FourtyTwo

Military RPs- a Cause for Debate

Suprisingly, I'd say there's a wide spectrum for military RP. There's the plain ridiculous, which I do (but do it correctly and know that it's this category, or else), and then the more authentic, which I also do, and then the realistic stuff, which I've tried (and while it worked fascinatingly well for a while, it staggered a bit). And I do have a lot of ideas in my mind, it's just the simple problem- it takes a lot of effort to control people, physically stop people from going batshit. Also surprisingly, I don't find everyone going "SNIPORZ PLZ", but I find that people don't click with characters into one an other. Like, they are never human beings under all of it. It's a personal complaint of mine, as I fall for it- but it feels as if they live to kill people in certain ways. They don't, they're human underneath, and while some say, SF operators are made of a lot of steel, and are absolutely focused on the task at hand, harder to break in ways, it's still human flesh in them you RP out.

And I agree on that too- about realism/authenticity. I don't always agree with perfection, creative licence can take over when needed, to make sure it has a soul. But the scenario you listed is a perfect example of bullshit, that RPs in this genre can't be (unless you have a goddamn good reason for it and everyone is at least "in" on it), and that stories matter, that some sort of historical context is maintained. I don't mind having an RP where we take the piss and it has a certain direction, and sometimes, it is fun to do, when done correctly (but that's whole different matter altogether that I'll exclude for the reasons that it's a bastard to explain), but at least staying vaguely authentic in gear, actions and individuals is important. Some action keeps things flowing- but you can't have it all the time, there are tense lulls in combat, the feeling of stalking and slowly taking on enemies in systematic function. There are incredible stories of soldiers out in the real conflicts of the world- I would say that beyond a Call of Duty-esq scenario, it's about crafting an original story, that actually has a punch to it, whilst actually making you care for the characters, and bother to go "This is just about plausible- not entirely, but within reason.".

Myself, I do have a lot of influence from video games, but it's just as bad with films. Zero Dark Thirty is good if you want to gauge how you know, those types of operations work, while something as abhorrent as Behind Enemy Lines III (I had the misfortune of suffering this film, regrettably) or Rambo for that matter does nothing. I like to use some video games, but I tone it back- with real life documentaries made in the current day, complimenting the sane facts that need to be out there, with a pinch of creative license to at least keep it somewhat dynamic. It depends heavily- but that isn't the problem entirely.

To me, it's the point of inexperience, and I believe there are a lot of people, you included, that could pull off a military RP. Don't buzzkill, be too hard-on about facts (boring people kill RPs, it sounds like a lie but I've seen it happen), but don't be a dickhead ultra-killing mad know it all SF unit. If your'e going to be an SF, fuck it, make them good, and justify it. In the end, it doesn't really matter what the game is about- just so long as the human aspect remains in these characters, whether they're Soviet conscripts sent to die, or Navy Seals, on a covert operation. It means that in the end, so long as the people are determined to at least remain vaguely authentic, and the right balance of tension and shit going down, as well as normal, sane RPing.

In terms of ideas, I have mentioned before- I have a lot of ideas. A WW2 RP set in the midst of the chaos of the Warsaw Uprising, from doctors, scouts, soldiers, Jews and so forth- everyday folk in a horrifying situation. A modern-day RP set in Afghanistan, chronicling one last push into a valley by Canadian Rangers and US 1st Force Recon Marines, with everything slowly turning to shit, though the military humor that accompanies soldiering clearly there. An RP set in an alternative world, in which the Suez Crisis of 1956, following Anthony Eden's decision to push on rather than back down, brought about a new world (militarily focused on British troops). There's plenty of ideas that are original, and note how none are related to a video game (apart from the first, by coincidence, and the second by the vaguest of strands)- they are set about by simply an original idea.

So in conclusion, I'd say this- while the genre may be down on it's knees, I just really started this to put across the argument that it's a dried up part of RPG, and it's one that I feel left behind in as a relic. Perhaps it's the polarization of views, and I'm kinda left straddling for now.

Team Scimitar (an Over-the-Top Military RP)

"Nameless. Classic, I guess in time, I'll have a playname for you." Svetlana said, half jokingly, or as best as that came out in her Russian accent, as she looked over the suit, nodding her head.
"The suit is fucked, you are right. And while I'd like to say that anything you need is at your disposal...well, that was unexpected. Or rather, it was. It's in central Mumbai, right by the docks my friend. In a skyscraper, the fucking Spike Building. And yet it is not my decision to do that. We have no mandate against them." She added, as she looked around, exhaling hard, walking around, as she looked at his armor.
"But I guess you'd be lucky to find out that I'm a half decent infiltrator. Don't let these two orbs fool you- I can crawl through my share of vents. And since things look like they're back into a dry spell, I'd be willing to pop to there, for a little business. We will have to be quiet." She said, almost swinging her boobs a little in the mid part of the sentence, as she shook her head.
"Besides, Antoine is probably going to be busy, same with Imran and Howard. They'll want to see you do something small first, and I suppose I can let you in on this. Iceman, how good of a shot are you?" She asked, as she headed over to the opposite side of the hangar, opening a cage, as she clambered out a small box of some sort, walking back as she then opened it up. Inside, a McMillan CS5, packed away neatly into compartments.
"Howard doesn't use this rifle because the caliber isn't suitable for longer range, and he loves his GM6. This fires modified .300 rounds, completely silent, effective to a range of 600m. Will punch through two inches of reinforced skyscraper glass, and happens to have a variable night vision optic. Iceman, you'll need to be in casual clothes for this to work...we cannot talk here. Follow me." She said, putting the rifle back, as she knew what she was doing wasn't going to please Imran, especially if they were called out. But they had work to do, and right now, they had to at least semi-induct this member. Besides, another reserve Heavy was coming, and he'd fill the rest of the team in sooner or later, and Svetlana knew that between then and now, she'd be able to get out for a day to get this little job done.

---

Imran walked out of his office, locking the door with his biometrics- a very tricky print to replicate, due to his genetics and the stringency of the test. Walking back into Bjorn's, he shut the door, as he exhaled hard, almost not wanting to look at the fully naked Viking hanging from the light. It was a dark moment, but Svetlana had a tendency to do this. He was bigger than Imran, a lot bigger, and he occupied almost a quarter of the room from his hanging position. He had a smile on his face, a shit-eating grin. Good for him, Imran thought to himself. No better way to leave this planet. He checked his radio, aware that Antoine would hear, their position slightly on the glacier receivable. Bouvet Island itself was two masses- the airbase, built on flat, artificial land, and the huge glacial sheet that covered the rest, almost clambering to 2,500m at it's highest- the rocky and icy terrain a dramatic backdrop for the airbase, as if the South Atlantic wasn't enough. He exhaled, as he began.
"Antoine, Howard, report back to base, meet me at Bjorn's room. I have some sad news." He said, looking around. He found a huge M134 by his bed, Imran, only wearing his digital uniform and not his exoskeleton, could only barely lift the weapon...but no way, lug this for more than a few feet without his hands giving in. It weighed like a million bricks. Then there was his picture, of him and his unit. Nothing of Scimitar- that was banned for all intents and purposes. But a picture of Svetlana, that he had snapped on his camera phone, in a case. Maybe he had always lusted for her, he thought to himself. And it was one of her Svetlana gym sessions. Classic.

---

Three Hours Later

A few hours later, Svetlana, Iceman and Spectre were inside, dealing with their covert op for Imran's sake to at least deal with this problem, the small wooden raft sat with Bjorn's naked body inside. His waraxe, his M134, and even his armor had been lugged in. The boat could barely hold it, but as Imran, Howard and Antoine stood there in their combat uniforms, looking on, the silence had to be broken. They'd moved his stuff over the last two hours, themselves at the far end of the runway, on the thin gravel beach that formed the coastal defenses. It was a mark of respect, to bury members not wearing casual, but in combat gear. It was a tradition Imran didn't know how it existed, but he wore his exoskeleton, aware that perhaps in death, they'd be watched for how they would remember him.
"A good man. He did a great deal of good, and we must remember him for the good times, not the bad. Let him be remembered for being our Viking, our warrior of the hour, the man who'd take an axe to a gunfight. And in death, let him find what he wants. He might not died like a Viking, but he died happy for us. It's how he wanted to be cremated." Imran said, looking to Howard and Antoine, humming a traditional Sikh funeral song. He hadn't told them how he had died exactly, it would make too many emotions come out raw to Svetlana, too much paperwork. But maybe they vaguely knew, that nobody dies smiling when they hang themselves, and naked in that way. Maybe inside, they'd know, Imran thought to himself, as a quiet Music built up in the air, just an eerie feeling.
"May you rest in peace, friend of ours. Or war, if that is what you prefer. Probably is, actually." Imran said, aware it sort of broke the tension, as he coughed a little, before then looking back at him.
"And let this not be the end. Let us push him to the seas, where he shall remain." He added, looking at the others at the end, as he took his lighter, lighting a wooden stick, before bunging it into the far end of the raft. It only slowly caught light, the petrol in the near end likely to set the raft ablaze once the fire was burning offshore. He walked up and his strength in itself was just able to it, with support in Howard and Antoine, as the raft caught a backwave and was cast out, the flames spreading. The fire suddenly erupted, as it got further, and further on the horizon, the suit probably untouched but scarred by the fire, and Bjorn's body cremated, as he always wished.

Looking at the boat, Imran shook his head, holding back. Antoine couldn't take this well. She always seemed to have a magnetism to his dramatic features. No doubt, he was a serious operator. The sight of a C130 on the horizon could be coming down, for landing, as it barely flew over Imran, Antoine and Howard, as he nodded. The Private Jet followed behind, the white craft landing on the strip a minute later after the C130 taxiied off, the private jet occupying far less of the airfield as it landed. By this point, Imran, Howard and Antoine had made their way to where the Private jet was stopping, Imran's movements amplified in the way he jogged, almost looking poetic as they were fluid, and full of bounding elasticity. The sight of the door opening revealed the Italian, bigger than all three of them, but smaller only by a margin in width than Svetlana, and a little shorter. But he compared to her alright- this was a Heavy.
"Domineco. This is Howard and Antoine, you might remember them, if not, then you can make acquaintances again. I assume that plane there, is containing your supplies? The more...well, suitable storage for your stuff?" Imran said, in his typical posh Oxford accent meeting Lahore Pakistani, it sounding somewhat higher society yet with phrases that an Oxford student like him wouldn't normally have.

---

Bjorn opened his eyes, somewhat pleasured, his lungs filling and his heart pounding hard, like they'd only sprung back into life in just this very moment. Waking up fully, Bjorn felt the feeling of Natalie's warm orbs against his face, as she eased off, a smirk on her face. Everything was white, slowly coming to color.
"Welcome to Valhalla...guess where your axe is?" She said, as Bjorn laughed, grabbing his side by his holster, where he felt it would be. He stood, wearing an enormous suit of chain mail and a Viking Helmet, feeling harder than diamond wearing the stuff by Svetlana's side, in both contexts. Looking around, as the blank white became colored. Fjords, a coastline that looked like Norway's, a thousand years ago. A Viking ship. And a Longhouse. And warriors outside. Svetlana stood almost naked, apart from the thinnest of garments on her trousers. Bjorn looked to her, crying with joy, the Viking's tears passing down his war-scarred face, and onto his chainmail, which seemed like the Viking equivalent of his suit in his moral life- like it would take a million swords to breach.
"Thank you. This is eternal, right?" He asked, wondering to himself, as he smiled, the sudden realization that he was where any Norseman would want to be. A heaven, more perfect than any version he had been sold.
"You live to fight, drink, fuck me and be a Viking, to eternity. You can never die here. Even if those brave warriors do, you wake up, just like you did there." She said, as she wrapped around him, and he looked on, smirking.
"Well isn't that great." He added, as slowly but surely, he made his first steps into what would be the rest of his eternal life, in Valhalla.

---

Inside, back on Bouvet Island, Svetlana, Iceman and Spectre sat in what was a secondary briefing room, the door sealed shut for now. Equipment was laid out, as she looked over.
"Imran said it was good. Just us three. Those other four are doing something else, I hear, and we're cleared for tomorrow of any tasks- so anything that helps us, but done quietly. The plan is simple. That C130 is going to take us to Mumbai, and since myself and Spectre look anything but like tourists, we'll need an alternative route in." She added, sitting up on the table, clad in her infiltration gear. She lay her OTS-14 Groza, chambered in 5.45 Russian, with a large silencer on the end and a Holographic sight on the rail, as well as a CS Gas launcher on the underbarrel on her legs, as the table beneath her creaked, the wooden structure not used to the weight of a 7"5 Russian, with at least 10kg of kevlar armor and equipment on, over her tight infiltrator gear. Her breasts and her rear poked out like nothing, and it was not unnoticeable, even with the kevlar that an operator like Antoine would never need.
"Myself and Spectre will use a Zodiac, dropped from the C130 at low altitude, to reach the coast, while Iceman goes in normally. At the Airport. Me and Spectre will get to the docks, sneak to the building...and since getting inside is hard, we will need to go to more extreme measures. We need Iceman to disable their generators in the basement with a EMP device, or this," She said, picking up a small slab, as she then put it back down, continuing.
"And then their CCTV and security will be bewildered. We'll get into the lift shaft and crawl up the lift cable, and get to the 65th floor, using vents to put ourselves right into a position before we strike. Iceman, you make your way opposite the building, to another adjacent skyscraper, and set up a sniper overwatch, so that you can shoot anything that's too problematic. From there, it's Spectre's call on what he finds. Parts, predominantly, but we'll need to figure a way out from there. And by this point, down is not an option. Parachutes are too slow, and wingsuits would just be too dangerous, not enough time to actually fly. So we need...well, something a little more soft." She said, as she shook her head, just knowing this had to work.
"We'll jump out of the 65th floor onto an inflated crash mat, roughly 20x20 meters, that Iceman will have set up. It's suicidal enough to work. We'll all extract in the Zodiac, leaving no loose ends, and before you know it, C130's going to line us in out of the Arabian Sea." She said, as she looked over at a pair of compressed air tanks, and a small package, that seemed like it'd be enough, only just, to really stop two people falling out of a building.
"If you have any problems with that crash mat idea by the way, tell us how we're going to deal with about fifty security details. Even I wouldn't bother in this piece right now. Security will be lax- we're doing this at 2200 Hours, everyone is sleepy and the night shift is beginning. It's going to be down to the details, and we have no time to fuck this up. Iceman, keep your SCAR on hand, if things go hairy. No civilians. And remember, BALACLAVAS. We want ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING TRACE, that we did this. Understood!?" Svetlana reminded everyone, as she took her MP443's, screwing on silencers on both the pistols.
"And while my pretty face will have to go, so will yours too, Spectre. It's a team thing. This facility is good, security is tight, but it is nowhere near good enough. If the shit works on you, then make sure that you are confident with it. Don't be crazy, and keep in mind you won't be invincible. Just because your blood might be close, I've never seen anyone jump out of a 65th floor window and survive when they hit concrete. I don't want you joining it, even though you're a good contender to break that trend." She said, chuckling, as she looked to Iceman, aware the attention hadn't been on him.
"And what about you? I mean, you're tasked as a Medium. On this op, just casual clothes, but have a feeling that if things go south, take that full body armor, and bolster it with as much kevlar all over as possible, so that at least of you hobble in it, you'll be able to hobble to the extract without having to have to take leave for six months to have the bullets pulled out. Just leave it somewhere secure if you don't use it." She added, as she then took a GPS on her left arm, before taking her NVGs, an almost Splinter-Cell like tri-goggle pair, the lenses blue tinted in color, and checking they worked in general, as she knew that the other two would be going over equipment, and their way in.

Military RPs- a Cause for Debate

This is something that I feel I need to raise, as it's become increasingly an issue I've seen. I'm not going to be outright and say the previous Guild had more Military RPs, but I feel as if there isn't anything left of the genre. There are no more RPers simply setting up RPs that are military-based, and that if I jump into Casual, I haven't seen any for the last few months. Now, I'm not suggesting that I force people into making military RPs, but the problem remains- what of it? I want to see who cares about it, and if the unanimous decision is that nobody does (apart from a dozen or so of incredibly loyal RPers that I play with, and whom I appreciate fully), then honestly, where did it fall apart? I mean, I remember back in old Guild days, they were at least 1 of every 20, 30 or even at it's worst, 40 RPs or so. Now, I swear there isn't anything more left of it. So, I draw two conclusions:
1) All the people that did them are gone (this isn't the case entirely- the rough dozen I play with are still in the Guild)
2) Nobody wants to GM an RP of that kind, due to the complexities of running such an RP (it's a different beast to a regular RP in certain ways, but honestly not that much harder).

As in, I search the guild, no military or combat themed RPs apart one or two, and my own set in a period between the 20th Century or even the C21st. No WW2 RPs, no Vietmam, or contemporary in Afghanistan or Iraq, or Special Forces, none of that shit (all of these are examples). At all. Now, whilst I acknowledge that I'm going to get told that the Guild has changed, and that it has become a different beast altogether, I've RP'd them specially for the last four years on this guild, for at least three and a half of those as a GM of sorts. I've seen them fall apart despite my every effort. Don't take me the wrong way either- I have done a few RPs outside of the genre (Racing (this in itself is almost dead, very sadly), a few Sci-Fish and other strange concepts unrelated to any sort of military theme, or even with any contemporary combat (eg. Heist RPs, Assassin RPs), and I know the broader spectrum of RPing from past experiences. So I know that when I say military was among fantasy, Sci-Fi, Fandoms and other RP genres, it stood it's ground well.
So it brings me to this, that I'm beginning to wonder:

What now?

I mean, I am dedicated to the guild, I genuinely have found people that I can become friends within out of the Guild through these RPs, and whilst it is great to form awesome friendships, I'm going to a lot of effort in my RPs for comparatively little (No, it's not even people who leave RPs that this rant is at, it's the total lack of participation and creation). I haven't even participated in a military RP for the last six months. I've had to GM my own due to the lack of them- and this is a harrowing fact, as sadly, I cannot play in the sandbox of someone else's creativity, only my own, which is a bit harrowing, as a result of that.

Prove me otherwise people. Tell me that there is a place for it here, that I'm not a lone lunatic who feels like this. That military RPs do exist and that there's at least a ramshackle community that knows how I feel. And dammit, if I am, then I still know that I'll commit to my little niche as best as I can, and you know, put out the quality of RP that I do (with active criticism of what I do and write, which helps me to directly improve the workings of the RPs I run).

Team Scimitar (an Over-the-Top Military RP)

I'll work it out in a way I deem fit. I'll have it in mind, safe to say- your character's going to find what he needs. I want to work a lot of cool features in throughout the RP, but I will need to do a recruitment drive- to possibly get one or two more people (more on the former) hyped up. Military RPs aren't what they used to be sadly- it isn't of interest anymore to people, and here I am, doing the impossible it seems and running several at once :D

Team Scimitar (an Over-the-Top Military RP)

It's too late for me to post...but I like this, a hell of a lot. What you are doing, keep doing it. Also, should keep things pretty calmed out for the next few posts, not too much in the way of crazy shit. Though it will come in plenty supply, and speaking of which, I'll respond sooner or later.

Team Scimitar (an Over-the-Top Military RP)

(Done)

Imran looked to the group, nodding.
"Well, that's all well and good. You're in. Get yourselves set up- I need to sort out some matters." He said, as he left the medical bay, leaving the two new recruits to their business, knowing he had plenty of his. Now Bjorn had found out what being in Svetlana's cleavage was like, Imran knew it would be a pain to deal with, but they needed a replacement. A reserve, that Imran didn't like. Sometimes, you had to employ the wolves to deal with your problems, and Dom was the only man that Imran knew of that would do it, though two others were on his list. He had come into Scimitar a year ago, trained, then stayed as a reserve, a vanguard. He was paid well, and the one leverage that Imran knew would stop the Capo from going all out renegade was the fact that Imran was good at sensing what people's ulterior motives were. And Dom was sure, in it for the money. A career, lifeline criminal. But he had a streak that was good beneath that, some opportunity that kept him here, the idea that he could walk away with more than he came with. Imran had learned it over the course of his career. He kept on walking, back to his office, as he thought about it. Wolves such as Dom were dangerous, they would kill and murder anything they could. But they could be brought about to bear on the right target, given the right circumstance. They were needed to kill the Bears, to perhaps bring about a better peace. He could be an extortionist, a crime family member if he wished, because in the grander scheme of things, that was nothing compared to Artemis and other groups like them. They wanted different things in the world, a change that would render society's ability to effectively carry on useless. It was a lesser evil. An affordable loss, but otherwise, Imran would make sure that the tables would flip when suddenly the world looked like it was rainbows and butterflies and shit like his organization that he was in didn't have to be around to fix things.

Picking up the phone, he dialed one Heavy's number. The phone was responded to, with the noise of heavy gunfire, and what sounded like rockets in the background, as well as helicopters.
"Hello? It's Scimitar. Can you talk right now?" He said, as the burly Chinese man on the other end, Imran completely unaware of his situation, responded with only one thought.
"NO! Oh shit!" He yelled, as suddenly the phone line went dead. The man had been in some warehouse of some sort, in his exoskeleton, before he had been quite literally, hit by a TOW missile and turned into a million pieces. Imran didn't know that so far, but didn't bother to call back again. The next one didn't even respond. Imran wanted to swear, as he called Dom, the third number on his list. He liked the idea of the man- the Chinese Heavy, Jin, was a Triad member, and the second, a former Georgian strongman. It wasn't good so far, but the third man's phone number went through at last.
"It's Raven from Scimitar. Is Domineco around?" He simply said, letting the phone continue, aware an Italian was on the line. He let him respond, aware that this wasn't Dom, but his butler in audiometrics, something he saw on his encrypted landline.
"I am his Butler, I understand. What should I pass on to him?"
"We need him back. The money is 10 percent more than last time, and since we are a man down, I would like to see him here. Pass this number to him. I am sure he ought to consider what we need. Audiometrics will get him through to me- you leave the rest with him. Thank you." Imran said, disconnecting, as he sat back, looking over some paperwork, as the minutes passed. And within time, it came back. The phone rang, as Imran took it, chuckling when he heard the Heavy Italian's voice on the phone.
"Twelve Hours, Domineco. Bring your suit, our mechanics will bring anything wrong with it back to function. A plane will get you from Fiumicino Airport outside Rome in two. You know exactly what is expected, my friend." He said rather almost coldly in response to the Squad Leader comment, perhaps his mind just wired to displace such a little remark.
"We are a man down, safe to say, Bjorn hung himself earlier today. Poor bastard. So you understand my predicament. Pay is 10 percent more than last time you were a trainee with us. And I assure you, you'll have some action this time. More than enough." Imran added, aware that he'd pique his interest, and that would get him onside, at least giving him the chance to come back onside. He put his foot back on the table, still wearing his fatigues, as he looked to the Chipappa Rhino on the desk, his office a small billet within the compound, but being well equipped for a CO of his type.

---

Meanwhile, Svetlana had began heading out of the underground complex, for the hangar. Her suit had been a little shocked, but it was just a few capacitors, the electrical current doing physically nothing to the suit itself. She headed over to the hangar, dressed in a black fur coat, something a little more recreational. She had changed into a different set of clothes- a more conservative checked shirt, and a pair of jeans, though they were a little tight. Walking across the taxiway, she walked in on Spectre, giving a wolf whistle, a smirk on her face as she looked at him. He was interesting, people who managed to actually fight back were always good people to know, or bitter enemies. And Spectre seemed like he had done well, as he put his helmet on, looking over.
"Spectre, good to see you." She said, as she exhaled, her breath cold, as she walked through the hangar, towards the side where they had been. She stood still at her 7"5 tall, aware she did occupy a bit of room. But Spectre did have something else, now she truly looked at him.
"I am Svetlana Sakharaova, callsign Black Eagle. Resident Heavy. I must admire your skill on the range, not many contestants are able to do what you did, without either getting killed or seriously injured. But you have something else, my friend." She said, chuckling, as she looked over, aware he seemed like something else in terms of what his body could throw out. Cybernetics helped, or whatever modifications his body had undergone, to suddenly gain this power. Svetlana knew that it was years of physical conditioning, her size, and training that had given her an especially high pain threshold. And Spectre had given up in what she would have probably passed out about three quarters of the way through. And he was smaller in her view, much so. Yet she knew exactly what he had behind, and with or without that suit of his, the armor, he'd be ridiculously powerful.
"It is good. I'm the second in command of Scimitar. So you tell me what you need, and I can try what I can to complete it, to some extent." She said, looking over, as she looked out to the shivering cold, as she looked over to Iceman, nodding and holding in the laughter. She looked over at the parts. Hmm...she thought to herself. Mostly Black Ops, prototype gear, it was a weird compound but it seemed potent.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

Natalie followed him up, aware that this was very hard to do, in suits like this. Even though they were significantly less than their usual armor, she could still take 7.62 fire pretty well, not sustained but enough to sometimes go head on. And for anyone normal, it would be still seen as ridiculously heavy. For Natalie, it was like what a normal person would feel wearing a heavy coat would be like, except all over her body. It was almost six inches of Kevlar, after all- and while it meant comfort wasn't great, sacrifices could be made. They managed to clamber all the way up the lift shaft, from the subterreanan water pipe, to almost the roof, clambering around the lift. It had been hard, but they'd done it, somehow. She did think to herself why they hadn't just figured out another way. Just gone loud earlier. But then something deep down, beyond the bold Amazon in her reminded her. She was Spetsnaz Alfa Gruppa's finest for a reason. She had been a Major in the VDV with a good reason. She was cunning, and she trusted herself to command around 100 men. She could do herself and her fiancee just fine, and doing this approach was going to punish them for a good reason.

"Thanks. Such a Gentleman." Natalie said, as she looked at Victor giving a hand, his diving goggles and mask still on, the noise of him inhaling air almost scary enough, as Natalie's bare but soaked face saw his eyes for what they were underneath. A Lover's. And a fellow Giant's. Moving up, she knew her weight would be significant, but she took almost a running move, using his hand as a support as she threw her hands upwards, her gloves catching the ledge, as she pulled herself up, her entire legs and a particular view from below as she got up, and then lay down, offering her hand down. She pulled Victor up as he managed to jump up and grab a hold on both her hand and the ledge, before they got themselves co-ordinated again.

Moving onto the roof after Victor breached, they were back in the rain, on the roof. The Sub-Pen was semi-within the cliffline, but this part jutted out into the Carribean, and the service on the roof hadn't been used for years. As Victor slammed a Tomahawk into a hostile and silenced him, the man dropping quickly, Natalie smirked, as he took off his breathing mask and goggles afterwards. She raised her AS VAL, as she kept it by her bulky shoulder, looking over.
"Nicely done. We're on top of them now. Now we get to have some fun." She said, as she led the point, crossing over to the other service door, that the man had come from. It was a ladder onto the roof it seemed, and a room sat just below it- perhaps the man had gone up to see what the commotion was with the helicopter that had now gone. But whatever it was, the poor bastard was dead. And Natalie knew this was their way in. An observation room within the sub pen, it seemed, as she looked back.
"We will extract here- we'll get the chopper to go to this location once we're cleared. We're here for our HVT and the cocaine producing facility." She said, as she approached the ladder, looking back, giving a certain type of signal of "I got this", as she then looked down. The drop was about ten feet, and she felt good to not even bother using the ladder. A man moved forward, yelling in Spanish, as Natalie didn't stop what she was doing. She almost threw herself into the gap, the drug mercenary then realizing what was coming.

Natalie came down on him like a pile of bricks, reinforcing her drop with her dive knife going straight into his neck, pouring blood onto the floor, as her right hand kept her AS VAL high, an other enemy trying to take his AK off the table. Two 9x19mm rounds threw him onto the same table before he even chambered the 7.62 bullet into the AKM, as his head bled. Not even any bullets had hit the glass, they had gone almost center mass in relation to his head, and stopped almost dead before they exited. Moving forwards, she scanned the rest of the room, giving a quiet wolf whistle upwards, for Victor to come in. Moving forwards, she looked into the pen from the observation room located at the back of it, the small area dilapidated and ruined. There was a significant presence by the water, where three large fishing boats sat, probably loaded up with the goods. And by it, a large doorway. Probably for a torpedo storage room, now turned into a drug factory.
"I estimate about 40, to 50 in this direct area alone. That's where they are making the narcotics." She said, pointing it out in a particular Russian accent, as she then looked back at him, and then the man on the table now.
"Wait, hang on." She said, she went over. It was hard to ID him, because he had two shots just below his nose, and it hadn't done much good for his face. She pulled out her Android phone, the device flickering into life, as she saw the picture come up, as the first thing- to confirm the target.
"This is him. Pablo Rodriguez. How fucking little security did they have around their big boss...shit." She said, looking back, as she looked outside, dragging the body off the table, looking around, realizing things could go bad, if they decided to visit back. It was an act of luck- perhaps he wanted to oversee it, rather than doing the dirty work. This room wasn't altogether too bad- it was just a little tattered, like this entire base.
"Okay, we'll leave a trap if things go south. This might be excessive, but when this goes off, that's when we go guns blazing." She added, taking a small 2kg slab of Semtex off her hip, placing it in the HVT's jacket lining, and rigging up a small cable. It'd detonate within a second of the cable snapping, as it was rigged up against the door, rather low but easy to trip on. It was out of sight- and the explosion in a room like this would boom, really concentrated even in the local area. Moving over the wire, she headed out, aware that now, they had wet work to do.

Moving along the catwalks, they stayed out of the way of the main patrols, and above most of all. They were rusted and unused, hard to walk on, but they would do.
"We'll try and go down there, get inside the drug factory, then go back after it's done." She said, moving quickly yet silently, as she moved with a tactical and cunning purpose, stopping suddenly as she dived behind a set of crates, as a man stepped onto the catwalk, walking slowly past. The darkness inside was good enough, just, behind the fairly large crates on the catwalk, as Victor and Natalie stayed in the black shadows, the suits helping with almost no light bothering to show the rubberized exterior even existing there from an outside perspective.
"Let him go." She whispered quietly, keeping very close to him, as he passed. Crouching, she moved around the crates, looking back, as she then got back down, avoiding a flashlight from some men below. The catwalk was sparcely used, but Natalie was going this way with good reason. She had a cunning plan on how to get to that torpedo room, the makeshift cocaine factory. They had to make a mess of those fishing vessels too, but that would be improvised. Natalie just had a hope that this plan would work, or else they'd be improvising.

"See that there?" Natalie whispered, poking her eyes over the edge of the crates, at a cable of some sort. It seemed like some sort of steel support wire, that went to the ground level from the roof, almost bisecting their catwalk, but only missing by about two meters or so. And the men close to the torpedo room were dispersing, spread out now. Good. It was time, she thought to herself.
"This is going to rub like shit, but the kevlar gloves we have on will do. We need to get down there, set our charges. And we will have to go loud now. We'll take the two men ahead, and take the cable down to the ground level. Move like liquid, and we should be okay. You might want your USAS when we get close in." She added, as she looked into his eyes, moving forwards, smooching him on the forehead.
"Somehow, this is suidical enough to work....and you know how this is. On my lead, Brute." She said, as she then chambered a new round into her AS VAL, nodding, as she then went.

Sliding over the crates, the Amazon was moving with a momentum that was powered by something more than just her muscles. Her determination and her fury, her adamancy. The two men weren't able to react, as Natalie popped one of them, leaving Victor to deal with the other one, the man she took down falling from a burst of silenced 9x19 rounds, as Natalie kept running and firing blind on the , AS VAL in her right hand as she launched into a jump, her left hand grabbing the steel cable, as the noise of a sharp rubbing was audible, the pain almost coming through onto her actual hands below. A couple of mercenaries below on the jetty pointed her out, as they fired on her, Natalie sending in return a full-auto burst, the silenced rifle clipping one and downing the other, incapacitating him, as a few others realized what was going on. Natalie took almost half a magazine of rounds that punched against the suit, but felt still invincible and moving, as she then dropped from the cable, before it hit the wall. It was almost elegant, her size moving in such a way, as she hit the ground herself after about a large 20 foot drop, rolling as she stood tall, 7"2 of Russian moving with a purpose as she finished the magazine off, taking rounds from the far side as she slid into cover behind a concrete barrier. They weren't taking her down, she reminded herself, as she flipped the new magazine inside, aiming down the iron sights and taking out another man, as she pushed up, aware that her big Brute of a fiance was coming to play, and he had two shotguns that in any respect, had more than enough potency to punish these drug runners.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

Ryan smirked, looking over, aware she was glaring and a little cynical now, he thought to himself.
"Sure. They'll keep us here. It's whether I want to be here, that's the question. And right now, we have eyes on us. You aren't just eye candy, remember." He said, looking over, as he saw Lucas walk back in, back from inspecting Regina's R8, headed over to the laptop, as he turned his head back.
"And besides, I want you to enjoy this too, so damn right you're going to get ahead of Muller. Smug bastard." Ryan said, as he threw his bottle of Lucozade in the bin, then looking outside.
"It's a good night for a race. It's going to be a good one." Ryan added, a smirk on his face, as he slowly got back into the zone. They were going soon.

OST (There's a bit where it all goes badass at the start and end)

---

Two and a Half Hours Later
9.02PM

The cars rumbled back onto the grid, as the warm-up lap came to an end. The floodlights, the halogen lamps of Yas Marina were turned on, the track in full view and the hot tarmac only slightly cooling. It was going to stay warm all night. Through his visor, Ryan looked in his mirror. his left one, at where Regina sat on the grid. Forge had a One-Three. And that was good. The noise of the V10 roared, as Muller's Z4, fitted with a V8, sat just a little behind on his right. The Audi had a lot of power, more than the Z4- but was heavier. And that gave him a good advantage on the straights, Ryan thought to himself. With a setup like this, the car would bite, hard. Muller would try to be ice-cold and exploit mistakes, but Ryan knew precisely how to make this car fly round the track. The combination of simply gunning through the circuit, and making sure that his lines were tight, was something the car excelled at. The lights came on, the red flashing up.
"Okay Ryan, Regina, you know the drill. First three laps are to be hammered, put distance, and then switch back to a moderate pacing. We're having a one stop strategy, one tyre change is all we want, and those Hard compounds will not do you any good if you shred them fast. Be careful- and good luck out there." Lucas said, as Ryan nodded to himself, thinking it over.
"Understood. Let's make some noise." Ryan responded, revving the engine harder, as he brought it back to revs, the full bank of lights slowly dropping. One, two, then third gone. It was barely a few split seconds, but in Ryan's head, it was too long.

Then it happened. The green flashed up, and the noise of rubber screaming, yelling like it'd been shot, filled the air, the R8's V10 roaring with a potency that just suggested a force of hell was making the action happen. Of course, every other car joined in, and it sounded like a petrolhead's wet dream, as the grid erupted into movement, the R8 surging forwards to 60 in almost under three seconds, Ryan holding ahead of Muller as the first corner came up. It was taken fairly neatly, as Muller tucked in, following. The whole grid was going, and on the first corner, in the midpack, from about fifth and seventh, a collision had occured, the tight first turn sending an Aston Martin DBR9 off track in a broken composite of carbon fibre and metal, with a Mercedes-AMG SLS GT3 joining it, the cars written off, and out of the race within the first twenty seconds. But that wasn't Ryan's concern. Turns two and the turn left onto the different layout came fast, the gap slowly widening, as Ryan kept his cool. He didn't sweat considerably, the perspiration under his Alpinestars gloves light, and almost insignificant. Lucas wasn't talking with good reason- this was a critical point, the point leads were formed, that moment when it all began. Turning through the chicane that led onto the straight, back on the regular layout, the R8 roared, a backblast of an intentional misfire occurring as he shifted up, hitting 100, 120, then 140, before ceramic collided on the R8 LMS GT3's brake pads, the G-Forces physically pressuring Ryan's internal organs and eyeballs. He was more than used to it- and it was why racing drivers, even sitting behind a wheel, had to be remarkably well in shape, mentally and physically. Because forces like this were when you had to turn. And Turn 8 and 9 was a complex, which Ryan carried out moderately well, pulling through as the lap continued. The darkness was off-putting to some, but not to Ryan. The headlights of the R8 on, and the halogen floodlights illuminating practically all of the track, as well as the funky lighting of the building located right by the Marina itself was of interest, as Ryan steered through Turn 12 and 13, the roar of cars behind visible. He couldn't see Regina, but he knew she was up there, holding. And now, they had to consolidate. A few more hours now, and this would be it. The finale would be his.
"Half a second lead on Muller, keep up the good work."

Team Scimitar (an Over-the-Top Military RP)

I'm rather busy- will post over the weekend, it's alive dammit but you know.

Team Scimitar (an Over-the-Top Military RP)

Svetlana was thrown aback, as she felt the knock into her helmet, it wasn't a normal punch. It felt like someone sent a hammer into the side, like it was fury. Spectre's fist must have been bleeding, or in agony, because the punch did throw Svetlana out of co-ordination, long enough for the baton to be taken, and for Spectre to take it. The only exposed part of her suit was her head, but the current was so strong, that even through the chest, it sent ripples, Natalie buzzed but realizing it acted almost like a Faraday suit, most of the current back to him and away from her body, the very thick armor doing a fine job indeed. Spectre came down, almost blitzing himself- in the spur of the moment, it had perhaps not been the greatest thing to do, but he had been couragous, he thought to himself. Walking over, she smirked, faceplate still up, as she looked down. She stood on the rifle's barrel, bending the flash hider and end to a point where it couldn't shoot, 7"5 of Russian armored amazon over Spectre.
"Naughty." She simply said, as she dropped, slowly and surely onto him, putting her almost whole weight of her suit's rear onto his chest, his crawl and his ferocity hopeless. He passed out soon after from the air being thrown out of his lungs, as she got up, kicking him over to keep him out of conciousness, before then approaching Iceman and finishing the deal, with a brutal kidney punch, followed by a taze.

The training was over, as she walked towards the door she came in through, both bodies over her shoulder. War Trophies.
"Interesting. Spectre does have a good streak. He caused me problems. He will be good indeed." Svetlana said, as Imran laughed.
"Well done. Get them back to their quarters, I'll have the physio check them out. Hopefully you didn't break half his ribs." Imran replied, as he looked to Howard, nodding.
"Let them on I say. They've done well. I mean, they're not like you Antoine, a ghost. Or you, Howard. A different kind of phantom indeed. But we need individuals like Spectre. Not to say Iceman did not stop. With the right kit, he will stand up. He has an awful lot of withstanding for this, a ability to go beyond it seems. And that material works well." He added, looking to both in the command centre, as he stood up, the salt water draining, as he looked over.
"You've got options. You can train with the VR stuff in there- the wingsuits are programmed up for your tastes, and the virtual sniper range is up. Since we can't fit targets 2.5km away inside this place, it's the closest we can do without having to go to a training center and making everything work out without pissing off the flyboys. Otherwise, feel free to chill out- I might need to sort some paperwork and logistics, I have a potential lead on Artemis that I'd like to look into a little more. Figure out what our next offensive move is." He said, looking to both of them, the now decloaked Antoine sitting in a seat, her balaclava off and her NVGs up, sitting back. Imran headed out, as somewhere on the other side, Svetlana had dumped the two temporarily lifeless bodies on a couple of beds in the Physio's ward, to get treated. They'd wake up, feeling shit, the adrenaline wearing off, and she'd make sure to make an effort to visit. She went back to the armory and got out of her suit, putting her black bra on and a pair of large cargo trousers, above her underwear- her bra making no mistake to reveal the sweat that poured down in an area that if you looked at for too long, you wouldn't live for very long following that.

Walking out, she headed to the Physio's ward, taking a seat by the beds that they were on, as the Doctor looked over them, and then Svetlana. Imran followed in, again, almost not half surprised now in the state that Svetlana had chosen. This was just how she was. She didn't care. Because she knew she was a King Tigress, the head, the woman that wasn't just big boobed, but big muscled and boned. And made sure that she wasn't ridiculed for the former by proving with the latter what she did.
"Two cracked ribs, he's breathing, shock though. He'll be good in about two hours." The doctor said to Svetlana, in relation to Spectre, as Imran looked at Iceman. He looked a little worse, not physically, but just wrecked.
"And Iceman?" Imran asked, as the Doctor shook his head. He had a distinctly Austrian accent, and all that Imran could think of, was the Medic from TF2, in some strange non-relating way. He didn't even look like him, he was about in his late 20s, and a distinctly experienced medic from the Austrian Army, with his specialty in wounds, as well as other problems usually relating to getting nearly blown up being his problem to solve.
"Well....whatever it is you hit him with, he looks like he's...defecated. Not the cattle prod, that one that we agreed is more of a torture device?" The Doctor said, as Svetlana shrugged her shoulders.
"Eh." She simply said, as Imran looked to her, almost in a semi-approving look, not commending or slating that decision. She had her ways, and that was how she did it.
"Wait, did you say he shit himself?" She added, realizing exactly what the Doctor had said.
"Yes." He simply replied, as Svetlana bent over, laughing alone, almost bellowing loudly, as Imran joined in, her laughter partially infectious, though it was still the loudest of the lot. If Iceman was just waking up, he had no idea what the hell was going on, and that to the woes of his partner too, he'd find out.