FourtyTwo Member
STATUS: 10+ years of an RP idea, finally finished, on 10.10.2025. Goodnight Raven Squad, you were the best, wildest, most silly near future SOF RP that lived on the guild, and you got a worthy send off :) 9 mos ago
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10+ years of an RP idea, finally finished, on 10.10.2025. Goodnight Raven Squad, you were the best, wildest, most silly near future SOF RP that lived on the guild, and you got a worthy send off :)
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Bio
I've RP'd for the best part of over 15 years now here on the Guild, and particularly like military settings, both contemporary, past and near future. I have even dabbled in a little more experimental RPs, as well as created a plethora of 1x1s over my time in the guild. I like creating RPs with a distinct flavour- and often shift between narrative-led RPs to semi-randomised plots. I've been more a GM lately than a player, and don't really lean into fandom- instead, exploring my own universes lifting themes from other source material.
My main interests are military-themed, near-future RPs, with a focus on technology. But I'm beginning to push what that RP idea looks like- taking inspiration from lots of media and focussing on the fun, indulgent side of RP, whilst also exploring the lows and emotional side.
roleplayerguild.com/topics/190121-rav…
Raven Squad is a project over seven years in the making, and focusses on a class-based, eccentric yet half-grounded near future special forces team that acts as a response team where you can't send any special forces team in. It's incredibly dumb, incredibly loose, and yet, has delivered some of my favourite plot points in RPG. A brainless action flick a la John Wick and Kingsman meets a complex thriller with a fun left turn in it, Raven has been the culmination of over a decade of loving special forces RPG, gaming influences and other silliness in a package that has provided players with something quite different to a normal military themed RPG. While at an end, this is an RP that is a signature- it's silly as hell, takes itself barely seriously, and is what peak fun military RPG to me should be.
roleplayerguild.com/topics/192916-del…
Delta Hyper is a love letter to Wipeout, F1's Drive to Survive (Netflix) and contemporary Formula One, with influences from solarpunk, cyberpunk, transhumanism and other posthumanist concepts. An RP that follows pilots in their ups and downs, it's a story that hasn't got me playing an actual character, but framing the camera at each pilot (played by others), and presenting it as if it were a documentary. Lifting elements from TTRPG, this is a Racing RPG like no other and no parallel exists- using dice rolls and randomisation, with a stats-driven system to generate race results, rather than actually RPing the races, players experience the fast-paced, dynamic world of anti-gravity racing. This means that come Qualifying and Race, the results are genuinely a surprise to everyone- and based on decisions made through dilemmas and decisions made between races. Friendships, rivalry, the glamour and even a little political undertone play out in 2094, in a colourful, utopian future that focuses on the fight to take first place.
roleplayerguild.com/topics/196931-tac…
Then there's Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex. First use of any set IP as a formal setting, this is an RP that offers a darker mirror to Raven Squad, focussing on the other side of the equation- unlikely heroes in an uncomfortable position. I don't normally do fantasy, but the world, the lore, the feeling of the characters and the ability to write a comedy just was too difficult to pass up. An RP that focuses on a group running away from a variety of threats as wanted mercenary wizards in the middle of a post-revolution, Eastern-Europe adjacent 1990s to present Polavia.
roleplayerguild.com/topics/197399-dis…
Lastly, Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont. This is another IP-adjacent world, albeit drawing on a different setting and a new cast of superheroes. As my "first" proper superhero RP, this combines workplace comedy, a Storyteller-lite system and a fun, diverse, and large cast together in a dynamic, diverse setting.
I'm pretty flexible and try and get back to people on ideas and responses, but sometimes, I may become very busy and it will take some time till I am un-busy. I aim to clear posts within a week!
My main interests are military-themed, near-future RPs, with a focus on technology. But I'm beginning to push what that RP idea looks like- taking inspiration from lots of media and focussing on the fun, indulgent side of RP, whilst also exploring the lows and emotional side.
roleplayerguild.com/topics/190121-rav…
Raven Squad is a project over seven years in the making, and focusses on a class-based, eccentric yet half-grounded near future special forces team that acts as a response team where you can't send any special forces team in. It's incredibly dumb, incredibly loose, and yet, has delivered some of my favourite plot points in RPG. A brainless action flick a la John Wick and Kingsman meets a complex thriller with a fun left turn in it, Raven has been the culmination of over a decade of loving special forces RPG, gaming influences and other silliness in a package that has provided players with something quite different to a normal military themed RPG. While at an end, this is an RP that is a signature- it's silly as hell, takes itself barely seriously, and is what peak fun military RPG to me should be.
roleplayerguild.com/topics/192916-del…
Delta Hyper is a love letter to Wipeout, F1's Drive to Survive (Netflix) and contemporary Formula One, with influences from solarpunk, cyberpunk, transhumanism and other posthumanist concepts. An RP that follows pilots in their ups and downs, it's a story that hasn't got me playing an actual character, but framing the camera at each pilot (played by others), and presenting it as if it were a documentary. Lifting elements from TTRPG, this is a Racing RPG like no other and no parallel exists- using dice rolls and randomisation, with a stats-driven system to generate race results, rather than actually RPing the races, players experience the fast-paced, dynamic world of anti-gravity racing. This means that come Qualifying and Race, the results are genuinely a surprise to everyone- and based on decisions made through dilemmas and decisions made between races. Friendships, rivalry, the glamour and even a little political undertone play out in 2094, in a colourful, utopian future that focuses on the fight to take first place.
roleplayerguild.com/topics/196931-tac…
Then there's Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex. First use of any set IP as a formal setting, this is an RP that offers a darker mirror to Raven Squad, focussing on the other side of the equation- unlikely heroes in an uncomfortable position. I don't normally do fantasy, but the world, the lore, the feeling of the characters and the ability to write a comedy just was too difficult to pass up. An RP that focuses on a group running away from a variety of threats as wanted mercenary wizards in the middle of a post-revolution, Eastern-Europe adjacent 1990s to present Polavia.
roleplayerguild.com/topics/197399-dis…
Lastly, Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont. This is another IP-adjacent world, albeit drawing on a different setting and a new cast of superheroes. As my "first" proper superhero RP, this combines workplace comedy, a Storyteller-lite system and a fun, diverse, and large cast together in a dynamic, diverse setting.
I'm pretty flexible and try and get back to people on ideas and responses, but sometimes, I may become very busy and it will take some time till I am un-busy. I aim to clear posts within a week!
Most Recent Posts
Hmm, I suppose you can join in, since I'd like to keep the numbers hovering around five. Though that said, CTRG is restrictive to NATO, and as much as I'd like to have a Singaporean character, I don't know how it could work due to factors and all. You could get around this by having a half-Singaporean, half-British character if it's anything, as I got around it with Huscarl (Half Icelandic, Half Scots). What sort of role would you like- we've already got an Assistant Automatic Rifleman, but I reckon you'd be good to take an Explosives Specialist/Rifleman, and for the love of God, don't use a SCAR- that shit's overused in this RP now (cough cough use an MX/MSBS) :D Mail me for any equipment and the like you might want to configure for that role.
Not really up for this CS, I'm afraid, since it doesn't fit. I mean, CTRG is the ELITE, not the regulars, and the story seems way to implausible. First Generation SCARs wouldn't be used, and that's not even the start of it...I mean, you've given absolutely no reason for why he's in CTRG in the first place, or any fitting development on what the hell he really does well in terms of working with a team. If you look at the other CSes, there's a trend they tend to follow in this RP. If you'd like, edit that extensively and I'll come back, but till then, there's not a chance I can accept that CS, since there's just no place for a soldier like that or any real grounding.
Natalie's eyes turned slowly, but almost in a split second, the world was on fire. Her heart paced, everything had switched. From watching Victor about to dole out damage, to something else. She knew there was only one thing she could do, watching as Victor took the shot. She almost screamed in terror, then realizing what had happened. He had been hit in the wrong place for that sniper, and he would stand up from that shot, he had enough mass between his internals and that 7.62mm round. Tough bastard, she reminded herself- but that wasn't enough. In her bottom of her right trouser leg Spetsnaz shovel sat, a weapon that she knew was quite quickly accessible, sheathed in the fabric. One side was sharp, the other blunt as a baseball bat, but enough in her hands to smash somebody's skull in. And as Victor clambered up, his warpainted face exploding in a rage, Natalie got the look that what was about to happen couldn't be stopped by even a tank shell. Victor was going to kill some fuckers, and Natalie had all the pleasure.
The shovel slipped into her hand, knowing full well that if she was going down, she wasn't going down like this. She clasped the blade in her right hand, her fingers like fishooks as she flung it towards a man holding a Negev MG, going right for the back of the head, as she herself gave no caution to the wind, and erupted with a pace, aware that this was war. The shovel buried itself into his skull, shattering through- it was razor sharp in it's throw, and Natalie knew that the weighting and composition of the Shovel had been perfect for her- it felt like a brick to most people in weight, but to her, it was like a stiletto, but chunkier. The man's skull was almost halved, as it brought him down, Natalie charging and skidding on the tarmac as she went for his Negev, the Israeli 7.62mm LMG something that she was surprised to see here- but something that she had vague practice with. She pulled the shovel out and kept it loosely in her hand, holding the weapon at the shoulder with a instictive and bloodthirsty rage triggered, as something felt as if it tripped a nerve, like you had gone ahead and done something to Natalie that had made her very, very angry. It wasn't as wholly unstoppable like Victor's charge, but it was a moment of pure focus, of pure, dedicated and total concentration of how to kill every, single motherfucker that held a weapon in their hands by any means needed. The bodycount was just one for her, but she wanted more, to end this violence and make them pay.
Instead of firing on civilians, Natalie clambered up, her whole 7 feet two inches, and began spraying towards the contacts near Victor, giving a loud wolf whistle as she knew Victor was knee-deep in kicking the hell out of those bastards. They had a lot more the clear, and the world was still on fire, the Metro stations burning and the whole area in total disaray, with gunmen and anarchy kicking up. She didn't realize it, but as she sprayed down almost five of the men, almost running and moving with the LMG like it was a paperweight compared to her M134, she had taken at least six 9mm rounds all over, and the blood was slowly going over her plaid shirt, something clear that was noticeable from a mile out. But this Russian wasn't going down that easily, and she knew that they had to get this done. She tossed the weapon away as the chamber went click, the LMG fully empty now.
Pushing up, she moved to Victor, cautious as she knew that at least ten were gone now, a sizable majority due to Victor and Natalie's efforts as well as the one or two police that had fired a shot or two off. She tossed her shovel into a man that was just in front of Victor, attempting to go for his weapon, before throwing herself down on the ground with him, where it looked like he had spent a good amount of time really handing it to those who had just opened fire. She looked over, looking at the bullet wound in his chest, as she checked her own, taking her shirt off to inspect the wounds below her ribs and two in her shoulder.
"Shit, how you and I are not dead is the question- I'll leave that to the doctors to explain. Come on, get a gun off these fuckers, we need to counterattack. We're big targets, but we're faster than they think, and trust me, painkillers always solve everything later Victor." Natalie said, letting her shirt down, aware that despite the fact that this was the worst time to do such a thing, that it was probably better in the case any more bullets brought cloth into the wounds and really hurt her. That and the fact that she didn't care right now, some sort of Amazonic tale, meant that Natalie did not care. It was her bra, her trousers and a now retrieved AN-94 with a PKA-S Holographic Sight from the floor which sat in her bare hands, and from a distance, it looked as if the duo weren't going to go down easily.
Natalie moved up, sliding into cover as she knew that the terrorists had by now identified that Victor and his girlfriend were up and running. The former was scary to everyone- the big WSM competitor, but the people that had hit the deck after Victor and Natalie's courage to take out the remaining enemies were astounded that the two were throwing themselves in the line of fire.
"Everyone, keep your heads down!" Natalie yelled loudly in French, at the tourists, many looking directly at the two as Natalie looked at Victor.
"Shit, we need to stop this madness...I say we kill as many of them as we can on this street, secure the civilians in a safe building and hold for as long as we can. This is big alright." Natalie said over the noise of the gunfire, her position behind the concrete post being occasionally bitten into, as she looked over at him. In the heat of it all, there was no point denying that Natalie really looked as if she was truly an Amazon with some sort of undeniable cleavage and a very stern warface, her usually reserved thick arms and legs now at full pent in making themselves useful and, and that for Victor's warpaint and size, she was the antidote to fight alongside him. She turned the corner, taking two enemies systematically with the two-round bursts, the 1000 RPM shots decimating the two, Natalie's familiarity with this weapon almost completely trusting, turning back as she felt the mag go dry. She clipped a new magazine in that she had picked up earlier, looking at Victor.
"Right, two options. Either you cover me, and I spray up those three over there, or you follow me to hell Victor." Natalie said, knowing that there was almost a slight inclination to the latter, as she readied to move.
The shovel slipped into her hand, knowing full well that if she was going down, she wasn't going down like this. She clasped the blade in her right hand, her fingers like fishooks as she flung it towards a man holding a Negev MG, going right for the back of the head, as she herself gave no caution to the wind, and erupted with a pace, aware that this was war. The shovel buried itself into his skull, shattering through- it was razor sharp in it's throw, and Natalie knew that the weighting and composition of the Shovel had been perfect for her- it felt like a brick to most people in weight, but to her, it was like a stiletto, but chunkier. The man's skull was almost halved, as it brought him down, Natalie charging and skidding on the tarmac as she went for his Negev, the Israeli 7.62mm LMG something that she was surprised to see here- but something that she had vague practice with. She pulled the shovel out and kept it loosely in her hand, holding the weapon at the shoulder with a instictive and bloodthirsty rage triggered, as something felt as if it tripped a nerve, like you had gone ahead and done something to Natalie that had made her very, very angry. It wasn't as wholly unstoppable like Victor's charge, but it was a moment of pure focus, of pure, dedicated and total concentration of how to kill every, single motherfucker that held a weapon in their hands by any means needed. The bodycount was just one for her, but she wanted more, to end this violence and make them pay.
Instead of firing on civilians, Natalie clambered up, her whole 7 feet two inches, and began spraying towards the contacts near Victor, giving a loud wolf whistle as she knew Victor was knee-deep in kicking the hell out of those bastards. They had a lot more the clear, and the world was still on fire, the Metro stations burning and the whole area in total disaray, with gunmen and anarchy kicking up. She didn't realize it, but as she sprayed down almost five of the men, almost running and moving with the LMG like it was a paperweight compared to her M134, she had taken at least six 9mm rounds all over, and the blood was slowly going over her plaid shirt, something clear that was noticeable from a mile out. But this Russian wasn't going down that easily, and she knew that they had to get this done. She tossed the weapon away as the chamber went click, the LMG fully empty now.
Pushing up, she moved to Victor, cautious as she knew that at least ten were gone now, a sizable majority due to Victor and Natalie's efforts as well as the one or two police that had fired a shot or two off. She tossed her shovel into a man that was just in front of Victor, attempting to go for his weapon, before throwing herself down on the ground with him, where it looked like he had spent a good amount of time really handing it to those who had just opened fire. She looked over, looking at the bullet wound in his chest, as she checked her own, taking her shirt off to inspect the wounds below her ribs and two in her shoulder.
"Shit, how you and I are not dead is the question- I'll leave that to the doctors to explain. Come on, get a gun off these fuckers, we need to counterattack. We're big targets, but we're faster than they think, and trust me, painkillers always solve everything later Victor." Natalie said, letting her shirt down, aware that despite the fact that this was the worst time to do such a thing, that it was probably better in the case any more bullets brought cloth into the wounds and really hurt her. That and the fact that she didn't care right now, some sort of Amazonic tale, meant that Natalie did not care. It was her bra, her trousers and a now retrieved AN-94 with a PKA-S Holographic Sight from the floor which sat in her bare hands, and from a distance, it looked as if the duo weren't going to go down easily.
Natalie moved up, sliding into cover as she knew that the terrorists had by now identified that Victor and his girlfriend were up and running. The former was scary to everyone- the big WSM competitor, but the people that had hit the deck after Victor and Natalie's courage to take out the remaining enemies were astounded that the two were throwing themselves in the line of fire.
"Everyone, keep your heads down!" Natalie yelled loudly in French, at the tourists, many looking directly at the two as Natalie looked at Victor.
"Shit, we need to stop this madness...I say we kill as many of them as we can on this street, secure the civilians in a safe building and hold for as long as we can. This is big alright." Natalie said over the noise of the gunfire, her position behind the concrete post being occasionally bitten into, as she looked over at him. In the heat of it all, there was no point denying that Natalie really looked as if she was truly an Amazon with some sort of undeniable cleavage and a very stern warface, her usually reserved thick arms and legs now at full pent in making themselves useful and, and that for Victor's warpaint and size, she was the antidote to fight alongside him. She turned the corner, taking two enemies systematically with the two-round bursts, the 1000 RPM shots decimating the two, Natalie's familiarity with this weapon almost completely trusting, turning back as she felt the mag go dry. She clipped a new magazine in that she had picked up earlier, looking at Victor.
"Right, two options. Either you cover me, and I spray up those three over there, or you follow me to hell Victor." Natalie said, knowing that there was almost a slight inclination to the latter, as she readied to move.
Something like that would fit- A Combat Life Saver, or the team's go to medic, could come in handy, as a specialist rather than just the trained basics as the rest of the team would know, as well as being the ammo carrier (ie. when the team is running low on mags, your character can toss them a magazine).
Rare, you can post up if you want- just jump into the conversation if you can.
Yeah, you can make a CS if you'd like- though you may have to PM it to me first just to get it all set up if you've got a good idea of what sort of character you want.
Maybe- I may have to get back to you on that one, but I might be able to get something for you.
Sorry for the jumped post Rare- I just wanted to keep the conversation moving, and the stuff in the background in the higher echelons of CTRG, so you can post at will.
Arran looked over, watching Andrew come up to his bench, taking a seat as he asked the question.
"It's a fucking ballache. Nothing yet, we're still sitting here. I've got a meeting with the Colonel in about an hour, I'm taking a quad down there. He doesn't like the fact that his guys are sharing with a bunch of spooks, and if I'm honest, he isn't really in a position to say anything about it. My word lies with the man up in an office somewhere over in that direction." Arran said to Andrew, pointing out in the vague direction westwards, generally towards Langley, Virginia- where the CTRG reported mostly back to, to a joint US/UK intelligence division within the CIA's extensive compound.
"Still, what can you do. Nobody likes this shit stain, they want to be back home not sitting on an island and packing shit away. This camp goes full in about three weeks when they're done packing Rogain away, then the only operational centre left on this island's going to be Stratis AFB and Fort Fulton. They'll leave a dozen men, and probably four platoons of fucking greenbacks (AAF soldiers)." Arran added, looking over at the female marksman in the team- Olivia, or Athena. She knew that when it came to designated marksmen, making the right choice was always key. Just like with a second in command, who Arran had known well enough from Northern Nigeria to decide on. But it was nothing but a professional friendship, this shit existed not because Arran wanted to call them up as a perk, but because he knew that they'd be the most suited.
"Hey Athena. If you're about to suggest you're bored as hell, feel free to join us." Arran said, looking over- the HQ was just a storey high, and was a metal structure, the kind that could probably be rapidly disassembled and put back together if needed. A few bits of rust were in one or two places, but it wasn't completely gone to shit with the hydrated Iron Oxide, not yet at least. His geology just remembered that for some weird vague reason, it was what the brown shit that metal turned into when water and heat acted together on something like this for a prolonged period.
"You spooks really ain't what they say you are." Patterson said, Arran chuckling as he brought a plate of fish and chips over, the shitty salad distinctive. No matter, Arran said. He had eaten worse.
"Yeah, I suppose so. Patterson, how's shit going at Rogain anyway? They finished packing that place yet?" Arran asked, looking over, as Patterson brought two more plates for Athena and Khukuri, Arran eating as Patterson turned around.
"Almost, full truckloads today. We got off early, I swear we're fucking manual labor now, not soldiers. They could get contractors for this stuff, I get paid to shoot people, not lug shit around for a living." Patterson said, Arran laughing as he knew that this was a soldier from the 101st Airborne, and he had probably a right to be pissed.
"I understand what you mean. What can you do though." Arran said, eating on, as he ate on, still inert on how things were going.
"Athena, Khukuri, either of you want to go see McKinnon later with me? It might cut out from the boredom to see the flyboys if you guys are up for it."
"Seagull's given us good intel, you've got the transcript." Neptune said, looking over to the other man in the dark office, wearing a full suit and clearly the most formal man in this place. He seemed more than just military ,he looked like a real spook to every letter.
"We're going to need that sub dead for sure. Huscarl knows how to get that done. Bring me a closer sat image of Makyronsi." The other man said, as Neptune panned the satelite's camera, coming in closer to make out the image clearer.
"Fuck, that's it. Fucking Major Arshad Marood, it's the guy, it's the sub we want, we need this done, ASAP. We working on getting Huscarl in touch?" The man added quickly, as Neptune nodded, replying.
"My team is on it already Sir, we'll have him on comms with you when the specs are set."
"Good. Operation Deviant is a go. I don't see any other option. They sail out of the gulf, we have no chance of catching Arshad and whatever documents he's sharing with the AAF right now. I give us at best another twelve hours- the satellite picked this up this dawn, lucky we did or else we would have no chance. We take the sub down while we're at it and clear the waters, and find out what those CSAT recon troops are doing on Altis before we suffer for it when they bomb our troops in the Med. As much as we are walking a thin wire, the fact that this guy brought a fucking submarine and this shit from Tehran that was so under the radar means that whatever it is, we need. Huscarl can figure out how to do this without getting his team killed and putting us into WW3, so we'll send him the images and get him up to speed with this." The man said, looking as Neptune simply nodded.
"Twenty minutes, and I expect that you'll have the details finalized to send to Husky. Get to it." The man said coldly, before leaving, Neptune looking at the three others in the room also by computers, wearing headsets and tapping away, getting the details refined with the sat images, and set to relay everything to Huscarl for the operation. The brief and task was already defined- though the planning element was up to Huscarl to deal with, in order to effectually make this work.
"It's a fucking ballache. Nothing yet, we're still sitting here. I've got a meeting with the Colonel in about an hour, I'm taking a quad down there. He doesn't like the fact that his guys are sharing with a bunch of spooks, and if I'm honest, he isn't really in a position to say anything about it. My word lies with the man up in an office somewhere over in that direction." Arran said to Andrew, pointing out in the vague direction westwards, generally towards Langley, Virginia- where the CTRG reported mostly back to, to a joint US/UK intelligence division within the CIA's extensive compound.
"Still, what can you do. Nobody likes this shit stain, they want to be back home not sitting on an island and packing shit away. This camp goes full in about three weeks when they're done packing Rogain away, then the only operational centre left on this island's going to be Stratis AFB and Fort Fulton. They'll leave a dozen men, and probably four platoons of fucking greenbacks (AAF soldiers)." Arran added, looking over at the female marksman in the team- Olivia, or Athena. She knew that when it came to designated marksmen, making the right choice was always key. Just like with a second in command, who Arran had known well enough from Northern Nigeria to decide on. But it was nothing but a professional friendship, this shit existed not because Arran wanted to call them up as a perk, but because he knew that they'd be the most suited.
"Hey Athena. If you're about to suggest you're bored as hell, feel free to join us." Arran said, looking over- the HQ was just a storey high, and was a metal structure, the kind that could probably be rapidly disassembled and put back together if needed. A few bits of rust were in one or two places, but it wasn't completely gone to shit with the hydrated Iron Oxide, not yet at least. His geology just remembered that for some weird vague reason, it was what the brown shit that metal turned into when water and heat acted together on something like this for a prolonged period.
"You spooks really ain't what they say you are." Patterson said, Arran chuckling as he brought a plate of fish and chips over, the shitty salad distinctive. No matter, Arran said. He had eaten worse.
"Yeah, I suppose so. Patterson, how's shit going at Rogain anyway? They finished packing that place yet?" Arran asked, looking over, as Patterson brought two more plates for Athena and Khukuri, Arran eating as Patterson turned around.
"Almost, full truckloads today. We got off early, I swear we're fucking manual labor now, not soldiers. They could get contractors for this stuff, I get paid to shoot people, not lug shit around for a living." Patterson said, Arran laughing as he knew that this was a soldier from the 101st Airborne, and he had probably a right to be pissed.
"I understand what you mean. What can you do though." Arran said, eating on, as he ate on, still inert on how things were going.
"Athena, Khukuri, either of you want to go see McKinnon later with me? It might cut out from the boredom to see the flyboys if you guys are up for it."
"Seagull's given us good intel, you've got the transcript." Neptune said, looking over to the other man in the dark office, wearing a full suit and clearly the most formal man in this place. He seemed more than just military ,he looked like a real spook to every letter.
"We're going to need that sub dead for sure. Huscarl knows how to get that done. Bring me a closer sat image of Makyronsi." The other man said, as Neptune panned the satelite's camera, coming in closer to make out the image clearer.
"Fuck, that's it. Fucking Major Arshad Marood, it's the guy, it's the sub we want, we need this done, ASAP. We working on getting Huscarl in touch?" The man added quickly, as Neptune nodded, replying.
"My team is on it already Sir, we'll have him on comms with you when the specs are set."
"Good. Operation Deviant is a go. I don't see any other option. They sail out of the gulf, we have no chance of catching Arshad and whatever documents he's sharing with the AAF right now. I give us at best another twelve hours- the satellite picked this up this dawn, lucky we did or else we would have no chance. We take the sub down while we're at it and clear the waters, and find out what those CSAT recon troops are doing on Altis before we suffer for it when they bomb our troops in the Med. As much as we are walking a thin wire, the fact that this guy brought a fucking submarine and this shit from Tehran that was so under the radar means that whatever it is, we need. Huscarl can figure out how to do this without getting his team killed and putting us into WW3, so we'll send him the images and get him up to speed with this." The man said, looking as Neptune simply nodded.
"Twenty minutes, and I expect that you'll have the details finalized to send to Husky. Get to it." The man said coldly, before leaving, Neptune looking at the three others in the room also by computers, wearing headsets and tapping away, getting the details refined with the sat images, and set to relay everything to Huscarl for the operation. The brief and task was already defined- though the planning element was up to Huscarl to deal with, in order to effectually make this work.
Natalie looked on, watching Victor give her a nice slap on the rear, her giggle one that let him in.
"Yeah, as usual with the press I suppose. I'll find my place in the VIP stand and make sure I'll be the loudest today Victor." Natalie said to him, walking on as she knew that she'd always get her revenge, in one way or another on Victor.
45 minutes later, Natalie was in the stand, looking on at Victor and his partial blue and red warpaint. He looked as if he could tear any human being apart by simply making their skin fall down in fear and intimidation. She knew that when she didn't have this bra on, men looked, gazed, almost perplexed in agony. There were many beautiful women, but her face, and her curves, her size and her sheer accent was overpowering, and with a different bra and top on, she would make any regular man pass out in lust. She always wondered where that had come from- it was like her height and her strength, a matter of genetics, just two things that had combined by chance to make the most wonderful features. She knew that if she was a muscle-pumping freak, she would have breasts like deflated balloons, and other disgusting features. A deep voice that made her sound male. Though when she spoke Russian and English her voice was deep, it was still definitively feminine, yet scary. Natalie watched on, a smile on her face. The phone in a pocket on her rear vibrated, as Natalie quickly picked up, sitting down quickly without noticing who had called. It was the man from a few days ago- the Minister, the man who had made the $100,000 payment into her Swiss account.
"The payment is through my dear. I hear it was a mess according to local Cypriot news, they've busted the whole thing and found it out. I said no communication, but I wanted to give my thanks." He said, Natalie chuckling a little as she replied in Russian.
"Well, that is pleasant to hear. I hope those women I found have a better life. But I can't talk now, I'm a little busy."
"Understood. You expect nobody to trace you back?"
"Nobody could, no witnesses, no survivors. You are fine, stop being paranoid." Natalie said, aware that she was saying it out of truth. The man sounded like a nervous wreck, as she cut the call off, putting the phone away. Nothing could go wrong today she told herself, but she always kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. The fact that there were so many strongmen and people just felt uneasy with her, and as much as she knew nothing could, or at least wanted to believe it, she knew that security wasn't precisely great. She always considered that if she wanted to do some damage, where would she strike- a technique she had learned to adapt to when she worked in the Alfa Gruppa, in close protection and hostage recovery. And today, she could pick enough holes to really suggest that if she had to be a terrorist aiming to kill as many people, it would be a walk in the park. Natalie knew that was never really the case, nothing like that would happen here- it was too small, too insignificant. But it was something almost hard-wired, and she just suppressed it as best as she could.
"Yeah, as usual with the press I suppose. I'll find my place in the VIP stand and make sure I'll be the loudest today Victor." Natalie said to him, walking on as she knew that she'd always get her revenge, in one way or another on Victor.
45 minutes later, Natalie was in the stand, looking on at Victor and his partial blue and red warpaint. He looked as if he could tear any human being apart by simply making their skin fall down in fear and intimidation. She knew that when she didn't have this bra on, men looked, gazed, almost perplexed in agony. There were many beautiful women, but her face, and her curves, her size and her sheer accent was overpowering, and with a different bra and top on, she would make any regular man pass out in lust. She always wondered where that had come from- it was like her height and her strength, a matter of genetics, just two things that had combined by chance to make the most wonderful features. She knew that if she was a muscle-pumping freak, she would have breasts like deflated balloons, and other disgusting features. A deep voice that made her sound male. Though when she spoke Russian and English her voice was deep, it was still definitively feminine, yet scary. Natalie watched on, a smile on her face. The phone in a pocket on her rear vibrated, as Natalie quickly picked up, sitting down quickly without noticing who had called. It was the man from a few days ago- the Minister, the man who had made the $100,000 payment into her Swiss account.
"The payment is through my dear. I hear it was a mess according to local Cypriot news, they've busted the whole thing and found it out. I said no communication, but I wanted to give my thanks." He said, Natalie chuckling a little as she replied in Russian.
"Well, that is pleasant to hear. I hope those women I found have a better life. But I can't talk now, I'm a little busy."
"Understood. You expect nobody to trace you back?"
"Nobody could, no witnesses, no survivors. You are fine, stop being paranoid." Natalie said, aware that she was saying it out of truth. The man sounded like a nervous wreck, as she cut the call off, putting the phone away. Nothing could go wrong today she told herself, but she always kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. The fact that there were so many strongmen and people just felt uneasy with her, and as much as she knew nothing could, or at least wanted to believe it, she knew that security wasn't precisely great. She always considered that if she wanted to do some damage, where would she strike- a technique she had learned to adapt to when she worked in the Alfa Gruppa, in close protection and hostage recovery. And today, she could pick enough holes to really suggest that if she had to be a terrorist aiming to kill as many people, it would be a walk in the park. Natalie knew that was never really the case, nothing like that would happen here- it was too small, too insignificant. But it was something almost hard-wired, and she just suppressed it as best as she could.
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