when Skye dropped like a sack and Skye 2.0 opened her eyes. He kept his shotgun trained on the newly living body, unsure who was in the driver’s seat.

Ebrima’s teeth ground when his sister was mentioned, reflexively turning around and jabbing Zhao in the throat with the muzzle of his shotgun to shut him up. After the old man recovered and reached out to be handcuffed, Ebrima seized him by his dominant hand, squeezing and striking it with a part of his exo’s frame, breaking his wrist and fingers to make sure he wouldn’t do something stupid. He learned that the hard way in Sierra Leone. Abass didn’t need to die that day.

The stream of highland pleasantries confirmed Skye 2.0 was actually Queen. Let’s not tell her how close she was to getting domed just a few seconds earlier.

[color=#FF7800]”Wilk, Boraro.”[/color] Ebrima got on comms, getting nothing in response. Of course.

What a situation: Skye 2.0 flapping on the floor like a fish out of water, Rose already upstairs, Zhao gloating like only a self-important cunt could and an uncertain threat from their own side looming on the horizon. [color=#FF7800]”I couldn’t have simply died in Colombia…”[/color] He groused, gears spinning in his brain. [color=#FF7800]”You, shirt!”[/color] He commanded Zhao, holding his left hand out in demand. [color=#FF7800]”Stand over there, face to the wall!”[/color] He ordered once he had it, very easy to imagine an African warlord with a beret two sizes too small about to execute someone with a gold-plated AK for looking at him wrong in his place before he threw the shirt over Skye 2.0 like a blanket. Too small blanket... Good, it provided a needed excuse, this could work.

He walked over to where Zhao was and cuffed him to a pipe in the wall, jogging out of the respawn room and office, tripping over Skye 1.0 on the way out, the body’s head rolling over and giving Skye the experience of looking into her own - not by proxy, actually hers - dead eyes, to where a few dead Chinamen lay and returning with one’s BDU jacket and another’s service pistol, throwing the second jacket over Skye. [color=#FF7800]”I will be back.”[/color]

Either he was a genius or this was the dumbest plan of the month, anywhere in the world.

Skye could only watch a handcuffed Zhao get escorted out of the room by Ebrima. He could vividly imagine the seething hatred of Skye at the moment as he and Zhao stepped through the door of the office and into the bunker. And just before they turned and disappeared from view, Ebrima moved the pistol he was holding on Zhao from his front to his back, taking a longer step to actually end up beside and slightly ahead of Zhao and fired twice, immediately dropping Zhao and the Chinese pistol, raising his M1014 as he turned around and sent three shots into a Chinese body to his right, kicking the dropped pistol over to it as he turned back.

Ebrima returned to the respawn chamber with a Chinese army officer’s trench coat he found in the office in his hand. Laying it out on the floor, he moved Skye 2.0 onto it, like getting a casualty onto a stretcher and wrapped her up, keeping her out of his field of view as much as he could. [color=#FF7800]”Got your backs, boss, however many you might have.”[/color] He grabbed his own sidearm back, slung her over his shoulder almost effortlessly on account of the exo, shifting her around so she wouldn’t get pinched by it if he had to move quickly and sending a Trickster with Skye 1.0’s appearance ahead as he started making their way out of the bunker.

[color=#FF7800]”Wilk, Boraro. Queen is down but breathing. Question nothing, will explain when able. On the way out now.”[/color] He cautioned Adam as soon as they reached a part of the bunker where he knew comms worked, switching to a second channel. [color=#FF7800]”Oracle, Boraro. VIP is KIA by hostile forces and Rose is already in space.”[/color]

If he did everything right, neither looting the pistol off the dead Chinaman nor returning it would be visible on his helmet cam - or anyone else’s who might have had one, including Skye’s original body - and as far as anyone investigating would know, an injured but alive Chinese soldier they didn’t dead check killed Zhao rather than risk other powers getting their hands on him.