Supermaxx

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Sep>

God knows someone has to.

@Roman

Patiently waiting for the first issue of Hellblazer to hit my feed

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

_{PUNISHER: WAR JOURNAL}

CHAPTER #2: Welcome Home, Frank

---

_{St. George, Staten Island ♦ New York City}

^{War, children, it's just a shot away
It's just a shot away}

October 16th. 2025. Wind howls off the bay and through North Shore. A '64 Lincoln Continental parked outside a rundown apartment building. An expensive car in a shitty neighborhood. Two men climbed out of the front. Both wore long, wool coats over dark suits. The driver tried to look casual as he posted up on the sidewalk, head on a swivel. His buddy opened the back passenger door.

Their boss climbed out. Mark Scotti, a capo in the Costa crime family. He wore a white suit over a slightly different shade of white shirt. A mop of curly red hair covered his pin-shaped head. His long, thin face was covered in freckles- and fresh bruises. His head jumped around. Down the street, up the rooftops, back to the street.

"Lets go, Mr. Scotti." The guard motioned, and the capo followed. They made their way to the front door of the building. The bottom floor was occupied by a grimy looking storefront. 'Winning Deli - Market & Variety was painted across the window in big, blocky levels.

A bell on the door rung as they made their way inside. The driver stayed by the car.

I stepped back from the surveillance gear I mounted on a tripod on the rooftop parapet. I'd been watching this damned street for forty two hours. Only one person came and went in all that time, and that was the fat old man that owned the place. Never had a single customer.

Before Scotti rolled up I was starting to doubt my intel. Now, though, I felt sure: this was a Costa family safe house.

I made my way back to my rack. Dropped my weight into a lawn chair and pulled a beer from the cooler. The ice cubes inside had all but turned to slush. Wouldn't need to run out and replace it, though. The meet was happening. Tonight, surely. No more shut eye in a sleeping bag on some god forsaken roof. I'd finally managed to scare those assholes into showing themselves.

Reaching into my shirt collar, I tapped a button hidden under a piece of skin-color tap and turned on the hidden microphone. "Micro, I got positive I.D on target approximately two minutes ago. Copy?"

"Finally!" David 'Microchip' Lieberman whooped on the other end of the line. "And here I thought I'd die choking on Cheetos before we found this guy. How's he looking?"

"Like I left him." I chuckled. "Bloody nose and all."

I beat him black and blue three days ago. Caught him and his soldiers overseeing a hand off with a associated crew: Scotti's boys supplied drugs to a dozen associates, and his associates passed the cash they'd made off last month's product. Made the deal at a warehouse on the waterfront at eight PM sharp. Same place as always. Was easy to post up in a shipping container with a rifle. Took out about half the crew, scrambled down and caught Scotti before he could escape. Made sure to rough him up good before he 'escaped.'

Not even an hour later, five more cars rolled up to park on the same street corner. A limousine came in last. Six mafiosos climbed out. They wore their iron naked- luparas and .38s visible to the world. They swept the street in pairs. Looked in windows, knocked on doors, and made sure nobody was home. Whole street was owned by half a dozen different companies and all of them were fronts.

"We're good!" Someone yelled from the street below.

"How're we on all that computer shit, Micro?"

I got a ping on my phone. Got a notification from that app Microchip had me install. Had to tap the stupid screen three times before it read my fingerprint and unlocked. It brought up a list of cameras as long as my arm. I tapped the topmost one and was greeted with a view of the street.

"Matthew Skinner tried to buy penis enlargement pills a few months ago and he neglected to change his email password." Micro snickered in my ear. Skinner was Scotti's bloody right hand. A hitman with seven unconfirmed hits under his belt. "He got me access to their whole network. Every time he logs into the WiFi on his phone, I see everything he sees. And more."

An exterior camera mounted on the corner of the Deli showed me the limo's backdoor as it opened and the underboss stepped out. A big guy, broad shouldered and muscular. Clearly spent his off time at the gym. Lots of scars, too. Big, calloused hands, even an old scar on his neck from the bullet that almost killed him. His head was freshly shaved and spit polished to a shine.

"Bruno Costa." I grunted. "Younger brother to the big man himself."

Micro opened another window on my phone. Bruno's rap sheet scrolled by. Was in and out of Rikers Island throughout the eighties and nineties. An army of mob lawyers slipping money to the right people made sure he never stayed in for long.

Three other capos lined up to offer Bruno a warm handshake. Rico 'The Beard' Colicos stepped up first. He was a well manicured show horse of a man, and a professional palm greaser. He handled all the money laundering for Costa family. Had connections in every big bank in New York and several international financial institutions.

Enzo 'Big Bumpy' Gazzera stepped up next. He pushed aside the offered handshake and pulled Bruno into a hug. Gazzera was an old school gangster. Carried himself with pride. Treated other men with the respect their station deserved. Guy had salt and pepper hair, a generous belly and a lotta jewelry. Good manners didn't make the man, though. Big Bumpy gunned down his first cop before I was even a twinkle in my mother's eye.

Luis 'Lulu' Allegre stepped up last. He was a short, rat-looking bastard with a pencil thin mustache and slick backed hair. There was a perpetual layer of sweat on his oversized forehead. Luis ran guns for the family, trading firepower to small time gangs for their allegiance. I'd been shot with his guns more than once. You could say it felt a little personal after the fifth time I had to get stitches.

"We got audio, Micro?"

"Oh yeah. Ohh yeah we do. I'm in all their phones. Have GPS tracking, microphones, their goddamn nuddies. Everything."

"You can keep the last one."

My phone beeped as it connected to my earbud. It buzzed for several seconds before distorted voices started coming through, like the whispers of specters long dead.

"...Woke me up in the middle of the damn night. Better be good." Bruno growled.

His voice reminded me of a dog I used to have. I called him Mutt. The shelter said they rescued Mutt from a fighting ring. Said he had 'behavioral problems' and were planning on putting him down. Thought I was tough enough to fix him. Could handle a dog that snarled, even nipped. But Mutt and Bruno made the same, terrible sound. They were both feral. No kennel and no prison would change their ways.

"Let's find out, boss, eh?" Big Bumpy Gazzera patted Bruno's shoulder. He led the four of them into the deli. A gaggle of armed guards followed them inside, though about half of them stayed to watch the street. Eight men in total patrolled the sidewalks, leaned on their cars or shared cigarettes near the door.

"They've got cameras all over that place. Even a few in the apartment hallways upstairs. Guess they're pretty paranoid about people sneaking into their safe house."

I pulled up the interior cameras to watch them enter and get a lay of the land. There were a handful of shelves covered in stale food and ancient cans. A single old man in a green apron sat on a stool behind the counter. He was utterly engrossed in a copy of today's Daily Bugle, and its front page story on Luthorcorp. He didn't so much as look up as the mobsters waltzed through his store.

The actual store front area was large and had plenty of shelves and furniture to offer concealment. I didn't see anything heavy enough to offer proper cover from gunfire. Five guards stayed back to browse the grocery store while the Costas made their way to the kitchen through a door behind the front counter. Switching cameras, I watched them walk through the kitchen to a back room. One last door exited the kitchen into a back alley.

I flicked to the outdoor camera watching the alley. There was a car parked next to a pair of empty dumpsters, but no guards.

Flipping back to the kitchen cam, I caught sight of Mark Scotti and Matt Skinner sitting in there at a large, round table with two glasses of whiskey and a pack of Cubans. None of the capos or Bruno greeted either of them. They just stared at each other in the doorway before they split up for their chairs. Three soldiers went into the room with them while the last two closed the door and posted up on either side of it.

Looking through the list of cameras, I couldn't find any in the back room. Meant I was audio only.

"They're in position. I'm movin' in."

"Good luck, Frank. I'll start filtering 911 calls in the area. Anybody mentioning gunfire gets to talk to me first."

This was it. Time to clock in and go to work. I unzipped my duffel to retrieve my tools. Whole block being mob owned meant no civilians. No possible police response meant no risk of crossfire. Meant I could go in fast. Heavy. I settled on old reliable: my Mk 18. A more compact version of the M4 carbine I lugged around jungles and deserts for half my adult life. The barrel was four inches shorter, which meant screwing a suppressor on the gun didn't add any length compared to the original model.

As I climbed down the fire escape, I used half my attention to scan my surroundings for threats. The other half listened to the Costa family dress down Mark Scotti.

"The Punisher. The motherfucking Punisher took a shot at you." Lulu Allgre laughed. "And you got away? You expect us to believe that?"

"Barely! Bastard would've killed me if my man Skinner hadn't been there to drag him off me. I called a meet as soon as I knew it was safe."

"So he didn't follow you?" Big Bumpy Gazzera asked.

"Course he didn't follow us." Skinner cut in. "I drove to the other side of the city, swapped cars and we slept in two different motels. Used cash and fake I.Ds. We're good, captain, you have my word."

Somebody scoffed. Turned out to be Rico: "Forgive us if we doubt your ability to outsmart the most dangerous man in New York City, Mr. Skinner."

Silent as a shadow, I slipped across the street. Made sure to wait until the mafiosos guarding the front sidewalk were all faced the other direction before I made my mad dash. Nobody so much as turned to glance my way. After disappearing behind a neighboring laundry mat, I rounded the corner. Made my way into the back alley behind the deli.

The beater car sat empty. Looked like it hadn't moved in a long time. I slipped past it. Put my hand on the doorknob. Gently as I could, I tested it. Locked. Great.

"Look, Scotti. You gotta understand our trepidation here," Guzzera started, diplomatic as ever, "Punisher isn't known for leaving survivors. Every family and gang in New York can attest to his effectiveness. All the big families have had their operations squeezed."

"Gave us room to expand our operations, though." Lulu chuckled. "Maybe we should be thanking him."

"Enough." Bruno barked. "He killed Costa people too. Cousins. Brothers. Now he's targeting our operations. He's got to pay for this."

"Yes, boss."

"Course, sir."

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Scotti whooped. "Hell yeah, let's get us some good old fashioned-"

I kicked the back door open. Both Maggia foot soldiers went for their weapons but they didn't make it far. Put three rounds into the guy on the left, and just one into the guy in the right. No need to double tap when his skull is painting the back wall.

Almost instantly people started screaming.

"Who the hell-"

"Get down, boss!"

"Guns- do we have guns in here?-"

"Where the fuck are our guys-"

"-Punisher?!-"

Advancing toward the back room where my targets were trapped and seemingly unarmed, I kept my scope on the door to the grocery section. First man to open it ate a lovely dinner of 55.6 to the teeth. Next two were smarter. They posted up on either side of the door and only peaked long enough to fire shots. A revolver round pinged off the sink behind me. Shotgun pellets slammed into my vest. Hurt like shit but I could tell nothing was broken. Been shot in the vest enough to know what a broken rib feels like.

"The door! Bar the door-"

Didn't slow down. I adjusted my aim just to the left of the doorway and put two through the wall. Heard a man scream and then hit the floor. Tried to do the same to the man on the right but he had the brain to run the hell away before he got shot.

"-help me move this damn table-"

Didn't have long, only a few seconds before the rest of the pasta crew fell on me like bats outta hell. Put a hand up to open the door to the back room. Locked. Took three steps back and rushed it, planting my boot into it as hard as I could. Heard the lock break and the door budged an inch, but that was it.

"You think a door n' some chairs is gonna stop me?!" I roared, all piss and vinegar. Scum like this always got my blood up.

"Oh, God, don't kill me!" Mark Scotti pleaded. "Come on man, just- I'll do whatever you-"

"Shut the hell up before I kill you myself!" Bruno roared. I followed the sound of his voice. Down and to the right. I put eight rounds through the wall at waist height.

"Fffghhh...aaghhh.." Somebody gurgled. Think it may have been Lulu but all these rats sound the same when they're clinging on to life. They beg, plead and squirm- like they have any right to keep on living. I've seen the things these men do. What their ilk do to normal folk. I pulled more bodies out of rivers and dumpsters than I cared to remember.

"Believe it or not I'm not here to kill you." I had to scream to be heard over the barking of my M4.

An army of dumbasses wearing cheap suits and cheaper cologne came at me. They filled the air with lead. Lead and noise, noise like the hundred drums beating all at once. Rounds pinged off stainless steel counters, the fridge and the floor. Broken chunks of tile exploded at my feet as I ran. Ran to the rear of the kitchen. I grabbed the door of a walk in cooler and swung it wide. Its heavy steel frame would stop everything these guys were packing.

"Push up! Push up!"

"He's got Bruno trapped. We need to kill this fool."

"You wanna walk into automatic fire you be my fucking guest."

'Come and get it, assholes.'

Two mafiosos breached the kitchen simultaneously. When I tried to peak out to fire a barrage of bullets slammed into my makeshift cover. Could barely hear anything. Didn't know how close they were, if they were going to cross close or far. Had to make an educated guess and pray I was right.

Not that any God I'd pray to would wanna listen. I know where my soul's bound when I die, and I plan to fill hell's halls with a hundred other bastards before I got there.

I waited until I saw the barrel of a shotgun and the front of a shoe. Then I rushed him. Grabbed the barrel with my off hand to shove it aside while I jumped, shoving my knee into his groin. His buddy was three feet back, gun raised. I kept my human shield between me and him, and I used his shoulder to steady my rifle so I could fire it one handed.

Lit him up like a Christmas tree. Turned the kitchen behind him into a bloody mess. Felt bad for his suit. Looked more expensive than the rest.

"Fucking hell, Georgey! Georgey! Oh god-" My shield sobbed. Ignoring his cries, I pulled him around to face the door. Pushed him forward so I could make my way out of the kitchen and into the larger chamber beyond. Mafiosos sprinted in every direction to get away from us. Took the slowest few out before they made it to safety. No good cover in here. Just concealment.

Guess the guy I had hostage wasn't too popular, given how quickly his boys decided to shoot him to pieces to get at me. I threw his corpse down, ducking out of sight. Took the time to reload, and to talk.

Could still hear the capos and their underboss whispering to each other.

"Not killin' all'a you, you know. One of you lucky gentlemen gets to walk away from this. I want a name. The supplier. Drops your drugs off with a damned helicopter."

"Bite me!" Rico yelled back at me. Trying to muster some measure of courage in his final hour, I guess.

"You ready to meet the Devil, Colicos? I got your express ticket right here. What about the rest of you, huh? You know who I want. You've all met him. I know!"

My attention swung back to the front when I felt a sharp pain shoot through my thigh. I almost buckled, had to fall down to my knee. Damn. Got hit. Only once, though, and I couldn't find an exit wound. Must've been a .38. Felt like somebody lit a match and shoved it up the bullet wound so it might've fragmented.

Made me angry. Made me stupid. Focused all my attention on trying to shoot the guy that hit me that I didn't hear the door open behind me until it was too late.

That big bruiser named Bruno came at me. Grabbed me by the back of my vest, picked me up like a misbehaving toddler, and slammed me spine first into the edge of a counter top.

It hurt too much to scream. instinct took over. The rifle fell out of my hands and I had my glock them it instead. I shoved the barrel against Bruno's chest, and I pulled the trigger. I kept pulling it until the gun clicked. Bruno should've died. He should've keeled over and let me see the light leave his eyes. He didn't.

He punched me. A lot, I think. Kind of hard to remember once my head got to swimming and my eyes filled with blood.

"Boss? Boss, are you okay?" Guzzera cried out. He ran up and grabbed Bruno's shoulders, dragging him off me. "We gotta go. The cops are going to be here any second, sir."

Colicos came up behind him. "There's no sirens. We might be in the clear."

"You wanna risk that? How'd the don going to feel when you get his brother arrested?"

I couldn't see, but I was still conscious. I knew where my knife was by memory alone. Felt the comfort of cold steel in my hand. Didn't know where Bruno went so I just started swinging, stabbing and screaming.

"Shit! He's still going! Let's go!"

Bruno swung at me one last time. "I'm gonna enjoy pissing on your corpse, Frank. See you soon." He taunted, then he left. I don't know how he knew my name. Nobody knew my name.

I dug deep so I could stand up. As I struggled to my feet, I could hear a car start through the ringing. People were yelling, running. Then another four cars started in quick succession.

"Micro-" I coughed. "Track them. Keep the cops off. I'm...I'm gonna follow. In the van."

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

@Byrd Man

Oh, come on, it can't be that-

Weird

A L I A S
C H A R L T O N: 2 1 5 6

^{“When did the future switch from being a promise to being a threat?”
-- Chuck Palahniuk}

-

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R...
T H E S T O R Y S O F A R...

^{__________________________________________________________________________________}

“By the end of the 20th century, a large portion of the population – the then United States of America mostly – was convinced of a conspiracy of a so-called ‘New World Order.’ This supposed one world government was said to be run by the United Nations, under the auspices of the old money families of the world. It was essentially an old anti-semtic talking point redressed in modernity.

In truth, by the time of the late 20th century the New World Order had already arrived. Instead of names like Rothschild, Rockefeller, and Getty running the show, its leaders had names like Apple, Disney, Coca-Cola, British Petroleum, and Lockheed Martin. They were content to influence governments from behind the scenes and continue to increase their profit margins with every passing year. When the governments and economies of the world failed in the collapses of the 2030’s, the New World Order stepped up and flexed its iron fist. The Great Corporate War – the first of its kind, but not the last – ended in a stalemate after millions lay dead and the very skies were tinted orange by nuclear radiation.

Sides were picked and alliances formed in the aftermath of the armistice. In a tale as old as time, east and west drew up against each other. The United States of North America and Europe were backed by the western corporatocracy, the energy and weapons conglomerate Thornguard first among equals when it came to power.

In the east, The Triumvirate rules Asia, the Middle East and Eastern Europe. Russia’s Arkangel, China’s SinoTech, and the Japanese Peterson-Tanka Corp have held a shaky alliance with each other for decades, more so out of paranoia and hatred of the west than any general comradery. In the years since the Second and Third Great Corporate Wars, a cold war has settled in among both sides. They use proxies, freelance mercenaries, and lesser corporations to do their dirty work as both sides scramble for global domination in Africa and South America and behind enemy lines.

In 2156 tension was at an all time high. As actions across the globe intensified, the people and governments of the world appeared to be powerless as the corporations armed themselves and prepared for the Fourth Great Corporate War. What nobody else could see, save for one man in Hub City, was that these corporations had unwittingly created the downfall of humanity.”

Excerpt from The Singularity War, Volume I
by Dr. John Charlton, PHD

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )

^{__________________________________________________________________________________}

Charlton characters transcribed into a cyberpunk future. That's all I got.

C A S T
C A S T

^{__________________________________________________________________________________}

Victor Sage: Feed journalist
Christopher Smith: Member of the Peacemaker Corps
Sarge Steel: Executive Operations Director, Thornguard
Sonia Sato: Security Chief/Fixer, Peterson-Tanaka Industries codename Judomaster
Brett Carson: Super-augmented Cyborg/kingpin streetname Mr. Muscle
Roberta Caswell: Mr. Muscle's chief assassin, streetname Thunderbunny
Eve Eden: Hacker, alias Nightshade.
The Prankster: Hacker
The Shape: Underground cybernetic cutter
Ted Kord: Chief Operations Officer, Thornguard
Vulcan: Cyborg, Chief Information Officer, Arkangel
Masi Tanaka, CEO Peterson-Tanaka
Jesse Quick: Thornguard operative and member of LAW, codename Liberty Belle
Nathan Adam: Thornguard operative and leader of LAW, codename Captain Atom
Peter Cannon: Thornguard operative and leader of LAW, codename Thunderbolt
Clay Boone: Thornguard operative and leader of LAW, codename Gunmaster
The Question: Anarcho-terrorist.

Factions

Thornguard Security Solutions
LAW: Living Assault Weapons - tTctical agents of Thornguard
F.I.G.H.T. - Mercenary force
Peterson-Tanaka Industries
Peacemaker Corps

@Byrd Man

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Supermaxx>

Bloodsport!

Yeah, no, I don't care as long as he's not packing Kryptonite bullets haha.

@Lord Wraith

Pfft, no way. Everybody knows Kryptonians are extinct.

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

A L L I E S & A N T A G O N I S T S
A L L I E S & A N T A G O N I S T S

^{_________________________________________________________}

[+]

-

_{A L L I E S}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
◼ Curtis Hoyle - (Flashback)
◼ David 'Microchip' Lieberman
◼ Diesel - (Flashback)
◼ Francis Castle Jr. - (Mentioned)
◼ Lisa Castle - (Mentioned)
◼ Maria Castle née Falcone - (Mentioned)
◼ Stephen Goodwin - (Flashback)}
_{A N T A G O N I S T S}
<sup>▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

A.R.G.U.S
◼ Amanda Waller - (Yet to Appear)
◼ Sasha Bordeaux - (Yet to Appear)
◼ Rick Flag Jr - (Yet to Appear)
◼ Macauley 'Nuklon' Sharpe - (Yet to Appear)
◼ William Rawlins - (Yet to Appear)

Task Force X

◼ Abigail 'Mercy' Wright - (Yet to Appear)
◼ Robert 'Bloodsport' DuBois - (Yet to Appear)
◼ Billy 'The Beaut' Russo - (Yet to Appear)
◼ John Pilgrim - (Yet to Appear)

Costa Crime Family
◼ Bruno Costa
◼ Frank Costa
◼ Enzo 'Big Bumpy' Guzzera
◼ Luis 'Lulu' Allegre
◼ Mark Scotti
◼ Matthew Skinner
◼ Rico 'The Beard' Colicos</sup>
-

Most of these are already part of the Punisher supporting cast or were name dropped in my application like Waller and Flag. I do want to use a few other characters if there are no objections: Sasha Bordeaux, Macauley Sharpe, Abigail Wright AKA Mercy, and Robert DuBois AKA Bloodsport. I tried to grab characters I didn't think anyone else would care about lmao

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

@Half Pint, @Bounce & Everyone else interested, I've compiled a list of all characters I've had actively appear, mentioned or upcoming ones who live solely in my drafts (Anyone else have a bunch of discombobulated paragraphs floating around in a Gdoc waiting to be compiled into a proper post? No, just me?)

I understand it's a pretty hefty list, but I'm currently writing a couple stories in parallel across my supporting cast. If there's an issue with this list for any reason, I'd appreciate knowing about it sooner rather than later.

<Snipped quote>

@Lord Wraith

The format bandit strikes again.

Its me. I'm stealing it.

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Shovel>

Amanda Waller is currently an antagonist for both me and @Supermaxx, so we definitely have her in the game world.

As for Suicide Squad, I think it could work but we are sorta at the beginning of the the dawn of superheroes. Supers are around and becoming more common, but the heroes and villains aren't fully established yet. It would then be a bit odd to already have a team of reformed/imprisoned supervillians then.

Some sort of proto Project Cadmus though could be in the cards though. Or you could play off the ARGUS concept that @Supermaxx is playing off of for Punisher.

@Cyrania

To add, Punisher's backstory includes working with a version of Task Force X for several years. Its less costumed villains being 'redeemed' and more black ops, CIA conspiracy shit. Only non-Punisher characters I've claimed for it are Waller and Rick Flag, and I don't plan on expanding much beyond that. Won't be sniping Squad regulars like Deadshot or Captain Boomerang or anyone like that.

If someone wants to bring in the more traditional Suicide Squad style roster it wouldn't be stepping on my toes.

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Supermaxx>

Damn. RIP Vân.

@King Kindred

He died as he lived: wishing he was getting a beer.

Per previous discussion on interaction, my next post is going to be present-day Punisher hunting enforcers for the Costa family in NYC. He'll be dropping enough bodies to warrant a looksy if anyone's interested.

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

lemme tell you somethin, chat

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

_{PUNISHER: WAR JOURNAL}

CHAPTER #1: Headcase

---

_{Su Tinh Lang Valley - War Zone F ♦ Sin-Cong}

^{When I came back from Luang Prabang
I didn't have a thing where my balls used to hang
But I had a wooden medal and a fine harangue
Now I'm a fucking hero}

August 29th, 2015. Another Yankee went down over the Su Tinh Lang Valley. Third one to go down since I rotated back in, if I kept my count right. Air Force kept expanding the no fly zone and the rebels kept blowing up helicopters. Rebels. That's a funny word for the guys that hold ninety percent of the country. Thoat Nihn is the only major city the republic still held uncontested. Probably had something to do with the fifty thousand American guns still in country.

I'm riding into the valley in the back of a covered truck. Local civilian model. There were five marine raiders shoved in the back along with enough crates and farm supplies to fool observers. First element. Slow insert, recon the crash site with minimal enemy contact. Second element waited in the wings for rapid extraction if we found anyone alive.

Diesel sits across from me, a cheap cigarette in his teeth. He only took it out long enough to pop a pair of pills. Dexedrine. They were meant to keep a marine awake and alert during extended engagements, but Diesel swallowed pep like it was candy. A stench followed Diesel everywhere he went. His breath stunk of snakes melting in napalm. His sweat reminded me of a gasoline can lost in the back of the hot garage for half a decade.

"Damn it, D." Curtis Hoyle sighed. He reached across the truck and grabbed the fanny pack on Diesel's belt. Diesel tried to shove Hoyle back only to find an elbow planted into his throat, shoving his face up into the canvas covering of the truck. Hoyle snapped open the med pouch and rummaged around until he found the contraband.

Hoyle fell back into his seat, stashing the three extra bottles of pep in his own kit. "I swear to God when we get back to base I'm going to shoot the dumbass selling you these."

"Don't be an asshole, doc," Diesel whined. "I ain't dyin' sober."

"You're not living sober, either."

I did my best not to smile. SARC Hoyle kept our band of delinquents alive through thick and thin. On matters of my unit's health, Curt was king. He could've told me we needed to throw away our bullets because the metal was toxic and I would've listened. If he wanted to replace our morphine with grape juice I'd do it in a heartbeat.

I wasn't worried about D. Drug-addled junkie he may be, but he was a functional junkie. Could fight like hell even if he was half blind on so much speed it'd kill a rhinoceros.

Stephen Goodwin held onto his M39 EMR like drowning man clinging to a life preserver. His hands were shaking something fierce. That caught my eye. I'd never seen him so much as flinch before.

Stevie had been in the Corps for eight years, and Force Recon for two of those. I served with him in recon for several months in Afghanistan. The guy was a hell of a shot. I was happy to recommend him to the Det One pilot program that turned us all into raiders.

"You got that letter from home yet, Stevie?" I asked. Kept my voice at an even keel, trying to keep it casual.

He blinked six times too many and shook his head, like he was waking from a bad dream. Then he looked at me. I recognized that misty glint in his eyes. Can't remember how many times I'd seen it before; more than anyone should.

"Y-yes sir, yeah. I did."

"Your wife doin' okay?"

Stevie nodded. He looked down at his boots.

I tried on a smile. It looked as fake as it felt. "Boy? Girl?"

He looked back up at me, and the mist turned to fog.

"Ah." I sat back. "Boy." Everyone in the unit knew he wanted a boy. All he'd talked about for months was turning the kid into a real cowboy. Take over his dad's ranch, raise a head of cattle all his own, everything.

"Yeah," the kid choked on a sob. "I didn't think this shit was gonna bother me, but-"

"Hey." I leaned across the truck to slap Stevie's shoulder. "I get it. When junior was born it scared the hell outta me. All'a the sudden I wasn't just watching my own ass out here. Now there's a kid in the world who'd be missin' his dad if I got shot. It changes you. You know what I mean?"

Stevie buried his snotty nose and bleary eyes into his sleeve. "How do you deal with it, man?"

"Use it. You don't wanna die? Good. Do your job. Kill every motherfucker that comes at you. 'S the only way to get home."

Once I knew Goodwin got the message, I shifted in my seat to face the last member of the tactical element: their bald-headed giant shoved into the back of the truck bed. Belts of ammunition wrapped around his thick shoulders and ran down his chest. His SAW leaned against his shoulder. A small cross on a beaded necklace sat in his catcher's mitt of a palm as he muttered a prayer in Latin. Honest to God Latin.

"Hey, Monk. Watch the kid for me, okay?"

Monk didn't stop his prayers. He didn't even nod his head. It was like talking to a statue. I shook it off and prepared myself for the work ahead.

My radio buzzed to life with the voice of our driver,Vân, a soldier in the SNRA. "Road block ahead. They're uniformed PRA."

The People's Republic Army had uniformed soldiers this far south? That didn't bode well. The rest of the team turned to stare at me. Their eyes were hard set, but it was impossible to hide the cold terror behind them. This valley was contested territory. There should've been at least two battalions of national republic troops between this road and the reds.

"Those motherfuckers ran." Diesel spat a chunk of yellow bile and spit onto the floor. "Country's fucking doomed. Damn cowards."

"We don't know that." Hoyle contested, but doubt laced his words.

"W-what're we going to do, captain?" Stevie asked, staring up at me.

I checked my DAGR- a blocky, Nokia-looking GPS receiver. A dull green glow flickered over my face as I examined the map. Two and a half klicks to the crash site. Wasn't a long walk on foot under normal conditions.

Enemy held bush wasn't exactly premium hiking in my book. I grabbed my radio and got back into contact with our driver. "Alright, Vân. Approach as normal. See if they'll let us through."

The line buzzed for several seconds before Vân radioed back: "You don't pay me enough for this. Bah, fine, fine. Driving up now."

The team's chatter died out. I turned, facing out. The soft cover on the back of the truck obscured all but a tiny slit of the road. I listened. Past the rumbling of the engine, I could make out voices growing closer. My Siancongese was limited to 'surrender,' 'stop' and 'beer.' I heard a couple stops before the truck came to a halt. Vân started up in a friendly tone, and he mentioned something about beer.

I slung my rifle down around my chest and unholstered my sidearm. Curtis motioned for me to listen, and signaled a count for how many voices he could hear. I did the same. We both came back to three on the left, four to the right, and indeterminate front.

The conversation outside took a turn. Vân argued with someone through the driver side window. I could hear a pair of people walk up to the side of the truck. Boots appeared in the gap between the tarp and the wall of the truck bed.

I motioned for readiness, and the team took up firing positions with practiced efficiency. My blood turned hot as the moment of contact grew closer. When Stevie and I talked earlier, I told him Frank Junior's birth terrified me. It did. Just not for the reasons I talked about.

Diesel took a long drag from his terrible cigarette. He lifted his gun, tracking someone's movement just on the other side of the tarp.

I watched my duo make their way around the side of the truck. They were moving slowly. Not carefully, though. I could hear them talking. One of them laughed at something the other guy said. I lifted my pistol to where I figured their heads were.

Dying never scared me.

My hands were steady as a surgeon's. The two soldiers wrapped around to the back of the truck. I saw the tops of their helmets peaking through the piles of boxes meant to hide our presence from prying eyes. It wouldn't hold up to a search. My finger brushed the trigger. Gentle as could be, I started to squeeze as I kept the barrel lined up with the lead man's head.

The moment I saw his face was brief. He smiled. His head was turned slightly toward his partner. The other man saw me first, his expression twisting from joy to confusion, and then terror. I finished squeezing the trigger. The first man's face exploded in a spray of blood.

A quiet voice in the back of my mind celebrated it as an act of mercy. 'At least he didn't die afraid.'

The second wasn't so lucky. He started up a strangled cry of alarm just before Diesel put shots into his throat, cheek and forehead.

A storm of gunfire filled the air as I dove out of the truck. My boots barely kissed dirt before I dropped, turning mid-fall to put my back to the ground so I could get a line of sight under our vehicle. My rifle came up in the same motion, smooth as butter. It was like I'd done it a thousand times.

Two shots went into my targets: the first took out one of their knees and made them drop. The second went into heads if I could find them and chests if I couldn't. Sin-Cong regulars had shitty plate carriers. They couldn't stop anything over pistol caliber. 55.6 popped straight through. I couldn't imagine sending my team into combat with gear like that.

The rest of my team flooded out of the truck moments after me. Monk took the right, the machine gun in his fists playing the devil's song as he sent the enemy to hell. Stevie went after him, nakedly using Monk as a human shield as he kept his head low and tried to get a bead with his EMR.

Hoyle and Diesel went left. Diesel covered the corner with his M4 screaming at full auto while Hoyle crouched beside me, leaving my line of fire clear while he grabbing at my vest to check for entry wounds.

As soon as I saw the last of the upright hostiles sprinting back to their vehicles, I let my hand off the trigger to slap Hoyle's aside with a snort. "I'm good, doc."

I got up, stacking behind Diesel with Curt behind me. I tapped D's shoulder, and he started forward. We shot five men in the back before they could get back to the road block. A handful of troops had taken up hard points behind the engine blocks of their cars, but they weren't shooting back. Their heads stayed down as Monk sent bursts of fire down the line.

An officer stood with his hands up, pleading the word for surrender twice before Monk's SAW tore him to shreds.

"Wait."

Hoyle pushed me to the left, off line, so he could approach the driver side door. I was pissed at him for knocking me away from cover before I realized what he was doing. Doc pulled open the bullet ridden door, freezing. Vân lay limp in the seat. His shirt was sticky with brownish red blood. His gun lay in the footwall, jammed up behind the brake. The magazine sat a few inches away, empty.

"Shit," Hoyle cursed, grabbing at Vân's wrist to check for a pulse. It seemed silly to me. "He's dead."

"I could'a told you that." I mumbled, distant.

"He was your friend, Frank." Hoyle breathed. He was staring at me like I was a space alien.

On an intellectual level, I understand that I should be afraid. I was in a gunfight, after all. And I understood that most people grieved when men they drank and gambled with were lying in a pool of their own blood.

Feeling fear or grief is different, though. Its physical. Runs through the body like a lightning strike, or an avalanche. Those were the words Maria used to try and explain it to me when I got back from my last tour. She was trying to get me to understand why she didn't want me to rotate back in again.

I didn't get it.

"Oh." I told Hoyle. "Yeah."