FourtyTwo

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Somewhere in Perth, Australia

The firing range was filled with men at the one end, armed with M14 EBR rifles, and paper targets at the other. Neil could only watch on, as he stood by the side, observing down range, watching the occsaional shots go off. Time had not been kind to him, but perhaps he'd learned something from his experiences. Much like Scott, he had been told to go off operational duty in the theater, and instead, was assigned to instruct SASR recruits, today being a marksmanship test. There had been worse, and it was the second cycle of recruits that Staff Sergeant Neil Morrison was assigned to deal with, on the range. The sound of rifle cracks, the repeated action. He looked over at the soldier in the first booth, watching as he struggled to reload. The boonie-wearing spotter walked over, pointing down at the recruit's rifle.
"You silly cunt, pull the release first!" Neil was almost atypical now, feeling good to be back in Australia, in the baking heat, not the frozen mountains. The recruit did as instructed, and flipped a new magazine in. They weren't entirely new, but the M14 was different to them, some adapting quicker than others from their traditional Austeyr platforms in the ADF. Neil didn't know what to think, following the events of what had happened. He had been in another cell, and seen Scott go away, for some sort of treatment.

He'd been everywhere, interrogated, asked questions. Then, within what he could guess was either a day or a week, something between the two from his recollection of the blackout process that they had undergone in their interrogation, he was sent back to Australia, with a strict mandate. He knew nothing, and was not a loose end anymore, that he was told. He would go into training recruits, and be told that there would never be a need for someone like him to operate. The blame was not on his shoulders, nor his fellow team-mates, bar one, Neil thought to himself. That responsibility lay with Jan. He had run with it, and he couldn't believe it. Jan had told them exactly that, and he wasn't even sure what the hell had gotten into the Pole. Perhaps he was alive, but the Australian didn't want to fully understand . Scott, he was doing something non-military, and in particular, Neil knew that Wendy had retired from the Canadian military altogether. Gone and taken leave to be a full-time mother with two daughters, and leave behind most of her past, though Neil kept in contact whenever he could, just to show that he respected her decision. Himself, he was here, and had a comfortable life, one that he could live with. Watching as the recruits fired down the range, Neil looked on at it all, the dusty facility being what he had now. Somehow, he felt good that the threat was eliminated, but he couldn't help but feel that there was worse still in the world. Problems to resolve, and no doubt, men like him would need a call once again, even if that person was not him.

------

The noise had been clear on Victoria's desk, as she picked up the phone, sipping a little on her coffee as she then suddenly dropped the mug altogether. It was a voice she didn't want to hear, and for almost over two years, had been waiting in fear of. Yet it was one that she had responsible as her loose end, and was the burn card in her operational history. It was only a matter of time, she reminded herself.
"Shit."
"You've got 12 hours to get to my co-ordinate, alone. You know who I am. Bring a team following you, you'll die, and they will too. You full well know why. We will talk, and only then will I give you what you want. 12 hours. You know the game we play." Jan disconnected the phone, and simply sat back in his bed. Victoria put her end down, the operator across the room looking over.

"We've got the trace, is that Wojtkiewicz? What the hell is he doing? We can send a team to clear him out in four hours, what's our call!?" He exclaimed, the room with around four people, under Victoria's command now abuzz. They knew what was going on.
"I'm going alone, Michael. Don't get involved. He isn't bluffing."
"How do you know? Shit, did you authorize..."
"Michael, we use who we have to if we want to remain deniable. Turns out I made the wrong call. Get me a flight, I'll have to meet him. Don't send anyone after me. I can try and talk sense into him, I'm the only person he'd listen to...if we're going to get this back, then I'm going to need to find the device. He isn't stupid. Get a camera on me and a wire."

---

Within eight hours, Jan had seen the distant figure of the female CIA operative on the ice, Jan observing as he kept himself away from windows but peering through. She wore a winter coat, and he could see her face was already more weathered than it had been last time he saw her, that much . The whole world probably knew what was going on, but Victoria had the most to lose. She had a whole deniability to maintain, and that meant nothing overtly suspicious. In her mind, Jan's disappearance had been truly a shock, after all she had done for him. It made no sense, for him to go completely off the grid, and now, this resurgence had changed everything. The Pole's left arm was a little frail, due to the nature of the wound he had suffered, but he could still move it, as he opened the door and then took a seat at the table.

Jan looked on, the door open as he waited inside, the Glock on the table, pointing at the door. Victoria walked in, her own P226 raised, precisely at Jan's forehead. The Pole laughed, shaking his head. She wouldn't dare.
"Now, now. Let's be civilized about this, you know how this will work. You want something, and you're not going to empty my brains over the walls of this place for it. Not yet, Victoria." Jan simply said, as she lowered the gun, looking at Jan coldly, taking a seat across the table from him, putting her gun on the table.
"You piece of shit, you took a fucking nuclear device! Are you fucking insane?"
"Insanity is subjective. I find it fucking insane that you were going to try and use me as a scapegoat, hang me to fucking dry. You think I didn't know what you were trying to do?" Jan added, his English still half-decent, as he had spoken with locals in the town whenever he could, but he still had a distinct accent.
"My words were that you could escape...not with this!"
"And leave a nuclear device behind for the Danish police to pick up? And I simply walk away? We both know what my duty means, that I would never run away from it. I guess I changed my mind." Jan simply said, taking his prescription glasses off, watching Victoria closely, her face, her movements, every little thing. She was clearly looking around for the device, but Jan had it hidden from view. He had placed it inside a cabinet, right by the woodburner, and there was no trace that could seen of it. It felt strange, to finally play the person that had played him. Jan had wanted to believe it at first, but it felt strange, but somehow right. To see through it and do the right thing, the thing that he knew would stop this cycle running on with anyone else, not to the rest of his team that were left.

"So? You know my promise. And this is how you repay us?"
"Us? You mean, you. Come on, you know the reality of this situation. I should be bowing down to you right now, with all your threats. Fact is, I feel like learning a little more about why this is all going to shit. I mean, we might be both dead in the next few minutes, so let's help each other out. Firstly, how you ended up finding my team-mates in Copenhagen, and in what state. I won't recite their names, because you and I both know them too well. And the dead ones, them too."
"Fine. All of them were fine, one had a bad wound, but he was in and out of hospital. We took them all out of Danish hands, and put them through a processing center in Virginia, to see what the hell happened to you."
"And you interviewed them? Let me guess, nothing came of it. Even if something did, you probably found no trace. My flat, family, friends. None of them would know, would they?"

"About you, yes. None of them gave up anything, well, nothing meaningful. I had to hurt Zhenya, you know that? Thought he had some idea on what you were going to do, but it was a joke. That was before they told me that if the interrogator did any more damage, the Russian MVD wouldn't like us very much. So we lost track of a nuclear device, and a Special Forces operator who had been assumed to go with it. Meaning, half the CIA's assets were dedicated into looking into every failed state, every terrorist organization, to see if you'd lost your shit and sold it. What anyone with half a brain cell would do. So you're just going to sit here and chase the ghosts of your past, or are you going to do the bigger thing and end this while you can?"

"You know, that sounds about right. Half the CIA? Wow. But then again...no, you wouldn't have. Perhaps this is saving your own skin? That's why you're here, I would think. You know I'm the last link in the chain, you can silence the others, but you want me gone. The CIA operator who commissioned a Polish Special Forces Captain to prevent a nuclear disaster, and he goes rogue. I'm your deniable asset, meant to vanish when you have your use out of me. They want you off the list, and so, you're chasing every lead, every single line, to make sure you don't end up in some court when this makes light with your higher ups and suddenly your deniable op needs to become public information for an enquiry about why in particular, a Western and Russian special forces operation occured right alongside a large-scale terrorist attack on a western capital city. And it's your proof to the world to say that I was responsible. We aren't in a NATO country, we're in a non-aligned state. Authority isn't going to go far."
"I'm here on the behalf of the American government, you're to give up the device, before we have to do something we really don't like. This isn't my vendetta, it's your terms."
"Don't give me this, kurwa. It's bullshit. You know it." Jan simply retorted, sitting up a little, nodding, knowing what he had to say was clear.
"The world has changed since a couple of years ago then. ISIS, war in Eastern Ukraine. Ground forces deployed in Turkey. And that insurgency that was going to drive our world to hell, gone. I bet you would want that device. Just your little proof, justify a war against the Russians before your time runs out." He added, his words chosen specifically. He felt like it had been months in the making, every single word he put out with a venom and a spark, because he knew most of these answers anyway. He wanted Victoria to merely say them, just as confirmation, and just so he could wrap this up in his head. The Pole may have had his honor, but he had no reason to do this one last time. He knew how this ended.
"It isn't about that, Jan, you're fucking deluded, you're hanging onto a weapon of mass destruction..." She looked deep into his eyes, Jan shrugging.
"And if you happened to find a nuclear weapon, of Russian origin, in a remote cabin in Northern Sweden and bring it home, what would that say? Perhaps I know little of world politics, but it says that you have a just cause to perhaps poke the Russians even more. So that you can justify some sort of moral Crusade, and more violence. You know what? Fuck the Russians, and fuck you. Fuck your doing."
"Like I said, Jan, calm down, think about this."
"There is little to think about. You're desperate for once, the Victoria I knew would have done something far more smarter than direct confrontation. So I think I'm right, you haven't got any support, you're experiencing what it's like to deal with your past. I mean, if you were smart about it you'd want to know if it was here, for a start. You'd want to have backup, and by now, I would bet that you'd have me turned into a canoe. But it seems I was right." Jan adjusted his chair a little, looking back up as Victoria scanned the room, watching, observing for anything inside.
"Is it here, Jan?" She simply barked at him, as Jan nodded, not in a confirming way, but in a mere extension of what he wanted to ask.

"One last question. This time, I don't want a bullshit answer, like you've been feeding me. How you answer this question, decides how I act, and I feel close to giving this to you now. This isn't the point you then make some sly move on your wire and a SEAL team turns up, or else you'll lose the nuke forever. Can't see it, can you? I can see it in your mind, working away, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Where is that nuke? You don't see it. And your SEALs, the ones I bet you brought along, them too. So, tell me. Are my squadmates currently dead?"

"They're dead, they gave us no information so we dealt with them. This doesn't end with you making a reunion with them, if I told you they were alive, you'd simply tell me that was bullshit too. It was fast, if you have to know. So now, you're out of questions to ask. I suggest that while you can, you surrender. I promise, you won't need to know what hell feels like, because there's a dozen SEALs in that forest waiting for the order to put rounds through this wooden fucking cabin. Enough stalling, Jan!" She lied through her teeth and tried to assert herself, and Jan could only guess that it was her last trick. Tell him that it was all screwed, so he could give up the ghost, give up what he was doing, in the case it was going to keep them alive. That wouldn't happen.

"I'll stop stalling then." Jan added, as he snatched the Glock and emptied a round into Victoria's temple before she could even blink and fire back, putting the rest of the magazine into the area around where she sat, a couple of bullets connecting with her chest, as she fell back, unable to respond quick enough, unable to threaten Jan. It had been a bold move on her part, and perhaps she saw the Jan that had existed a few years ago, in her hurried desperation. She had been wrong, as he put the pistol down, one round left.
"I guess we can share hell together." He simply uttered, looking across, exhaling hard, his breath steaming up. She had lied on that front too. So many lies, Jan could no longer tell. His men were alive, and Jan knew that Victoria had been in a vice, perhaps Jan's counterweight of being off grid making that happen for them. Now, it was over. The last link in the chain was him.

Looking over at the dead corpse of Victoria, Jan sighed, sitting up, looking outside onto the ice, through the window. This was done. This plan could only work one way, and one way only. Perhaps they'd find out the specs of this weapon, one day they'd realize what had truly happened. And what Jan had done with one device, in the wrong hands. His hands. His blood stained hands, the Pole taking the canister from inside the cabinet, looking across his own skin. It was not severe, but radiation poisoning kicked in after you spent over two years close by to a nuclear device. It didn't matter. You only could prove a point once, and now, he prayed, he begged that whatever Scott, Wendy, Zhenya, Neil, whatever they had, it was a good life. They had to. Jan had his answers now, and those answers were enough to finish this life. Now it could end. Turning the device over, he flipped the plastic on the side of the case, looking across at the Glock on the table. Exhaling, he took the rudimental device attached to the panel, the handle one that had to be held. He took the case, and taking it in hand, walked outside, pulling on the handle, holding it in, a solid push of his thumb.

It was overriding the mechanism inside, it was arming the device, and when it went critical, it would detonate. And it would tear a hole in half the island, from Jan's knowledge, it was uninhabited here. It was going to only have one victim he knew of, and that would be him. He simply walked outside, and into the snow, taking one good look at the sunrise, the distant sunrise that was the only sun that could exist in this time of year. He didn't count time, time simply seemed to melt away. He sat down, and a single tear ran down his cheek, as he looked into the sun, his weary face no longer wanting anything more. The cold didn't matter. This life, neither. Scott said it best, Jan thought. He was like so many Eastern Europeans, suicidal and depressed, and he was particularly enslaved to righting a wrong, driven beyond any ordinary scale. But perhaps he knew truth from lies now he had seen his experiences, with the team, with everything he had done. When he had nothing to lose, Jan knew he had only one last chance to make things right.

Murdering Victoria had been wrong, but it had been the last thing he felt like doing, before he either shot himself or did this. At least, it fixed so much of his betrayal, and it made for a good exit story, the rogue Captain who was assumed to kill a CIA agent, and detonated a nuclear device on his own accord. Matching Russian statistics, probably stolen. An impossibility to most. It would send the CIA, MVD, anyone in the intelligence community into overdrive. People wouldn't add things up, it simply seemed preposterous. Not even like it was lunacy, but that someone had made some colossal error of judgement somewhere, and now, this was happening. It was exactly what he wanted. It was better than just a random occurrence. It would be confusion, and that was what people in the world reacted to best, when they needed to do something better than just inaction or terror.

The media would pick this up, probably report the nuclear detonation, and the world would go into panic. The world would demand answers, Sweden, a non-NATO member especially so. A Russian mistake, an American mistake? But people would wake up, and Jan knew that this game no longer needed to be played. Not by anyone. A game that had brought so much of the world to hell, and his own one in particular. He didn't shed another tear, as he looked down, still holding the device tight, the cold snow something he could feel vividly in his left hand for a moment. His life didn't flash before his eyes, nor did images in his head. Apart from one, one that he remembered more than anything.

It was in Bagram, the trip to the Pizza Hut. The team, munching on slices, the chilled out vibe that gave some respite from the constant operations that they'd been in. Jan was not a man of comfort, he embraced the hostilities of life. But that one moment, that one point of his life, perhaps he realized it now. It was when he was with people that he was happiest, and that those people he did everything for. And it was the one last memory he could hold, and wanted to. It was like a single suspended moment in time, not voices, just a flicker in his head. He exhaled, feeling his stomach tighten, but the rest of his body come of ease. Death felt strange, it felt weird, it felt like something that Jan could accept now. If there was a hell, he was surely going to it, he told himself. This made no sense, no more. There were too many dead too many that did not deserve to die, too many that did. And now, he had to join that list. Such was the way of a decision, from the very moment he had made it. That memory flicked. Scott. Neil. Wendy. Zhenya. How much he hated Zhenya, and how much he respected him at the same time. How much he trusted Scott, and felt it back from the Brit. The snipers, their eye from afar. All of them, they were in his mind, at that Pizza Hut. They were alive, and somewhere better than this mess. That memory was the only thing that gave Jan a smile, as the tear ran down past his stubble, in such a terrible thought. He let go of life, and the cold didn't matter anymore. Neither did any pain, any emission from the device, or any warm blood anymore, nor did the noise of the birds. It all went quiet, blurred almost, and Jan heard his own breathing, his own heartbeat, his ears then slightly ring.

He stared at the pale blue sky for one last time, taking it's depth and scale in. Jan looked at the sun, and blinked for the last time as everything suddenly turned to white.

-----------

"Breaking news just in, we are receiving reports of a large explosion in the Gulf of Bothnia...."
"....sources suggest that the blast was nuclear, and detonated in a remote area of the Swedish Holmon Islands in the northern Gulf of Bothnia. We will have rolling news reports as we gather more information..."
"We now go live to David Preston in Umea... David, what is happening within the town?"........"We can see from the shore, there's been total devastation of the southern part of the island from our view, so far there are no casualties reported but significant numbers of residents have been evacuated to the mainland. The is a strong fear, and the Swedish military has fully mobilized against any potential threat..."

"An emergency UN summit is to be called for Wednesday in Geneva, following what is widely believed to be a nuclear blast yesterday in Northern Sweden. The cause of the blast is of yet still unclear, but analysts observe that the yield matches that of a Russian PM-21 suitcase nuclear device, no longer in current use by the Russian Federation. No probable cause is currently known, but analysts suggest that this was not conducted as a test by either Russian or NATO forces in the region."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

End Music

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

Hahaha...well, Fallout 4 is a valid reason. It was a good enough post, it's up to Queen to provide you with opportunities, my involvement is minimized a little. Everyone's free to take whatever liberties you want, including Liberty! It seems like lazy GMing, but I want to see what happens when you do things on the flow- so literally, do whatever the hell you like, whatever outcome, and I'll pitch in something meaningful that may sometimes throw a spanner in the works.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

"Calm down, Kimberly. She hasn't met us yet. Ryan, you know how we roll." Ross added, chuckling as Ryan nodded, looking back at Regina.
"Not often, but it happens. It's what hype does to you. Like what the roar of a Boxer does to me. Except...well, she's more vocal about it. What's this racer like then?" The Scot added, looking over to Kimberly then back at Ryan, already inside her Abarth, chuckling.
"How you roll? You're motherfucking street racers, the terror of anything on four wheels....you'll be fine. She might be a success story, but I'd beat her, straight up. She's in the next race after, Heat 1, with us. She's scary when it comes to scraping with people, but too hot-headed. Rallycross might be about scrapes, but at the end of the day, you want your car with four wheels and most of it's pieces intact if you want to carry on racing." Ryan added, as he sipped a bit more of his drink down, Ross chuckling.

--

Some Hours Later

Stepping into the Ford, Ross took the Arai helmet off the passenger seat and slung it over his head, doing everything up as he then shut the door, key in. Hitting the ignition switch, the engine roared into life, the loud and high revving thrum of this beast reminding him what this thing did best. It was a 2.0, and while it wasn't a Cosworth, the K-Series, pinched from an old Rover, had a hell of a rev range, and a pretty remarkable power delivery. This thing threw out 250bhp, and it felt like a real rally machine, old school in the way it was. Shutting the door, Ross pulled out from the tent, driving slowly as he headed out of the general paddock area, through to the pit lane, slowly driving onto the track, to where the others were beginning to collect. It was five to 5, and this felt good. All words that needed to be said were said, Ryan and Regina were watching or getting ready, and now, Ross and Kimberly would be racing. He didn't know where she was, maybe behind, maybe in front, all he knew was, he didn't want to be late on grid.

Rally Escorts (this one being blue) had flared arches, a mean look, one that pitched itself as giving hell to whatever it was up against. That and the fact that this was so nicely controllable, it felt like dancing when this thing was going round lots of bends. Pulling up, Ross was alongside the other cars on the grid, Ross pulling up right by Samantha's side, giving a nice stare, before looking ahead. Putting the car into neutral, he leaned back, looking out on the track ahead. Tarmac, then it went to gravel, back to tarmac for a while before a short gravel section, past a difficult concrete section- the start/finish being past a chicane that would require balls to go flat with. It was five laps, six cars, one joker, one winner, no takebacks. Nothing was on the line here, not even money, this was a muck-around. Just the way Ross loved it. Sitting up in the Recaro seat a little, he watched the last few cars pull up, including Kimberly. He was on the furthest left, the perfect place to go for the Joker straight away. Putting the car into first, he kept the handbrake held and the clutch deep in, the whole car feeling mechanical. It wasn't like his Subaru, polished carbon and polished metal. This was rough, dirty, hardcore. It felt like he was moving levers, like it was a machine that Brunel would have designed. It was Industrial Revolution shit in here, and Ross couldn't say anything more about it. That he loved. No radios, nothing. Silence. This was going to be pure. Looking over, he gave a glance to where he could see Kimberly, three cars forward, three back, and everyone aware that this was going to be good. The sound of the 70s and 80s felt alive, all cars on the grid. They knew how it was going to go down. The red lights came on, as Ross gave the car some revs, as did everyone else.

--

The packing hall was getting less and less busy, people leaving after jumping throughout the day, the sun heading towards the west, slowly coming down, but not at sunset, not just yet. Yet inside the packing hall, Seb had woken up from a little sleep.

Clambering up, he walked over to where his parachute and wingsuit had been placed, up against a wall of sorts, and he began to start going through kit checks. Looking over the rig, and the wingsuit itself, smirking without half a doubt in his mind. He took the two black canisters, and inspected them over...smoke trails were always a show stopper, and he knew that Ellie had something similar. The manifest was coming up to 5:00pm, and in particular, their lift. One Cessna, a full lift of skydivers that would jump out over this dropzone, then the plane would fly to Lydden Hill. Then, the magic would happen. The Austrian had done this plenty of times, far, far too many times. But the rush never faded, not when it was the ability to say you were going to go and fucking fly.

Soundtrack

Seb took the rig up onto his shoulders, putting his feet in and strapping up. He had a red and white design on his parachute rig, similar to the colors of the Austrian flag, and had matched it with a canopy of the same color scheme, a GoPro logo also on it too. He took his wingsuit, the black and blue affair he normally rolled with, feet first, then the zipper. Extending his legs and arms out, he looked down, checking himself. He picked up his helmet, a black full face, with a GoPro mount attached to the top, looking over it. Fixing a GoPro Hero 4 to the top, he took another off the table, fixing it to his chest, and a third, for good measure, on his left wrist, near his altimeter. An audible one was inside his helmet, an a digital one always did fine for making sure he was altitude aware, something critical when you still weren't flying, but were rather gliding down to earth. It felt good to kit up, and for something like this, even better. Looking across to Ellie, and the various other skydivers, some in training, some doing some formations, and then them two. Full out lunacy, and making an entrance. Good times.
"Okay then...let's get a look." Seb took a look, watching Ellie kit up, knowing she would have checked him- they watched out for each other, and for a moment, thinking things over was worth while. After all, it didn't make sense to skimp this bit. This wasn't a stupid risk because they made sure that if anything that could go wrong didn't, going over what was going to happen. It wasn't needless, people Seb knew who had become cocky had gotten hurt when things went wrong. It was never equipment, it was always people. Almost always.

Looking over for one last time, he took his helmet to hand and headed out to the flight line after giving her a thumbs up, the sound of the plane rolling in, taxiing on the grass, was a sight for sore eyes. Flicking his earplugs in, he gave a thumbs up to Ellie, chuckling a little as he saw the manifest get ticked off, the fellow jumpers all aware of the two that were following them up. When you had more than a thousand jumps, and hundreds of BASE jumps, you were a figure to be known, but nobody was on their knees. Seb always loved that element. They were all jumpers, all going into the windy, cold void to have an ecstasy of living that nobody understood. And that mutual respect always kept his ego in check. He had more to learn, even him, with so many jumps behind him, and it felt good.

Seb led the way, clambering into the back of the Cessna and moving up to where the pilot was, sitting down by Ellie's side. The rest piled in, the cramped aircraft filled within the minute, and the side door shut, slid down. The plane taxied, along the bumpy grass runway, and came back around, turning. The hubub inside the aircraft was alive, chatting, talking, generally discussing what was going to happen. A few eyes came back to Ellie and Seb, but for the Austrian, he was in his own world. Putting his Oakleys in, he did the strap up, and then checked his helmet once again, putting it on his lap. Looking across to Ellie, he smirked, a trademark he almost had now, as he rose his voice over the noise of the loud aircraft engine.
"Don't be tempted to follow them out, we're in for a half an hour flight yet!" Seb said, patting her on the shoulder, kissing her, a little caught up in the moment, aware that he was being such a tease today. He literally could not help himself, and Seb knew it too well.

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

The helicopter pulled away, as Martin looked over, seeing the building in the distance, and Liberty's canopy only suddenly open a few hundred feet above the building, and come in fast and quick, barely even making a trace on the London skyline in her approach. However she was doing this, Martin knew that she had this in the bag, and there would be some individuals guarding the data that would find themselves severely fucked up following some time with that particular agent. Sitting in his seat again, Martin adjusted the headphones on his ears, looking out across to the front.
"Pilot, take us back, we're clear!" He gave a clear command over the comms, and the helicopter dived, quickly leaving the area as fast as it had entered it, Martin unashamedly feeling a little bit like an executive of sorts. Well, he was flying in a helicopter across the fast closing night sky of London, with little security clearances that hindered where he couldn't go.
"Cheers for the commentary, Bugcatcher; you know the drill from here on out. Whatever Liberty needs, you provide. For the duration of this op, let's have a security blankout, nobody leaves, nobody enters the top floors. Once we've got an access point for the data, you turn it inside out, and burn everything they have. Usual methods." Martin added, as he continued to look out, the AW109 flying down the Thames and headed for MI6, back to base, back so he could at least have a gander at what hopefully wasn't Bugcatcher getting too sexually aggravated at his hacking. For the moment being, he took out his phone, and patched himself into Liberty's feed, watching and observing. R&D would make the already camera into a contact lens soon, one that would provide a high level of video quality from perhaps a more first person perspective. He could already tell, that would be a fun way to infiltrate a terrorist organization once they got that working.

---

"You have too much money to play with...okay, government money, either way. I don't know how the fuck you do these things, but you clear it out however you think it works best."
Thom emerged from the car, the PDW in hand, as he moved toward the side, the grey-suited gentleman moving in around the side, setting up a position within the factory's gates and out of public view, but in a position that kept him fairly hidden.
"I'm getting fucking dirt on this thing...the cost for the Dry Cleaners better be paid for." He mumbled to himself, as he set up in position by the side of the abandoned factory, picking up a flank that the illegal occupants of this place had marked out as some sort of exfiltration route. This was a clean-up job, and it would be messy either way- getting rid of a terror cell couldn't be done any other way, not in a way that didn't involve a mountain of bureaucracy or other issues that Sierra simply didn't have time to go through. This was going to be stopped, right here, right now.
"In position, Lancaster. Go do your thing."

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

I'm going to post soon (ish).

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

The streets of Copenhagen were fading, as Jan made his way around the alley, looking around as he winced a little in pain, putting the rucksack down as he came around to the small carpark. An old Volvo 240...perfect. Taking out a strip of wickable cloth from his thermal bandit, he wrapped it around his hand and smashed in the rear window, reaching his hand inside and grabbing a hold of the release, firmly taking the catch as he let the door swing open. Getting inside, he put his head under the steering wheel and got to work on the electrics, grabbing a pair of wires and pulling them out from the ignition complex. Hotwiring was rusty to him, but it was something that he still knew the core basics of, and it seemed a little less perverse than carjacking someone. He gave the wires a simple brush, and the car's ignition ticked over, slowly, surely, but then eventually went, as he sat up. Opening the door and dragging the rucksack inside, he moaned, looking at his shoulder. He had to deal with this. He had to also deal with his own look. The beard had to go, the glasses had to go on, and he needed a new set of blood-free clothes. He had no radio, nothing at all. Apart from the Glock, he was clear. He didn't like the idea of having the handgun, but he needed it as the last option he had left, the very last one. Putting his seatbelt on, he pulled out of the parking spot, and began the drive, the drive that took him far from here.

---

Two Years Later

30th December, 2015

Somewhere on Holmön, Sweden

The winter was bitter up here, the frozen Gulf of Bothnia allowing for a bridge to be made between the remote island and the Swedish mainland, and in itself, the island felt bleaker than usual. The Holmöarna islands were for a hardy people, mainly fisheries and people who enjoyed the great outdoors more than most Swedes finding this place home, particularly in this time of year. The pines and conifers were covered in snow, and the huts were mostly left behind, the small village on the north of the island ready for another cold winter.

Yet on the south, there was a singular hut, a tiny post that Jan had been living in, for two years straight. It had been dilapidated when he first arrived, but things had changed since then. The Pole looked thinned, though still healthy in his appearance, maintaining some sort of vague physical routine. Inside, the hut was barren, bar for a bed, a stove, and a table, filling with news reports. As he walked back in through the door, everything from the prescription glasses he wore to his clean-shaven appearance and his outdoorsman's appearance drew no relation to the person he had been before. That person was dead, Jan thought to himself.

Exhaling, he threw his stuff down by the front entrance, Jan wearing a down jacket and a pair of rugged outdoors trousers, essentials in cold like this. Lobbing off his coat, he sorted through the things he'd bought back from the mainland, a walk across the ice, rather than a ferry. Nothing too out of the ordinary, it was cold but it was not demanding, not after last winter had adapted him. Jan took his flint steel from the tbale and lit the woodburner, throwing it into the small pile of logs he had made, before sitting down on his bed. He reached over and took out the phone, his fourth in a year, just to cycle through any traces or tracks that could ever arise- not that he expected anything. It had been a long time, but one thing still remained. He didn't know how much it emitted, but he knew it was live. The device was in the corner, the lead casing around the metal cylinder, and Jan knew it couldn't go back. Not a chance.

The phone switched on, as he accessed onto the internet, aware that it could easily compromise his position, yet he had to check up on the state of the world. As much as he enjoyed being isolated, he had been watching the world, and wanted to know what was going on. Just to keep up with the state of affairs. Scrolling through, he went onto BBC News, flicking through. He didn't know how much he had changed. His cold thumb flicked through the main page on the smartphone, as he looked on.

"140 Killed in Suicide Attack in Mosul"

"'Ceasefire Broken' in Eastern Ukraine, OECD Reports"

But there was one headline, one that at least seemed to semi-justify something inside of Jan. It wasn't a smile he cracked, it wasn't a frown either.

"TIAF Forces Surrender to Turkish Government"

That on it's own peaked his interest, as he took a closer look, scrolling through the first body of text on the article.

"The terrorist group, TIAF, has unconditionally surrendered to Turkish forces in the early hours of yesterday morning following heavy fighting, OECD observers report. The group, responsible for the terrorist attack in December 2013 in Copenhagen, was surrounded in it's strongholds in Arafat Province over the last few days by Turkish Special Forces, and reports of dangerous biological material and heavy arms have been reported to have been in their possession.

Since the events of the Christmas Eve attacks in Copenhagen in 2013, NATO and OECD pressure to oust TIAF forces from Turkey's eastern provinces has surged, and Prime Minister David Cameron has called the terrorist group a "dangerous force of radical Islam", with the pledge of British forces along with Italian, German and Danish air strikes in the area securing Turkey's dangerous eastern frontier. The group has long been assumed to be the best trained and most dangerous of Al-Qaeda and IS affiliates, and reports from both US and Russian security services report that the group was intending to create "devastating" terror attacks across Europe prior to last month's offensive. Russian intervention in January in Armenia was said to have uncovered "at least three" sites of chemical weapon development, following a devastating terror attack conducted by TIAF militants in Grozny earlier in December 2013."

Jan looked through, before switching his phone off, throwing it onto the table. He knew it was inevitable, but in some ways, knew that this was all that there was going to be. Sitting up, he looked out across the room, before then getting back up and grabbing his phone. He uttered to himself, trying to remember. It hit him, almost as well as it had a few years ago. Taking his phone back into his cold hands, he dialled. He hoped she was still at the same desk, because Jan had one last thing he wanted to do. He wasn't dying until he gave one last look into Victoria's eyes, and laughed at her. Not till then.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

I think I might carry it on, Skyth is fine if I go on without his post. I'll make my post, then everyone can kind of make their last- where you place your characters is completely up to you, in the aftermath of it all.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

Ross chuckled, looking over at Kimberly, her charming nature never letting up today, it seemed.
"Creamsicle, you say. I'd still take it any day, that thing is serious vintage. Italian, but it's got rally cred." Ross added, looking over the cream coloured Fiat, with a couple of RSD decals slapped on, looking mean- the inside had been gutted, but it had been race-ified, as had all the rest of the cars. Looking across, and at the keys he held in his hand for the BMW, he wondered. It was a good looking car, the blue E30 looking seriously mean. Under the hood, maybe 280bhp, if not more. It was a special car, built not only to do rally, but for touring and general hoonage. Yet looking at the keys again, then back at the car, Ross had to only think to himself. It wouldn't be right. It was too good to be true, and somehow, he didn't like the idea of taking it. Maybe he was an idiot, because at that moment, he made his choice.
"Tell you what though. I don't want the Beemer. Shit, I can't believe I'm saying this. Thanks, but I think I'm going with that Escort." He added, as he threw the key back onto the table right next to the BMW, walking up to the Ford, the blue and black painted rally classic sitting there, perhaps something that had beyond caught the eye of Ross.
"I had a go in something not too different from this in Perthshire, it's revvy and it's not difficult to control on dirt, it's a joy. That BMW might be fast on tarmac, but it's a handful off it- and not in a fun way. Doesn't like sudden acceleration, it's too tail happy. I might be a BMW person, but this is too good to pass up." Ross added, as he looked under the bonnet of the Mk2 Escort, before making his way around to the front. Carbon-Fiber coated dash, most of it was also gutted and filled with a rollcage, and apart from the K-Series engine under the bonnet, the Rover engine being usually thrown into Mk2s like this to boost the power output, as well as offer a higher rev range. That, or a Millington engine usually went in- the modern equivalent able to roar to 11,000 comfortably, Ross remembering well that both this and the 131 Abarth both screamed well when they were at higher revs. Looking over for one last time, looking under and at the general rear of the car, he nodded, before looking back at Kimberly.
"Come on then, bae. Let's get ourselves signed up."

Looking around, he headed back to the office, just through on the other side, and saw the receptionist, Beatrice, waiting. She was maybe a 40-something, definitely a woman that seemed to be weathered to an atmosphere like this- a local of sorts.
"Hi, we're here for the Rallycross Classics?" Ross asked, as he looked over to Kimberly, then back at Beatrice, who gave a simple nod before she replied. Beatrice had a fairly neutral look, but the general glowing demenour of anyone having to work admin in a place like this.
"Hello...yep, Ross Hartley and Kimberly Hartley? Ryan mentioned you both, you're entered into that event." Ross looked over to Kimberly, before then back.
"It's Hartley-Rossi, but that's the one. We're taking the Escort and 131, if that's alright." He replied, a little awkward in the way he had to correct that, but he carried on, none the less.
"Okay...that should be fine. So, if I could have you sign this paperwork..."

----

Some paperwork later, and Ross, Kimberly, Regina and Ryan were all in the paddock by Regina and Ryan's Fiestas, the noise of other cars blaring outside, the warm summer day still taking a hold of this part of Kent, as Ryan sipped down a little more Monster, listening to Ross.
"So anyway, we get to this warehouse, like it's a fucking old-school 90s warehouse rave but with cars, everything from riced 106s to hypercars, you should have seen it. They then start running a race, plus there's this girl that was rolling in a RWB Porsche 911 that comes along, I shit you not. No idea how much she tuned that straight six but she was rolling with me and Kimberly all the way through this stuff, like I mentioned earlier."
"Seriously? RWB got a branch over here? I heard the work they did on 911s is insane, the panel work is so precise, it's crazy." Ryan replied, looking over
"Well, it's one of a kind work, I haven't seen anything like it on a 911. I like mine untouched, do it like Magnus Walker if you're going to make a 911 look cool." Ross added, as he took a can of Monster off the table, a little warmer as it wasn't straight from the fridge, but still worth a swig anyway.
"Damn, at this rate, you're going to be sponsored by Monster, you've got a cooler and everything." Ross laughed, as Ryan shrugged, looking at Regina.
"Well, she's not a fan, what can I say. Different crowd, but at least she doesn't drink Rockstar. That shit melts my mouth." Ryan gave a simple nod back, as he put his own can down, looking over at the car once again, then back to Ross and Kimberly.
"I can't believe nobody took that Renault, or that BMW for that matter."
"I don't do French cars, Ryan..."
"But it's a mid-engined 80s beast!"
"Still French. And anyway, I saw that Escort and couldn't take my eyes off it. Nothing like a fast Ford."
"You got me on that one, they are sweet as anything. They'll be faster off the line than your Scoobie, or Skyline for that matter, Kimberly. Top end isn't as good though." Ryan added, looking over as the two engineers headed off, doing some diagnostics on a couple of laptops on the other side of the makeshift tent garage, going over any last data sets before they got a practice run in.

-----

Seb looked over, pulling out a beanie from his trouser pocket, slinging the light blue beanie over his shaved head, before putting the phone down.
"I don't want to scream at a camera for a living, I like the wind to do that for me..." He added, chuckling, as he sat up again, shaking his head at her pun.
"Just don't, Ellie. It's so bad." He added, kissing her on the forehead as he clambered up, heading to the door, going to take a look at the scene outside. It was still glorious, and the weather didn't look like it was going to change any time soon. The sight of parachutes, or canopies above could be seen, a load that had been sent up it seemed. Walking onto a patch of grass, he sat down and looked up, taking a good long look, as he took a photo on his phone, before then looking over to Ellie. Sitting back up, he notioned for her to sit down by him, as he got the phone's camera up, flicking the view. He took a selfie of himself and Ellie, a distinct smirk on his face as he looked over.
"What? I thought we might as well." He added, kissing her on the cheek, smiling at her with a distinct beam.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

The Scot hugged Kimberly, the embrace strong as he could only feel good, happy to see her come back, without a whole host of cops or her in a prison.
"Thank fuck you came, Kimberly. Just stay safe...that was a step too far." He said, shaking his head, looking over at Joanne, giving a half-smile before turning back to Kimberly.
"We used to be able to do this, but we've got Mia to look after. We can't carry on, not when the heat is that strong. They're taking the piss now, we drove onto an active airport and people still bat eyelids. We're lucky not to be in prison for years for what we did, that was insane." Ross added, acutely aware that he was the one that enjoyed it the most, the law breaking, the rule bending, the speed. But something had hit him, like he had realized just how close it was, and how much he wanted to protect Kimberly. Once, he could do this, on his own, no risks. But now he had a baby to look after, and her mother would have gone to prison if she hadn't have been so good behind the wheel. He could take whatever risks he wanted, but he wanted Mia to have a father to look after her, even if he was a street racer, taking mad risks. This could only go on so long, he told himself, the adrenaline rush was great and the speed was unbeatable, but it was going to have to be cut out, or at least, done in some way that wasn't as risky as that. It wasn't a crew anymore, it was just lunacy.

Ross clambered back into the Impreza after the plates were changed, the classic beast rumbling as the Boxer came alive, Ross only happy that the two were back. Putting some Chilled Music on, he drove out of the layby slowly, following Kimberly and Joanne. The 911 roared, as they took it slower, heading on the Kentish A Roads, off the M2 and A2 towards Lydden Hill, on the other side of this long county. It was a long way, and the roads were virtually empty, no traffic at all, this being a nice, chilled out journey.

It took about an hour and a half, due to the slower route they took, going through villages and hooning it on single-laned roads, Xenon lights and the winding tracks giving all three a good run for their money, and it was a good run, after all the madness of London. It felt good to be away from it all, and Ross felt happy, at least, content that it wasn't going to be as dangerous as that again, not for a little while at least. He couldn't help but feel that despite the whole surge of the moment, there hadn't really been a point to the race. They'd done it for the hell of it, and it felt like there was nothing on the line for all the risk. Not like Dubai, where they made the delivery and made their money, it felt like it was simply jailbait, a free prison sentence for no point whatsoever. It wouldn't be fun to explain to his cellie he wasn't in on a beef that involved some sort of drugs or violence, but a souped up Impreza, that much he knew. And he knew Kimberly couldn't go to prison, no matter what, he would not let that happen. Maybe he was a flawed soul, but she couldn't follow him into the worst of what he did, Ross only thought to himself.

-----------

Part Five: Crossing Paths
Lydden Hill (Rallycross)

The Next Day
1pm

Waking up in the small caravan, Ross could hear the noise of engines, as he looked across at the clock. He'd stumbled in here the night before, Kimberly going some other way, and it had an effect on him- he had completely lost track of time, and slept in.
"Fuck." He only threw himself out of bed, and grabbed whatever clothes he could, going with a pair of thermals underneath a predominantly black Sparco racing suit, heading out. Kimberly had been thrown into a different tent, and he was quick to find her, looking in as he saw her just nod off. He hated himself when he did this, but he had to, one way or another.
"Kimberly...babe, sorry I missed you last night." He said, as he clambered down, crawling into the small tent, kissing her on the cheek, looking over at the phone.
"Chatted to Maria? Crap...I wanted to really see Mia too. Oh well, I'm sure she's busy with other things. You okay?" He asked, looking across, aware he'd made a bit of a goof. Still, he was sure she could forgive her, and he'd probably make it up to her at some point later in the day, that much he could say.
"We should probably go and meet Ryan in a moment."

----------

Ryan looked over the sight of the cars in the makeshift garage, under a large white tent, with a couple of mechanics working away on the two Ford Fiesta STs, both equipped with Olsbergs bodykits and up to FIA standards for Rallycross. They weren't in the Global RX or anything along those lines, but when it came to one-off events, this was an opportunity to make a little money, in a highly-setup event. They both had 550bhp, and barely weighed over a ton, with the 0-60 of these cars being simply insane. They were set with short gearboxes, and while they wouldn't fly over 130, there was no need, even at a fast RX circuit such as Lydden Hill- acceleration and instantaneous power were key, and with the anti-lag and turbochargers installed, they could provide that. It was shocking just how quick they were- and on dirt, it felt even more insane to experience. 0-60 in just over a couple of seconds, on gravel, was like being strapped to a rocketship. And he was a local boy, being from Canterbury- this was his local race circuit, even closer to Brands Hatch, so being able to go around in a rallycross-spec Ford felt incredible, even beating the nice amount of money that came from coming along to the Invitational. There were a lot of analysts here, most of these cars prepped in a manner for the 2016 season, and it generally felt like a good place to make a good racing weekend happen.

The cars were lined in a white and blue livery, sponsored by Sparco, the two both identical, apart from the window stickers in the rear quarter, of their respective surnames on each respective car. It didn't look too dissimilar from the M-Sport WRC livery, albeit with a greater focus on the blue, and the lack of Ford logos. A couple of engineers worked on the cars, currently sitting under Ryan's, taking a look at the suspension attached. He'd given it a go earlier, and while Ryan hadn't done anything to it, he felt the rear was a little too soft, just not sturdy enough to hold in the corners and keep stability. Ryan's Simpson race suit was a matching white and blue, his helmet sitting on the roof of his car, the Simpson X Bandit, the one that he always used in racing- hooked up with a Stillo radio system.

Ryan smirked, as he looked over at the two cars once more, peering over at the couple of stone-scratches that sat on the side panels of the bodywork, cutting a little into the paint, as he then stood up.
"These are fucking awesome. I'm tempted to go into RX full-time, they are mindblowingly fast." He said, as he looked around the garage, taking a seat on a plastic chair by the side of his Fiesta, grabbing a can of Monster and sipping it down, looking across to Regina.
"And hey, Ross and Kimberly should be here. Crazy guys, they were racing in London. Illegally. Should be good to see them again." Ryan added, as he slurped a bit more of the energy drink down, as he saw a distinct pair walk around the corner of the white vehicle tent.

Ross walked in, Kimberly by his side. Ryan turned to see the pair, both in their race suits, as he smirked at them both.
"Ah, speak of the devil. Good to see ya, Ross." Ryan added, walking over as he hugged the Scot, Ross chuckling a little, as he looked over.
"Likewise. Anyway, you said that there's racing to be had?" He asked the Southerner, as Ryan nodded, looking around.
"Indeed, we've got an Invitational Rallycross event. With me being the second placed FIA GT3 Europe driver and some experience of rallycross means they wanted us here. Plus I live down the road in Canterbury. Just a one-off, but a bit of cash to keep the job search going, you know." He added, as he looked outside, the clear sky and mid-day beating down.
"So, you want to see what you'll be driving? I'll leave it to you to fight over what you're going to have, but it's a really good selection." Ryan added, as he nodded to the two to follow behind, keeping an eye on Regina and seeing if she'd come along.
"Sure."

Walking a couple of tents down the paddock, the sight of the scale of this event was simply awesome to see. There was going to be a party, clearly- this part of the paddock was for all the vehicles, which were passing in and out occasionally by the barriers, but beyond this, there was a couple of festival tents set up, some with sponsors and some with music, fans crowding around to see some of the other warm-up events going on here.
"Anyway, here's the choice. Take your pick. Ford Escort Mk2, Fiat 131 Abarth, BMW E30 M3. Oh, and that Renault 5 Turbo, the driver said he can't come down this weekend so we have the keys for it. ALl with rollcage, all fairly similar in power to weight ratios, all up for the Classics Event that's on tonight at 5pm. We've got a Warm-Up heat going on ourselves at 6, your race is four laps, on the full circuit. Since a few people didn't show up, it's just one heat for you- our Final is tomorrow morning, and it's going to be...fucking mental." Ryan simply said, the small tent packed with various classic cars, from Opel Mantas to Metro 6R4s to even an old-school Ford Capri, kitted out for rally. The four looked mean, right at the end of the tent, and looked well maintained. They were fitted with off-road tyres, and apart from the safety modifications, were almost untouched, apart from the Ford which had clearly been refitted with a K-Series Rover engine, to deliver a higher redline, and had the bonnet open.
"As you can tell, you got really lucky. If I could, I'd be racing that Beemer, but we've got other racing to do. So, I'll leave you to it- just let Beatrice in the office know which one you'll go with, you're signed up but they don't know what car so let them know. They'll lend you the keys afterwards, and the car's yours for the day. There's a brief on at 3pm, just laying down the rules and all."
"And this is why I don't race for my living...I prefer a lack of rules, fastest built car and all. Aye, that's where it's at." Ross added, as Ryan chuckled.
"Maybe, but I prefer not getting arrested, you know?"
"True, I suppose you have that on your side." Ross digressed, as Ryan shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, whatever goes- but we party just as hard, so you aren't missing out by coming here. You probably saw it, but they've got the Ferris Wheel set up, fireworks too, massive fucking party. It's going to be sweet. I can't drink, but you can knock yourselves out after you're done." Ryan added, as Ross nodded, looking about the cars.

The Ford was colored blue, as was the BMW, the Fiat a bland yellow-orange, while the Renault was in a matt black, the pack of cars ranging from the mid 70s to the late 80s, but all classics in their own right. RWD, all delivering around 250 to 300bhp, though weight of course, made this all relative. They were closely contested, and Ross was finding it difficult to choose, as he looked around.
"That sounds mental, Ryan. These cars, they're all really good. Tell you what, I have an idea. Kimberly, how about you make the first choice? I might as well be the gentleman here." He said, hugging her, kissing her on the cheek as Ryan cringed a little inside, knowing that the two were so close, just reminding him in a funny way of how single he was right now. Him and Regina were good friends, but he had never even considered it- and didn't really want to, knowing it wouldn't ever work in a million years. But from his perspective, the Scottish lad that he knew since they first met, three years ago back at Knockhill at a racing meet, that he had gone from being just a street racer and someone who liked fast cars and working on them to a real four-wheel tarmac terrorist, being able to do some seriously fast things. It had been a good friendship, that much could be said, and after Ross had met Kimberly, Ryan could only tell that the two had good things ahead- even if it was a little weird to see them hug right here.

--------

Headcorn Aerodrome, Kent

The scene was abuzz, the sight of planes taking off and landing a thing to see, and the whole day had gone fairly quick. Various Cessnas, some with skydivers, some without. But here, a particular two were looking over, rather inconspicuously. Seb sat about, the black T-shirt he wore and shorts showing he was a little casual outside of his jumping gear, which seemed about right for a place like this. The vibe was busy, tandems going through, and other jumpers getting themselves set up, but it was clear, that the two fliers were here.

From within the packing hall, the sight of the couple of clouds in the sky that could be seen just out the door. Packing was a difficult thing to learn, but for Seb, it had become something of a naturality, automatic, as he finished up, pulling the closing loop through. Putting the white and red rig aside, he looked over to his female companion, his girlfriend and fellow jumper, sitting down as he watched her pack.
"This is gonna be good. Weather is still forecast to be excellent, we got one good jump in together at least. But this demo is going to be even better. Them flying us out, we go with smoke, straight into the party." Seb said, as he put his Oakleys back on, leaning back on the mat. Today, they'd already jumped once, but the demo at Lydden Hill felt even better, being an evening drop. A sunset lift, and they were going to wingsuit in before deploying, bring the spectacle to the party, something that meant the jump ticket was paid for as a result.
"Should we call up and tell them to have shots ready for us as soon as we land?" He added, chuckling as he pulled out his phone, swiping through YouTube, going onto their page.

"TheWingman" and more specifically, the video titled "Lyngen Alps SkiBASE- Close Call!" were what he was looking for. The Austrian was a little more serious with the titling than Ellie could be, but still though, their channel had gotten a serious hit in views from that video, plus Ellie's sub-channel bringing in a hell of a lot of views. Right now, it was pushing 50,000, and the comments ranged from "It looks like greenscreen!" to "I want to do this one day!". All exited and crazed comments, but to Seb, it was a good run and he liked to tease the internet with stuff like this. Living a life less ordinary, as he watched the edited footage, beginning from the top of the ski run. He could see the beginnings of the avalanche and the winding route, using Ellie's footage too, both of them in view as they headed down from the switches of cameras, before it came to the point that they ditched the skis and took flight, the view of the rushing snow hurtling over the cliff from Seb's helmet-mounted rear facing camera catching just how epic an escape it was. Flying down, he had everything to the beach, and per Ellie's request, made sure that nothing of their romp was in there. It didn't get old, and here at this DZ, they knew full well that these were the two that had pulled it off.
Seven Lions played throughout, and while it was no Sail, it just went well with the whole thing, Seb thought to himself. Flicking through, he turned to Ellie once again, just thinking back to it all.
"We're not YouTube celebrities yet, but we're racking up the views, right?"

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

Parts:

Part One: Pole Position
Part Two: Horsepower
Part Three:
Windchill
Part Four: Night Work

Part Five: Crossing Paths