FourtyTwo

Metro 2033: The Journey

Yeah, go on.

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

Thom sprayed fire back, as the truck veered off the road, one or two following behind. He slid a new magazine into the Swiss-built weapon, looking across to George, or Lancaster, as he peeked up.
"We'll have to go around them, away from main paths. They're going to know, but once we head off the trails, as per the plan, we'll be out of this place." He added, as he peeked up again, putting a burst of rounds into a driver's head of a tailing car, causing it to turn off the road and flip, as the driver was unable to keep control of the wheel on this loose surface, and by taking steel to his forehead, had decided to shift the position of his tightly gripped hands. Taking aim, he put another set of rounds down range, as they began to leave the city, escaping the urban sprawl and heading into the less developed countryside, towards the nearby mountains and hills that began to sprawl across the Hindu Kush.
"Get to the exfil point, team. You know when the extract is coming to get you out of there. You hold the target there till it arrives." Martin added down the comms, hearing the gunfire on the other end of the comms, as Thom looked over, seeing the other truck come close. Spraying rounds, he hit the engine with the .357 SIG rounds, knocking it out of action, as he got back down, Hassam still totally out for the count.
"Shit, did you roofie him? He's totally fucking out of it!" Thom said, looking down at Hassam, as the last truck shuddered to a halt, giving them the chance to pull away on the dirt roads. It had been an adventure to say the least, but they needed to end this crazy chase at some point, and they had mowed down enough of these people to at least warrant them a way out of here. They would expect them to head down the roads, so a regular inteligence agency would. Or to a local headquarters. Nope, Sierra was bugging out to the middle of fucking nowhere, because that was the way the plan was written. And by the time that the local Taliban and AQ forces had realized that after a long and prolongued gunfight with Pakistani Security forces that this had happened, they would be out of time.

---

A few hours passed, as the midday sun turned to evening in the mountains outside Peshwar, the small sandstone house having maybe two rooms, yet nothing inside. It was barren, an abandoned goathold perhaps, but now, was a hideaway for the team. They were waiting on further orders, and so far, had none. They had decided to string him up on one of the walls, tied up by a set of handcuffs that practically crucified the poor fucker. Still, this "fucker" was getting his just deserts, and after what he'd done, the team knew that he deserved it. The pickup parked a few kilometers away from here, it was just them and Hassam, tied up on a wall. Thom adjusted the position of the video camera, as he looked to the team, smirking. He hadn't turned it on, not yet at least.
"We got this bastard then." He said, looking across as Hassam spat, swearing.
Lancaster, or George as it was no longer neccecary to call each other by their alias, couldn't help but smile at the irony in the scene. He was no man of torture, but there was something called vengance, and this was best served cold.
"Now that is not something a gentleman would do, spitting on people; it's disrespectful. Thom, he's dishonoured you. It's only fit that you...do something, in return. Something ironic, something fitting, no?" Thom looked to George, and smirked.
"Well, then. I have never done a terrorist video, talk me through this one, chaps." Thom said, looking to Cassie and George, as he took a balaclava that was put on the table behind them, putting it on as he walked forwards putting the balaclava on.
"I remember your face! I will hunt you down and kill you!" He said, as Thom walked up to him, putting his gag back on.
"That's enough of that." Thom replied, as the Arab moaned a little, like a pig would when it's tail was squeezed.

"Put the camera on...okay, I think the focus is good. Fuck it." Thom said, as he looked to Hassam, putting hte knife to his throat.
"Anyway, to the infidels of the East! This is the price you pay! You kill innocent people, hurt and destroy with no remorse, and this man has beheaded hundreds of men himself! And this is the price you pay!" Thom said to the camera, as he looked at Hassam, who moaned, as he put the Machete to his throat, seeing Hassam look a little unimpressed from his look, as he then swung it against Hassam's ear, cutting it off as Hassam yelled under the gag, something horrible going on as Thom stopped about halfway through, looking over at the rest.
"Am I doing something wrong? Fuck, that might not be the way to do it. These terrorist videos are actually quite hard, you fuckers make it look so simple. I don't even know how to offend, you have such a nice way of doing it." Thom said in his clear English, looking to the team who looked about ready to sigh.
"Lancaster, you want to do this?" Thom asked, as he let him come down, passing him the Machete and balaclava, as he got behind the camera, watching his colleague try a different approach.

"With pleasure" was all George said before he smirked and accepted the machete. It weighed heavy, but firm in his hand. He saw why it was favored by so many around the world. George let his gaze meet Hassam's, raising the machete high up into the air as if ready to strike him down.
"As-salamu alaykum, you swine."

The machete did not however enter his neck, nor his head.
"Oh, I am terribly sorry, Sir. I'm not proficient with this weapon, I'm afraid, Let me try again." George said, halfway laughing, as the machete had entered Hassam's right shoulder instead. It was painful to watch, but Hassam deserved it, George thought. He raised the machete again, ready to strike Hassam down.

A second later, Hassam screamed out, not in pain, but in fear.
"Forgive me, Hassam, my bad, again." George had landed the machete right between his legs, missing his crotch by mere inches.
"I'm done with this, turns out I am no terrorist-material after all. Oh well, Cavalier? Liberty?" George asked, holding up the machete for anyone to take.

After the camera was turned off, the sight of Hassam was an embarrassing, but comedic one.
"He actually shart himself." Thom said, as he looked to George, chuckling as the camera was turned off. The guy was terrified, and while he had good reason to be, it never felt better to give someone the experience of what he gave to people. The man had crapped his pants, and while the smell made this room pretty horrid, it was a good feeling to know that at least he vaguely knew what his victims felt.
"We've still got two hours till we get extracted...Cassie, you can have some fun with him. Don't kill him, or take his manhood. Seriously, work relations would be kinda awkward if you turned him into a eunuch, and it isn't as fun to watch on YouTube." Thom added, as he headed out of the room, going to go grab himself a packet of crisps. This had to be the funniest thing that Thom had done in a long while, and he knew that after perhaps another HVT taking a few months ago, that torturing Hassam mentally like this, it was awesome to say the least.
"Speaking of..." Thom added ,as he grabbed his headset, flicking it on.
"Bugcatcher, you still on this net?"
"If you are, we'll send you some footage. Edit it out to remove our names, or blurt anything that looks like it compromises security. Let's fight this war on terror in a different way." Thom added, as he walked back into the room, pinching the SD card from the camera, and lobbing it into his encrypted smartphone for upload to Bugcatcher's net.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

Somewhere at FOB Grimsby, Wakhan

The fort had not been restored to it's former glory, but it was under maintenance, and most of the relics of this being occupied by the Taliban were being removed. 2nd "Whiskey" Battalion of the 16th Air Assault Brigade, the mechanized team that had helped to seize this place a few weeks ago had settled in, and the Royal Engineers that had been here had now left. The British Forces had not restored order locally, but the worst of their insurgency was being beaten, and this was now a forward operating base for the British against the forces left in the valleys of Wakhan. The area was desolate beyond this fort- the border was only 20 miles, but between Grimsby and that point, were a lot of angry AQ and Wolf's Claw insergents. And while the Battalion was not alone in the area, combat replacement hadn't brought fresh blood in. It felt almost half useful to the men inside, guarding it, to know they were going to hold the fort for the rest. It's former name, "Fort Tempest", had been left behind for something even more British.

Following the evacuation from Pakistan of Team Knight and eventually, Team Cordite, they had been sent to FOB Grimsby, over other more well-equipped sites, to re-equip and rearm, as well as rest. They had more fighting ahead of them, and with a large number of the British contingent based out of the Fort and it's surrounding village, which had been mostly evacuated, there was now a chance to help defend the area strongly. Challenger 2 tanks and FV510 Warrior IFVs, from the The Scots Guards Brigade, along with a pair of landing sites frequented by Chinook and Lynx helicopters, had meant that this base had a serious defensive capability, and had in the matter of weeks that it had been liberated, turned into a platform to attack into the area. Things had become tense- and Team Knight and Cordite were gearing up for an assault, one that was planned to liberate the rest of the Wakhan Corridor.

Inside a tent that had become a holding point for Team Knight in this area, Ross sat on a plastic chair in a standard British MTP uniform, with just a tan shirt on and combat trousers, Mk48 a couple of feet away from him as he leaned back in his chair, reading a debrief report about Pakistan, and what they had managed to do. The two SEALs were headed home for Rest and Recuperation; and Ross didn't blame them. If he went through that, even he would opt for it, they had been through hell at the hands of the Taliban and AQ on the other side of the border. They were at least going home, able to relax for a few weeks before coming back to kick some ass. For Ross and Carl though, they'd opted to stay. Get Carl's leg working again, and then back in the suits. Leaning back, he took a drink of water, putting the file down, seeing a certain burgundy-haired female walk in.
"Hello." He simply said, as Ross chuckled, the West Countryman putting the file to one side.
"You seem rather tired." Jenny said, as she looked over at him, looking at his general appearance. He had the chance to shower, but still looked pretty rough indeed from the operations of the last few days.
"Yeeah, well having your helicopter shot down on you does that to you." He simply said, looking at her appearance- she had a simular uniform on, but a different colored shirt, having a more green camouflage than his tan shirt, as he looked across the table, and grabbed his water, offering it to Jenny. She took the bottle and had a swig, taking a seat opposite him in the tent.
"I heard. We've been doing nothing but patrols, I've been giving a little additional firepower where our armor can't hit. EOD from yours truly too." She added, as she gave him the bottle back, looking out outside as the sound of a Apache buzzing past could be heard in the distant valley, before looking back at Ross.
"You've been doing bomb disposal? Shit, I suppose you have the kit for it." Ross said, as he had a sip of his water, cleaning the top of the plastic bottle before drinking a bit more.
"True, but it won't matter when there's two kilos of semtex in the road. It'll hurt, even in one of the suits." She said, as she took the file off the table.
"Two SEALS had to call the emergency services then? It cost six lives, and you scraped yourselves out of it. Was it worth it?"
"Well, they'd say so. We had no idea of the SAM site. It's been destroyed since by ISI, working for the Pakistanis, but it was going clean until that moment. SIGINT got the wrong place, so we ended up getting fucked over."
"We can't do anything now. The fuckers have to go down." Ross added to his previous statement, as he looked out at the gates of the fort, the sight of a couple of Jackals entering through the front door, parking up with a few figures in command, as Ross himself got up, picking up his Mk48.
"We've got a briefing in a couple of days. Carl should be on his feet then. Anyway, I need to retool this thing." Ross said, as Jenny followed behind, as they walked through the busy base, Ross heading to the armory with his Mk48. He had a few weapon modifications on his mind, that had sprung to thought since Jenny had arrived- and as much as he wanted to talk, he knew that she was here to retool her tan and black colored suit as well as her own FN MAG for some more combat.
"Likewise. You reckon Carl will be up to it?" She asked, as Ross looked back, his face certain.
"Oh, he'll be fine."

----

Meanwhile,

Perth, Australia

Natalie looked over at Victor, smiling, sitting on the hospital bed still with her gown, her legs curled up due to the length of the bed being almost totally inadequate for her size. Being 7"2 had it's disadvantages, she reminded herself. But still, she had been able to sleep for the last few days, following the surgery that pulled the rest of the shrapnel out of her, and a scar was left just above her left breast, Natalie rubbing her fingers along it as she heard the door open.
"Hey, mon cherie." She said, as she looked over at him, a golden smile on her face as she brushed her blonde locks aside. She felt a lot stronger than about a week ago, that was for sure. She could walk, and had even tried to lift up the steel framed bed in the military medical center, this room being hers and hers alone. The PMC paid well for doctors and nurses for one out of their two greatest assets, that was for sure. She sat up a little, cracking off a little ripping noise that bellowed out of her rear as she did.
"It's good to see you." She said, as she reached up and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek, her Mohican fiancee feeling warm in her hands.
"I feel strong enough to walk out of here, but the doctors say another few days. Post surgery and all." She said, as she looked down at her scar, removing her hospital gown and revealing her bare body beneath, with a few burns visible on her legs and around her hip, a distinct few patches of red visible amongst her fair pale skin, kissed by her tanning sessions in the strong sun.
"I hope I'm as beautiful as I still was when I first met you. I know you are." Natalie added, giggling, pushing her breasts about, giggling further, as she sat up a little further, kissing Victor.
"Warrior's wounds. I guess I'm matching up to yours now." She said, rubbing her hand over his body, pulling him down onto her bed, as she felt him sit atop him, his weight on top of hers. Had she have been any smaller, she would have broken like a twig, but Natalie was one of very few that could probably support the colossus that was Victor, the raging Mohican that towered like a God over the mere mortals around him. Her body still bare, she knew that it was almost vice versa last time when Victor had taken some serious hits. A bullet close to his chest, and several more in him, it was a miracle that he was alive. Like she was.
"I guess some things are meant to be."

-------

A few days later

Natalie walked through into the armory, pushing the door open confidently, the 7"2 Russo-French woman moving with a pace that most would be jogging at, though this was just a walk to her. Her arms and legs were as tough as ever, thick as tree trunks, . She wore a black and red bra, her breasts jiggling a little up and down as she moved in, as well as a pair of black and red camouflaged combat trousers, that fitted her gracious frame well, at no point perhaps hiding the fact that this was a woman with bootaye. Walking through, she saw a few of the techs at the front, before she turned the corner, into their armory, hers and Victor's. His suit was sitting on it's mount in the middle of the room, as was hers, perhaps about five meters away. Since her original had been beyond repairs, she had opted for a new one, a suit that perhaps had a little more flair. Incorporating tech from the suit that they'd salvaged, as well as other new technologies that had emerged since she'd had hers built. Victor had opted for improvement, she knew that her old suit was at it's limit in regards to future upgrades.

It sat held up not by chains, but by two black polymer tubes, that looked like they had a bend in them, though were somehow remarkably strong. the look of it was wonderful, as Natalie had a smile on her face, looking at it's every curve and every edge, from the sleek breastplate and pouches scattered across it's surface, to the weapon slung across the suit, multibarreled and impractical for anyone else but her. It was enormous, and screamed invulnerability. It was like an armored vehicle more than anything, for the two feet of Natalie.

The Suit had originally been a smaller, more infantry-focused design, with Natalie asking for it to be scaled up. That design had been combined with another similar one- one that perhaps already existed. There were many combinations with Victor's suit- one particular design had been taking it forward from his, but in black, and with one or two alterations here and there. His armor was robotic, edged, tank-like. Even Natalie's previous suit had been a little curved, and had a certain texture to it. She wanted the same in her next armor. It's black curves and matt black, yet lusterous carbon fiber looked wonderful, just efficient.

An Austrian-Swiss-French defense agreement had been created to facilitate it, and much like Victor was testing it for the American government, she was testing it for the company, as a user that had "specialist testing status". Or in effect, her muscle and body was more than enough to put in the momentum for the incomplete exoskeleton that was inside. So Natalie had a few things changed, from that picture that was sent to her. Firstly, the suit was given a bolster in armor, from an inch to six and a half inches of ballistic materials. On the outside, the outermost layer was a carbon-fibre and nanoweave mixture, that could resist small arms fire up to 5.56, and it was only 5cm thick, giving the suit a honeycomb and carbon-fibre look that was ideal for conserving the armor below it. It had a lusterous but dulled look, like it shined at one angle and then at another was blacker than black, the honeycomb hexagonal carbon fibre weave looking like it was something out of some cyberpunk vision, albeit perhaps very real and much more effectual. Underneath that, was about three inches of solid titanium and composite weave armor, a "shell" that the armor was effectively fixed upon, this going from the suit's feet to the neckbrace, which covered from the chin to the centre of the back of the helmet, giving a huge area for bomb blasts to be deflected away from. Under the three inches of hell that was the titanium and composite armor, able to stomach .50 rounds easily, was three inches of dragonskin and kevlar composite, interwoven to be the last line of defense. This was designed predominatly to stop shockwaves hitting, so much so that you could hold a grenade in your hand and not even feel it go off, with a prototype anti-blast material employed throughout to stop the shock waves puncturing lungs or damaging the internal organs. Below that, was perhaps the workings of the suit, and a soft blue satin material, Natalie's favorite choice when inside her suit. Comfy, against her bare skin. The helmet was made out of polycarbonate, dragonskin and kevlar, with a set of ballistic inserts across it's area, and even the gauntlets were about an inch thick, made of almost solid titanium and dragonskin with the hand designed to grip around her multi-barreled weapon. The suit had a large ammunuition rucksack, made out of kevlar an inch thick, and it went from her ass to her neckbrace, packed full of .50 rounds, matt black and honeycomb in color. Inside the suit, she had opted for her traditional fan and cooling system, which could double up as a heating system too in colder climates. She never tired of having the wind blow between her legs, or up her cleavage, that was a feeling that made bearing the brunt of a suit like this worthwhile.

Other changes, she thought to herself. Well, firstly, the neckbrace was higher, and of course, the boots in the suit were far more than a regular infantryman's, they were almost as thick as the main torso of the suit's material without compromising mobility, being elegantly designed. Compared to the robotic structure on her right, Natalie's felt far more rigid. She had opted for a large kevlar groinplate, which dangled loosely, and the suit had also had a few more than just external changes added to it. A basic exoskeleton, operating in the main legs and body of the suit, helped to prop the suit up- powered from a hydrogen fuel cell that was hidden within an armored insert on the back, that could keep it going for eight hours at a time. After that, Natalie could still move, but it was a far more limited range of movement, that was sluggish and far slower due to the increased weight. That said, the exoskeleton meant that the suit which was already weighing in at over a few hundred kilos excluding the weaponry and ammo, could be easily held up by Natalie and that she could move faster with a little more armor than she already had before. Which was scary, even to her. Inside the helmet, the visor was made of a prototype one-way transparent nanofibre, that she had seen resist a direct .50 round to a small area, with only a tiny hairline crack appearing around the area. It worked differently to regular glass, in that it did bend, but that generated an equal pressure that forced any round that hit it to back out, and crumple so inefficiently that it lost it's velocity. It was stupidly expensive, millions of dollars for such a visor, but it meant that she had a wide field of view, perhaps only 60 percent of that what she would have if not more if it wasn't for the enclosing neckbrace. It had a holographic HUD integrated, with the suit having an voice recognition system that actually worked perfectly, and an arm-mounted GPS and multipurpose system for configuring "modes" in the suit- to harness the exoskeleton for either a more charging mode, or a more stable shooting platform.

Weaponry wise, she had opted for something different, and with a badder foe, came a bigger gun. The GAU-19 was a weapon uncommonly seen, but Natalie had wanted more firepower for a while. Explosive 7.62mm rounds were good, but when you had .50, there was no need to argue anymore. The three-barreled weapon weighed a number, Natalie knew. But that wasn't her concern, because when she carried it, it put her M134 to child's play, it was a weapon like Thor's hammer. When spun up at 2,000 RPM, slower than her M134, it could stop a IFV in it's tracks, down a helicopter in sheer seconds. It sent so much rounds down the tank range, that Natalie was instructed to avoid hitting the traditional metal targets her M134 was used for and instead, focus fire on tank scraps, like Victor had done. It felt like a weapon of hell, and with tracers, it could set light to whole areas with little to no problem.

Natalie had gone through a few of the other features for the suit well, one being that she had decided that if Victor was the anchor, she was the sledgehammer. With his GMG, he could rain down fire for days without any trouble, but Natalie had the same armor with a very offensive capability. Dual PDWs or a flamethrower were too unwieldy for a close combat scenario, so Natalie had looked to whaling for an alternative. And in turn, installed a singular cable-tied titanium harpoon, sharpened with something that Wolverine would have probably liked on his hands on her left arm, with an airtank hooked up on top of the suit's ammunition rucksack, that worked as an air compressor. Charging that tank and firing the harpoon, it could go through several targets at once, through brick walls, through lots of items. Then, if she pulled back, the harpoon would retract, and hopefully pull itself out of whatever it got lodged in. She planned on making it into a grapple hook that would support the suit's weight, but knew that Wakhan had put that on hold temporarily. In close quarters, if targets were coming close, firing these would deal a devastating blow where her minigun was sheerly impractical, and her accuracy, despite the armor, was good. It could be fired repeatedly, and when that didn't do, Natalie had added one last piece de resistance. Victor had his signature tomahawks, ones that he could swing like a warclub and turn his foes into pieces. She loved that idea of brutality, but hers was one of precision guided severity. And of course, it was always her dream to be a swordswoman. Like something out of that fantasy show she watched, there was that man with his big sword that was the size of a normal person. That was something she could see herself doing, and finding that her melee component was never as strong as Victor's, she saw no reason to take it up. So she had a two-handed sword, forged from titanium and a carbon nanotube edge, making it several times sharper than a regular blade. It sat in a holster on the suit's hip, and if the minigun or grapple were not enough...then swing them to the side, sword out, and red mist descends upon her, she reminded herself. She hadn't killed anyone yet, but she knew that when it came to clearing buildings, there was no point fucking around when you were nearly invincible. She had liked her oversized Spetsnaz Shovel very much, but there were times that it was not sufficient. It wasn't enough to deal with multiple combatants that were still firing at her. So this would do perfectly. Pulling it out, she saw the inscription near the top. It wasn't a beautifully made sword, it was just a practical one. Just a fuck-off claymore, with machined edges. It wouldn't matter around her gauntlets. But there was an inscription. "Athena's Wrath". Every good sword needed a name. And even so, there was a pair of .50 Desert Eagles kept within the suit's chest, in case there was a greater deed to do than just take out a few targets.

Last of all, Natalie had made sure that there was one detail. Stepping under her suit, she smirked, as she saw what she saw. Her underside was armored by a solid metal plate, but further up the suit's curve, was small mesh grate, with a tiny fireproof label above it. It read "Warning- Fire Hazard." Just like she wanted it, she chuckled to herself. The mesh was surrounded in a sea of titanium and carbon fibre, but was precisely where her big rear would be in the suit. And her party charm would be unobstructed, assisted by a methanol burner she had installed in the leg of the suit. It never hurt to scary your enemies further with something surreal, she reminded herself. There had been a Trophy Light system installed on the suit's right shoulder, adapted to fire against targets in the 180 degree to the rear, though against advanced warheads such as the RPG-30 or heavier missiles such as the Javelin or Hellfire, diving for cover was still the best course of action- and of course, anything from the front.

Looking around, she exhaled, breathing out. She felt exited at this prospect. She had worked with parts of the suit, had fitting for it, fired the large weapon. But never worn it. There was no reference level, not even to her previous one. Lifting the top half of the suit up, she slid herself in, having to push hard to get herself inside, as it was all one piece apart from the part that she had opened up. Squeezing her features in, she felt the satin rub against her bare skin, as she dropped down, the 7"2 woman now standing at about 7"6 due to the suit's heightened boots and general build. She moved a little, the exoskeleton strange, the suit heavy in her body, recently recovered. She had put herself through a tough regime the day before in hospital to prove she was capable of lifting it, and indeed, she was. The exoskeleton made the suit feel lighter than her old one, yet just as bulky and armored, reacting to her spine well and holding it up while she made the movements. Keeping her helmet up, she chuckled, as she walked around, the footsteps heavy and mechanical. The suit felt more rounded in places than Victor's, feeling like something that was designed perhaps very differently. It was laser precise, rather than all out raider. It felt more in touch with her French side, Natalie felt, but this wasn't a suit for retreating. She had to occasionally stop to breathe, just to get air in her lungs from the excitement, as she looked around the armory. Putting the GAU19 down, the huge weapon attached by a very strong composite cord to her ammunition rucksack from where a chain of scary looking ammunition emerged, she withdrew Athena's Wrath, the sword simply immense, in a word. To her, it was like a sword would be to a normal person, she could hold it one handed and it must have been around the size of an average person.

"Now this, I like." She said, as she swung it, amazed at how light it was, as she chuckled. Letting loose a fart, she felt it catch light and it roar from her backside, as she cackled, her helmet still off as she turned to the door, to see one and only one person that understood this feeling.
"Oh, hey Victor. Just another day being a Goddess." She said, as she still had to look up at him, even in this armor, brushing her blonde hair aside from her fair face as she walked up to him, no loud mechanical whirr audible but a slight feeling that her armor was partially supported.
"It looks like I brought a sword to a gunfight, but it can cut through kevlar like butter. I might as well improve my hand to hand, too." She added, chuckling as she lay it on Victor's shoulder, not the pointy end at least, but the flat and cold side of the sword. She pulled it back, and put it back away, as she walked up close to him, smile on her face.
"I heard news that they need us again. Good pay. And I think I'd like to go kick some ass. Would you, honey?" She asked, smiling as she reached up to kiss him, knowing that even with this much armor on, she could show love for the one person who mattered.

Metro 2033: The Journey

I've got my character completed- I do think I've pulled off the effect, a scumbag with a small shimmer of a moral compass. Not someone to die easily, but not someone who doesn't stay away from potentially shitty situations.

Metro 2033: The Journey

WIP

Name: Tomas "Malta" Marchevskii
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Home Station: None (lingers around Market Station)
Occupation: Smuggler
Appearance:
Tomas stands at about 6"0, with a fairly rough appearance- short hair, a moderate beard, and a worn face, with one or two bruises from fistfights. He seems to look a little older than he actually is, with most guessing he is maybe in his 30s, though this is mainly down to the hard line of work that he has, and his facial hair. He often wears a brown ushanka, and a headtorch atop that, with a black jacket and a pair of sturdy outdoorsman's boots. He appears to be fairly tough, but perhaps not to the extent of a soldier- he is just a smuggler, after all.

Faction: Non-Aligned
Weapons:
Bastard Gun (5.45mm)
-Heat Sink (minimizes overheating to every three magazines of fully automatic)
-Tritium Iron Sights
-Wire Stock
-Laser Sight
-Rudimental Silencer

The Bastard is a weapon crafted and created in the Metro out of scrap, to fire 5.45mm rounds in a compact and small package. It's not a Kalash, but if you need something with a high rate of fire and copious accuracy, this is what you go for. For long range, it isn't any good, but up close, it can do damage quickly, and Tomas has his rigged with a water-cooled jacket and heat sink to maintain a high rate of fire without the weapon overheating. A rudimentary silencer can keep the weapon quiet for a little while, but won't work to that great of an extent in the long run.

Tihar- Pressurized Air Rifle
-Airtight Valve
-20x Ball Bearings
-Tritium Night Sights

-A weapon unique to the Moscow Metro, the Tihar is a multi-stroke pneumatic air gun, with a pressurized canister located in the stock, charged up manually by the user at the barrel to increase the power of the shot (in this case, ball bearings). When fully charged, the weapon is exceptionally lethal, and is virtually silent, being semi-automatic (though with a reduced pressure in the barrel afterwards). Pumping the cylinder with air is an essential, if you want to make this weapon work, but is very accurate in close range (drop-off from the ball bearings can be seen after about 50m).

2x Throwing Knives
2x Nailbombs (Pipebombs, with a rudimental fuse and nails stuck inside)

Equipment/Items:

-Good Gas Mask with three half-decent filters (30 minutes of air)
-Surface-Adapted Watch
-Universal Wind-Up Charger and Flashlight
-Lighter
-Tunnel Map around southern Metro

Abilities:
Good with the Surface:
Not precisely a stalker, scavenging items from the old world of Moscow, but Tomas is at home at traversing the surface, and getting from point A to point B. He knows some routes very well, and knows what is a go and what is a no go, and places that have more than their fair share of creepy shit.

Deceptive:
Tomas can lie, and put people out of mind for what his real intentions are, being honest with a very select few. When needs be, if he runs into bad company, talking his way out of the problem is sometimes an option worth considering, and most of the time, he has the charisma to slither through places he really shouldn't be in. Confidence trickery.

Quiet Shooter:
Tomas prefers to use silence as a weapon, preferring his Tihar over his Kalash to clear out of a set of enemies from the dark- the compressed ball bearings being virtually silent when fired at a target.

Background:

Tomas was born a few years before the war, in a fairly poor suburb of Moscow- his father working at a steelworks, and his mother as a housewife at home, Tomas being playful and going out with friends. He was about to go on his first day of school, when the alarms sounded. His family took him to the Metro, at Oktoberskaya Station, where they found refuge. The following years were fairly harsh.

Living under Hansa was a good thing for a while, and it meant that his family could reinvent themselves, with Tomas educated to a basic degree- though he did enjoy reading the novels of Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy, and learning more about the world before the mess of the Great War. That said, when it came to him coming of age, and becoming 16, he became increasingly rebellious, and was friends with a group of individuals that were into the...criminal side of things. He was asked to move a box of medicines to Venice Station, one that he did fairly successfully, in regards to how successful anything can be on the Metro. That is, two of his friends were murdered in a firefight and he killed two people with a knife himself. He was not a murderer, he concluded, but he was okay at holding himself together when the time came. Completing the delivery, he was tasked with something to go back to Oktoberskaya.

And from there, it grew. The nuclear winter and pockets of radiation still on the surface were hard to deal with, but it was one that he got accustomed to, moving items and people from place to place, for a price. He would leave people for dead if there was no payment, to be eaten alive on the surface, and often found himself running in his life, never anchored down. His parents died when he was around 20, but that was not his concern- he had eight years of experience as a wanderer on the Metro, and he was very good at it. Living his life from one vice to another, no real meaning at all. Just getting bullets, and occasionally at the end of a day, a whore or two. Depending on what business was done at the end of the day. He was a drifter, a smuggler, a trader, a survivalist in one, a jack of all trades but a master of none. Not a dedicated stalker, but if there was money to be made in it and he saw the short term benefit, then why not.

Tomas is predominately a smuggler, and ends up running either people, or specialized bits of kit from one station to another, whatever allegiance. Nazi, Red Line, Hansa, criminal, whoever needs a high value item taken from one place to another, he can deal with. Medicines, or people that want to escape the tyranny of a station, by any means. Tomas is good at making that work, and with a good number of military-grade bullets, he'll make it happen. He knows certain routes out of stations that some don't, and is prepared to take routes that are a little more mysterious, with the unexplained phenomena of the Metro being something that Tomas has had one or two rough encounters with. He has definitely backstabbed people before and fucked over deals that resulted in more than a fair share of bodies or people out for his blood, but he has cared for others, perhaps more than his payment has given. For Tomas, life is dictated by the next job, or the next person who pays.

People like him aren't usually double crossed...usually.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

It worked really well actually- I wanted it to really be an unrelenting scene, with no drop in pace as Jan legs it after them, so I'm glad you did bring that element in. There is a good reason that Jan is using that Glock, by the way.

Also, happy birthday mate! Fairford looked good from what I saw :)

Metro 2033: The Journey

Question. And the answer will likely decide, for me anyway, if I'd like to stay. Sorry if that sounded high and mighty. Anyway!

Which continuum are you going to use? The one in the games or the on from the books?

@BigPapaBelial

Big! You're not going into a Metro RP without me!

I'd be down for this. Not sure what type of character I'd be interested in playing a Stalker of some sort, or some sort of Smuggler. Think Bourbon.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

And posted. I do hope my posts are of good enough a quality- it is so fast paced, that it's hard to really flesh out minor details, but I think I've managed to pull it off. Everyone can post at will.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Jan moved forwards in the alley, weapon raised high, as he checked his corners, before breaking into a combat jog, weapon still raised but moving at a faster pace, fully aware that his team were on point with this situation.
"Zhenya, keep up the rear, Scott, stay with me. We are tackling this fucker unless I give the command. Remember." Jan simply said, as they turned the corner, Jan opening up on two men that moved from around a park bench, the sniper round taking one down as Jan took the other, then knowing full well that they were coming close to the Strøget. It felt chaotic, anarchic, and Jan's heart ran faster than ever. Police sirens, the distant yelling of people, it was happening. It felt like he was doing just as much damage as these terrorists were, even if his intentions were to stop them. Perhaps history would remember him like that. Or it wouldn't, as many would probably make it out to be. Jan slid a new magazine into his rifle, dropping one of the PMAGs onto the concrete, sliding the new one in as he moved over the slushy pavement, smashed windows and dead bodies visible. At least half a dozen civies were dead, as Jan saw the carrier and his half a dozen entourage move down the corner, right onto the Strøget.

The shopping street was turned to anarchy, as screams could be heard, gunfire being spread down the road as Jan dived for cover behind a steel bench, bullets flying past as a few civilians were shot, Jan hearing the screams of children and women, families and lovers running for cover into shops and as far from them as they could. The beautiful shop windows and Christmas decorations had bullets in them, and the wet slushy floor beneath his boots felt covered in blood.Sirens were closing in, as Jan shot twice down the street, taking out one of the men, but receiving more back, as the sound of a van behind him could be heard, turning hard behind them in the alley. He saw the omminent sight of Danish Special Forces- creep in, themselves fully aware that this was a terror attack of a high caliber. There were three of them moving up, and Jan knew that in this moment, there was only one thing he could do. They were in the crossfire here. The target was going the other way, but the Danish had him and Scott in his sights. Exhaling, he did the unthinkable.

The bullets hit the men in the chest, knocking them down as their kevlar took the 5.56es, Jan them moving his aim vaguely for their legs, putting a whole magazine between the three men as he breathed hard, then lowering his gun. He wanted to swear. He wanted to say many things, but gunfire from the other side of the street rang out again, as the Strøget rang out in fire, Jan taking a pot shot at another of the men, who had a MG3 set up on a park bench. With a kinched set of rounds, he threw him back, a couple square in his shoulder, before putting half a dozen into his side, clipping him down, then moving up. He reloaded his weapon again as quickly as he could, barking to his team.
"Wendy, get off that roof! Get the vehicle, just drive to our north-west, and keep that jammer in proximity! They're going directly north up the street, we've got Copenhagen PD and Jaegres coming now, they're on kill on sight orders for anyone with a gun." Jan barked, barely caring that he was yelling, absolutely caught in the moment as he moved forwards, using another bench for cover as he saw the men move off the street, around the corner and into another alley. Jan broke into a run, fully aware of the fact that he had his weapon lowered, and began a pursuit, knowing that his two team mates had his back.

Moving off the Strøget, and leaving the carnage that had been left, Jan guessed that the runner had panicked, and wasn't detonating the weapon were it was meant to be placed- and that now, he was looking to break off from Jan and his team. If that happened, Jan knew it would take 30 seconds for him to activate a manual detonation sequence, there was no simple dead man's hand with a weapon like that. It would take time, and Jan fully was aware of this, as they ran onto the road, Jan taking cover by a couple of cars as he sprayed above, the men running across as Jan then looked to Zhenya and Scott.
"We have to catch them, fucking move!" Jan simply commanded, moving around the side and past one of the parked cars, taking a shot at one of the other men by the carrier, A clean headshot sent him tumbling to the ground,as he moved across the slush, police cars on the left and distant lights on the right, Jan fully aware that he could very well be dead if he didn't keep moving right now. The slush beneath the Pole's ground, and his raised HK416, the stock and grip locked around his right shoulder and left hand, the noise and horror of it all, and the deep intense warmth generated from the adrenaline was more than enough to keep Jan from blacking out of this situation and stay on task, knowing completely full well that there was no way that they could let them go. They were moving towards some sort of hotel lobby, and Jan could tell that there were barely a handful left, most of the detail now killed by Jan and his team, and being buffered inside. The local reaction wasn't strong enough- this was hellish, and right about now, Jan could guess that they were probably the only ones locally that knew of the real scale of this attack. As the runner and his two men ran into the hotel lobby, Jan moved across the road, and took cover by a bench, as rounds poured overhead.

"Scott, get a smoke ready. We're going to do something very stupid indeed." Jan simply said, as he lowered his 416, taking his Glock 17, the torn security cable still around it, as he looked to the Englishman, and then at Zhenya.
"Tell Medved to get out of here. Whatever happens next, you pray they don't get blown." Jan said, exhaling, as the rounds stopped.
"Throw it at the door. Now." Jan simply said, as he adjusted his beanie, breathing hard, as he knew that there was no other way to stop this from happening. They were laying down occasional fire, and right now, Jan was prepared to do something stupid indeed, fully aware that this was suicidal. There was no time left. The hotel had a few windows to it's side, and the main glass doors were shattered into pieces, as the runner and his group inside shot dead most of the people in the lobby, as the carrier laid the device onto the desk. Jan hoped the jammer would buy some time- and that the smoke grenade would make perfect what Jan had in mind. A flank through the windows would either work one way or another, and Jan had little time to make a more reasoned choice.

(We are at the point of the prologue.)

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Heads up people- I believe Skyth is a little AFK at the moment (I have received a PM from him)- I will post up, giving you guys a chance to post if you'd like to also. He should be coming back though.