FourtyTwo

Running with the Wolves (kingkonrad and Enalais)

Ah wicked- great to see you again, gonna work on a response :D

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

"I think so." He said simply, looking over, coughing a little as he headed over towards his car, mask in hand as he opened the SLS's passenger door.
"Just drive man, to you know where. We've got our ride out of here, best leave before Iranian choppers decide to do some crash investigation of their own." He said, smirking like a madman as he looked at the flaming P1, blown to bits, the helicopter crashed down below in a ravine of sorts. The road winded but was in an enclosed valley of sorts. Hard to follow, and a minor route, though it was still paved by concrete. They'd be extracting via a PMC helicopter that would come in.

---

Six Months Earlier
Somewhere in the Dried Aral Sea, Turkmenistan

The dried wreck of the Abrats, a large fishing frigate sat rotting, the whole structure looking like it had sat here for centuries, while in reality, the Aral Sea had only drained in the last forty years. The Soviets dammed the Amu and Syr Darya rivers that supplied this inland lake, and now, it was drying, rapidly. The former eighth largest sea in the world was a shadow of itself, and left behind a toxic wasteland of dust and contaminants of fertilizer within it, from the upriver cotton plantations. It rotted away, and former fisheries were hundreds of miles from the inland sea. Here, the Abrats was another victim. Inside it's hull, the interior was stripped however. An old Soviet-era lorry, with a large container on the back, sat opened up, with a particular two out here in the middle of nowhere, with a pair of exoskeletons propped up against a metal rack, both different in arnament and weaponry. Both were mean, fuelled by hydrogen cells, and were complexly built, their schematics unknown to the two pilots that sat inside the ship's rusted hull, alongside a simple tent and a small gas heater. This was temporary, a hider from UAVs, spy planes, anything that would even think. People knew of this wreck. But they never wondered what was inside that dark crack.

In this time of night, there was no doubt, that in these wastelands, Nadia Hamid and Ricardo Pereira were alone. Nadia was a fine looking Libyan woman, no matter what you took her for. A certain Arabic beauty, and one of Qaddafi's finest. She had the right tanned complexion, skill in the Libyan Special Forces, and a personal guard of Qaddafi. Who had then killed the man after he tried to flee to Polynesia, his double's death in Sirte something that she already knew of already. Nadia had done it from personal hatred, almost a decade of anger and torture. But not to turn to democracy. To do something more. Become not some whore to be lambasted by society. To become a warrior-woman. And to make money, one way or another. Her talents were recognized by The Group, known as the Wolf's Claw. She learned Monster, the large Chinese armored suit well. A DARPA-equivelent in China, now in her hands, and went by the name Phoenix. After Qaddafi, it would take that rising, the new world, that she'd be bringing a mailed fist into. And she shared that with her new partner, Ricardo. He was a new boyfriend, but really, in a way, her first. He was charming, and she didn't know men. But Ricardo Peirera was a technician, a former Engineer in the Brazilian Army, Amazonas Brigade. Not usual Wolf's Claw material. But a person who was utterly remorseless, who knew vague technicals and could be depended on as a source that didn't ask about country, but about how many were to be put to the weapon. He was actually shorter than Nadia, at 5"11, compared to her 6"5. And it was lusting over Nadia's curves and beauty, perhaps she didn't know that entirely, he was just wanting to really have fun with her for once. After all, he had gone through many sexual partners, and she had not, so he was in a great position to take advantage of this pearl of the Med. His suit was Russian-sourced, and the hydrogen cell was identical to the one that powered Monster. He knew it well, it's ins and outs. It was less heavily equipped, but no less scary. They both knew their job. Millions of dollars, for protection. No living witnesses remain, they do not exist as people. And that was why they were inside an abandoned fishing frigate, in the desolate waterless sea that was the Aral. They never let anybody outside of Wolf's Claw know of their existence. Mainly because they were all dead, and any attempt to find their bodies would uncover mutilated pieces of fingers and flesh. And getting paid millions for it was good. They accepted Wolf Claw's creed. A simple one. One that could be uttered in three lines. One that perhaps highlighted for the two, a new world, a world more than the current state. A total redrawing of the world's borders and shifts of power, to people who would create a world that would emerge from the thrones of war, shameless capital and bring the world together under a banner that would never broken. An organization that even the two had scratched the surface of. They knew of those simple creeds, which always reminded Nadia that there would be a world where she'd be top woman, and where Ricardo would know he would have his place too. Not like before.

She cuddled up, the tent being fairly warm, as she looked to him, both of them without any cover.
"Hmm....you know, if they pay us to fuck all day, then I think you're a lucky man, Ricardo." She said happily, her firm Libyan accent always getting Ricardo to pay attention, and pay it well.
"They need us places, you know. More than this. But we work in the shadows." He said, looking at his watch, as he grabbed a piece of paper at the end of his feet, quickly unraveling it to get his sandals out. He wore a pair of boxer shorts, while Nadia at least put some lingerie on, followed by a white shirt. It was cold in the desert's darkness. They stepped out the tent, as he looked outside, patting her suit as he turned her head to her.
"We could always just run, you know. Deactivate the trackers and go." He said jokingly, as Nadia shook her head, looking right into his eyes. She could be a mean bitch when she had to. Ricardo was truly cold-blooded, but Nadia could be colder, and far, far more effective at making her points.
"They also have recorders too, because they're fucking paranoid. Do I have to spell it out to you? And after that, what next? Walk into a village and say "Can I have some water, I've been fucking dying but I do have a half a ton piece of armored suit?" Yeah, of course." She said, as she then tsked, walking past it as she checked over the ammunition chain, loading the GAU-19 and playing about with the belt a little as she waited for a response.
"Okay, you got me there. I like my job, it's just...curiosity."
"Well, curiosity is fucking stupid, Ricardo. You learn that fast. I might let you do all the right things. But that doesn't mean I have lost my sense of self-preservation, enshallah." She said, walking up to him, as he turned. He had a tattoo of a scorpion on his neck, something that clearly looked very detailed and time-consuming to produce.
"Look, after this, please yourself. Run amok, make a fifedom where you are some noble warrior when this is over. Remember the creed we're involved in. I know you want that too. Together, with me. So let's just make our change in this world while we do." She said, smiling, as she looked out, at the stars and the moon in the distance, picking up some sand as she saw Ricardo sigh, looking over.
"It was only a suggestion, a sarcastic one. I'm sorry- you're right about it though. I like that sound. Better than anything." He said, grabbing a bottle of water from the catering area, swigging it down as he wiped his brow, the cold sweat that Nadia could induce scary. He was scary himself, and could really put a point across. But Nadia was good, tormenting in that sense. She had a point. Sometimes, he'd put across that he wore the trousers, and it was a funny relationship. Love-hate. It swung a lot.
"They'll be working on Brussels in a few months. Some actual giant, and as many civilians as we can. It's going to be big." He said, smiling, as he saw Nadia look over.
"You think?" She said, eyebrows raised, her tanned complexion taking this on far better than the pale Brazilian, whose body wasn't even adapted to his home's tropical climate.
"Oh yeah. It's only the start. I mean, I don't even know the rest, but that's the word. Preparations, all the effort to perhaps scrape the surface of the world at first. Then, in comes the shock. We defend our people and any affiliates at the moment. But after that...we're going to be standing at the heads of thousands. Millions even. The world will have trembled in the aftermath. We'll let them fight, I bet. But in the end, it'll all go to shit for this world right now, to lay the ashes for a new one. I tell you, Nadia, it's going to be beautiful. Fucking...walking out and killing those who believed in some god-like system that we brought ourselves to. Soon, this world will change. For the better." He said, smiling, as Nadia knocked him off his high horse, as she quickly picked up a phone, that vibrated.
"You willing to begin that process? Yours." She said, throwing it to him, as he shook his head, smiling as he picked up. It was an elaborately designed device, with a large casing, to prevent signal locking. From here, it'd be hard to do- if they even knew of this within a slither. Ricardo switched to his Russian, already listening in.

"Ares, we're initiating a safehouse relocation, pending now. You have fifteen minutes. Phoenix comes too. Abandon the place, in the way we told you to do."
"Understood." Ricardo said, disconnecting as he broke the phone, snapping it before breaking the exposed SIM, then looking over.
"Well, that's our stoppage. You know exactly where we're going. Kamchatka, north of Pavlopetrovosk. That base. They really have to cycle us through, they're paranoid enough...but with these things, I'm not surprised." He said, as Nadia nodded, grabbing a hold of Phoenix, her callsign when she was in the suit and in itself, the suit's name that she gave it. Opening the hatch, she knew she was adequately clothed- it was more than warm inside, and she'd have her clothing at the next safehouse. They were leaving quickly, and there was no time to waste. Ricardo got into his, the slightly smaller suit less mechanical, but no less effective. He had a larger visor, but perhaps not the full-on plating that Phoenix had, just the nanotech-enabled kevlar and ballistic inserts that were phenomenally effective at keeping even the biggest 12.7mm bullets. 20mm rounds had even not penetrated, and it had worked well for the Ares system. They both disconnected from the mounts the suits were placed in, and Phoenix already had this under control. She engaged the gas on the heater with the huge claw of the suit, ripping the whole thing open, as she smiled, then looking to Ares. He was already out, as she followed, the big mechanical footsteps that the suit made heavy, every movement as if it could crush a car in the 8"1 mechanized assault suit. Turning around, she raised the GAU-19, smirking inside as she looked to Ares through the thermal cameras. The rounds pinged off the far wall and created a huge boom, as the gas was sparked off and ignited, trapped and blowing out of the ship itself, almost engulfing the two mechanized suit operators, as it burned anything inside massively. Kerosene burned well, and it was sprinkled effectively to finish the job, totally incinerating everything and anything inside. For it wasn't just one small cooking stove. It was a lot more that had been kept with the lorry- and it itself burst into flames, intensifying the fire storm inside as it shredded the whole thing.
"Hmm...I bet nobody feels like we do." She said, smiling evilly, as she watched it burn, feeling like she was going to take a lot more to stop than anything humanity could deploy. She couldn't think that her life was going to end in this suit in some way, in the same way that the ball of fire had erupted inside.

---

"Night Work"

2300 Hours
Somwhere in Wakhan Province, Afghanistan

The noise of rotor blades thumped, as the helicopter flanked through the low valleys, the AH159 Wildcat a helicopter that could act as a worthy successor to the world's fastest helicopter. The Westland Lynx before it had set the record- and still held it, years on. This was a Royal Navy variant, painted a grey, tasked out to the British redeployment rapidly from the HMS Cardiff Bay in the Persian Gulf, packed up at Basra and sent to Fayzabad FARP. Now, it was a helicopter on station to bring the two man team, "Knight", to the fight. Things had gone south in a mountain valley, and a non-responding Navy SEAL team had become a problem. Carl and Ross were first responders, and aboard this flight, regarded as suicidal. The doors were open, the pilot probably as openly suicidal as he flew about 10m off the ground, following the deep contours of the river as the crew chief in the rear looked to the two Juggernauts. Ross had modified his NVG set, a quad-vision optic that sat within his visor, and that could be easily deactivated via a voice command- something the base's engineers had been proud of doing, and while the Crew Chief saw little, Ross saw it all in the green haze.
"You're fucking crazy. You might be armored, but there's a lot of fuckers who want your head." He said, holding on his MMG, a L37 Mounted Weapon, otherwise known as the FN MAG- a vehicular variant in this instance. No music played within the chopper, and there were no lights whatsoever, apart from the pilot's instruments. They were in the dark, and travelling fast.

Dropping into the lower valleys at this time of night was going to be insane, and despite the fact that the area around FOB Tempest, created within the cleared fort was mostly pacified, there were SF teams that were going off the grid. Some came back, others didn't. This was a job to deal with, and the crew chief couldn't understand why sending less men than the SF team would achieve anything.
"Not a problem. Just get us in, we'll call you when we've got a ping. Don't do anything stupid to pull us out. We're responsible for that end." Ross said, chuckling, looking to Carl, as he readied his own Mk48, putting the belt into the weapon as the helicopter began coming in on approach. The grey RN helicopter did an agressive stop, and almost shuddered onto the ground, as the crew chief gave the hand. Ross moved from his seat quickly out the door, aware that Carl would have probably gone easier, as they then lept out the last meter that the helicopter now barely held over, and onto the cold mountain grass. It wasn't snowy at this altitude, but it was chilly, to say the least. The Wildcat flew onwards, taking a different route out than it came in, safe from SAMs and AAA sites. Visor down, Ross looked over, nodding to Carl. The Juggernauts were back in town. And they had a bone to pick. Objective one. Find the Navy Seal team, callsign "Viking". Objective two. Clear the fuckers that they were meant to be clearing. It was working for someone else. It was suicidal. But they had an ace to play, and this was precisely it.
"Well, Carl. Looks like we're in the thick of it now." He said, chuckling as he raised his Mk48, a IR laser attached and an M145 optic on the Mk48, similar to the C79 optical sight, but for an LMG of sorts. Ross's black colored Juggernaut suit was as steadfast as always, and while it weighed like a bitch, it was worthwhile for the firepower. No secondary, to save some weight, and the regular ammunition holder for the Mk48, a compacted rucksack held the ammo supply that Ross had, while his Mk23 MOD 0 sat in a holster on his side, over the more potent Deagle. being something a little more tactile given the situation.

Moving away from the landing zone. the small landing among the cedars in the mountain valleys, the pair were moving with a pace, in the darkness, the clouds covering the sky and blanketing the area truly. A slight fog was at this altitude, and while not thick, it did make the whole area eerie, the forest that hung in the valley particularly affected.
"It's fucking good to be back to work. We're bound to make noise at some point, that's why I opted for no silencers. We'll rely on the fact that there's going to not be that many of them out at this time, and they'll be confused as hell by the fire." He said, aware that perhaps stealth wasn't really an option in suits like this- and that shock and awe from the sheer belief that a larger force was attacking would be what would perhaps give them time to find the SEAL team. Ross kept the LMG up, as he then saw flashlights ahead. Diving down onto the floor, he scarpered behind a fallen log, aware that these were just AQ, already raised as he thought what next. Ross and Carl had moved about 500m from the LZ, and the set of dummy landings from another empty Wildcat had done the job to give an illusion that they were inserting at multiple places at once.
"I got an idea. Let's not go full auto. I ping four men. Get your Browning." He said, pulling his own Mk23 out, a mag loaded.
"They'll hear the shots perhaps, but it's not as loud as rifle cartridges. If we move quick enough, then we warm it up and light em' up. The first village we think they're in could do with some of it's garrison weakened, too." He added, in his West Country accent, looking to Carl as he nodded.
"We might even have some fun with this as well..." He added, drawing his BK3 from his holster, holding the knife in his right and the pistol in his left, moving up as he knew that this was going to be good. If Carl knew exactly what Ross was doing, then he'd perhaps follow suit. Because this would be bloody.

The patrol moved quietly, sweeping rifles, but they didn't catch Ross in their torchlight. It was a heavy suit of armor, and it made a noise on gravel, but it wasn't distintive enough, and the men were cold and tired. Perhaps this was not what the Navy Seal would have chosen, a silent approach being far better. But one that would perhaps scare the people of the first village they were sweeping. Dragnet some of them out, think who would be so foolish to create noise, and that by bringing AKs up into the valley, the rescue force would have nowhere to go. Or if it was just a whisper in the wind, leave it at that. That there was a distant shot that they'd just have a look at, and then find this mess. It was something they'd then pay for, alongside this group. Ross knew to himself that he liked simple, yes. But getting sophisticated did worse things to your enemy, and that was when it all began.

The man at the rear heard a simple click, seeing a bloody hole in his friend's turban. A bullet wound...a shooter! It was from behind, and he yelled and turned, too late. Ross lunged forwards, moving like a sprinter the last 5m and the target, who tried to raise his AKM. The man was too slow, it wouldn't be something he could stop. Ross knew exactly how to go head on into someone, like a ram. And the knife slashed his throat well, as the others turned in the lack of time. The man was limp, and then dropped, as they had turned to see Ross dumping their colleague's body, pistol raised as they prepared to fire. The Juggernaut stood at his 6"7, and was imposing enough, his whole silluette behind their friend's body revealing the armor and bloody knife in his left hand, the Mk23 in his right. The men were yelling themselves in Arabic, and were milliseconds from firing. Not a problem. Carl already had this, and Ross knew that they had seen the Juggernauts go head on.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

The R8 roared, as the night trembled on. Turn 1, back again, a sweeping left, as the minutes passed. It was a couple of minutes later when it returned, the same corner, just a few minutes into the race. The gap stayed the same, carrying half a second on Muller wasn't too bad. The tyres held, and as far as he knew, he was keeping corners neat. Nothing too hard on the kerbs, that would damage the tyre. Nothing too hard in braking and steering, you didn't skid, you held the car as grippy and tight as it went, and it wouldn't ruin the tyres. Hard tyres were hard to heat, and keeping the heat was tricky, but Ryan could tell you that holding and keeping a grip was fine. He could be glacial, and just ease in. Taking the position was hard. But holding it, that was what he did.

Lap 20. The night settled in, the noise of roaring engines passing the start finish, as the gap widened. Lucas's voice could be heard, as Ryan settled through into the left turn that replaced Turn 2, rather than going to the blocked off infamous hairpin as used in the F1.
"Pits are in five laps, Lucas, tyres are getting slightly worn. Muller's pulled back into fifth, but he could leapfrog you. Regina can take the lead for a while- you'll need to pit in the next two laps, or your rubber will be shredded and you'll lose seconds mate. Keep it clean out there." He heard, as he felt the G-Force turn, the left hander back onto the open straight followed by the R8's roar simply undeniable. Focus, not enjoy. That was his regulatory movement at hand.
"Underdstood. Regina, you better keep this lead open. I'll blitz back up on fresh rubber. We got about fifty minutes left, but I can make serious gains in that short period so long as I hold it through to the end. Remember you're on the same strategy- you go in three laps after me, you conserve rubber far better than I do." He said, braking hard into the next chicane, passing through as he felt the rear slightly kick, then coming back in.
"Woah." He said to himself, accelerating back out, aware that this was the beginning of symptoms. This was going to be tricky, he thought to himself, as he carried on, headed down towards the complex of Turn 11.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

"We were driving G-Wagens evasively, not fucking hypercars!" Markus yelled back, as the windy path span around the hilltop, the sight of a tunnel coming up perhaps cover, as Markus floored it, going into the fully covered tunnel as the helicopter flew over the obstruction, flying around as Markus kept foot to the floor. It was more a cave than a real tunnel route- it wasn't paved with concrete, rather, just a few lights in the roof, and the booming noise of the V8s screamed as they headed through. The route became rather more mountainous, but the tunnel was about a kilometer long, and gave them time to think.
"That helicopter is going to find the other exit...okay, I need to give you my AT4. Stop the car a moment." He said, slamming on the brakes, quickly moving to the side so Eric could brake, before opening the window, He tossed the tube to Eric, Markus's own helmet off, as he put the car back into first, the window shut.
"Stay about 200m back, out of sight. I'm going to lure the helicopter. I'll run like fuck and once they see it, they'll try and send in the men to hunt us down, if they aren't already. Have the AT4 prepped to shoot on my car, they'll search it and we can cut their numbers down, then perhaps deal with the helicopter with small arms. No way we'll get an easy shot on it, even when they're dropping people out. But perhaps we can hit it secondarily- the helicopter will stick close, he's got balls." He said quickly but concisely, flooring it as he approached the end, skidding to a stop outside the tunnel exit, overlooking a cliffline. Getting out, he ran back inside, the noise of the helicopter overhead as it flew over the cliffline audible and visible, as it picked up the car. He just hoped this ruse would work.

Markus was out of breath when he got back, panting hard as he put his visor back on, and looked over, getting into a service entrance that was lined with a small outcrop of concrete, as he knew he'd never make it to Eric's position.
"Wait till you see the bastards...it's really close." He said, looking out as the helicopter boomed, the noise of men being heard as they disembarked, making the small drop from the side of the helicopter. They moved in, flashlights on, and saw the car, moving slowly towards it as they opened up the door, yelling. Through the tint, they didn't see anyone inside the blue P1. The helicopter hovered close above the tunnel exit, a M240 set up in the side as they provided extra cover around the area.
"Now, Eric." He simply said, as he leaned back in, aware that this shot was going to be loud as hell when it hit.

The Conflict

Arran looked over, nodding. His G3 had little life left, so scavenging something else in the meantime would work out well. Or getting another weapon, via some sort of purchase. He knew what he was doing- he had real currency, shit that had value. Silver nickels would as he say, be enough for some smaller stuff.
"There is always a way to get those. By either simple or complicated means. Down here, I guess it's always the hot barrel of a gun that will do that for you." He added, a sharp bump almost cutting him off, as the Hilux crossed over a bridge, the two making progress. He looked over at the dashboard, a small cassette radio nestled on the window. He bunged a random cassette in that already was half-placed inside. Somehow, Arran could only appreciate this. At least they had a good idea of music here, and it cut the adrenaline rush that was leaving town to a vague conclusion in his head.

The better part of the day had passed on the road- and they slowly trundled into the town, quieter than Bekalo. It was a fairly quaint place- not so much packed slums, but more separated, distanced buildings. It was stricken by poverty, but it was better than anything before. Driving in, he kept a fairly able eye open around, as he looked back over. The evening swept in slowly, and had brought a more crimson sky over the African country, the distant red ball of fire coming down over the horizon. Gunfire couldn't really be heard- very, very sporadically, in the distance, but it was almost drowned out by crickets and other beasts of the jungle. A checkpoint came up, as Arran looked to Laz, already smiling.
"That's our opportunity. Those lads are PUF, not UFE. I bet you any money, it was UFE that was shooting us, if the vague pieces of intel I saw are correct." He said, looking over at the logo on a small wooden hut that the checkpoint sat by, perhaps spinning a plan together of sorts. There was no such UFE logo on the car- it was quite literally, a requestioned civilian pickup, and it had barely any fuel, as well as bullets in it. That didn't seem good, but right now, Arran was willing to bet that this was a chance that they could seize. Guns were raised, as Arran slowed down, approaching the checkpoint, two young looking soldiers going forward.
"Identification, Mercenary!" One yelled, as Arran smirked, hands off the wheel and aware he had to play this correctly. He'd let Laz handle the next part- he'd be able to perhaps smooth things over better, his accent didn't work well with superiors to say the least.
"Get your guard chief over. We'd like to work for you." He said, rather bluntly in his Scots, nodding to the bullet holes.
"No, he cannot come here, you understand!"
"He can, tell him it involves our understanding of Bekalo right now, and that we can lend a gun, for a small price." He simply said, as the man relented, one keeping his AK raised as the other headed back, Arran aware that two men wouldn't staff a place like this. It took three minutes on Arran's Citizen watch for the man to come back, an older black gentleman in an older ERDL uniform of sorts. Inside, Arran looked to Laz, turning the engine off.
"You talk to this bloke here. Seems you've had enough testimony at the hands of UFE to give a through explanation of our shit right now." He said, looking at the vague bruises and tiredness of Laz in the aftermath of the taking that he'd experienced.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

Markus followed, moving through into the garage, as he swept the rear, looking at the McLaren P1, smirking as he put his own visor up.
"Outrun, maybe. I'll take pleasure if we don't. Remember our exfil. Up in the mountains, we'll need to lose the chopper one way or another. Besides, this piece of British engineering may not be that Germanic beauty, but it's fast." He said, looking over as he opened the door of the P1, bunging himself in as he saw the chopper rumble past, coming into perhaps insert the QRF force. The garage door opened as Markus hit a switch on the dash, opening the garage doors up as he turned the ignition on, getting a feel for the clutch and accelerator, as he bunged it into first, the launch control throwing the P1 forwards, the blue colored Mclaren hitting 40 within a second and a half, on the gravel driveway. Bullets flew past, as Markus kept the lead, rushing through the plywood gate, brushing the bonnet but a needed scenario, as he heard a voice crackle over his ear.
"This is Raven, how copy Jupiter Team? We got your intel, over." He heard the radio buzz in his ear, as the P1 roared down the tarmac road, the stormy Caspian on the right as they headed north, along the private tarmac road, past a coniferous forest. It was almost like Northern California, albeit a little scaled back in the redwoods and cliffline.
"This is Jupiter, I understand. We're moving to Alternative Extraction plan, we've got a problem. This guy has a QRF, and it's fucking on us- we'll be able to outrun it." He replied, shifting up as the car bunged forwards to almost 140mph, the car sticking like glue as he took it around a sharp left hander, the helicopter flying past on the right as he roared it back onto a public road, turning hard at a junction and swerving past a truck of sorts.
"How can you outrun a helicopter? I'll leave that to you, Jupiter. Over and out." He heard, as he shook his head, smirking as he got it back to speed, the small coastal tunnel doing no favors to conceal the fact that the Panther was flying on their flank.
"This...is how you outrun a helicopter." Markus said, smirking as suddenly bullets flew, smashing into the tunnel's side, the partly-exposed tunnel structure taking 7.62 rounds from a mounted FN MAG on the helicopter, which did almost sent rounds into the car, as he swerved left, into the opposite lane, braking hard as the tunnel ended to take a sharp left uphill. The windy route was a tricky one to negotiate, but a joy in the car, jumping from speed to speed, as the helicopter took a new approach, Markus turning hard left around a hairpin as dust was kicked up from the side of the road, Markus just hoping that the helicopter would back off after they got on the straight and narrow, or into a deeper tunnel.

The Conflict

Magnus looked to Edward, nodding.
"They could take you. They won't take me. I know locals, too well- they're purging, join or die my friend. It'd be a fucking stupid idea if they decided to hang me dry with a machete. I didn't sell weapons to adjacent sides of the conflict. I have my ways of contacting people. Similar to what you mention Edward, but not entirely that." He said, hearing the gunfire come close, looking back to Arran and Laz, as they began to head out. He didn't know if Edward would follow- maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. But he wasn't going to die here, the same he knew couldn't perfectly be said of the rest of the people he'd made contact with.

Arran had packed his kit under the floorboards, but kept a few small things he didn't care about on the surface, to keep things aloft. Moving out the hotel, the noise of gunfire was ferocious, as he followed behind, bolting through the window, G3 raised. His bergen was on his back, and his sunglasses over his eyes, with the Boonie hat too. That always. He kept his P226 tucked into his holster, and while he knew the weapon he held was a rusted and antique piece of shit, they had to move. He watched Laz simply slice the militant, and grab his weapon.
"Fuck, let's hustle mate, not much time left!" He said, looking to the anarchy that was going on, no soldiers directly near them but the craziness enveloping.
"Down here!" He said, pointing to another track, moving through a part of the slum in the town, a quick route to perhaps get through. Moving quickly, with a jog, Arran raised his weapon, pointing at any locals in the way to get down, as he moved past, tackling one or two as he pushed past. Transport was priority. And he was a wheelman when needed- they needed to get the fuck out of here, and he knew how to at least put his nerve to the test when there were insane conditions.

Moving through the shanty town, the sight of a couple of contacts by a small pickup truck, UFE soldiers, was a sight to see. Stopping, he raised the weapon, pulling the trigger as he knew that they had to take them down. Arran grabbed the man on the right, firing two bullets as the gun jammed, hoping Laz had the other man. And he did, as he was pretty much ripped to shreds by the 7.62 big brother of Arran's weapon, as he nodded, moving forward, scanning the area across the street, moving across the muddy track as he looked to the body. Even worse weapons than what they had, but he grabbed a small set of keys from one of the bodies, and Arran was moving fast again.
"Cheers for that. Now I'll return the favour and get us out. Evasive training is a little rusty in my mind, but I'll try not to get us murdered. We're more likely to die by bullets than a car crash, right?" He said, cynically and comedically, as he looked to Laz, a little grateful for the save, which allowed them to pick off the two men by the Hilux quickly, before anyone else found out about them. Bullets then began to pour down the street, inaccurately but decisively enough to make Arran haul his ass.

Opening the driver's door, he dumped himself into the pickup, looking to Lazarus,
"Get in the back, shoot from there! We're going to have fucking company!" He simply noted, before he opened the passenger door, the Hilux barely kicking into life as Arran put pedal to floor, the diesel engine spluttering as it chugged forward, out of it's rut, and for the village exit. Arran steered hard through an alley, a few men ahead shooting as Arran simply sped up, hitting one and throwing him onto the bonnet, before a sharp turn rolled his unconscious and hit-and-run rendered body onto the floor. The sight of militants firing AKs and various weapons in the distance could be heard echoing, traces being from them. He didn't even recognize the logos anymore. UPL or PUF? Probably both, he asked himself, as a bullet shattered the front windscreen, leaving a crack in the right corner, as he turned left, into a dip, headed for a shallow stream flanked by a small bridge. This was going to be fordable, or it had to be, he said to himself..
"It's going to get a little wet!" He yelled, as he hit the water, the first drop deeper than expected, as the central silt of the river was shallower, and gave the wheels traction, as they rapidly span. Throwing it into first gear, the Hilux pulled out, scarpering up an adjacent slope as he rejoined the road, taking his P226 to hand from his holster. He winded down the window, already peeking out as he looked ahead, at the small two man patrol on the road. This was total anarchy- the events had only happened within a minute of time, and yet, it felt like an hour. He was good at thinking, and calculating. Arran could guess that Laz was roughly the same.

The two men realized this wasn't a friendly pickup quickly, as Arran was half out the window, P226 in hand. Silenced still, but no less comfortable. The shots rang out, as he shot one of the men cleanly in the chest twice, and the other in the abdomen once, hailing off a fully automatic burst as he came down to the ground in pain, aware that Laz could finish him if he wanted. He put his foot down, the bumpy and dusty trail through the jungle a brutal one, as he exhaled, getting his breath back. He drove on, as fast as he could, quite literally driving as if he had stolen the Hilux. He didn't know how exactly Edward, or Magnus, or even any white mercenary would survive that. Magnus was wise, had his ways, but he didn't know specifically how Edward would work he way out of this pickle. It was civil war, kill or be killed, and the former had it in spades to be doing. All that Arran wanted, was to be somewhere in which he could begin to unravel the strings, and get involved in one of the factions. As much as the white men were hated, they were needed.

A small waterfall by the roadside, in a small siding was where Arran and Laz ended up, Arran sitting on the bonnet, wiping the sweat from his brow as he looked over the bullet marks in the bonnet, and the smashed mirror, shaking his head, as he got off.
"That was an interesting way to enter a country, I expected customs. But hey, at least you are armed, and we are alive. Bekalo is broken now. This other town better have a fucking armory. We need to fix this." He said, spitting on the river, as he took his water canister from his bergen, quickly dunking it under the stream's fall, before bunging a chlorine dioxide tablet in- a very powerful water disinfectant, that would probably remove the diseases virluent in even a fresh stream like this. It needed time however, and it would take as long as it needed- an hour before a drink, he said to himself.
"You handle a weapon well. SF too, I assume. No need to ask which one you're from. All you need know is that I'm Royal Navy Special Forces, guess the branch." He said, chuckling in his Scottish manner, looking up.
"And no, it doesn't involve James Bond." He said, referring to what he knew specifically he had said, about Naval Intelligence. That wasn't his department, after all, unlike a certain spy's previous ascent. He took out his GPS, quickly scanning it through, as he found his location.
"In terms of rivers, there's a lot of ways about this country. I've got a boat stashed in the wilderness somewhere. If things go to shit, which I hope they don't, we have that. But it's a chance to keep in mind too. No doubt that roads are locked down, but riverways, I feel not so much." He added, wiping his face as he took his sunglasses off, checking through a reference point for the next town- Mokuba.
"We've got a couple of hours to the next town. We can take a smaller road to get there to avoid the major checkpoints, that they could have. Then, we begin this properly." He added, nodding in the direction of the car, as he clambered in, waiting for Laz before he turned on the engine. Doing a U-Turn, he skidded up the embankment, and headed back onto the dirt path, the jungle route a major thoroughfare, though major rains hadn't hit it recently, and it seemed almost fairly well kept, being hole ridden yet not in massive gullies and at least somewhat wider, to cater for lorries. It would be a journey, but they needed to get to this place, before they were the targets of a manhunt.
"Makes you think. We're fucking expendable according to our governments, perhaps they don't want us to live. The people that sent us can think that. It's a win win for them. Get rid of a scum of society like me or kill the primary dealer of small arms in this part of Africa to bring back some stability for their damn companies. Even if the latter doesn't come to light, no doubt there is someone in an office right now that tracks Scorpion's moves, but never acts you know. A man doesn't live that long without forming enemies. Or very good friends in powerful positions. Something puts me off. If this guy is like a ghost, then no doubt, he's got people that will give him serious fucking military grade equipment, not just from the old Soviet states, but from the West. The UK, US, you name it. We haven't ever been told of this scale. I mean, where the fuck is the UN or even the former colonial forces when you need them? It doesn't add up. I feel it, mate. We're getting fucked over here, and that whatever this lifestyle that mercenaries chose is, it must have a reason." He said, as they hit a huge bump, somehow adjusting the Hilux's path as he looked out the back window.
"Fuck, that hurt. But it's Diamonds, bullion, fucking tribal shit that makes you the almighty round these parts. You walk in penniless and walk away with suitcases packed with diamonds if you're good. But the Heart of Darkness, aye, it is a cruel mistress. Perhaps why it's so fucked up here. The greed of human beings manifests itself in such a cruel way. And frankly, I fucking enjoy it." He said, chuckling, shaking his head, as he looked to his P226 in his hip, and the G3 on the dashboard.
"After four years in a cell, I come out to this. Whatever you came here for, sure, you get paid well and claps a-plenty. I get to leave my cell, get my money back and fucking deal the product that flies off the shelves again, and in kilogram quantities. The white crystals. Beautiful shit, but I don't touch it. See, all this shite was going to hell when we got here. It's a natural product. People here have only discovered how efficient you can murder villages when you've got a AK and they don't. For all I know, I might as well be marked up to take it all and win rather than fucking rot my life away and walk a broken man another day in a cage. Maybe Laz, you got a higher moral than me. But so long as I'm here at least, I'll make the best of it. Make my fucking money, and if that isn't worth toilet paper, diamonds, my boy. Shite that looks like it's able to cut steel on a blade, and that crap. There is no other way you can walk in and just expect these people to be accommodating, they can barely fucking contain themselves in a neutral town. So I say we go to work and get our asses employed. And then, me and you part ways, and I get to leave with more than I came with. Scars, broken bones. Balls, it's all worthwhile, when you have the big picture to mind." Arran said, occasionally looking to Laz, as they continued down the road, ranting as he wanted to get his own views out, and to kinda secure himself almost in it, what he was here for and what he wanted to believe was the way to do things here. And it was, after all. Maybe not to some. But to him, but was what he was going to complete, and perhaps, a disagreement could be there. But it was do-able.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

(Sheet, forgot to post.)
(Also, going to mention- is it okay if Eric finds a pair of Hypercars in the garage? Just as a sort of...well, you'll see. Particularly, one McLaren P1, you can choose the other.)

Markus moved up, shooting the man that shot Eric, moving up through the hole in the wall he created, as he fired on another plasterboard wall, connecting the lounge to the office. The wall blew in, as a few kevlar-armored men moved out, quickly sent down by another 40mm, followed by a volley of fire from the F2000, which meant that they couldn't last long at all. Moving in, Markus looked around, then back at Eric.
"Hooking up the sat connector now. We need to upload the data from this machine. I think this is him." He said, pointing to the floor, the anti-climactic fact that the HVT was dead not being too much of a problem, as Markus shrugged his shoulder, getting around as he plugged in the box of tricks. It was a well-lit office, to say the least, the PC was just some generic model, like most of this house was- a modernist and nice place, but nothing special.
"Upload's going, give me time. Once that's done, we're extracting somehow. Shit, head to the garage- we might be able to drive out of here, under fire but fast." He said, as he could only guess that something fast was down there. Markus worked through the intel, as he got it going, bullets streaming through the plasterboard, as he took hits.
"Schiesse!" He yelled, his Bavarian accent just making it ever more classical as he fired back through the holes in the plasterboard, the noise of men going down on the other side rather than him being a little better. He felt knocked up however, it had hit hard, and he knew the armor was built to take some fire, not a lot. He moved around the corner and used his Glock, the cable making sure he couldn't accidentally holster it incorrectly as he switched back to the F2000. Moving up, he covered the area behind him, the floor rattling with bullets being fired, as he went back inside.
"50 percent!" He yelled, as the noise of a helicopter in the distance could be heard.
"Fuck that sound! Does not sound good!" He added, just praying that wasn't some sort of QRF. Perhaps they wanted to pull this man out, or were simply a more advanced security team. He headed to the window, and saw it. It was a AS565 Panther, a French Naval helicopter. But sold to the Chinese, and also sold to a lot of other countries, as a highly-advanced uttility and even attack helicopter. He couldn't make out if it was armed, but no doubt there was a well trained team of respondents coming, and as much as Markus knew he had ammo, they'd never last through that. Extraction from the villa would need to be speedy.

Year 2058 (Near-Future Military Scifi RP, maybe with mechs)

Wondering if the Recon's still about. Whoever was flying gunships/transport, make yourself useful. Otherwise, there's going to be an Apocalypse Now of a fucking tungsten strike south of that village.

Year 2058 (Near-Future Military Scifi RP, maybe with mechs)

"Aegis Command, how copy? My squad needs an extraction from our specified grid ref, things are getting heated here!" Jan exclaimed over the comms, as he moved back outside, the daylight fully cracking through as the noise of artillery munitions and hell raining down could be heard. He boosted up to a rooftop, barely standing, and engaged his laser designator, as his fireteam held the southern end of the village, looking over.
"Alec, Amy, grab what you can of the Russian supplies and help the defense! Aegis, we need a tungsten strike south of our position, marked with IR laser, hit it danger close! We've got more fucking militants than we can handle!" He added, as Malinka led the others, around a rudimental barricade into the town, around the bus they had used earlier. They weren't armed with Exoskeletons, but they were plenty in number, and one man was already injured in the squad. There was a lot more of them, and they needed an orbital strike, as well as CAS from the transport squadrons, to get them out of there.

Just as the designator completed it's lase, the building Jan was on just collapsed, the reason why it subsided totally unknown to Jan, as he fell with the rubble. A tank round had hit- it was the last thought that Jan had before he crashed down onto the remnants of the first floor, coughing as he looked around. Throwing a piece of rubble of himself, he swore in Polish, before jumping off the building, before it entirely collapsed and subsided.
"I am one lucky motherfucker..." Jan said, as the radio burst open.
"Jan, we've got Mechs moving on our northern perimeter, seem like outdated Russian kit, militant operated. They'll cut us to pieces if they get any closer!" Malinka yelled, as Jan shook his head, aware that they had nothing to deal with it. The AT launchers were dead, and it was better that than them being salvaged again. But now, it wasn't going to do them any good.
"Shit, get Duda to find some man-portable Anti-Mech equipment, guided preferably, and send Amy with him to help. They're going to flood us otherwise." Jan added, moving up to her position, where the rest of the fireteam was. Shooting a pair of movers from the forest they had just been in, he was forced back into cover, as 40mm grenades saturated the air, airburst rounds coming in but not on target, as Jan looked over, firing rounds blindly. They'd last another five minutes, at best, unless they were pulled out or had so much munitions dropped on them it would turn the surrounding area a charred black.