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Checking Out: A Lock-On Vignette
thelastsonofzod
Posts: 658 Arc User
Millennium City, home to the Champions, shining beacon of hope for the new millennium.
I liked it better as Detroit.
Sure, it seems nice enough, competent law enforcement, fewer slums, even cleaner air, but I like to think places have souls, and if thats true, then this place will be marked until the end of time. Better not to try and hide it, to forget the people that died here, the disease of corruption those deaths wiped away. Now people have tried to build a shinying city on the hill admist those ruins, and the results are mixed at best. Supervillains have replaced muggers, cults have supplanted gangs, and only a thin blue line of so called authorities can keep them in line. Its a pressure cooker waiting to boil over.
Heh. Shouldn't wax philosophical on the job. Not when there's business to attend to.
I check in at the Bed & Breakfast fairly early, flatly ignoring the inquiries and concerns of the old woman who runs the place. Miss Reece according to the dossier I acquired. Elderly and single, with only her cats to keep her company. No real threat or interest to glean from that.
Her curiosity fades as I explain my purpose in town, a buisness meeting tomorrow, just off the central square. I make it sound tedious, and she leaves me in peace, just handing me to the key to my room, and casting a surprised look at the heavy briefcases I carry. I smile thinly as I answer her question.
"Samples."
She nods with understanding, and then I'm making my way upstairs, past the myriad pictures of cats, past the antiquated knickknacks, all the way to the third floor of her brownstone, to the tidy little bedroom with the hand knitted quilt, and beautiful ornate furniture.
I sit on the bed, composing my mind, absently considering how I would be sleeping on the floor, if I used this room at all. The floor is too soft for anyone with a military bent. Almost like sleeping in mud.
I chuckle to myself at that as I undress, removing the black sport coat and slacks, the neatly pressed white dress shirt and the hunter green tie. Even my finely made Italian loafers are descarded into the neatly folded pile by the bed. Depending on circumstance, I might leave them there. We shall see how tonight goes.
I reach for the smallest of the briefcases, setting it up on the bed, and quickly thumbing the combination. Theres a small whine as the implanted explosive charge deactivates, and then I have the case open before me, revealing my uniform.
In times past, I've used military fatigues, suits, and even casual clothing for my work, but the new market now for wet work calls for a different manner of operator. I don't like the term 'cape' but they've become all the rage of late. Too many lunatics running around in spandex I suppose.
My suit isn't spandex though. nomax/kevlar weave, with implanted titanium alloy plates. Very fancy, and quite effective for stopping small arms. I don it in a few precise moments, pulling on the green and block body suit, and zipping it up to my neck. The boot snap on with an electronic hiss, their low profile repulsor drives humming to life. The gloves are the simplest, just green pleather with enhanced gripping surfaces.
I stand for a moment, admiring the unlikely outfit in the mirror before I reach up and take off my dark glasses, wincing at the flood of electromagnetic energy.
I focus on the mirror for a moment to bring it under control, relaying instruction via neural interface to my eyes, switching between UV, Infared, and Ultraspectrum vision modes. Its a challenge to use them without a filter though, so I don't dally in this state, pulling on my hood with its special lenses, sighing as my vision returns to bearable levels.
I nod to myself in the mirror, noting how easy of a target the reticle on my chest makes me seem. Far from it, the armor plating under the chest piece should take a fifty caliber round at a reasonable distance.
Still, I don't see myself getting shot on this assignment.
I reach over to the second briefcase, tapping out a sepperate combination for it, and open it to reveal the sniper rifle components within.
There's no name for this rifle, its manufacturer gave it a long, uninteresting designation. A surprising lack of imagination for an insectoid mad scientist, with a moniker as droll as 'Dr Bugly'. At least Lock-On has some utilitarian function, that sort of title is just saturday morning cartoon crap there.
Anyway, the rifle itself is any assassin's dream come true. Railgun technology, neutronium alloy rounds, and a very nice computer assisted targeting function. Its a rifle smart enough to fire itself.
I turn that part off as I make my way to the window. This is barely two hundred yards in windless condition. The speech has even made lighting a minor concern.
I make myself comfortable behind the shade of a curtain, watching as Mayor Biselle readies his notes for the speech, counting his breathes, and measuring the distances and angles.
When he steps up to the podium, I slide a round in, synchonizing my breathing and heartbeat as I count down in my mind, watching it play out through my scope.
Right on schedule my target drops in front and center, a big burly mammoth of a man. Dressed in colorful tights he steps towards the mayor, snarling some sort of tyrannical rant like a second rate wrestler.
I don't pay attention to the words, simply focusing my aim on the back of his skull, and depressing the trigger once.
The shot shatters the window as it flies out, lancing through space, and ending the target before he can lay one hand on the mayor. Well, I take that back, there is a bit of spray from the impact...
I tap the comm on my earpiece, speaking tersly to the opperator at the end.
"Alert is is complete. Asset is secure. Arrange pickup immediately, and transfer resources as arranged."
I liked it better as Detroit.
Sure, it seems nice enough, competent law enforcement, fewer slums, even cleaner air, but I like to think places have souls, and if thats true, then this place will be marked until the end of time. Better not to try and hide it, to forget the people that died here, the disease of corruption those deaths wiped away. Now people have tried to build a shinying city on the hill admist those ruins, and the results are mixed at best. Supervillains have replaced muggers, cults have supplanted gangs, and only a thin blue line of so called authorities can keep them in line. Its a pressure cooker waiting to boil over.
Heh. Shouldn't wax philosophical on the job. Not when there's business to attend to.
I check in at the Bed & Breakfast fairly early, flatly ignoring the inquiries and concerns of the old woman who runs the place. Miss Reece according to the dossier I acquired. Elderly and single, with only her cats to keep her company. No real threat or interest to glean from that.
Her curiosity fades as I explain my purpose in town, a buisness meeting tomorrow, just off the central square. I make it sound tedious, and she leaves me in peace, just handing me to the key to my room, and casting a surprised look at the heavy briefcases I carry. I smile thinly as I answer her question.
"Samples."
She nods with understanding, and then I'm making my way upstairs, past the myriad pictures of cats, past the antiquated knickknacks, all the way to the third floor of her brownstone, to the tidy little bedroom with the hand knitted quilt, and beautiful ornate furniture.
I sit on the bed, composing my mind, absently considering how I would be sleeping on the floor, if I used this room at all. The floor is too soft for anyone with a military bent. Almost like sleeping in mud.
I chuckle to myself at that as I undress, removing the black sport coat and slacks, the neatly pressed white dress shirt and the hunter green tie. Even my finely made Italian loafers are descarded into the neatly folded pile by the bed. Depending on circumstance, I might leave them there. We shall see how tonight goes.
I reach for the smallest of the briefcases, setting it up on the bed, and quickly thumbing the combination. Theres a small whine as the implanted explosive charge deactivates, and then I have the case open before me, revealing my uniform.
In times past, I've used military fatigues, suits, and even casual clothing for my work, but the new market now for wet work calls for a different manner of operator. I don't like the term 'cape' but they've become all the rage of late. Too many lunatics running around in spandex I suppose.
My suit isn't spandex though. nomax/kevlar weave, with implanted titanium alloy plates. Very fancy, and quite effective for stopping small arms. I don it in a few precise moments, pulling on the green and block body suit, and zipping it up to my neck. The boot snap on with an electronic hiss, their low profile repulsor drives humming to life. The gloves are the simplest, just green pleather with enhanced gripping surfaces.
I stand for a moment, admiring the unlikely outfit in the mirror before I reach up and take off my dark glasses, wincing at the flood of electromagnetic energy.
I focus on the mirror for a moment to bring it under control, relaying instruction via neural interface to my eyes, switching between UV, Infared, and Ultraspectrum vision modes. Its a challenge to use them without a filter though, so I don't dally in this state, pulling on my hood with its special lenses, sighing as my vision returns to bearable levels.
I nod to myself in the mirror, noting how easy of a target the reticle on my chest makes me seem. Far from it, the armor plating under the chest piece should take a fifty caliber round at a reasonable distance.
Still, I don't see myself getting shot on this assignment.
I reach over to the second briefcase, tapping out a sepperate combination for it, and open it to reveal the sniper rifle components within.
There's no name for this rifle, its manufacturer gave it a long, uninteresting designation. A surprising lack of imagination for an insectoid mad scientist, with a moniker as droll as 'Dr Bugly'. At least Lock-On has some utilitarian function, that sort of title is just saturday morning cartoon crap there.
Anyway, the rifle itself is any assassin's dream come true. Railgun technology, neutronium alloy rounds, and a very nice computer assisted targeting function. Its a rifle smart enough to fire itself.
I turn that part off as I make my way to the window. This is barely two hundred yards in windless condition. The speech has even made lighting a minor concern.
I make myself comfortable behind the shade of a curtain, watching as Mayor Biselle readies his notes for the speech, counting his breathes, and measuring the distances and angles.
When he steps up to the podium, I slide a round in, synchonizing my breathing and heartbeat as I count down in my mind, watching it play out through my scope.
Right on schedule my target drops in front and center, a big burly mammoth of a man. Dressed in colorful tights he steps towards the mayor, snarling some sort of tyrannical rant like a second rate wrestler.
I don't pay attention to the words, simply focusing my aim on the back of his skull, and depressing the trigger once.
The shot shatters the window as it flies out, lancing through space, and ending the target before he can lay one hand on the mayor. Well, I take that back, there is a bit of spray from the impact...
I tap the comm on my earpiece, speaking tersly to the opperator at the end.
"Alert is is complete. Asset is secure. Arrange pickup immediately, and transfer resources as arranged."
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments
My favorite take on this still comes from Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns.
"Magnum round, has to be... chest plate holds... why do you think I wear a target on my chest, can't armor my head..."
- David Brin, "Those Eyes"
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Yeah, I got the idea myself from a guide on Batman's armor I picked up some years back. Doubtless where they got the idea from.
Its sort of my plan to do one of these for each of my major characters eventually. I've got a couple more en route. Thanks for the support