ciderI am still around
Waiting for aothers to post a lil is all.
Waiting for aothers to post a lil is all.
Hellis Member
Cᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟɪsᴛɪᴄ Yᴇᴛ Cʟᴀssʏ
STATUS: Hey y'all. I am about to start working on a webcomic and try to draw for a living now. 7 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
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Hey y'all. I am about to start working on a webcomic and try to draw for a living now.
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9 yrs ago
Oh no. The World Ending library has started to smell of lemon again. Nobody likes dying to the smell of citrus
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Bio
"Always tenderize the meat first."
Most Recent Posts
I know people who worked on horizon x3
In
Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Chinatown Mob War: Started.
Any street level heroes in LH is invited to join.
Any street level heroes in LH is invited to join.
In
Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
A world below
China Town, Lui Fan Happy Chicken Resturant.
Fat Hoi had not had a good day. For the last three days, the local pimps had gone missing only to come back beat up and with fingers missing. Then one day ago, his second in command, Haulong was kicked off bridge at the outskirts of the town. And when Fat Hoi had a bad day, everyone around him suffered. So it was, that there was a young waiter lying on the floor with a broken nose while everyone around them just stared at their own feet. This was triad country, and nobody fucked with the chinese maffia on their own turf.
Not the Sicilians with their armani suit and greasy hair. Not the Syndicate thugs who had the run of most of the rest of the city anyways. Certainly not those dirty Yakuza. Yakuza, just the thought of them made him even angrier. He lifted one meaty palm and smashed it into the young mans face. He yelped and flung back onto the floor. It was his own thought, being so damn handsome and make Fat Hois girl smile at him instead of Hoi. Picking the man up by the collar, he reeled his arm back for the cup the grace.
That’s when Fat Hois day got worse.
Five men, stepped inside, followed by a young woman in a modified kimono. She appeared entirely calmed as she surveyed the restourant. And then she spoke, in a steely voice. “Everyone not wanting to die today, stand by the walls. Do not move.” She drew a flawlessly made katana from a sheeth at her waist.
“Hoi Lo Loutzun, Fat Hoi” She said as Hoi stood up, his men getting up aswell, reaching for their weapons. “The Hoshima Clan send its regards” Before Fat Hoi could bring up his meaty arms before him, the entire resturant turned into a blood bath. Everyone not by walls were gunned down, the restourant filling with the noise of gunfire and the wet thud of bullets punching trough flesh. Hoi just barely managed to get up his shield in time, the bullets bouncing off the metas invisible barrier.
“Hohhh… You were a meta all along.” The woman said, stepping towards the massive Chinese man. “That makes this more fun.” Hoi knew, looking into those dull, emotionless eyes that fun was not on he menu. And then he was dead. His head severed cleanly from his body.
“Let’s go. We got two more places to hit up” The woman said coldly as she turned around before Hois body could hit the ground. A flick of her wrist sent the exess blood on her blade splattering onto the floor by the feat of the Waiter that had his face punched earlier. He stared, pale faced and terrified at her. She simply wiped her blade off with a napkin and walked out, being helped into a black car that sped off into the distance shortly afterwards.
Thus. A war had begun.
---
What most people do not realize about gang wars, is that they often take off within hours of the first shot. The need for posturing leads to quick and brutal retaliation. It is one of the reasons you do not just off a big name goon like Hoi without ample preperation. Unfortunately for the Hoshima Clan, The Jade Spider triads had been anticipating a new war for years.
--
The Akibara Happy Toys was not actually a toystore. Well, not a toystore for children anyways A small establishment that sell imported sextoys and games from japan, its true purpose was the massive cellar where uncensored porn was made and sent back to japans black market. A market that the triads had cornered for years before the Hoshima wanted a cut of the buisness.
Mr Akibara was a thin, perpetually cold and often neurotic fellow that had been the clans facade for a good ten years. When he saw the two women in jade green jackets, he knew they weren’t one of their new girls. When one of them summoned a energy blade in one hand and before one of them cut him from top to bottom in one impressive cut, his last thought was about how bitter he was to never been allowed downstairs.
The entire store staff, nine Yakuza Juniors and two cam girls were trapped inside the store and cellar as the girl with the blade lit it on fire and left a enchanted chain around the door handles. Nobody survived.
--
Another thing about wars between criminal organizations, the innocent always suffer.
--
Only two hours after the retaliatory hit, two more Triad owned joints, one illegal sweatshop and a clothing store, stood in flames. About twenty five more triad members were at the morgue. Four more Hoshima owned establishments had also been hit, two in Litte Tokyo, a restourant bombing left 24 dead, half of those high ranking Yakuza who had been there for a birthday bash. They had believed themselves safe when someone teleported inside with a bomb. The three other places hit were all pawnshops and asian import stores.
Five hours into the war, The head of he LHPD called both Little Tokyo and Chinatown as no-go zones. This after pressure from the higher ups since there had also been a superpowered brawl in its outskirts earlier, even before the two criminal syndicates decided to go all out.
China Town, Lui Fan Happy Chicken Resturant.
Fat Hoi had not had a good day. For the last three days, the local pimps had gone missing only to come back beat up and with fingers missing. Then one day ago, his second in command, Haulong was kicked off bridge at the outskirts of the town. And when Fat Hoi had a bad day, everyone around him suffered. So it was, that there was a young waiter lying on the floor with a broken nose while everyone around them just stared at their own feet. This was triad country, and nobody fucked with the chinese maffia on their own turf.
Not the Sicilians with their armani suit and greasy hair. Not the Syndicate thugs who had the run of most of the rest of the city anyways. Certainly not those dirty Yakuza. Yakuza, just the thought of them made him even angrier. He lifted one meaty palm and smashed it into the young mans face. He yelped and flung back onto the floor. It was his own thought, being so damn handsome and make Fat Hois girl smile at him instead of Hoi. Picking the man up by the collar, he reeled his arm back for the cup the grace.
That’s when Fat Hois day got worse.
Five men, stepped inside, followed by a young woman in a modified kimono. She appeared entirely calmed as she surveyed the restourant. And then she spoke, in a steely voice. “Everyone not wanting to die today, stand by the walls. Do not move.” She drew a flawlessly made katana from a sheeth at her waist.
“Hoi Lo Loutzun, Fat Hoi” She said as Hoi stood up, his men getting up aswell, reaching for their weapons. “The Hoshima Clan send its regards” Before Fat Hoi could bring up his meaty arms before him, the entire resturant turned into a blood bath. Everyone not by walls were gunned down, the restourant filling with the noise of gunfire and the wet thud of bullets punching trough flesh. Hoi just barely managed to get up his shield in time, the bullets bouncing off the metas invisible barrier.
“Hohhh… You were a meta all along.” The woman said, stepping towards the massive Chinese man. “That makes this more fun.” Hoi knew, looking into those dull, emotionless eyes that fun was not on he menu. And then he was dead. His head severed cleanly from his body.
“Let’s go. We got two more places to hit up” The woman said coldly as she turned around before Hois body could hit the ground. A flick of her wrist sent the exess blood on her blade splattering onto the floor by the feat of the Waiter that had his face punched earlier. He stared, pale faced and terrified at her. She simply wiped her blade off with a napkin and walked out, being helped into a black car that sped off into the distance shortly afterwards.
Thus. A war had begun.
---
What most people do not realize about gang wars, is that they often take off within hours of the first shot. The need for posturing leads to quick and brutal retaliation. It is one of the reasons you do not just off a big name goon like Hoi without ample preperation. Unfortunately for the Hoshima Clan, The Jade Spider triads had been anticipating a new war for years.
--
The Akibara Happy Toys was not actually a toystore. Well, not a toystore for children anyways A small establishment that sell imported sextoys and games from japan, its true purpose was the massive cellar where uncensored porn was made and sent back to japans black market. A market that the triads had cornered for years before the Hoshima wanted a cut of the buisness.
Mr Akibara was a thin, perpetually cold and often neurotic fellow that had been the clans facade for a good ten years. When he saw the two women in jade green jackets, he knew they weren’t one of their new girls. When one of them summoned a energy blade in one hand and before one of them cut him from top to bottom in one impressive cut, his last thought was about how bitter he was to never been allowed downstairs.
The entire store staff, nine Yakuza Juniors and two cam girls were trapped inside the store and cellar as the girl with the blade lit it on fire and left a enchanted chain around the door handles. Nobody survived.
--
Another thing about wars between criminal organizations, the innocent always suffer.
--
Only two hours after the retaliatory hit, two more Triad owned joints, one illegal sweatshop and a clothing store, stood in flames. About twenty five more triad members were at the morgue. Four more Hoshima owned establishments had also been hit, two in Litte Tokyo, a restourant bombing left 24 dead, half of those high ranking Yakuza who had been there for a birthday bash. They had believed themselves safe when someone teleported inside with a bomb. The three other places hit were all pawnshops and asian import stores.
Five hours into the war, The head of he LHPD called both Little Tokyo and Chinatown as no-go zones. This after pressure from the higher ups since there had also been a superpowered brawl in its outskirts earlier, even before the two criminal syndicates decided to go all out.
POST UP. KAIN DOES BERSERK THINGS
B A S E C A M P
The Aeon hissed within the depths of Kains soul. Carmens arrogance only served to confirm what he knew. If she ever stepped out of line, he would not hesitate. There was nothing to gain from keeping such a person in their midst. She’d be the first to betray them for personal gain, of this he was certain.
And then it was time for them to leave, to do what had been trained to do. TO kill, to fight, to do battle. “Finally.” The crackling voice of fire and madness rangout inside his head, echoing about him as he felt every bit of the impatience of his aeon. There were linked, in both mind and body. The heat of Balils rage made him warm, filled him with the same intense burning temprature of a some who gone fatally feverish. Yet to him it was nothing. He was part of the Distraction team, it suited him fine. He had never been much for sneaking around, he preferred to face things head on. And he did make for quite a spectacular distraction.
F L Y I N G C O F F I N
The metal heaved and bent and flexed gently as the flying machine moved through the air. Kain didn’t like flying, simply because it meant he was trapped in yet another big metal box, that could crash at any second. So, it came to no surprise to him and just a little bit of vindication, that they were hit by something. It was little comfort however as the soon began to plummet towards the ground. As the shyp hit the surface, Kain was at once relieved and disappointed that they hit water. No fire, no great crash. Just the resounding noise of metal being torn by sheer force before water flooded the insides of the transport aero-vehicle. As water hit him, he actually growled. His knives cut trough the harness like it was tissue paper and he was out of his seat in a instant. Following the light of Corrs arm, he soon find the crack. FOr good measure, he grabbed each edge and pushed, the metal creaking as it widened a little bit, making it easier for Kain to get his bulk out.
O f W A T E R A N D D E A T H
He hated water. He could swim just fine, but it was the antithesis of being. He was fire, water suffocated fire, it killed fire. And now he had to swim in it. Nevertheless, he did. He moved through water with only one purpose: Get to dry land, then kill everything in sight. The berserker's rage was bubbling up inside him, and he would not be able to withhold it this time. He didn’t want to. That’s when some mentioned enemies. As if the gods had decided they wanted a bloodbath, they sent him victims.
“IT is time Kain. Unleash your anger. We go to work” Balils voice was suddenly eerily calm in his head. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was not a taunt. It was an order. Balils power surged with his anger as the savage, violent warrior shot like a comet towards the shore once Kain had been within the range of his comet rush ability.
The others would only see a cloud of steam rise before Kain shot up from the surface of the water, his in either hand and the large main sailing trough the air as if shot from a cannon. If there was a shoreparty waiting for them, he he would right on top the closest enemy. And when he roared, Belials voice was overlayed with his own. A frenzied beasts voice boomed at almost deafening decibels.
“PURGE THEM ALL!” Fire licked his skin before several foot high flames enveloped him completely, creating a shroud of heat that burned everything that got close to him. He broke out into laughter as he set out to sow dissarray and chaos among the enemy ranks who might not have been expecting their enemy to literally light himself on fire. He would engage and fight with everything he had, punching, stabbing, headbutting and kicking. A burning dervish sowing fiery destruction.
Yes please. Thirded.
Hell comes in a handgrenade, baskets are harmless.
War was never pretty. Battle never went according to plan. And Savesh were brutal motherfuckers. These were things Hedberg was quickly coming to realize. The Savesh, having been scattered at first, none the less returned fired. Dirt and debris shot up in muddy geysers as bullets smashed against the foilage around Second Squad. Leqba for his part, gave as good as he took, the Negev laying down a hailstorm of bullets onto a group of Savesh, keeping them in cover. Hedberg counted his men and women quickly to see if anyone was down, so far so good. He heard Park call out as he took a bullet and swore.
“Helvetes jävla skit!” He placed another HE grenade with heavy thud into backline of Savesh, the grenade landing squarely at the feet of one of them. The blue blood flowing from a severely mangled alien corpse only added to the strange sureness of their current engagement. As he loaded he heard a yelp and a wet smack as Anoi fell onto his back. His eyes wide, he was gripping his upper arm. The bullet had him him square in the arm and buried almost all the way through. Whatever caliber their enemy used, is sure wasn’t pretty. The bullet had been large enough to pack enough punch that the bullet completely fragmented inside the arm. There was no quick fix for it. Anoi had been supremely unlucky to, the bullet had hit him from of the few remaining Savesh as the ambush died down.
“Medic! I’m hit Sarge!” He grunted as he shifted to lay in proper cover. His arm hung limply from where he clasped it. “Goddamnit” He whined as he grew pale I “I think my arm is a goner”
“
“I can see that Anoi. Stay focused, who knows, maybe the Aliens know how to fix it. FOr now, lets get you to a fucking medic.” He rose to his feet as slung the mans healthy arm across his shoulder and helped him towards Atwater. “Got another one for you Doc.” He said as he helped Anoi down.
“ Bezrodny, make sure your boys and girls are as fresh as can be. I want you to form a firing line to my left. ” He called out to team leader before turned to the other two “I don’t like putting bullets in wounded, but this isn’t earth, they ain't human and they won’t afford us any of the same courtesy. So we follow lead, put down anything that looks like it is gonna even consider getting up. See if you can find anything useful as well, any observations you make, note them down, remember them. It could save you in the future.”
Thats when the bad news came in. More of them, a lot more of them.
“Well shit. Someone better get on coms and see if we can get some firesupport!” He growled as he snapped his M23 open and lodged smoke grenade in place. “Allright you louts, into position. Get to cover, C team to my left. A team, to their left, stagger. B team, to my right. Make sure those pigs cover a flank each. Anything looking remotely close to firing at us, shred it.”
War was never pretty. Battle never went according to plan. And Savesh were brutal motherfuckers. These were things Hedberg was quickly coming to realize. The Savesh, having been scattered at first, none the less returned fired. Dirt and debris shot up in muddy geysers as bullets smashed against the foilage around Second Squad. Leqba for his part, gave as good as he took, the Negev laying down a hailstorm of bullets onto a group of Savesh, keeping them in cover. Hedberg counted his men and women quickly to see if anyone was down, so far so good. He heard Park call out as he took a bullet and swore.
“Helvetes jävla skit!” He placed another HE grenade with heavy thud into backline of Savesh, the grenade landing squarely at the feet of one of them. The blue blood flowing from a severely mangled alien corpse only added to the strange sureness of their current engagement. As he loaded he heard a yelp and a wet smack as Anoi fell onto his back. His eyes wide, he was gripping his upper arm. The bullet had him him square in the arm and buried almost all the way through. Whatever caliber their enemy used, is sure wasn’t pretty. The bullet had been large enough to pack enough punch that the bullet completely fragmented inside the arm. There was no quick fix for it. Anoi had been supremely unlucky to, the bullet had hit him from of the few remaining Savesh as the ambush died down.
“Medic! I’m hit Sarge!” He grunted as he shifted to lay in proper cover. His arm hung limply from where he clasped it. “Goddamnit” He whined as he grew pale I “I think my arm is a goner”
“
“I can see that Anoi. Stay focused, who knows, maybe the Aliens know how to fix it. FOr now, lets get you to a fucking medic.” He rose to his feet as slung the mans healthy arm across his shoulder and helped him towards Atwater. “Got another one for you Doc.” He said as he helped Anoi down.
“ Bezrodny, make sure your boys and girls are as fresh as can be. I want you to form a firing line to my left. ” He called out to team leader before turned to the other two “I don’t like putting bullets in wounded, but this isn’t earth, they ain't human and they won’t afford us any of the same courtesy. So we follow lead, put down anything that looks like it is gonna even consider getting up. See if you can find anything useful as well, any observations you make, note them down, remember them. It could save you in the future.”
Thats when the bad news came in. More of them, a lot more of them.
“Well shit. Someone better get on coms and see if we can get some firesupport!” He growled as he snapped his M23 open and lodged smoke grenade in place. “Allright you louts, into position. Get to cover, C team to my left. A team, to their left, stagger. B team, to my right. Make sure those pigs cover a flank each. Anything looking remotely close to firing at us, shred it.”
Waking up.
“I better get an explanation from someone, as to why I got a cottonmouth the world have never seen before” Hedberg muttered. “Worst then that brown Hashish.” His body felt like he had been at Roskilde and decided to do every drug present. Which, knowing the Danish, were a bad idea. Luckily, he was a soldier, and the second a voice of authority rang true in his ears, he back straightened and those others thoughts fled his mind. He didn’t salute, his arms weren’t exactly super responive at the moment. Instead he took in the bullwarks about them. “Ett Skepp?” He asked himself in swedish, thinking it was a ship. “No. I don’t feel the gentle sway under my feet.”
Slowly, it began to dawn on him. When he realized where they were, his jaw tried its best to hit the floor.
----------
Briefing.
Hedberg had seen a lot of weird and terrible things in his life. He had seen what war did to men and women. What fanticism and a split in opinion led to. The loss of civlian life as a raid became to drawn out, to chaotic and a stray bullet hit a window. Making War was not a precise artform, no matter how much they strived to make it so. War was messy, bloody, inherently savage. Yet the men and women of the SOG had not been savages, they had been as precise, as professional as war ever allowed them.
He wasn’t in Afghanistan any longer. Not in Iraq fighting religious fanatics either. He was in space. If his father could see him now. Listening to the Colonel, he was as attentive as ever. The payday for this was immense, he got that much. It only made sense for the risk to match the reward. They would help one race of aliens fight another. What’s more, it seemed their enemy was just as savage as he were trained not to be. He had spent the last five years training Pashmerga and Afghani troops. He listened intently to every word spoken, calmly dissecting the information in his head. This was why he had been fast tracked trough ranks back home. He was finding to many vectors and variables for his liking. Sure, he had been dropped into a shit storm before. Northern afghanistan and its Pakistani border had been like fighting ants, the Taliban hiding in caves and never staying long to fight them. But this, this was quite literally alien to him.
He groaned inwardly at the mention of tropical climate nad heat. He was half Yazidii. He was used to dry, Arid heat from his time in the middleast. But Jungle? That was another ballgame entirely. One he wasn’t to fond of. He remembered all the horror stories from the commander back home, who had been part of the Congo conflict.
“Damn.” He mumbled. “I hate the Jungle.”
-----
Planetfall.
“God. I really hate the Jungle” He mumbled under his breath as they advanced trough the strangely colored foliage. Trough some lovely coincidence, they had put the Ruskies on in his squad. He wondered idly if they knew he had been trained specifically to fight Russian forces in a defensive war. But, he was more then happy to have spetnaz on his side rather then facing them, that was for certein. HIs feet barely made any sound as he advanced. His attention on his surroundings. He didn’t mind the purple or pink he was wearing. In fact, the realization that all these rugged men and hardass soldiers had to dress up like a militirized pride parade was more then weighing up for the cryostasis cottonmouth he was still struggling with. He should look up whatever he was knocked out with, he had problem sleeping back home while that stuff knocked him right out.
The purple founa did present them with a different problem however. Human eyes were not accustomed to such a explosive mix of colors, and it took some getting used to. The pollen clingin to everything was pretty damn annoying as well. But that was jungles for you. Instead of the usual sea of green, it was a sea of purple.
His squad was a colorfull and interesting bunch, he had to give them that. But they were a capable bunch, he had helped train with them, and he had seen the kind of killer instinct and hardened veteran experience you wanted with you during such a unique operation. To his immediete left walked Mathiel Leqba, a French Tunisian who swore more then a sailor and likely made half the races feel better about their ugly physiology due to his own god awful face. Not even a mother could love a face like that. Behind him was Joe Anoi. A pacific islander and american Marine who was one hell of a shot with his rifle. He was also as wide as he was tall, with the most jarhead look the swedish soldier had ever encountered.
------
“Contact”
The word made his mind whirl into action. Without hesitation, he spoke to his squad members. Rossi, Anoi, Leqba, on me. Co-ordinate and pick a target. C-team, B-Team. round to my left. I will put a 40 mil present in their midst. Iko, you do the same as soon as you see me fire. Space to the backline, push them towards our fire. C-team, as soon as weapons are hot, level them to the ground.” He said in short bursts of information as he moved. He saw everyone fall into place and take position. Looking trough his holosight, he saw their quarry move up. They were ugly sons of bitches to be sure. And big to. Way to big to be mistaken for as human. He felt a sudden relief in bringing the axe with him.
“ Mind your cover and watch your line of fire.” He spoke silently. It was nothing they needed to be told he was sure. But reinforcing it was part of his job. A squadleaders voice was there to steer but also reassure. They were all under his umbrella once the shit started raining down. He steadied his own breath, flexed his fingers in a soft drumroll across the handle.
Had one of them moved towards them?
The order came from the platoon medic. Weapons free.
“Second squad! Open fire!” He let the grenade sail over the first hostiles head, landing between the early group and in the midst of the reinforcements. The Heavy Explosive round showered them it dirt, erupting in fire and shrapnel among the suprised aliens.
“Rossi! Focus on the ones scrambling for cover. Leqba, let it fucking rain.” He shouted over the din that now filled the air as several dozen proffesional let their tools of death speak for them. They had the advantage, and it was paramount they utilized it to its fullest. On his command, Leqba let his gun spit heavy bursts of automatic, heavy caliber rounds into the enemy. The negev was one scary weapon to be sure, and its heavy smattering was deafening.
“I better get an explanation from someone, as to why I got a cottonmouth the world have never seen before” Hedberg muttered. “Worst then that brown Hashish.” His body felt like he had been at Roskilde and decided to do every drug present. Which, knowing the Danish, were a bad idea. Luckily, he was a soldier, and the second a voice of authority rang true in his ears, he back straightened and those others thoughts fled his mind. He didn’t salute, his arms weren’t exactly super responive at the moment. Instead he took in the bullwarks about them. “Ett Skepp?” He asked himself in swedish, thinking it was a ship. “No. I don’t feel the gentle sway under my feet.”
Slowly, it began to dawn on him. When he realized where they were, his jaw tried its best to hit the floor.
----------
Briefing.
Hedberg had seen a lot of weird and terrible things in his life. He had seen what war did to men and women. What fanticism and a split in opinion led to. The loss of civlian life as a raid became to drawn out, to chaotic and a stray bullet hit a window. Making War was not a precise artform, no matter how much they strived to make it so. War was messy, bloody, inherently savage. Yet the men and women of the SOG had not been savages, they had been as precise, as professional as war ever allowed them.
He wasn’t in Afghanistan any longer. Not in Iraq fighting religious fanatics either. He was in space. If his father could see him now. Listening to the Colonel, he was as attentive as ever. The payday for this was immense, he got that much. It only made sense for the risk to match the reward. They would help one race of aliens fight another. What’s more, it seemed their enemy was just as savage as he were trained not to be. He had spent the last five years training Pashmerga and Afghani troops. He listened intently to every word spoken, calmly dissecting the information in his head. This was why he had been fast tracked trough ranks back home. He was finding to many vectors and variables for his liking. Sure, he had been dropped into a shit storm before. Northern afghanistan and its Pakistani border had been like fighting ants, the Taliban hiding in caves and never staying long to fight them. But this, this was quite literally alien to him.
He groaned inwardly at the mention of tropical climate nad heat. He was half Yazidii. He was used to dry, Arid heat from his time in the middleast. But Jungle? That was another ballgame entirely. One he wasn’t to fond of. He remembered all the horror stories from the commander back home, who had been part of the Congo conflict.
“Damn.” He mumbled. “I hate the Jungle.”
-----
Planetfall.
“God. I really hate the Jungle” He mumbled under his breath as they advanced trough the strangely colored foliage. Trough some lovely coincidence, they had put the Ruskies on in his squad. He wondered idly if they knew he had been trained specifically to fight Russian forces in a defensive war. But, he was more then happy to have spetnaz on his side rather then facing them, that was for certein. HIs feet barely made any sound as he advanced. His attention on his surroundings. He didn’t mind the purple or pink he was wearing. In fact, the realization that all these rugged men and hardass soldiers had to dress up like a militirized pride parade was more then weighing up for the cryostasis cottonmouth he was still struggling with. He should look up whatever he was knocked out with, he had problem sleeping back home while that stuff knocked him right out.
The purple founa did present them with a different problem however. Human eyes were not accustomed to such a explosive mix of colors, and it took some getting used to. The pollen clingin to everything was pretty damn annoying as well. But that was jungles for you. Instead of the usual sea of green, it was a sea of purple.
His squad was a colorfull and interesting bunch, he had to give them that. But they were a capable bunch, he had helped train with them, and he had seen the kind of killer instinct and hardened veteran experience you wanted with you during such a unique operation. To his immediete left walked Mathiel Leqba, a French Tunisian who swore more then a sailor and likely made half the races feel better about their ugly physiology due to his own god awful face. Not even a mother could love a face like that. Behind him was Joe Anoi. A pacific islander and american Marine who was one hell of a shot with his rifle. He was also as wide as he was tall, with the most jarhead look the swedish soldier had ever encountered.
------
“Contact”
The word made his mind whirl into action. Without hesitation, he spoke to his squad members. Rossi, Anoi, Leqba, on me. Co-ordinate and pick a target. C-team, B-Team. round to my left. I will put a 40 mil present in their midst. Iko, you do the same as soon as you see me fire. Space to the backline, push them towards our fire. C-team, as soon as weapons are hot, level them to the ground.” He said in short bursts of information as he moved. He saw everyone fall into place and take position. Looking trough his holosight, he saw their quarry move up. They were ugly sons of bitches to be sure. And big to. Way to big to be mistaken for as human. He felt a sudden relief in bringing the axe with him.
“ Mind your cover and watch your line of fire.” He spoke silently. It was nothing they needed to be told he was sure. But reinforcing it was part of his job. A squadleaders voice was there to steer but also reassure. They were all under his umbrella once the shit started raining down. He steadied his own breath, flexed his fingers in a soft drumroll across the handle.
Had one of them moved towards them?
The order came from the platoon medic. Weapons free.
“Second squad! Open fire!” He let the grenade sail over the first hostiles head, landing between the early group and in the midst of the reinforcements. The Heavy Explosive round showered them it dirt, erupting in fire and shrapnel among the suprised aliens.
“Rossi! Focus on the ones scrambling for cover. Leqba, let it fucking rain.” He shouted over the din that now filled the air as several dozen proffesional let their tools of death speak for them. They had the advantage, and it was paramount they utilized it to its fullest. On his command, Leqba let his gun spit heavy bursts of automatic, heavy caliber rounds into the enemy. The negev was one scary weapon to be sure, and its heavy smattering was deafening.
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