FourtyTwo

Vigil!

I'm not really down for it- it was a good RP, but too long ago. Sent you a PM by the way :)

Backdrifts (Space Survival RP)

Nice- I know that Makoto didn't have a lot on his end, but I do soon hope to remedy that.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

Ross nodded, looking over at Felix, simply saluting to respect his senior officer. This was a man that was particularly famous around these parts, and his role in all of this was no doubt, an instrumental one. He was a stern man, even on the other end of the projector. He seemed to know what he was doing, and explained it in enough detail for Ross to understand, fully aware of what they were going in on. After the end of the General's brief, the reality of this was falling onto Ross. It was a big job- this was a holdout that had to go, and 500 men against 50,000 sounded fairly unbalanced. The Captain knew, however, this was an enemy that was exceptionally well-equipped, and would give no quarter on the route up. You couldn't fit 50,000 men on a handful of routes up the mountain either, no matter how elite they were. No, it would be a task down to a few hundred, and it would be one that would force them to at the very least, put the key in the lock to get the rest of the task force in.

"Understood, General." Ross simply replied, as they were dismissed, Ross's Devonshire accent sticking out as he looked out to the other two Juggernauts, Carl and Jennifer. He knew that Carl should be combat ready sooner or later, but it did linger in his head that the ankle was going to still be weak, with all that weight thrown in. Ross just didn't want anything to happen to him, because he was sure as hell not carrying him out of this again.
"So, a head on assault then. It's going to be interesting, that is for certain. We'll need a punch to take them on and win, so at least we'll have backup in the form of those fucking monsters." He added, Jenny nodding in response.
"No doubt. 500 men is a bit too much for us, but if we hit them fast, they won't be able to get their explosives on us. I will need to do some EOD work on that road, but if they have the height advantage, they'll rain down shit on us. I suppose that is where Natalie and Victor come in. Crazy motherfuckers. I still can't believe how much firepower they have." She added, as she looked over at the topagraphical map, taking in the details, as well as the LZ that had been marked out.

"It's why they're coming. We need firepower and armor on two feet, and they are practically invincible so long as they don't get shredded. If they're paradropping a platoon to a company of men in, to reinforce how badass those two are, then we're going to have some serious fighting along that whole trail. That mountain road is going to be sugar coated in snipers and TOWs. Both could stop us in our tracks, and I suppose we offer the best protection from them. Those giants will be a big target for any of their AT capabilities, and their men would be susceptible to even light fire. We're an in-between, if you could call it that." Ross looked over at the same map, seeing the winding route head up to the fort, occasionally doubling back and occasionally going a little gentler along a lesser gradient of the mountain, checkpoints dotted along with potential IED fields. It was going to be hell, but no doubt, once it was cleaned out there would be a chance to actually get inside the fort and wipe it clean, and Ross could understand that element to all of this.

"There's going to be traps all along, I can tell. It's perfect ambush territory. We've got advanced bomb detection kit that we can grab, with a pair of sweepers and my ATO stuff, I can pick most things apart. That said, if they put a large enough charge, that road is going to collapse, let alone the whole fucking mountainside, and with it any chance of us getting in there at all. Command probably doesn't want to bomb it due to the high value intel inside." Jenny commented, looking through the maps once more, the Scottish Royal Marine just contemplating this all over.
"Most likely. Here's to hoping we don't have to pick up pieces of people once we're in position." Ross said, as he looked at the LZ once more.
"We're dropping into hell, from the looks of it. Small area, it's on a flatter gradient. But it leaves no room for error. Fuck it up, you'll get seriously injured. So we'll have to regroup and set up a movement along that road as fast as possible, snipers covering throughout. They'll be our eyes and ears on what will be above us. A couple of MAV drones wouldn't go amiss, to give us a view of what we're going to run into before we even hit it." Ross added, as he looked to Carl.
"This might be the craziest thing we've done yet."

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Gonna edit it one last time- I looked over it one more time and wasn't happy with it. Feel free to post in any order, by the way.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

Ross followed suit, throwing himself into his Black Horse, and seeing Kimberly pull out, followed her lead. Dust sprayed up, as Ross shifted from first into second, the sound of Ross's brakes allowing the turbo to spool a little, with a distinctive whine that followed almost immediately after. Pulling a left, Ross saw the other cars take flight, alongside Kimberly's R34 and Joanne's 911, with half a dozen hypercars and insanely hotly tuned cars now putting foot to floor. The Garmin on Ross's dash lit up, as the GPS recieved instruction, and the route came up. This was an interesting route, to say the least. It was around London Docklands, a real mixture it seemed. Someone had done their research. A close call with London City Airport, through the old Docklands, and through Canary Wharf and the Isle of Dogs, a route that was pretty much a sprint race from the site to a location on a suburban fringe, perhaps in Dagenham somewhere. The old Ford factory, to be specific. Classic, at least someone was thinking this through.
"Let's dance, then." Ross said to himself, as he threw the car into third, the car hurtling forward as the sound of the turbo and anti-lag was almost overbearing, very little sound protection inside. The short shift was wonderful, and throwing gears was great, as Ross saw he was towards the rear of the party. A P1, and an Aventador held up the area in front of Ross, as he took a left onto the dual-carriageway A13, the sight of the occasional car making this interesting. Those Hypercars had the edge here, but their drivers weren't as ready to use that, and were twichy on the damp tarmac, while Ross was absolutely pinned here.

Weaving out of another car, he took the exit and passed the Aventador, to a very confused driver, barely letting go of the throttle as he made a hard shift right, passing on a roundabout under the dual carriageway, the wheels barely getting sideways as Ross headed for the P1's rear like a heat seaking missile, the P1 out accelerating but not outgunning Ross on the exit. Turning hard left, for a sign signposted "London City Airport"- the smallest of London's web of airports, Ross saw the approach arise, as well as the sight of cops get exceptionally shocked as they headed through the tunnel that passed under a DLR route, or the light railway system around the Docklands of London. Turning hard right, he passed the P1 with a well executed four wheel drift, the P1 trying to close him down but to no avail. Now, there were at least half a dozen cars left to close in on, but Ross knew he had this. The sound of distant police said it all. They were going hell for leather, and Ross indeed was not letting go. Going onto the other side of the road to avoid a HGV, he noticed where the GPS was going to take them.
"How you fucking did this, I don't care, I don't know, but this will be fun to explain to the fucking police..." Ross added, as he hit the handbrake, a beautifully executed drift turn throwing Ross around the 120 degree bend, and into sight of the rest of the cars, as he realized what this was. This was a Cargo Entrance to the Airport, not a dart around the drop off areas. They were entering the runways.

Ross could only guess that this was something that would lead to having more than just his licence taken, and more than just a little prison time, as well as his garage of cars probably impounded. More likely, it could be far, far worse. Speeding through the gate, Ross turned hard through a set of containers, as a set of cones marked a route through the boxes and crates on this side of the runway, the GPS having one single marking towards the western edge of the runway, where another exit was marked off. This was insane. How the fuck they were doing this, he didn't know, but he knew it wasn't going to be a case of getting on that runway. If a plane came in, they'd be dead, the backblast and the risk to those people on board too. So he stayed in the taxiing area for cargo flights on the southern side of this runway, where they had entered, and he could tell the rest of the cars were too. Distant police sirens were getting closer, and even a slight buzz of a helicopter could be heard. Now this was a street race done properly. Foot to floor, he turned hard, passing by a pair of luggage carts, aware that the P1 was tailing him. It ran straight past, and thundered off, before braking hard, the driver suddenly spinning out as he came up to the checkpoint, unable to control the incredibly powerful hypercar and take it through the exit gate. Ross chuckled, speeding past, catching air on an exit ramp off the concrete runway, a couple of sparks flying from his low-down rear splitter. It hurt, but Ross didn't give a shit now. They were racing, and things happened that could be fixed.

Out of the airport, dozens of police cars could be seen, as Ross weaved past a couple of forklifts and HGVs by a few warehouses on this side of the airport's cargo and logistical nerve centre, exiting through the final gate as he finally caught sight of a C7 ahead. The V8 roared in that Chevy, but Ross knew the driver was holding it now on pure speed and tyre smoke alone. Not great, because Ross knew he would pass him, and pass him good. Shifting down, through a mini-roundabout Ross didn't even need to let go of the throttle for very long to be right back on it, a tiny tail kick from the Subaru allowing him to catch his tail very easily, the sight of a massive backfire and flame from the Subaru's exaust as he exited the corner saying it all. This car may have not had the power of some of it's peers, but in it's delivery, it was vicious. It felt like a Go Cart, with the tyres almost glued and pinned when he took it through corners, drifts either incredibly scary and near impossible to recover or simply a joy to execute depending on the angle of attack. In the case of the latter, it was whenever Ross had too much speed through a corner, and rather than under-steering, this car was primed to simply stick the rear down and give a little leniency on the tighter stuff.

Watching ahead, Ross saw the checkpoints on the GPS wind through the new housing that had been built here, taking a left through a couple of smaller roads, winding and weaving through parked cars and cars, cutting red lights as Ross shifted down to take a 90 degree bend. The C7 took it wide, and Ross capitalized, taking him on the outside, the C7 futile in trying to cut him off, as Ross saw Kimberly and Joanne ahead try to take on the pack leaders. This was turning out to be a race and a half, and the police were having trouble catching them. It seemed the route was clever- it kept the cops on their toes, and really intercepting where they would go next was proving exceptionally difficult- there were so many roads and numbers that the police were having a very diffiult time on their hands- interceptor vehicles wouldn't even catch them, such as the Met's own Subaru WRX STIs and EVO IXes. Ross had seen the car hit 170 on the taxiway, and through these roads, was averaging almost 90, often exceeding that on roads a few car widths wide, parked cars and traffic about. This was called lunacy at it's finest, but this was the street racing scene at it's perfection.

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

Martin looked closely at the team, nodding with a certain approval of what had been said. It was a mutually agreeable thing, that this was how it worked. It was a smooth atmosphere, but he knew that if there was work that had to be done anytime soon, then even in his state, Martin could get the team to work. Performing while drunk was a whole different approach to operating, but sometimes, it had to be done. Just reminding yourself at all times, no matter how shitfaced you were, of what your endgame was, was how you got through it, and the rest sort of somehow fell into place, especially if you weren't an essential asset. Martin had never passed two whiskey or vodka shots, when it came to dealing with operative issues- though for a day like today, he was prepared to drink a little more.

Looking across as Cassie, and then back at Drevan, he chuckled.
"Let it trend. It's not like we have any identifiable source of where it came from. And it's always a good laugh to see my boss wonder how on earth it even made YouTube. Virtually no suspicion of you know, the real perps." He added, a soft chuckle joining it as he drunk a little more of his vodka, putting it back down once again as he nodded, Thom drinking a little of his vodka shot, Martin checking the time once again.
"To be short, he's been dealt with. Which is good, because the paperwork is off my desk, it's been all filed on my end. Nothing too violent in the way you extracted him, even the Pakistanis aren't angry. Which is great, because they're likely to shit themselves at the worst of things. That was why I asked for you not to go guns blazing on this one." He simply stated, as Thom looked over, somewhat agreeably, but interrogative.
"Couldn't you just delegate it back to HR?"

"Human Resources has it's limits, that fucker might be a goldmine as an intel resource but he isn't fucking human. I draw the line when you start cutting people's heads off. It's too sensitive, so I had to do it. In this fucking line of work, I swear we could do with PAs." Martin simply replied sharply, chuckling as he saw Thom have something hit his chain of thought.
"What, temps with big tits? George would be too busy fucking them anyway to help us out."
"Precisely. Your charm has no boundaries George to be perfectly honest with you; shagging that Princess in Monaco was fucking impressive though, all so we could go on with that work down there in dealing with that criminal ring. We aren't having a repeat of a small pornographic empire that Drevan created from sex tapes on hacked hard drives either, especially not with PAs of that kind. No matter how good it was at the time, we aren't going through that explanation again." Martin said, chucking, just reminiscing in his head about past times.
"Anyway- we could just get male ones instead to stop that from...well, distracting us, but they'd shit themselves every time they saw our lovely Cassie here. But Cassie is again, out of their league. Probably would half kill them before they tried. We don't need to speak about Prague again. Even I felt sorry for that guy that Cassie dealt with." Martin replied, shaking his head.
"Here's to temps with big tits and four kids." Thom said jokingly to break the conversation up, as he raised his glass, as even Martin didn't put his glass up. Shrugging, Thom downed the rest of the shot, as Martin took the expensive bottle back into his hands. Unscrewing the lid, he refilled everyone's measures, up to a double standard, before placing it back on the wooden table.

"Yeah. Well, regardless. We need our heads in the game again. We're going to have work to do soon. Lot more juicy work that they will want us to follow up on. Will keep us busy." Martin continued the flow of the convorsation, as he sipped his vodka a little, Thom also joining him in having a short swig of the spirit, Martin looking at the team once more.
"And no doubt, there are people of a certain nature that I'm sure are going to have very bright futures, once our mutual friends spills what he knows."

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Redited for the last time. I really think I have made it what I wanted to make it, and I have even left Skyth some breathing room if you want to do the unthinkable (if you see it, and want to do it, I will not stop you). That is completely and utterly optional.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Done. It was the conclusion for that scenario I think I wanted, but even when I was writing it, I wasn't entirely expecting. There is a tiny bit left to do- and it will wrap up the end of Jan's story, as well as giving you all the opportunity to do so.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Jan simply looked back at the team, as the smoke headed in, Neil laying down suppressing fire upon the front lobby, before flicking a new mag into his AS VAL, the Pole now fully acutely aware of what was going to happen. This was it. No more half measures, this was going to be a risky way to get things done but it was the only way they could hit the lobby before the Danish arrived. Jan had his own plans for afterwards- but that didn't matter right now. What did, was to stop what happened next.
"I got your back, Captain." Neil added, as he peeked over, laying down the occasional stutter of fire upon the front of the building, not aiming to kill or wound but merely to suppress with the silenced assault rifle.

As the smoke broke out, the Pole wasn't one to be stopped. A simple nod to Scott and Zhenya, and he was over the bench, running at full pelt, moving towards the hotel window that had been partially smashed in already, the grey cloud now spurting out a translucent field of vision in front of Jan. But he knew what he was doing. And he knew precisely how it would happen. Neil laid down a few more rounds, as Jan kept his momentum as high as possible, wanting to outflank the man before he tried anything stupid. He gave a deep breath, and lept through the lobby window, smashing through the glass as he rolled on the other side, groaning a bit as he looked around with his Glock, weapon raised high as he moved into the clouded lobby, the attention of the handful of gunmen shifting to him but not being able to identify precisely which window he had entered. He could hear civilians of various type, young and old, men and women screaming in horror, as the smoke slowly crept up, Jan sweeping angles inside the lobby as he searched, high and low, wanting to pinpoint precisely the triggerman and his buddies. He couldn't tell if Scott or Zhenya were following him, but they had to be close, such was Jan's twitch in moving through the lobby, sweeping the vicinity for the target.

One yelled, and AK fire blared throughout the lobby, the screams intensifying, as Jan put two shots into the direction of the muzzle flash, moving forward and realizing he was out of position compared to his team. It had been towards the window, where Scott and Zhenya had entered...Jan realized suddenly that he had barely kept track of his two comrades in the team as he had breached through, and that he was now out of position. Moving behind the man, he didn't even bother to think twice. He sent a single 9mm round into his temple, as one of his friends turned and sprayed fire across the lobby, Jan suddenly feeling a sudden kick to his left shoulder as he was thrown back, firing off four rounds in his direction. Cursing, he looked down, seeing an emerging wound, and what felt like a numbing and driving pain that would have normally been incapacitating. It had driven just past his collarbone, and probably blown a tendon apart, or some muscle tissue. It felt like every single tiny adjustment in his left hand was agony, let alone his arm. But it was not something that Jan could let stop him. The gunfire shifted away, as Jan held his Glock high, looking and looking twice to see what was going on. The smoke was calming down now, and the lobby felt a little more identifiable- but this was still a better idea than a direct assault without it, Jan reminded himself. It at least bought them time from a police or Jaegrekommandet assault.

Jan coughed hard, disoriented, but walked forwards after slowly crawling back up onto his feet, pistol held high, still going. He had so much liquid adrenaline in him right now, that this was not going to stop him. He didn't care, so his mind painted it.
"Move, move!" He yelled, fully aware that his team would pick up the order, to begin sweeping out the smoked out lobby, looking around. He didn't know the status of Scott or Zhenya right now, but he knew that they were involved in dealing with the other gunmen, which was the moment that Jan caught sight of the target.

He heard the runner break off with a distinctive click of his boots against the marble floor, out of the field of the smoke, as Jan himself broke into a run once more. He was trying to get higher, out of the lobby, leaving what Jan was going to guess were two gunmen to deal with Scott and Zhenya.
"I got eyes on the target, I'm chasing him! Scott, Zhenya, eliminate the rest, hold the lobby!" He knew he had his squadmates to take care of, but Jan reminded himself that they were more than competent at that job. He'd ended up out of their field of fire, out of the main area of the lobby where a firefight raged, out of the now-clearing smokescreen. Now it didn't matter. He saw the man emerge from around the corner, and Jan broke into a sprint, his empty Glock in a pouch on his chest and almost wailing in pain, as he saw the man turn. A burst of fire from an Uzi the man sprayed back forced Jan to barely throw himself onto the floor, and feel the pain in his left shoulder get grizzlier in how it felt, as he got back up once more, not willing to stop. The man had lost some time, and was clearly trying to reload his weapon, as Jan looked over at him, a cold hard stare into the eyes of the man that felt so little regard for human life. He went for his knife, but Jan was not stoppable. He didn't feel like it, at least. It was going to take more than a round to stop him, and he collided into the carrier, throwing him down onto the corridor carpet. The man was still resilient, and brought the weakened Jan onto the floor with him, flooring a strong headbutt into the Pole.

Jan took it hard in the head, and was dazed a little, immediately going for a counter as he threw a lower punch, grabbing the man's wrist with his right hand and going for a straight knee to the balls, fully alert that he could be concussed or worse at this point in time. The man tried to roll away, as Jan barely clambered up to kick him hard in the side, right in between his upper ribs, and drag him to the wall of the corridor, Jan punching the man hard in the head against the plasterboard, which cracked a little under the force. The man coughed blood, as Jan kicked him hard again in the stomach, blood pouring from his mouth, and Jan feeling like he was truly barely alive. He slid his BK3 out from his plate carrier, and put it to the man's neck, pushing only ever so slightly, just taking a moment. It shouldn't have. But it did, the man was not terrified of death, but yet Jan felt like it was the only thing that the man deserved right now. Jan looked closely into the Turkish-born national's eyes, as the knife in his right hand drew more and more blood, before Jan finished the job.

He pushed the serrated edge deep through the artery, and slit his throat, blood spitting as Jan collapsed back onto the floor, in agony.
"Priority, priority. I've taken down the carrier, repeat, carrier is neutralized. Team, this is my final order. You're going to get inside the lobby and throw down your weapons and any kit that you have. Just do it. It's the only way you're getting out of this. Put your hands on your head, and wait. When they ask you any questions, you were following my orders and mine alone. If any of you are wounded, just sterilize and clean the wound, you won't have time to recover any shrapnel before they raid you." Jan simply said, as he rolled the man over, Jan himself throwing down his 416 that was on his back and his vest, looking at his raw wound at his shoulder, before looking at the carrier, lifeless and utterly devoid of any feeling now blood poured around his throat.

The device was packed into a rucksack of sorts, and was not armed, though Jan could tell- this was a device that could kill tens of thousands if used correctly. The implications would be deadly serious, and Jan reminded himself why he was here. There were many reasons Jan wanted to just leave it alone, or just give it to Zhenya to deal with it. But Jan realized what needed to be done. It had been a long time ago. At the Rasthof, he had realized where he stood. He had been used all along, it was all games that people played. And that he was the fall guy for everything, when he really thought about it hard. Turkey, and even now, in Copenhagen. Victoria knew what his commitment was, and that no doubt, Jan guessed that she would have him surrender and give up the weapon. But Jan wasn't that silly. It was a Russian-made device. It was Russian fissile material, Russian design. Not Pakistani or even from some ex-Soviet republic. It was Russian. And that was the perfect excuse for someone like Victoria and her higher ups to find more reason to fuck things over. Jan would be a dead man, quietly disposed of. Saving Copenhagen was what Jan would never be remembered for, and he didn't want to change that fact. But he did want to stop one thing alone, one that he had seen from day one. One that cost him good men, and not with any good reason. It deserved to end here, and perhaps, if this Russian weapon never surfaced, nothing would come of it. Perhaps, it needed to go somewhere else. And even if he knew what he was doing was wrong, he knew it was the only way to stop an escalation. That he was now playing them, not the other way round. He knew full well that if the CIA was trying to capitalize on this "Russian" weapon, that they would be very much mistaken when they realized that there was no Russian weapon that existed. Jan could only say that it would be one that at least was the only grain of truth he had left now. This was a live suitcase nuclear weapon, and Jan could only guess the look on Victoria's face when she was told that there was a loose nuke, and a Special Forces Captain that was also MIA.

Jan looked over one more time at the carrier, wiping the blood from his face as he took his gloves off, and put his thermal bandit down, giving one last radio command.
"Lima..I'm going to sort this mess out. Don't follow me, don't even think about tracing my steps. It's been a fun ride. Don't die on me now, any of you. Just stay away from me. This is not for Victoria or anyone else. It's for the good of all the people we saved." Jan simply added, as he looked down the corridor, before grabbing only his essentials from his tactical pack. A first aid kit, and a spare set of clothes, and a prescription set of glasses, as well as an old-fashioned razor. The Glock joined them, Jan keeping a single spare magazine for it that he had snatched from the guard. He had his own plan now, a plan that he knew he was now going to make up as he went along from here. He had time before there was any assault on the hotel- they hadn't fully surrounded it, and most likely, were on the Stroget, still cleaning up the mess there and at the office site. He took the carrier's rucksack, and threw them in, before picking it up, slinging it over his right shoulder as he winced a little in pain. He walked out, towards the back door, barging the emergency exit open.

The Pole walked out, heading out into the slush and snow, leaving behind Lima, leaving behind the four individuals that he had called his team. He hadn't even given them a face to face goodbye, and he wished he had. But there was no more time anymore. They were likely searching the front now, and had lasers pointing at the team's heads, waiting for an order to shoot or clarify what the fuck was going on. They would be released by the time that Jan had made it out of there. And now, the Captain of the former joint special forces task force knew that this was indeed, the last that there would be of any sanity he had in his life. The last of any clarity. It had been a long journey, but in under a month, the world had changed more for him than he had imagined. So much loss, so much pain, misery. Death at their doorstep, yet the people that had followed him had been committed. They did not deserve to follow in his footsteps, Jan thought to himself. They had lives to live, and they could escape this mess, become something more. He didn't. He was going to be 29 in a few days time, and while he was young, he had seen the world's crises for himself, and knew that he would never escape the responsibilities he held accountable to by something higher than him, be it a CO or God himself. The deaths of several operators, maiming of another. Two dead men at the petrol station, and the countless number of militants who wished to kill more. The latter, he could justify, but even despite the security guards being in his way, he still felt guilty. Nothing would stop that. He wished he could have hugged Scott, Wendy and Neil, even Zhenya. They were his brothers and sisters in arms. And maybe they would have followed him out of the back, like the route that Jan was taking now, heading down dark alleys and away from the scene of so much bloodshed and anger in Copenhagen's grounded central area. For once, Jan knew that this was his own sacrifice to make. And that he wanted to be a thousand miles from here now, off the grid, off anyone's radar. Nobody knew where he was going to go, and nobody knew what he was going to do, not even his team.

Perhaps Medved were here to secure the weapon for Russian authorities, and Zhenya would have demanded that Jan stand down. They would be here to cover things up too, Jan had come to the conclusion of. It seemed deniable...though Jan could only guess that Medved's mere existence, that of a Spetsnaz GRU unit, and potential capture would play even more into Victoria's hands. That would have been the case if Jan hadn't pulled them out earlier, to at least restrict the damage of their existence here. Perhaps that was the setup, and Jan would be taken from not just treason and murder and grand theft auto, to high treason and conspiracy against Denmark, not to mention the United States. Conspiracy to kill tens of thousands, and no matter what Jan would say, he would go to a Black Site and never come back in a case like that. It was an assured execution. On the flipside, if Medved had succeeded, the device would never be found, and this would all hush away. Jan liked that idea for a while, actually contemplating it on the drive to Copenhagen. It would be easy enough, but the team would outright disagree. That and the fact that Jan was moderate to exceptionally confident in the fact that he would disappear very quickly if he did go to Russia. All these thoughts in Jan's head were what he had to assume now, not perhaps an accurate depiction of the reality of events, but the most realistic view he could take on it. Which led to Option C. Take the portable nuclear device, and walk away. Certain death, because two big blocs of countries wanted you dead. But almost certainly better than dying anyway, and becoming a pointless political facet.

This was not anyone's order now, to do what he did. This was his choice, and it was one that he didn't know if the team would act against. It was a gamble, but one that maybe one day, they would understand. When they fully and acutely understood what the alternative was, maybe they would live out the rest of their lives in a relative peace compared to this, this total madness that had swept through Lima and Jan's life. Turning another corner, the sound of sirens became distant, as Jan passed by a couple of homeless people standing by a barrel filled with reclaimed furniture set alight, heading towards the hippy commune of Christiania; a good place to stay out of the limelight. He would need a vehicle, and an awful lot of time. He felt bitter inside, everything felt wrong, like it was automatic once to just stop and obey those above. But that would not do. Not today.

---

In the lobby, Neil heard the command, and almost immediately barked back.
"Don't you fuck off now! Jan!"
There was no response, only static. Neil cursed a very Australian curse word, as the sound of sirens got even closer, wailing louder and louder, as he looked to the rest.
"He's broken off comms. He bloody took the device. The fuck is he thinking?" The Aussie asked with his tone turning exceptionally angry in the frequency of his swearing, as he knew that wherever Wendy was, he hoped she was okay. She had to get home, one way or another. If she had surrendered somewhere else, she would be fine, he reminded himself, as he slid the AS VAL and his sidearm across the floor, throwing down his vest and getting on his knees, hands behind his head and knowing full well what would happen from here on out. Turning to Scott, the Aussie could only look at his squadmate with a distinct look of confusion towards everything that was going on, just unsure of what the hell was going on.

The civilians were looking on, totally shocked, not even approaching them or coming close. They stayed hidden, far, far away, scared they were still terrorists or something else. There was going to be a flashbang, and it would hurt. Neil was utterly confused about Jan- this was fucked. He couldn't be running off now...it was purely wrong. It felt like they were now totally hopeless, and Neil couldn't have imagined it ending like this, even despite the risk he had signed up for. Neil couldn't make sense of what he was going to do with it, but he just knew the Captain wasn't going to kill even more people for the sake of proving a point. He wasn't that type of person, he had a certain honor about him. The involvement of the CIA and other organizations in this made him feel sick, and Neil didn't even know if to believe if this was some order from them for Jan to deal with the problem, or something even more sinister. It was all such a web of lies, that he didn't even know anymore. He was just waiting for the Danish to arrive and arrest them, and for most likely, days and days of questioning and imprisonment. At least it would be nicer than a Russian gulag, it would at the very least, have heating.

The sight of the first flashbang going in was enough to set off Neil's eyes to shut, and dive forward on the floor, as his eyes and ears burst out in agony, as the sound of men flooding the lobby, shields and MP5s raised up, scanning through, yelling as the civilians looked on, the sight of this assault a shock and a relief at the same time. Neil felt his face get smashed into the carpeted floor, as a pair of plastic handcuffs went around his wrists, the sight of a gas-mask wearing Jaegre bringing him up, searching for bombs and anything on his person across his BDU, as they did it to the rest that were left here. It was a barrage of yelling, as Neil felt himself get pushed, taken by two operators, the other man wearing a riot helmet with a polycarbonate visor, also armed with an equally as intimidating MP5. They both wore assault armor, a little heavier mixture of kevlar and ballistic plating, such was the mess that had been made coming in. They were expecting resistance, it seemed, but they had only come across a scattered set of surrendering men and a woman of varying nationalities. And it made no sense, perhaps. The assault had barely lasted thirty seconds, and they were in the back of a police van within ninety, thrown into the seating and guarded by three men. It was a harrowing feeling. Neil could barely talk, the feeling of confusion and utter disorientation in his head. They weren't asking anything. They knew that they were suspicious, but in some method, Neil could guess they would be going free sooner or later. That was the agreement. Even if Jan had run off, they were cleared. The Australian worried about the Captain, and felt anger and confusion, even now, not sure how to feel. A flashbang hadn't changed his mind, and that had made his head ring out in pain, after all.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

YEAAAHHHHHHH *puts on CSI glasses*

It's fine- I can work with that :)